#i don’t think i have an intense personality everyone always calls me lighthearted

[dira333]

A Sign of Love - Sero x Deaf!Reader

Anon Request for my Follower Celebration.

A/N: Please keep in mind that I am not deaf and do not have any deaf friends to ask for reference. I wrote this from Sero's perspective as someone who's probably hasn't met a deaf person before.

Y/N's deaf and while I could technically write her as being able lip read or talk, both things are not universally true for all deaf people, so I chose to keep them out of it. If Shinma sounds like a dick, that's because he is. He's the Bakugo of Support Class 1.

“That’s the cool thing about U.A. You meet Students from all over…” 

Sero nods as Kaminari drowns on. He’d been thinking the same thing.

“And if you want to meet your soulmate, you just have to get out there, right?” Kaminari laughs, not noticing the way Sero straightens instantly. 

Right. That topic again.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Sero laughs, a little forcefully, but Kaminari is as attentive as a teaspoon.

“What’s yours, by the way?” Kaminari asks to Sero’s absolute horror.

“What’s my what?” He tries to buy himself time.

“Your soulmate mark. Mine’s on my ass. The placement is really weird but at least it’s still visible, I heard of one guy’s mark that was-”

“Don’t tell that story!” Jirou’s earphone jack stabs itself into Kanimari’s shoulder, interrupting the boy at just the right time. “It’s nasty.”

“Thanks.” Sero grins back at her. “By the way, do you know if we have English Homework?”

Jirou eyes him in a way that tells him she’s got all the attentiveness that Kaminari is clearly lacking.

“I don’t think we do. But Present Mic mentioned something about a surprise test.”

“What?!” Kaminari’s positively forgotten the topic now, panic clear in his eyes. “When? I haven’t studied in ages.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s a scheming gleam in Jirou's eyes as she pulls him with her. “I can help you study.”

-

Sero’s not sure how he’s done it, but somehow he’s managed to not only survive his first year at U.A. but also keep his secret… well, a secret.

Not that there had been plenty of time to dwell on it, with the League of Villains after them and the World as they knew it at war. 

But he realized, well into their second year, that his classmates - now close friends - still had no idea. It’s not that he thought they’d give him a hard time - he’s been through hell and back with these guys - but how does one bring up a topic like this?

“Hey, you’ve known me as the lighthearted guy but I actually don’t have a soulmate and it makes me a little depressed at times?” No, that would just get everyone’s mood down.

“Do you want to date me? I know you have a soulmate mark but I don’t and why not have a good time until you find the love of your life?” Yeah, that just sucked.

With his luck, he could also just try and go through the next one and a half year keeping this secret. If no one knew, no one would pity him.

-

“Hey, Sero!” Uraraka almost crashes into him as he exits the elevator. “Could you do me a huge favor?”

“I don’t know, what’s it about?”

“I’m supposed to be at Gunhead’s agency in twenty minutes and I’m already late but Midoriya asked me to take these notebooks over to Hatsume. Could you deliver them? He mentioned that she needs them today!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s no problem.” She hands him the heavy bag stacked with notebooks. 

“Thanks! You’re the best!” Uraraka’s gone before he can say anything else.

It’s a shame, really, that she’s already found her soulmate. He’d always thought that she was cute, even if a little intense at times.

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise to find out that her soulmate was Bakugo, of all people. He did pity her sometimes though. Her soulmate mark, his first words to her, were scribbled along her stomach. It hadn’t been nice words, spoken in the heat of the Sports Festival, and Bakugo’s writing was messy at best.

To go your whole life with an insult covering your stomach… maybe having now soulmate mark was for the best after all.

-

“Hatsume?” Sero calls out into the support lab. He can barely see anyone in between the machines whirring around. With the music playing in the background it’s no surprise that he doesn’t get a reaction.

Someone with vibrant green hair bobs from side to side behind a table filled with bubbling chemicals and Sero waves his hand in their direction, hoping to get their attention.

Nothing. He steps around a table, careful not to bump into the Robot that’s either working or destroying itself.

“Hey!” He waves his hand again. Behind the vibrant green hair, a door opens. 

Sero’s jaw slackens.

Has he ever seen the U.A. Uniform fit someone so well? It’s like it was made for you in mind. 

You don’t notice him at first as you walk alongside the wall, keep out of the reach of the room’s madness. Sero’s unable not to follow you with his eyes. There’s the slope of your nose, the shape of your eyes, the color of your hair - he can’t get enough of it, has never felt like this before. Is this what falling in love feels like?

You turn right at the end of the room, hand already on the door handle. 

He swallows nervously, tries to think of something to say but his mouth is empty. He waves awkwardly and you smile shyly, wave back before you slip out of the room, out of his sight, out of reach.

“Wow.” A high voice pipes up from somewhere to his left.

When he turns, he can see the person the vibrant green hair belongs to. It’s a boy, about as tall as Mineta was in his first year.

“You just looked like a loser.”

“Thanks.” Sero clears his throat awkwardly. “What’s… uh… What’s her name.”

“Y/N.” The boy blinks back at him, not offering more information. And maybe that’s for the best. It’s creepy to ask others about you, right?

“First year?” His mouth seems to think otherwise.

“Obviously. Are you looking for something or just here to ogle?”

“I’m not-” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I have a delivery for Hatsume.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

-

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Midoriya asks, confusion clear in his voice. “It’s really no hassle for me to get these back to Hatsume myself.”

“No, no. I insist.” Sero’s been trying to think of reasons to go back to the Support Labs for days, he’s not going to let his chance slip now that it’s here.

This time, you’re nowhere in sight. He waits half an hour, makes more small talk with Hatsume than he has in all the time before but you’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Do the… uh… Do the First Years have their own Labs?” He asks a week later when he’s there to get Bakugo’s grenades updated. He offered to take the walk for his friend and Bakugo had looked at him like he’d lost his mind. He probably had. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s the next room on the left.” Hatsume nods without looking up from the project she’s working on. “Would you hold this up for a moment?” 

“Do you have anything… you, uh, have to take over there?” There’s a thin line of sweat collecting at his hairline now, even though Hatsume’s still focused primarily at whatever she’s building. 

“I do, actually. Do you want to deliver it for me?” Hatsume offers him a smile and Sero knows he’s been found out.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slump. “If I could, that would be nice.”

“Shinma’s over there too, but I think it’s cute that Y/N’s got her own fanclub.” Something changes in Hatsume’s features and the look she gives him is absolutely menacing. “But if you’re going to be a creep about it, just remember that I have updated my babies.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He chokes out and Hatsume’s back to normal, grinning at him with delight.

“Great. Take this to Y/N and this is for Shinma. Don’t mix them up or I’ll be mad.”

-

“What are you doing here?” The green goblin stares him down from where he’s sitting.

“Doing Hatsume a favor.” Sero bluffs back. “Who’s Shinma?”

“That’s me.” The green goblin narrows his eyes at the package before looking up at him again. “So you’re after Hatsume now?”

“I’m not after anybody.” He grits though his teeth. “I’m just trying to be nice. Where’s Y/N? This package is for her.”

“At the back.” 

Sero nods and walks on before Shinma can decide to keep him company on this task.

Now, only seconds from meeting you, he’s growing nervous again.

He’s had more than a week to think up what he wants to say. It still sounds terrible in his head.

Sero steps around a Robot and comes face to face with you.

It’s too sudden for his poor heart that’s trying to beat out of his chest.

“I, uh, hi!” He waves his hand awkwardly. “You’re pretty. Shit, I mean, I’ve got something for you.”

You blink for a second before you pull a notebook from your desk and hand it to him.

When he looks at you in confusion, you point at your lips then at the notebook. 

“You want me to write something down?” He asks, still confused.

“She’s deaf.” Shinma’s voice cuts throug the noise of the Lab. “You have to write down what you want to say.”

“Oh.” Now it’s his turn to blink and he pulls the Notebook closer to himself, scribbles down what he meant to say.

He watches, a little horrified, as the twinkle in your eyes dies down when you read his words. Whatever he wrote seems to have been the wrong thing.

So he pulls back the Notebook before you can take it away and scribbles on.

“I think you’re cool. I’d like to get to know you better.”

You’re smile’s a little sad but you nod and shrug, point at the Robot you’ve been working on.

It’s hard work to write everything down by hand and when his hand starts cramping, he pulls out his phone, uses his notes app to type.

It’s probably only been about fifteen minutes when Shinma appears behind him, clearing his throat loudly. 

“Don’t you have classes to go to, tape-boy?” 

“Oh, shit.” He’s going to be so late. But, if he’s going to be late already, he’s going to make this worth it. Sero jots down his number on the notebook, circling it for good measure and points at himself before he dashes out of the Lab, your awkward smile imprinted in his mind.

-

Detention is keeping him busy as well as studying for the upcoming test. 

You’ve only messaged him once to let him know your own number.

He’s sent you a few memes but since your answers are luke-warm at best, he’s holding back on that for now.

“Wow.” Kaminari looks up at him. They were actually supposed to be studying but Kaminari had made the mistake of asking him how he was doing and Sero couldn’t stop himself the moment he opened his mouth. “You’re like, totally in love with that girl.”

“No, I… Yeah.” He sighs weakly.

“Well, what’s the big deal? Just ask her about her soulmark and get it over with. She has to be if you feel this strongly.”

“She’s not my soulmate.” 

Kaminari furrows his brows at his dejected tone.

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“I don’t have a mark.”

Silence.  

“Are you sure?” Kaminari asks after a moment. “You know there was this one guy-”

“Yeah, I checked.” Sero cuts him off. “Multiple times. I’m one hundred percent sure that I have no soulmate mark.”

“Wow.” Kaminari falls silent. 

“Yeah.” Sero fiddles with his tape, too anxious to calm down. “God, and I know that sounds selfish, but I… I thought it’s just her looks, but she’s genuinely funny and so smart and…I don’t know… but I’d take a week or even a day, no matter how long I get with her until she meets her actual soulmate. Is that selfish?”

“Yeah.” Kaminari’s looking actually worried now. “She probably has her own soulmate mark and thought you’d be hers until you wrote your first message.”

His friends words, said carelessly at best, cut through his heart like Aoyama’s laser.

All strength leaves his legs and he sinks onto the floor, grabs his books to hide behind.

“Let’s study then-”

“Are you su-”

“Just study, okay?!”

-

Sero’s in the library when someone taps him on the shoulder.

When he turns, he’s surprised to find him smiling shyly. He hasn’t seen you in a week.

“Hi.” He signs, embarrassed that he couldn’t help himself. You just wouldn’t leave his mind, no matter how much you tried.

Your face lights up and you sign back. “Hi, how are you?”

He halts. Realizing that he forgot the sign for “good.” He holds his hand up to ask you to wait and pulls his phone from his pocket, typing as fast as he can.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m okay. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.” He turns his phone over to you, surprised to see you hide your face behind your hands instead.

You’re embarrassed. But, about what?

Eventually, you take his phone from him. Your fingertips touch his, warm and soft and so not his to touch, he has to remind himself. 

You take your time typing, deleting something, and typing again. 

When you hand him his phone, your hands are shaking.

“Do you have a soulmark?” He reads. He swallows thickly and shakes his head.

To his surprise, this doesn’t seem to sink your mood. Instead, your eyes light up.

You hold up your hand, set down your bag and slip out of your cardigan.

“What-” He asks before he realizes that you can’t hear him. You won’t take his phone back, so all he can do is wait until you roll up the sleeve of your shirt.

On the curve of your elbow, right above your joint, sits a tattoo. The writing is small, but he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

“I, uh, hi!” He reads. “You’re pretty. Shit, I mean, I’ve got something for you.”

His heart stops beating for a second before it thunders on twice as fast. He reaches out his hand, looks up at you to ask for permission. You nod, step a little closer until his fingers close around your arm. Your skin is warm beneath his fingertips, he can feel his heartbeat thrumming through his veins.

His words are inked into your skin. You’re his soulmate. But-”

Your hand is warm against his cheek, pulling him out of his reverie. 

“I” You gesture to yourself. “Do not speak.” You tap against his own, empty skin.

He hands over his phone and you type.

“My father is deaf, my mother is not. They told me this could happen.”

“How did you figure out that it was me?”

“Shinma told me.” You grin at his surprise. “He’s got good ears.”

Damn, Sero thinks. He’s going to have to start being nice to the green goblin.

-

You sign something. Sero snickers.

Kaminari whines lowly in his throat. 

“That’s so mean!” He calls out. “Don’t have secret conversations while I’m present.”

“You could learn sign language.” Sero points out, signing while talking. Your eyes crinkle from smiling too hard. He loves that look on you.

“You’ve seen me struggle with English.” Kaminari points out. “How can you even propose that idea?”

“Your loss, not mine.” Sero grins and signs something else, just for you.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” 

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[glitterandmoondustofficial]

And Onto Further Stillness

Chapter 9

Notes:

Characters: Yrelia, Gale Rating: Mature Warnings: Language, sexual themes Notes: this started out as something lighthearted and funny but I decided to add a little ✨drama✨ in this and the next chapter lol

Yrelia sat in the cold autumn rain. She wore her hunting gear and her bow was within quick reach. Gale had tried to convince her to stay in bed with him, and she had very deeply, intensely wanted to do so. Especially when he looked at her so softly with his pretty brown eyes. However! Her hunting group had planned this for days.

So! Damn the rain! Damn the cold! Damn…no, not damn her wonderful, loving, sweet fiancé who would be given so many kisses and hugs and definitely a good ride so he gets cutely tongue tied and unable to speak properly.

She felt herself start to smile as she thought of Gale. Oh, she loved him so so so much. Her heart was so full of passion and love and kindness. Her stomach was also full most of the time. His insistence on feeding her wonderful meals was a definite improvement from her previous life. She had tried so many new foods in her new city, even Gale was impressed by her ability to try new things.

She made a note to watch what he ate more thoroughly, noting when to add some nutrients to his diet that he may be lacking.

“Yrelia,” the elven archer, Zintra, said from beside her. “Why are you grinning? It’s fucking miserable out and we’ve barely seen anything.”

“Oh, no particular reason,” she said and cleared her throat.

“She’s probably thinking about her fiancé,” Marigold, the halfling, teased. “Such a wonderful romance,” she sighed wistfully. “To have a fiancé who would wait on me hand and foot! That’s the dream!”

Yrelia snorted. “He doesn’t wait on me hand and foot.”

“No, he just cooks for you almost every meal,” Zintra said.

“And gives you massages,” Marigold added.

“Draws you baths.”

“Commissions custom clothes for you.”

“Regularly buys you bouquets.”

“And-”

“Alright. I get it. I’m spoiled,” Yrelia said while trying and failing to hide her grin.

“And yet so down to earth!” Marigold teased and the three women giggled.

“You know,” Tomas, a human who was the same age as Yrelia, cut in. “There is something that we never hear about.”

Yrelia’s nose twitched. “I don’t need to talk about every aspect of my relationship,” she said to him. She had always had a, not necessarily bad feeling about him, but maybe a slightly uncomfortable feeling about him.

She stuck with Zintra and Marigold. They clicked almost instantly and were, honestly, a giggling trio of women who shot better than anyone else. Tomas was one of the three humans in the group. He was married, supposedly, although Yrelia wasn’t sure if he was happily married. He never spoke of his life at home, mostly focusing on trying to outdo the other members of the group. Which she respected. Some people simply want to keep their personal life personal.

Yrelia was the one who overly loved talking about her amazing, sweet, unmatched in affection fiancé.

“True,” he said and sat next to Yrelia. Yrelia scooted closer to Zintra, who patted her knee. “But I find it curious that you don’t talk about your sex life. Why is that?”

Yrelia was too annoyed to be flustered. She rolled her eyes, huffed, and didn’t respond.

“Tomas,” Marigold scoffed. “That’s inappropriate. Why are you always so interested in everyone else’s sex life? Be interested in your own.”

He shrugged in response and Yrelia hoped that was the end of that conversation.

The rest of the morning was mostly uneventful. Not a single deer came by the group but Yrelia did manage to bag a turkey. She was sure Gale would be pleased with it despite Yrelia promising a deer.

She made her way back home; wet, dirty, and with her turkey in hand. She opened the door into her tower and immediately kicked off her boots.

“Gale! I’m home!” She called.

“Ah! My love!” She heard Gale say from the study. He walked out of the study and towards her. “I see you’ve brought home dinner!”

“It’s not much, unfortunately.” She accepted his kisses on her wet cheeks with a grin. “Just a small turkey. I’m sure we can invite your mother and Lily and the boys over for dinner tomorrow to help us eat it.”

“A marvelous idea, Lia,” he said and kissed her cheeks again. “And don’t sell yourself short. You were out in the dreadfully cold rain to bring this home. I am thoroughly impressed with you and your skill once more.”

She giggled and accepted his kiss on her lips. “Alright, sweet talker,” she said and kissed him. “Let’s take this into the kitchen quickly. I am in desperate need of a hot bath.”

Gale grinned and kissed her nose in response.

“Darling,” Gale called from their bedroom. Yrelia hummed in response. She sipped her white wine (that Gale poured for her) in her hot bubble bath (that Gale prepared for her) and relaxed as her shoulders were massaged (by a pair of gossamer hands that Gale conjured for her). “I believe you’ll need to restring your bow soon!”

Yrelia grinned. “I do! You’re learning fast,” she said into her wine glass. “We’ll do it together.” So much had happened since the last time she showed him how to string a bow she wouldn’t be surprised if even Gale of Waterdeep had forgotten how to do so.

“No need to rush, love,” he said. “At least finish your glass of wine before exiting the tub. I still must unpack your bag and hang your hunting gear to dry by the fire.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not rushing,” she said with a grin. She rolled her shoulders when the conjured hands pressed on a rather annoying knot.

She sank further into the tub, smiling at the honeysuckle and lavender scent. She decided that she would take a nap after this bath and require that her darling future husband take one with her.

When her glass of wine was finished and she was thoroughly warm and relaxed, she stood up. The gossamer hands disappeared and she watched as Gale walked into the room. He held out his hand for her to take as she left the tub. She kissed him with a smile. “You’re far too good to me,” she said and kissed him again.

“Nonsense,” he whispered to her lips. He pressed his lips to hers in a very sweet kiss before pulling away. “You deserve everything I have to offer and even more. Now,” he said and grabbed a towel to wrap around her. “I have unpacked your bag and put everything in its proper place, your bow is ready to be restrung, your coat and pants are hanging by the fire to dry, your underclothes are in the laundry hamper, and,” he said and kissed her nose, “the bed is ready for your nap.”

She grinned and kissed him. “Take one with me?”

“Absolutely. I would never abandon you.” She giggled in response.

Yrelia stood in her robe by her side of her amazing and soft and luxurious bed. She hummed as she braided her hair for her nap. She looked to her nightstand and blinked. “Beloved, what’s this?” She asked and picked up a red bottle filled with an unknown liquid.

Gale walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was in your pack so I assumed you knew.”

“I’ve never seen it before.” They went silent before looking at each other and then back at the bottle. She rotated it in her hands, looking for a label. She found a small one and brought it to their eye level. “Moon Water? What’s that?”

“It’s a potion and enchanted tea shop,” he answered and gently took the bottle from her hands. “Nothing extraordinary comes from that shop. It’s owned by the family of a wizard who died many years ago and they are using her recipes to make watered down potions and weak teas.” Yrelia grinned and kissed his cheek. “Quite curious how this ended up in your pack.”

“Someone must have slipped it in while I was out today.” He hummed and broke the wax seal. “Gale?”

“I’m intrigued,” he said and uncorked the bottle. “Why would someone give you a potion? And what could it be?”

She shrugged. “No clue. I hope it’s not poisonous.”

“If it is then whoever did this is going to be dealing with a very angry wizard.” He brought the potion to his nose and sniffed. He instantly recoiled and Yrelia’s eyes widened.

“Gale?!” She turned swiftly and grabbed his biceps with an incredibly worried expression. “Gale, what is it?”

He blinked and looked at her with a stunned expression and a…blush on his cheeks. He corked the bottle and handed it to her. “It’s…an aphrodisiac.”

She stared at him. She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, not sure if she heard him right or if he was teasing her or if he was one hundred percent serious. “It’s a what?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” he repeated and a familiar anxious crease in his brow formed.

Yrelia looked at the bottle and then back to his anxious face. “Someone put a…love potion in my pack?” She said, absolutely bewildered.

He cringed. “Erm, not love.”

“Someone put a sex potion in my pack?” Her bewilderment changed to annoyance in a second. She huffed. “The fucking nerve of some people. How gods damned inappropriate,” she grumbled. She turned her attention back to Gale. “You knew that from a quick sniff?”

“I, um, I am very good at what I do,” he said and shifted uncomfortably.

Her brows knit together. “Beloved, what’s wrong?”

“Lia…do you…talk about our sex life to other people?”

Her brows twitched. “No. I keep that between the two of us,” she responded. “Please don’t feel self conscious, Gale.”

His face twitched. “Why would I be self conscious? This is a completely normal potion to find in myfiancée’s pack,” he said flatly.

“Gale.” She took his face in her hands. “You have nothing to worry about. Even if I did talk about you in bed I would only have good things to say.” She kissed him chastely. “Trust me?”

“I do,” he said and covered her hands with his. “More than anyone. Forgive me, I let my self doubt drown you out momentarily.”

“There’s absolutely nothing to forgive.” She kissed him again. He relaxed against her lips. She pulled away and rested her forehead against his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her forehead. “Incredibly and quite annoyingly curious as to why that was in your pack.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” she said. “But I think I might have an idea.”

“You do?” He pulled away and looked at her.

Yrelia took the opportunity to sit on the bed. Gale followed her and sat next to her. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. She smiled at him before sighing. “One of the men is always trying to…learn about everyone’s sex lives.”

Gale’s face scrunched in disgust. “Why? That’s inappropriate. Why is he still part of the group?”

“I don’t know. It is. And because he’s the one who formed the group,” she answered. “The theory is that he’s unsatisfied with his marriage so…”

“So he decides to buy an aphrodisiac and subtly slip it into a colleague’s bag?”

“I guess he thinks that since I refuse to talk about sex that I have nothing good to say about it. Which is not the case, of course. I just don’t think I should share that information with people outside my bedroom.” She leaned in and nuzzled his jaw.

“I can’t say I like that, Lia,” he said with a huff. “Someone harassing you like that…”

“Is it harassment?”

“Yes.” She smiled at his bluntness. “I won’t stop you from continuing to go with this hunting party but, admittedly, I’m on edge now that I know this is happening.”

“I know. I appreciate it,” she said and kissed his jaw.

“I know that you can handle anything that comes to you,” he continued. “But…” he trailed off looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Yrelia hummed. She took his hand into hers and squeezed it. “Would it make you feel better if you came with me next time?”

Gale blinked, clearly not expecting her to ask that. “You would like me to go with you?”

She let out a short laugh. “Why wouldn’t I?” She kissed his cheek. “The next time we go out is exactly a tenday from now. You won’t have to do anything, just sit with me. It will be like before, when you were trying to flirt with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt with you,” he argued. “I wasflirting with you.” Yrelia snorted. She went to kiss his cheek but he turned his head. Their lips met and she grinned. “I love you,” he murmured. “Very, very much. I’ll go with you.”

Yrelia rubbed her nose against his. “Then it’s a date.” They kissed. She wrapped his arms around his neck with a grin and pulled him as she laid down. “You owe me a nap,” she said to his lips.

He hummed, trailing kisses down her jaw. “I do,” he said and kissed her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more skin to kiss. “And yet somehow I have the impression that you don’t want to nap at the moment.” He nipped at her skin.

She hummed in approval, playing with the hem of his shirt. “No, I very clearly want a nap,” she said lightly and tugged on his shirt. He pulled away and let her take off his shirt. She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck and accepted his slow kiss. His hands found the belt around her robe and untied it.

He pulled away and stared down at her as her robe fell to either side of her. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

A soft smile formed on her lips. “Trying to sweet talk me?”

“Simply stating facts, my lady. You deserve to be told very frequently how absolutely stunning you are.” He kissed her nose. “And I am very willing to do so. I will tell you until my tongue tires.”

She hummed and pulled him in close. “Not too tired I hope.”

He kissed her in response.

“Out of curiosity and nothing more,” Yrelia said as she laid in bed after her nap, her naked body covered in bite marks and bruises from her lover’s mouth. He hummed in response and raised his brow as he shrugged on his very luxurious embroidered robe. “What does that potion do?”

“Well,” he started. “It was fairly weak, keep in mind,” he began to explain. “So, not much. If it had been a potion of regular strength, based on the smell, it would have delayed orgasm for myself or if you had drunk it made you more receptive to stimulation.” Yrelia blinked and cocked her head. “They usually last an hour but that one wouldn’t have. It probably would have lasted, I’d say twenty minutes to be generous, and the effects wouldn’t have been nearly as intense.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure some people have fun with it,” she said and Gale hummed like he briefly considered it. She sat up and stretched. Her bare feet hit the dark wood floors of her bedroom. Nearly two months of living in her new home and she still could barely believe that she lived here. Somewhere with sturdy furniture and expensive bedding and a fiancé who very seriously asked if she had ever had caviar and if she’d like to.

“What a face,” Gale said. She looked over at him and saw his soft smile. “What’s on your mind?”

“That your floors are nice.”

“They’re yours, as well.”

“That’s what I’m thinking about, too.” She picked her robe off the ground. She wrapped it around herself and walked towards him. “It seems I still have trouble believing that I’m here.” She smiled when he kissed her forehead.

“I understand. I don’t claim to fully know what your life was like, but I know it was a large change in your lifestyle to join me.” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “And every day I’m grateful that you did. Multiple times a day in fact. Nearly every moment of the day.”

“Well, how could I not?” She casually rested her arms on his shoulders. “I love you,” she said with a smile. “There was nothing more that I wanted than for us to be together. I didn’t care where we were or where we would go, as long as we were together.” She kissed his chin softly, happily feeling his beard upon her lips.

“I felt the same,” he said and dipped his head down to nuzzle her nose. “If you had asked me to go back to your farm then I would have done it.”

She laughed. “Gale the farmer? She teased. “You’d help me birth lambs and feed the pig?”

“I’m positive I would be quite good at it. With you as a careful and gentle teacher, of course.”

She giggled. “You’d give all this up for me?”

“Without a doubt. We would have to have our own marital house, of course, but I’d leave all this behind just to wake up to your nearly untamable bedhead everyday.”

She kissed his chin again and then his lips. “I think this was the best choice for us,” she said. “It’s taking time for me to get used to it, but this is the happiest I’ve ever been. I know that if we had gone back to my farm that…” she trailed off and the smile on her lips faded. He kissed her forehead. “We would be together, so I would’ve been happy, but here?” She smiled again and accepted his kiss.

Yrelia wrapped her arms around his back. They embraced. A long, strong, and tight embrace. She breathed him in, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Here she could grow and flourish. Here she could make new friends and form new bonds. She could live her life so very comfortably, with Gale doing everything within his power to make her life easy. She was able to cook him meals with brand new ingredients that she would have never been able to afford. She could ask for a kiss whenever she wanted, and even if he was on the other side of the tower he’d do a little jog right to her lips. She could make flower crowns and he’d kneel before her as she placed it on his head. She could nap now. She could rest. If she just wanted to take a day to relax she could, Gale would just smile at her and take care of everything.

Waterdeep was where she was meant to be.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m overjoyed that we’re here together.” He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. “I would marry you at this very moment if I could.”

She smiled. “We can always elope, beloved.”

“We can,” he said and kissed her nose. “Alas, we have already sent out the “save the dates”, my mother, Lily, and Tara would end both of our lives if we did so, and, if I’m being completely honest, I would very much like to see you in a wedding gown.”

She laughed. “All true, I suppose, but if you change your mind, know that I would absolutely do it.”

“I will keep that wonderful thought in mind.” He kissed her nose again. “Now,” he started again after some moments of nuzzling her nose. “Tell me, what would you like for dinner? I was thinking that…”

Yrelia smiled softly as Gale pulled her from their bedroom, listing what he thought he could make them for dinner. She listened intently, happily making comments when needed. She wrapped her arm around his and walked with him around their tower, sighing contentedly and without a care as she listened to her love talk.

Next chapter

[hologramcowboy]

The whole branding and social media thing is too confusing for me. If I am trying to be cast for a very much negative character - ie a pedophile or a psychopath - I need to refrain myself from posting good stuff in my personal sm and try to portray myself as a potential evil to make investors believe in me? 😶

I don’t know anything about Hollywood, but I have seen the most goofy person of the industry playing a devilishly psycho and rapist and giving a great hit in my country’s film industry. I have repeatedly seen a man maintaining absolutely normal family man image in social media and subsequently doing romantic hero, villain, tough police officer, comedy, drama or thriller all efficiently. That makes me think social media and PR image is for public, and not for insiders of industry- they have different team to play out that. I mean, if I maintain an image of romantic hero publicly and get cast in such roles only, won't I get typecast? And most importantly what is my credibility and efficiency as an actor if I cannot break myself over and over again and deliver all kind of roles?

Anon, at the beginning of your career and up until you reach top tier you will be typecast. In fact, the only way to get into the industry and work steadily is to typecast yourself based on your essence and then target buyers that need that character type. E.g. let's say you match the superhero vibe, that means your buyers are those who produce those types of shows/movies.

As you career advances and you rich top tiers, let's say you get promoted from recurring to series lead, as your brand becomes established now you have more leeway. You have the option of rebranding your materials to aim for your new desired tier. But, even then, you must be careful to stay faithful to your essence or you risk alienating your fanbase. By essence I don't mean past characters you've played. I mean what makes you YOU. If you are goofy then the way you play a lawyer is very different from how a serious, dark, moody man would and that's perfect. You are you. If your uniqueness centers on being able to be lighthearted and playful because that is who you are at the core then you will play different character in those main notes and you will be credible playing them.

Trying to be everything to everyone ensures failure. The only actors who can pull off a wide range are transformative actors like Meryl Streep, Charlize Theron, Jared Leto, for example, they can fully transform into a character due to intense studies, prep and using behavioral psychology. Unless you are at a tier where you are Tom Cruise famous, you will have to have a defined brand and character types that match your target goals. Once you reach the offer level of your career (meaning you get offered roles directly because you are an established, trustworthy professional and your name resonates in the industry), you get to have way more creative control but, cautiously, because as I've mentioned earlier, if something works, don't ruin it. Don't try to be something you are not. It will always backfire.

No actor is expected to deliver all kinds of roles, they are expected to realistically live the circumstances they get hired for and those will always be in line with their essence. Know who you are. Because who you are does not change. The character type might change, you might get called in as a doctor but your job is to deliver that role along with your uniqueness so your version of a doctor will match your essence and not be a general idea of what a doctor is like or a copy of what some actor actor is doing.

What you say you've seen is impossible. Most likely, the actor you are referring to is from a country where american actor branding does not apply OR you are missing the common thread in all of his roles and how it ties into his essence.

An actor's brand is his essence and under the umbrella of that brand are character types he can play, as I explained earlier. His look, physique and essence are well suited for certain characters so he gets cast as those. It has nothing to do with his family man image, unless that's his main type. All actors may post something about their family but how you do it needs to be inline with your brand or you dilute your image.

I'm really curious about this goofy actor who played a rapist. Which country was this and what is the name of that actor, most importantly, what is his look?

As for an actor social media, it is always, always, always geared at his buyers and goals unless said actor is clueless about his own industry. Do not fall into the trap of thinking that what actor present online is who they are in real life. They are maintaining an image and it is for PR purposes that they make certain posts. It is a part of their job. Their actual private profiles( if they have any because not all do) are not something you will ever be privvy to. An actor is a product and any smart actor knows this and carefully curates their online image.

[myfairkatiecat]

10, 11, 12, 14, 19, & 40 for the Ask Game!!!! Pick and choose whichever one(s) you'd like, I just got super excited and had to talk myself down from asking all of them :)

I hope you are having a lovely day!! And don't forget to drink some water, please <3

Thank you for the reminder to hydrate as always!

Alright, here we go:

10. Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence paragraph that comes up.

Lol I did this and I don’t think this is what was supposed to come up lol. This is from my theater kid Nathaniel Benedict AU:

“This used to be endearing. But now, at the MENTION of a new musical, you’re out the door in the blink of an eye!”

“Multiple blinks, actually, I don’t have superspeed Nicholas.”

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Alright then:

@nobody33333333 yes this is one of my favorite fics right now and ALWAYS, it’s just too amazing!!

I just stumbled across this while looking through some tags and like—it’s gold?? From like three years ago? I never knew I needed parks and rec references in a tolkein fanfic but here we are. It’s basically Pippin being rich and also he’s never had a real job in his life—

@mvshortcut I’m STILL screaming over this

Of course there are way more fics that I love right now but these are probably my top three atm!

12. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/ support impact you?

Feedback and support is honestly a big part of my motivation. If I love what I’m writing but I’m the only one who loves it, it definitely takes me longer to write then when everyone I know on tumblr and ao3 is sending lovely comments and encouraging my writing. Sophie, your comments ESPECIALLY are top tier motivators!!

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I read enough source material and fanfic to seriously immerse me in their emotions, and if I have a sudden epiphany like *guys they’d be feeling that emotion* I post about it vaguely, consume every tag any of my lovely mutuals leave on it, let that feed the writing juices, then just sit in the angst and let the words come to me. I can find the words pretty well once I’ve obsessed over their feelings long enough!!

19. What’s the most used tag on your AO3?

Humor, apparently, which I didn’t realize but actually makes sense. Lighthearted silly fanfic is my specialty! Let’s call humor my major and intense angst my minor ;)

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I would honestly go insane if anybody made fanart of my Star Wars time travel fic “Rebel Pilot” with just all of the different time traveled people from across the different time periods just standing in the same room looking confused. Also, if anybody made fanart of my fanfic with the Benedict twins hugging—I don’t care which angsty Benedict twin fanfic, just one of the scenes where they hug while both being visibly in tears—I literally would be so happy I’d scream. I’m not really an artist, though I do apparently go through kicks where my mind decides we’re drawing, so someone else putting visuals to a scene I love would be a dream come true!

Thanks for the ask Sophie—this was lots of fun!

[pyroclastic727]

Notes from the Amphibia panel!

• Matt Braly got into animation when a Pixar guy came to his school to inspire him. Then he took figure drawing classes, went to CalArts for 4 years, worked at Dreamworks storyboarding, and started pitching shows.

• Jessica Chandra went from live action to applying for the Nickelodeon animation internship. Then she worked on Tangled before Amphibia

• Roxanne Cole did character design at first and then switched to storyboards--then Matt reached out to them

• Joe Johnston followed Matt's path, even being college roommates--but before that, he and Matt went to California Summer School for the Arts (now Interspark)--along with Alex Hirsch and others. He got Matt to work on part of SU.

• They start with a clip! It's an animatic for the Marcy Theme Song Takeover, and Haley Tju sings

• IT ENDS WITH HER SINGING "HOPE NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS TO ME"

• What are challenges in balancing the show's tone, after the s2 finale?

Joe: The tone kinda marches along with you as you go, esp with s1 and s2, and it's been pretty easy.

Roxanne: I came on for season 3, so my experience is watching the tone evolve from the beginning to the end, which is a lot of fun. Stuff about when are we getting into plot, into fun episodic moments (there's plenty of both). The characters are complex and flawed, albeit fun and goofy.

Jess: We had to bolster our design team and add to our schedule to make Matt's vision come true.

• Favorite episode you've directed, and more specifically, favorite scene?

Roxann: it would be from season 3...

Joe: From season 2, is Bessie and Microangelo, since it's funny and lighthearted

• How does Amphibia explore Loss?

Matt: Loss is one of the many feelings that is part of this cocktail called life. It will be something that everybody deals with. These intense things that the characters go through create realistic scenarios. The running theme of Amphibia is that the price is paid and every dream costs something. It will get heavy. Kids love to see these things explored. You want the full spectrum of the human experience in the show.

Jess: I agree. Watching this, I was like but why, Matt, why? It is part of life, and I think it's gonna be interesting to see how this is gonna affect all the characters and how they deal with it.

Joe: being 13 is tumultuous, and it's all about change and loss.

Roxann: I'm trying to be real careful because I know more about s3...Anne from s1 to s2 has become a completely different character and they [characters] are gonna change more in s3

• What do you love most about your role on the show?

Matt: It's less about what I can do and more about inspiring others... it's good to see people do their best work because they're motivated and have a rapport.

[Jess, Roxann, and Joe agreed, that the people are important.]

Roxann's first directory experience was on season 3.

• How do you decide what needs more budget? How do you balance action and comedy?

Joe: You can plan ahead a little, and roll with the punches. Jenn Strickland storyboarded everyone when they fought the robots.

[It got boring and I zoned out. They discussed distributing episodes to boarders.]

• What inspired some of the episode

Matt: Studio Ghibli, Legend of Zelda

Jess: Movies that came out recently, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, magical world genre

Matt compartmentalizes. Which is why Anne does that as well.

[They discussed their hobbies outside work. Matt has none.]

A season takes about a year to produce. They are produced stacked so that you don't have year-long gaps between airing. Episodes are done in production order usually.

Holiday episodes are out of order because of when they need to air. (Christmas special might be out of order).

• Out of all the roles, which goes underappreciated or doesn't get enough attention?

Roxann: Production gets glossed over. Artists have terrible time management and production keeps them on track

Matt: Revisionists, who "spackle" everything and go unrecognized. Basically, they clean the boards and get underpaid for it.

Jessica: The Checker! At the end of the production line, they catch ALL the errors. They're also called continuity editors. Often people will forget the right number of props, such as swords.

• What is it like, balancing episodic comedy and story art? Both dealing with heavy topics and making them approachable.

Matt: it's designed to be an episodic show, one that you can watch out of order if needed--although jumping in can make you a little lost later on. He wants self-contained AND long-form stories. (This is probably why we have lore-bomb episodes matched with plot arc episodes). He was inspired by Steven Universe's pacing, especially with the buildup "to a fever pitch"--and he hopes they can do the same.

• Is there a story you haven't told yet, that you have always wanted to tell?

Matt: Had wanted to tell a story about someone stuck in the hospital, since he was stuck in the hospital once. (Might be the inspiration behind Marcy in the tube, implying she won't get out quickly).

Jessica: Mrs. Boonchuy's childhood--coming to America, raising a child...

• What are your feelings about pitching boards?

Matt: I personally really like it. The energy in the room when you're pitching a new board.

Roxann: It's not my favorite thing. I was more involved in the animatic process, and recording scratch was the only pitching I did. (She pretended to be Hop Pop and took psychic damage at her recorded voice).

Joe: I really enjoy pitching (he's great at it, does voices and plays music)--especially when you have time to prepare.

In the chat, the top questions were about LGBTQ+ representation. All were ignored in favor of the

• They showed the s3 trailer rough, with music written by JAKE NEUTRON

It's really quiet and sad

"Making friends and enemies" showed Marcy and Sasha respectively

Lots of reused clips

MARCY HAS A CRUTCH AND IS MOVING

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[myopinionhi]

A Will Solace Character Analysis: the Underappreciated Soft Side

I've noticed many fanfictions have Will Solace OOC. So I’ve been thinking about aspects of Will’s personality fans seem to either gloss over or exaggerate. Here, this post is me doing an in-depth analysis explaining Will Solace’s canon personality in the books, and how it can sometimes differ from fanfictions. Sprinkled in this analysis are tips to fanfiction writers on how they write Will as more in-character.

There is one major aspect of Will that people seem to ignore or underemphasize. Nico best explains it when describing Will in this quote

Jason was a fighter. You could tell from the intensity of his stare, his constant alertness, the coiled-up energy in his frame. Will Solace was more like a lanky cat stretched out in sunshine. His movements were relaxed and nonthreatening, his gaze soft and far away. In his faded SURF BARBADOS T-shirt, his cutoff shorts and flip-flops, he looked about as aggressive as a demigod could get, but Nico knew he was brave under fire. During the Battle of Manhattan, Nico had seen him in action - the camp's best combat medic, risking his life to save wounded campers.

To sum it up, Will Solace is a very chill and calm character. A lot of writers make Will more irrational, impulsive, overbearing, and emotional than he actually is. Will is not the type of character to create drama unless he's, as Nico puts it, "under fire." In other words, the intense side of his personality doesn't come out unless the situation is urgent or dire.

Fans remember during the Second Giant War how he gets angry and argues with Nico over Nico's health and shadow-traveling, so many assume Will is going to be this fiery over a lot of other things regarding their relationship. For example, fanfic writers may make Will controlling or overly sensitive with Nico. However, keep in mind, Will gets heated with Nico during the Second Giant War because Nico's shadow-traveling is killing him. This is how Will describes Nico's dire state.

"Coach Hedge told me all about your shadow-travel. You can’t try that again."

"I just did try it again, Solace. I’m fine."

"No, you’re not. I’m a healer. I could feel the darkness in your hand as soon as I touched it. Even if you made it to that tent, you’d be in no shape to fight. But you wouldn’t make it. One more slip, and you won’t come back. You are not shadow-travelling. Doctor’s orders."

Will is a healer. When he touches Nico's hand, he can sense how little sleep and food Nico has been getting and how Nico's being taken over by darkness. Nico is on the verge of death and hasn't cared about his health for a long time. Nico is also stubborn about it, so Will has to be aggressive in order to save Nico's life. This aggressive behavior is not the norm for Will, but it can sometimes come out when he has to assert control in a life-or-death situation.

Will is a calming prescence. He's a diplomat. He stops violence on multiple occassions.

He's one of the few people who's able to calm Clarisse's violent rage, and he does so in a gentle manner.

Clarisse pointed her dagger at Rachel. "What about their allies, huh? Did you see that tribe of two-headed men that arrived yesterday? Or the glowing red dog-headed guys with the big poleaxes? They look pretty barbaric to me. It would’ve been nice if you’d foreseen any of that, if your Oracle power didn’t break down when we needed it most!"

Rachel’s face turned as red as her hair. "That’s hardly my fault. Something is wrong with Apollo’s gifts of prophecy. If I knew how to fix it –"

"She’s right." Will Solace, head counsellor for the Apollo cabin, put his hand gently on Clarisse’s wrist. Not many campers could’ve done that without getting stabbed, but Will had a way of defusing people’s anger. He got her to lower her dagger. "Everyone in our cabin has been affected. It’s not just Rachel."

One of the most underrated Will Solace moments is when he stops a bloody battle from happening between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.  

But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. After weeks of waiting, agonizing and steaming, the Greeks and Romans wanted blood. Trying to stop the battle now would be like trying to push back a flood after the dam broke.

Will Solace saved the day.

He put his fingers in his mouth and did a taxicab whistle even more horrible than the last. Several Greeks dropped their swords. A ripple went through the Roman line like the entire First Cohort was shuddering.

"DON’T BE STUPID!" Will yelled. "LOOK!"

People are so used to seeing demigods, especially male demigods, being aggressive fighters that they can't wrap their heads around a brave and strong demigod who actively tries to avoid unnecessary conflict and destruction as much as he can.

And that's Will Solace's strength: he has the ability to prevent as much harm as possible.

Will is a difficult character to write. There's a lot of dueling factors with his personality. He's calm and pacifying while also being brave and assertive. He's fun and lighthearted while also being intelligent, logical, and grounded. He's laidback while also being responsible and hardworking. He's insecure but not melodramatic. He's very caring and protective but not pushy.

Will's personality confuses Nico sometimes too.

He’d always thought of Will as easygoing and laid back. Apparently he could also be stubborn and aggravating.

The trick to writing Will is to keep in mind his default personality is a soft and lighthearted character. Writers tend to overemphasize the hard side of his personality when his default personality is actually the soft side.

Think of the relaxing, lanky cat metaphor Nico uses for him. He and Nico bicker often, and it works for Will because he rolls with everything and doesn't take things too seriously. He's able to alleviate Nico's moodiness with humor, wittiness, groundedness, and patience. Nico affectionately calls Will a "dork" because Will usually keeps things light. Interestingly enough, he's able to be lighthearted without coming across as insensitive or an airheaded goofball, the latter of which is something Nico dislikes about Percy's personality. On a related sidenote, another way writers make Will OOC is they make him too dumb or too immature. I know I mentioned to focus on Will's soft side, but be careful to avoid that too. He's a SENSIBLE, lanky cat.

The way Will keeps his composure during a stressful situation by using laughter while still being mature is expressed well in this exchange with Apollo. (Yes, Will has a lot to manage.)

It was difficult to think of this young man as my son. He was so poised, so unassuming, so free of acne. He also didn’t appear to be awestruck in my presence. In fact, the corner of his mouth had started twitching.

“Are—are you amused?” I demanded.

Will shrugged. “Well, it’s either find this funny or freak out. My dad, the god Apollo, is a fifteen-year-old—”

“Sixteen,” I corrected. “Let’s go with sixteen.”

“A sixteen-year-old mortal, lying in a cot in my cabin, and with all my healing arts—which I got from you—I still can’t figure out how to fix you.”

“There is no fixing this,” I said miserably. “I am cast out of Olympus. My fate is tied to a girl named Meg. It could not be worse!”

Will laughed, which I thought took a great deal of gall. “Meg seems cool. She’s already poked Connor Stoll in the eyes and kicked Sherman Yang in the crotch.”

The fiercer side of Will's personality comes out only when the situation calls for it; this happens sometimes when he has to be a caring family member, a responsible healer, or a warrior in a dire situation. Even when he gets more forceful, he doesn't get more forceful than he has to.

Since Will has such a balanced and lighthearted personality, what are his flaws? What are the dark sides of his personality? There are four main things that stick out.

1. He's insecure about his self-perceived lack of abilities.

"I agree," Will said. "I wish I was a better archer … I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse. Actually, I wish I could use any of my father’s gifts to stop this war." He looked down at his own hands with distaste. "Unfortunately, I’m just a healer."

2. He sometimes struggles to endure the heavy responsibilities he has as a healer and as a protector to his family.

“I got it reattached,” Will told me, his voice shaky with exhaustion. His scrubs were speckled with blood. “I need somebody to keep him stable.”

I pointed to the woods. “But—”

“I know!” Will snapped. “Don’t you think I want to be out there searching too? We’re shorthanded for healers. There’s some salve and nectar in that pack. Go!”

I was stunned by his tone. I realized he was just as concerned about Kayla and Austin as I was. The only difference: Will knew his duty. He had to heal the injured first. And he needed my help.

3. He forces himself to bottle his emotions to keep his composure.

Will laughed under his breath. “I’m terrified. But one thing you learn as head counselor: you have to keep it together for everyone else. Let’s get you on your feet."

Here's a second example.

I rested my hand on Will’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back by dawn.”

His mouth trembled ever so slightly. “How can you be sure?”

4. He constantly worries about his loved ones.

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.”

In conclusion, Will Solace's personality is difficult to get correct. But don't worry, if you write Will as a laidback, witty cat in your fanfics, I guarantee he'll be more in-character than many other fanfics with Will Solace.

(Note: I am only human. If you believe I'm misinterpreting some aspects of Will's personality, feel free to express it. What I say isn't 100 percent the right interpretation.)

[seraphdarlimg]

wish I were (pt3)

 harry appreciates reader in his speech but finally talks to her when she runs off crying

part 1

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing WORDCOUNT - 3,501

_________________________________________________________

   My head was empty while I appreciated the company of a glass of wine and city view of the venue. I leaned against the railing of the small balcony nook I found, away from the crowd of people as Bowie was played faintly through the speakers.

I arrived to the party alone. Even if our relationship is awkward at the moment, I couldn't miss his birthday. Especially if it feels like it would be the last one I attend for a while. It took me only a few seconds to find him talking to his management team, a conversation that I didn't want to interrupt. And for the next twenty minutes I find myself isolated from everyone. Maybe because I know the relationship topic would inevitably come up at one point during any conversation I join into. But also because I didn't know how to approach Harry himself anymore. I can't bring myself to start the conversation, but for him, it seems like everything is good and normal.

I promised myself to only one glass of wine, so when I finished that rather quickly then intended, I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. As much as I've been trying to think like Harry and feel completely normal again, I hated how much our relationship has effected me. No matter how many times I've told myself that it's better this way, I've avoided hanging out with mutual friends to keep away from a conversation about Heather.

I took a deep breath and turned around, looking into the venue to catch Harry smiling and nodding to Gemma. One arm across his chest while his cheek rested against the other. He looked too good this evening, wearing a worn vest and matching bell bottom pants. I allowed myself to stare till his eyes glanced in my direction and catch mine.

I soften when his smile grows wider and he excuses himself away from the conversation. "For some reason, I'd knew you'd come here when we checked out the space." He says as he walks out into the balcony. "Almost had a reservation sign put up with your name on it."

He engulfs me in a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck. I slowly wrapped my arms around him and find myself resting my head on his broad shoulder when I realize this was our first hug in weeks. Oh how much I missed this feeling.

"I appreciate the thought but damn, am I thought obvious?"

"Oh I just know you too well and you love me for it."

I feel goosebumps, finding ourselves though pulled away, still in each other's arms while I smile up at him. I hummed In response before holding up a finger and turning to get the small box in my purse. When I turn back around he has a sly smirk on his face as he looks at the box wrapped with a yellow bow I hold out to him.

"Happy birthday Harry. I wanted to give this to you in person." He takes the box and unwraps the ribbon and opens it. I hold my breath, watching his reaction as he stares at a familiar string of pearls. He runs his fingers through them, a look of admiration set on his face as I twiddled my fingers.

"I always let you wear mine so I just thought you'd like a pair of your own."

"You know me well too."

"And you love me for it." I chuckled, immediately turning around and looking out onto the view as he situates himself next to me, the box once again closed and held tightly in his hands. "I'll wear these till I wear them out. Oh! We'll wear them at the same time like friendship necklaces." He tells me, giving me a side hug and squeezing my arm.

I laughed at the thought, "Only we could make friendship necklaces out of pearls worth hundreds of dollars."

We stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying each other's company. The elephant in the room knows it's been a few weeks since the last time we shared a moment alone. I'm just not sure how he feels about the reason why.

"Shouldn't you go back out there? Supposed to be a good host." I nudged his shoulder with mine, not wanting to take him away from his party and not knowing how much I could take how hard my chest is beating at the same time.

"Well you're here. Almost thought you wouldn't show since you're weren't early."

"Can't I be fashionably late for once?"

"Glad you are though, bubs. Honestly was about to spend the night a sad man when Heather canceled."

Here we go, the one topic I dreaded would come up. Of course it would be with him when it does. "Oh. Uh she isn't here?"

"No yeah she ehm. She left yesterday for Paris. Last minute gig she booked." He shrugged it off like it was not a big deal, but he's playing with the yellow ribbon in a way that tells me otherwise.

"I'm sorry, I'm sure she'll make it up when she get's back." He scoffs, undoing the bow he just made with the ribbon. "If by 'make up' you mean a few hours in bed before she jet sets to Milan for a few months then yeah."

"Harry, you should tell her that you want her here."

"No, no it's fine. She can do whatever she wants, it's her career."

"It's also your birthday. Shouldn't girlfriends or whatever you two are right now care about that stuff?" I sighed, gently taking away the ribbon and box from him, wrapping it back while he turns and rests his back on the railing, crossing his arms and facing the entrance back into the venue. "That's the thing, I don't know what she wants out of this. I never did even when we were really together. When we were, it's so picture perfect and then when we'd get busy with our own lives, it's just so on and off. We blamed it on bad timing and long distance in the end but now that I think about it, we didn't know where to go from there."

"Do you know what you want now?"

"I think I do."

I tilted my head, growing frustrated but kept my tone calm. "Then why don't you just talk?"

"Ugh you know I'm not a confrontational person bubs." He finally looks at me, seeing me roll my eyes while he laughs it off. I shake my head, tapping on the box as he reaches out to rub my arm. "You're a dummy, Harry."

"Why do you call me that?"

I glanced at him, shrugging. "What do you mean?"

"What happened to 'H' hmm? Been calling me Harry for a while." Though his tone was lighthearted, his brows are furrowed and I can feel his intense stare.

"It's your name isn't it?"

"Obviously, but...I don't know, never mind-"

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." We suddenly hear from inside, making us both turn at the same time to see Jeff holding a cake and a crowd gathered around him, slowly walking towards the balcony where the birthday boy was. His smile grows back and we exchange a look before I hand him back my present and walk back in towards the celebration.

                                                           ***

"Well, I am a man of a few words... but a good comedian doesn't repeat the same joke two years in a row. Ehm, I'm gonna do what I know best which is to spew whatever I feel from in here and hope it sounds somewhat poetic." He laughs a little at his own joke, making little hand gestures and smiling when he gets the laughs and smiles back from his words. His eyes stray to the people in front of him and to the side in thought at times, but he makes the effort to look at his friends, family members and co-workers who he is ultimately grateful for. My eyes soften at his toothy grin, knowing I look like a complete fool as I stare at him in complete adoration despite it being completely obvious how enamored I am for this man.

He gives short thank you's to the his band members and relatives he's grown close too. I laugh at his awkward jokes but also the narcissistic ones he makes that boost his confidence a bit. He has one thing prepared to say for everyone that makes them melt. "Thank you Jeff for having to deal with me another year as well, while you do look after me I am always appreciative of how you act more as an old grandpa than a dude in a business suit."

"I also want to thank Heather..."

My smile dies down a bit, knowing he would want to say something about her even when she isn't here. What made my chest hurt once again was the realization that he hadn't said anything about me yet. I had anticipated it, wondering what he would say but he had skipped right over me. I placed my hand on my knee to keep it from shaking as Harry said her name instead.

"I'll just text her later but I wanted to thank her for allowing me to write about her and being an overall beautiful person."

Thinking his speech was over and accepting how little I meant to him, he finally calls my name. I froze for a bit, looking up at him to see him already looking at me. He paused a bit, an amused look on his face when he sees how caught off guard I was.

"I saved the best for last for two reasons, one because she looks adorably silly right now..." He chuckles when I save myself with an eye roll and stuck my tongue out at him.

"And two, because I knew it'll be harder for me to come up with the words to describe how important of a person you are to me."

The curiosity and need to know what he would say about me, as well as the internalized emotional stress grew. His tone was softer and he seemed more calmer than he was a few minutes ago. The sentence already began making my heart pump and ache, and the recent events that had shaken up our relationship almost thrown out the window when he continued.

"You're so good to me and I can't thank you endlessly enough for everything you've done for the past year since I hired you. Not only was it the best decision I ever made because of how talented you are, but it also gave me the opportunity to really know someone like you. I was in a bad place when you met me and I'll never forget the kindness and patience you showed me even then. And though you call me a 'boomer' so many times and constantly come up with better melodies than me, it's worth every witty joke and bad pun just to see a smile that lights up the room. Your friendship is worth every time you complain about my kale chips."

His eyes were caught on mine from the beginning, both his hands are holding his wine glass though he held confidence in his speech. It felt like just us two in the room, his words giving tone of a very intimate moment shared between two bestfriends. I bit my bottom lip, can't seeming to stop smiling.

"And though you'll be off writing more amazing music with different amazing artists - only temporarily - know that I'll always be rooting for you and always will be -"

He breaks eye contact for a moment, but that moment was enough. "- will be uhm, proud of you." His smile grows ten times wider and he sounds relieved when he looks off onto the entrance of the venue as someone arrives. His eyes go back and forth, distracted but wanting to finish what he had left to say.

"Through thick and thin, love, you always were able to be there for me."

At that point he was fully looking at the person who arrived and I didn't have the guts to turn around to see who it was. My smile instantly dies and the warmth in my chest was just filled with a familiar pang that hasn't left all this time.

Because there she was, though out of breath and all over the place, just looked perfect as she grins and mouths 'happy birthday' to him while he haphazardly continues empty compliments that are now meant for her. My vision is blurry but my eyes are stuck on the actual person he deems important in his life. This lovely being who canceled last minute but makes it in time so he'd be truly happy.

He meant to say all of it to her. You just happened to be here when she wasn't. He doesn't love you like he loves her and he never will. He never had.

It was hard looking back at him, already knowing the way he looks at her. It was deja vu. She shows up and he's instantly mesmerized.

But I did and it suddenly was all too much. Because he glanced at me when he was saying his last words, seeing me silently cry in the middle of the crowd and looking distraught. And it all grew too claustrophobic, needing to get away and leave because all I felt now was anger.

"Hey, you okay?" Gemma asks, her brows furrowed in concern. I force a smile and nodded before excusing myself. "Yeah, just fine."

                                                         ***

 I pushed open the door and quickly walked out of the lobby and onto the parking lot, ignoring the distant calls of my name that grew louder and louder. I hugged my coat, trying to breathe but grew more frustrated with the growing ache in my chest. I sobbed, knowing he was catching up and didn't have the energy to deal with him right now.

"Hey, what happened - are you okay?" Harry had took hold of my arm, turning me around and all I could do was push him away. "Bubs, talk to me please."

"Stop, please I'm so tired and I physically can't be near you." I softly said, not bothering to wipe away tears anymore. He looks confused and I only scoffed at him, crossing my arms and moving back when he stepped closer, holding out his.

"What do you mean? Please let me- you're crying." He tries coming closer but I shake my head, dodging his embrace because I knew I would instantly melt.

"Yes, I'm crying! I've been crying and hurting all month because of you Harry!" I cried and he instantly freezes. "You keep doing this shit and all this time I've been coming up with excuses for it. That- I don't know, maybe that you can't help what you're feeling or that I really can't blame you- but now I do! Because you know exactly what you're doing and it's so shitty that I had to realize it this late."

"W-what are you talking about?" He's nervous.

"Oh shut the fuck up you know exactly what I'm talking about. You've avoided actually talking ever since we kissed, even before Heather came back into the picture. You completely pushed me to the side the second she gave you her attention and ever since then our whole relationship has changed Harry! And either you're so fucking oblivious or too much of a coward to face it because you just acting like everything was fine and normal broke my fucking heart even more. It obviously meant so little to you but fuck, it-"

I took a deep breathe only resorting to another sob as I placed a hand over my heart. "It meant so much to me."

I see him crying too, fumbling with his fingers and trying to hold those tears in only to lose some as he's stood still, not knowing what to do. He's guilty, his need to hold me and cry gives it away but I couldn't allow him that. And he knows it's something he doesn't deserve.

"I would of understood Harry. That you didn't feel the same fireworks and butterflies like I did when we kissed - as cliché as it fucking is. That you've fallen in love with Heather when she came back because I honestly still can't blame you for that, she's an angel. That you can't control who you love, but you never said anything. You just lead me on and didn't talk to me - why didn't you just fucking talked to me Harry, aren't we supposed to be best friends?"

He's now only inches away from me, taking hold of my hands because I was too worn out to even pull them back. "Yes! Yes, we are and I'm a stupid idiot. I'm sorry I- I should of just been upfront with you but I was so confused- and I still am. I just- I meant everything I said earlier and more because I'm always thinking about you bubs-"

I laugh at this shaking my head, not allowing anymore hope to built up. "I am! Mitch and Jeff are so fucking tired of hearing about it, but honestly so was I. But only because Heather was still in my heart and I just didn't know what to do or wanted and please believe me, I never ever wanted to hurt you."

"Why did you kiss me then?" I broke out of his hold, stepping back once again.

"I don't know darling, It just felt right and I didn't think. I-I just thought you'd leave if you knew I wasn't sure."

"Being honest about it with your supposed best friend was going to make it worse?"

"I just...I didn't want to lose you."

"But what now? you got her back, so what am I to you now? Was I supposed to be your distraction, the only option left for you to turn to? Because you fully well know that I'd drop everything I was doing just to comfort you when you were low Harry. I canceled set plans and promises because you simply asked me too, and I did since I'd always foolishly put you first because I thought you'd genuinely liked me."

"Bubs-"

"Don't. Harry you can't just put me on the side and come back to me later on if your relationships don't work out, that's not fucking fair! Ever since we met all I've been getting from you are mixed signals and I couldn't confront you about it because you'd always avoid the topic, making me feel damn silly for even thinking that way. It's just-  you can't build up expectation of something between us simply because I'm the safe second option - fuck that hurts saying that."

"I- I didn't mean to make you feel that way-"

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing Harry. You're just to arrogant to own up to it. So fucking immature, all you had to do was talk!"

"Okay, okay I'm sorry let's talk, please! Don't walk away like this, we can talk now and fix this."

"No. You only want to talk now because it's convenient for you. That's the thing Harry."

"Stop-"

"You say you didn't want to hurt me, but you didn't want to hurt yourself first. And I just- I just hate how long it took me to realize how mean you are Harry."

"Don't call me Ha- you don't mean that."

"I do! and you know it too." He's struck by it and I'm giving up. Hurt is evident in his face and it doesn't feel good to make him sad, but now all I feel is disappointment and pity for myself.  

"Since you couldn't have the balls to talk to me, I just always really wanted to tell you that I love you. Really fucking love you. As if you didn't already know, but... I guess it never really even mattered."

He calls my name deflatingly when I turn around, walking away. His last attempts of apologizing and begging for me to come back to him drift off into empty words that I block out as I stepped into my car and drove away. The time it takes for me to drive felt like days pass, but now turned to seconds when I turned off the engine and idled inside. I was still crying, still processing, all while replaying our last moment together. The one spent on the floor of the recording studio with a makeshift picnic before I spend the next days erasing it from my memory.

I sent him a text before going inside, turning off my phone right afterwards to avoid the rest of the incoming calls and text messages begging to fix what was left of us.

'I'll email you the lyrics to the last song tomorrow. Then I'm done.'

____________________________________________________________

A/N: i’m hurting. but this is the second to last chapter of this mini-series, pt4 is the finale and will be out soon :)

[stardustedangel]

You’re Scared of That?

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 2.1k

summary || you’ve always been perceived as fearless and independent by anyone who’s ever laid their eyes on you. little do they know that the littlest things can scare you.

warnings || cursing, fluff

author’s note || i really liked writing this so i hope you like reading it <3 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

You’d always been an independent, strong person. Sure also maybe a little impulsive and going into things head first, but strong nevertheless. You never needed help from anyone and if you did? Well, you sure as hell weren’t asking for it. You wouldn’t even allow her boyfriend Steve to help you with anything. You’d rather figure it out for yourself and revel in the satisfaction of that.

A lot of people on the team admire that about you. How you could always solve any problem whether big or small. And they also admired how nothing seemed to make you cower in fear. You were their strong, fearless teammate. Well, that was until a special training day.

It was six in the morning when you woke up to the blaring of your alarm. You quickly shut it off and reached over to Steve’s side of the bed with your eyes closed. They peeled open when all you could feel was a cold space. That made you groan slightly. You hated waking up so early for training, but at least it was slightly more bearable when the first thing you would wake up to was a kiss from your love.

You figured he was in the compound’s kitchen, maybe getting in a quick breakfast before training started. You got out of bed taking a shower before putting on your gym clothes. You sluggishly made your way into the kitchen seeing Steve in there leaning against the counter with a hot cup of joe.

His back was facing you so you approached, rather ungracefully if I might add, and wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling your cheek into his back. You heard him set this mug down and rub his hands over your arms.

“Good morning, gorgeous. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but I would’ve woken up better if you were there,” you pouted, though he couldn’t see, and kissed his shoulder blade.

Steve released himself from your grasp which made you jut your lip out more, but he quickly captured your lips with his. He pulled you against him and you wrapped your arms around his neck returning the kiss. It was when you lightly moaned into his mouth when you were interrupted. You and Steve both turned towards the sound of Bucky and Sam gagging.

Sam strolled into the kitchen with Bucky following behind. You heard Steve sigh as he returned to lean against the counter. He grabbed you until your back was resting against his chest. You crossed your arms annoyed and narrowed your eyes at the two.

Sam finished pouring coffee and turned towards the both of you. “Why don’t you guys find a room and stop sinning in the common space,” he dramatically motioned around him.

Steve rolled his eyes and tightened his grip around you. “Get a girlfriend and keep that same attitude.”

“Yeah,” Bucky dragged out, “we all know that won’t happen to Sam,” he teased with a smug grin. You and Steve laughed as Sam gave you all a blank stare.

“Ha ha ha,” Sam laughed dramatically before hitting Bucky upside his head to which Bucky responded with a scowl.

Sam quickly downed the rest of his coffee and clapped his hands together, “You all ready to get training going?”

You scoffed with a playful smile on your face, “We start in twenty minutes, or are you so eager to get your ass kicked?”

“Oh. So you think you can kick my ass? Mine? Okay, let’s head down there and settle this on the mat,” Sam spread his arms out in a challenging stance and a wide grin.

Bucky and Steve stood just watching the both of you with small grins on their faces, very amused at the interaction between the two. You removed yourself from Steve’s arms and opted to hold his hand in you. You started to make your way to the training room with a skip in your step.

“Follow me, boys, you’re about to watch me make a grown man cry.”

It was just the four of you heading down to the training room today seeing as everyone else was on a mission. You wish that there were more people here so that they could fully see you kick Sam’s ass with that smug grin on your face. Man, do you wish everyone could have been here today.

You let go of Steve’s hand and started to stretch a little with your eyes narrowed at Sam’s. Sam tried to return your stare with the same intensity, though it was slightly more playful than yours. You bring your thumb up to your neck and move it from right to left.

“Are you aiming to kill me,” Sam exclaimed. In response, you meekly shrugged your shoulders and returned to stretching.

While you were stretching Bucky and Sam were talking and you assumed Steve was behind you doing god knows what. You then felt fingers graze the skin of your waist that was left exposed in your gym attire. The fingers slightly ticked you and you giggled trying to get away from them to no avail.

“Steve,” you exclaimed with giggles clouding your speech, “let me go! I need to look big and bad so I can beat Sam,” you squirmed in his grip.

“Sorry, doll. I can’t keep my hand off of you,” he spun you around to bring your body against his.

“I thought we established no PDA in the common space. This is a common space,” Bucky deadpanned and Sam gagged.

You mocked both of them with a stupid look on your face and walked towards the map to start a sparring match with Sam.

“Good luck, doll. You won’t need it though,” Steve spoke before smacking your ass as you walked away. You looked back at him, ignoring the other two boys, and winked.

Now, who do you think the two other boys have their bets on? You. Steve isn’t just sure you’ll win cause you’re his girlfriend and Bucky isn’t just sure because you're his best pal’s girl, but also for the simple fact that you’re good at sparring. One of the best on the team, even. You were quick, smooth, and didn’t hesitate at all.

“You ready Wilson,” you asked as you shook your limbs out and rolled your neck releasing some tension.

“The real question is are you,” he retorted with a smirk. You shook your head back at him and readied your fists. Man..you were so ready to fuck Sam up. All in good fun of course.

You both started with some playful, loose jabs at each other. Trying to amp one another up even more than you already were. Bucky and Steve stood outside of the mat with smirks on their faces excited for what was to come. Steve always loved watching you fight. Your usual lighthearted exterior was replaced with a colder look and the way that your body moved made Steve’s head spin. He could never get enough of seeing you like this.

The atmosphere then shifted to something more serious. You started to hit harder and your moves became more agile. You were gracefully dodging the majority of Sam’s hits and the ones you didn’t have only grazed you. You had always been very quick and swift so Sam was having a little trouble keeping up with you. You were landing hit after hit, almost wasting time and wondering when you wanted to end Sam’s suffering.

“C’mon, doll. Don’t hurt Sam’s ego too much,” Bucky laughed.

“Shut up,” Sam calls out with a winded breath, “Your girl is fucking evil, Steve.”

Steve sighed lovingly while gazing at you, “My girl indeed.”

In the back of your mind you were shaking your head and laughing at the boys’ antics, but right now? You were deciding to cut Sam some slack. You put your left hand behind his neck and swept your feet underneath his, effectively knocking him off the ground. You then quickly maneuvered behind him and put him in a chokehold. Bucky and Steve gasped at home quickly. You took him down and the situation was so funny you started to laugh.

“Say, uncle, bitch. You can't stay like this forever,” you laughed with an evil grin on your face.

“Y/N, I will get out of this and then you will fear me.”

You laughed off his statement. “I fear nothing Sammy.”

You kept your strong grip on Sam’s neck and turned your head to the right a little, preparing to get comfortable until Sam decided to give up. You noticed something on the mat and once you registered what I was your heart started to race and your grip on Sam loosened completely.

“A spider!” You exclaimed jumping up from the mat and dramatically running behind Steve.

Steve’s eyes followed your movements and looked at you in total and utter confusion. He didn’t even know how to help since he didn’t know what happened. None of them did really. Steve looked at Bucky who was sharing the same look and they both gazed down at Sam while the mat. It wasn’t until Sam pointed at the spider on the mat that the realization dawned on them. Steve’s gaze went back to you and he was genuinely surprised that something like this scared you.

“You’re scared of that? Wow,” Sam scoffed, rubbing his neck and standing back up, “Didn’t you call me a pussy for not wanting to watch Annabelle.” Steve glared back at Sam with a look effectively shutting him up.

“Pal, he has a point. And we’ve never seen her like this,” Bucky said with a boyish grin and nodded his head towards you.

They really had never seen you this scared or even scared at all. Sometimes you felt worried about missions or felt really stressed when Steve was hurt, but those were things they understood. This one was not. You were obsessively running your hands all over yourself, feeling like something was crawling all over you. Your heart was still beating erratically and you didn’t know what to do.

Steve approached you and grabbed your hands, getting you to stop. You looked up and your eyes were glassy with stress and fear. Steve pulled you into him and stroked your back.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a small spider. You’re fine,” Steve tried reassuring you. Small chuckles left his mouth because he couldn’t hold them back.

“It was huge! Did we not see the same thing,” you asked, “and stop laughing!”

“It was small as hell, doll,” Bucky chuckled.

You looked at him from behind Steve and flipped him off with a shaky hand. You pulled yourself out of Steve’s arms and started pushing him towards the mat.

“Get rid of it so I won’t die,” you said bluntly with small sniffles.

“Y/N,” Sam paused and shook his head with a grin, “you’ve got to be kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding, Sam? Stevie please,” you pleaded with a pout.

Laughs left Steve’s mouth and his stomach started to hurt. He couldn’t believe this situation. You were actually scared of something. His strong, fearless girlfriend was scared of spiders.

And not only that, but you finally asked him for help with something. That in itself had his chest swell with pride. Steve’s laughs died down and he wiped at the small tears that were filling his eyes.

“Alright baby, I’ll get rid of it now.”

Once the spider was fully disposed of, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and wrap yourself around Steve.

“Thank you. You’re my hero,” you mumbled into his chest. You felt the vibrations of his laugh on your cheek.

You both didn’t even get a minute of peace before Sam spoke up. “Welp,” he paused till you were looking at him, “you’re a fucking loser. I won the match and you know what’s even more rewarding?”

Bucky answered for him as he pointed to the security cameras in the gym with a smirk, “This was all caught on camera, so everyone will know about this.”

“We’ll skip the rest of training today so sweet Y/N can rest,” Sam winked teasingly.

They both left the gym with a pep in their step, laughing at the defeated look on your face. You heard down the hall Sam yell out “winner” and after that silence fell into the gym. You rested your chin on Steve’s chest to look up at him and noticed the remnants of a smile on his face.

“I’m going to be embarrassed till the end of time,” you groaned, tightening your grip on Steve.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he kissed your forehead and looked down at you with a small, teasing smile, “you look cute when you’re embarrassed.”

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

taglist || @cloudystevie @donutloverxo @kyrarose16

(send me an ask if you want to be added <3)

[koalatydm]

Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcast Episode 5 - The Deluxe Elf Interview with Devon Giehl and Iain Hendry

Transcription Part 1 of 2 (includes Wonderstorm questions and Kuno's questions)

[Transcriber's Notes: This took me SO LONG to transcribe, like multiple hours and I'm only halfway done... But I will make it through at least this one episode because I want fellow Moonfam enthusiasts to have a text source, not to mention make it easier for deaf/HoH people to follow along. I guess I'll tag @kuno-chan since she said it was OK at the beginning of the podcast, sorry if I'm bothering you!]

KUNO: Hi guys, so I have a personal request for this particular podcast episode if you guys could tweet, post, both at least one piece of information that you learned from this particular episode, that you love, that inspired you, that you thought was cute, whatever. Like, I really—one thing that really tends to happen is that people listen to the podcast and they kinda just go about their day. We don’t actually see the information circulate through the community, which we really try to have creative questions—questions that are fun and explore the characters in different situations. And it would just be really, really cool—it would mean a lot to me to see this actually circulate through the community, actually circulate through the fandom, and see, you know, it would be awesome to see it be inspired—to inspire fan works, fan fiction, fan art, especially fan art. I just—we talked like a solid hour at least—really like a solid hour about Runaan, Rayla, Ethari, that family, um, and Moonshadow elves a lot. We talked a lot about that. And I think this is information that a lot of people really wanted, even if it’s in largely headcanon form. But Devon and Iain were so gracious and we talked so much about that family, and including Ruthari, and of course some Rayllum in there. So if you guys could live tweet, or even just one tweet, at least one tweet. Tag us, tag me, tag Hailey, tag @HotPotion, even if you send it directly to me on Tumblr, that’d be awesome and we’d retweet, reblog all your stuff. It would be good for the podcast and I just really want to see this information circulate through the fandom, so at least one tweet. Alright, um, let’s get to the episode though. Thanks! Hope to see you guys on social media about this.

—————

KUNO: Alright, hey everyone, this is the Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcasts with your hosts Tamika and Hailey, and we are here with Devon Giehl and Iain Hendry, two writers on The Dragon Prince at Wonderstorm, and Devon being actually the recently announced lead writer at Wonderstorm, so say hi everyone!

DEVON: Hi!

IAIN: Hi, this is Iain…

DEVON: Hi, I’m Devon… (laughs)

KUNO: And so we have a ton of stuff to get through today, um, a lot of questions, so—but we’re going to ask Iain and Devon a little bit about themselves first, since I think—I’m not sure if this is the first interview they’ve really had, personally, so uh, Hailey do you want to start—head that?

HAILEY: Um, yeah, sure. Uh, could you tell us about your roles at Wonderstorm?

IAIN: Uh, sure, uh—I’m also a writer at—official title “Senior Writer” at Wonderstorm. I was one of the writing team on the show, not quite as early as Devon, who was basically employee 1 after the founders but um, I joined sort of, end of 2016 when season 1 writing was really starting to get rolling, and was you know part of the process all the way through all the seasons. Uh, and since this—it’s such a small start up company, all the writers take a bunch of other, like, production roles on the show. Like, throughout all three seasons we’ve done, like, continuity notes work, we’ve given feedback on like every step of the production process. And then the other kind of side things we have, like you know, very top secret game that we’re making in here. And like, kind of straddle the line between the show writing and the game so that that’s all kind of on point and feels like it’s in the same universe with the same characters as The Dragon Prince, but ah, can’t say too much about that just yet.

DEVON: Iain does a lot of—a lot of secret work (laughs). Um, yeah as for me, I’m also a writer on The Dragon Prince and my—I was a Senior Writer until very recently, and now I’ve been made into a Lead Writer, which means I just get to flex a lot. Um, but I started in, I think the very, very end of 2015 when Wonderstorm was first getting off the ground as like a tiny, tiny startup. And we were basically four people in a room about, I don’t know, like 20 ft by 10 ft. It was really, really awful—

IAIN: Really smelly.

DEVON: Really smelly, really tiny, like only a skylight for a window, it was great. And I—so I was involved in like the earliest of brainstorming for the show. I helped sort of like put together a lot of the pitch deck when we you know took it around to studios and like, I named like most of the characters—is like my most self-indulgent claim on the show cause I got to do a lot of really silly stuff. Um, but yeah, and then I like help out on a million other fronts at Wonderstorm too because we’re a small company and—yeah, the funny thing about the—the small tasks we have, like you mentioned continuity checks. Um, we often had to make sure that Callum’s backpack and book and Rayla’s bindings were always correct, and that was kind of, the funniest and most intense, like, stage of production ever. Cause you would, you know, watch one shot and then the next shot would come up and Callum’s backpack would have disappeared. So we had to be like, “OK, let’s give Callum backpack back on.”

IAIN: Yeah, and it’s not just for accuracy, but like, the way fandoms operate, like, we just knew if Rayla’s binding reappeared sometime, it wouldn’t be viewed as an error. People would be like “WHAT DID THE KING GET UNKILLED WHAT HAPPENED OVER HERE”.

DEVON: No it was just the—

KUNO: Oh, yeah.

IAIN: Woo!

DEVON: —continuity’s way harder than anyone thinks it is (laughs). It’s a lot.

KUNO: Oh bless you guys for knowing that though cause we—we totally would. Like, think, there was a point I remember saying that they changed Viren’s eye color because they didn’t want too much continuity with Rayla’s eye color and I feel like we were really that close to having a ‘Viren is Rayla’s real father’ issue. We really were. Somebody had to have thought about that issue (laughs).

DEVON: I actually think there is—there’s still at least one shot in the show where Viren has the wrong eye color and if you can find it, congratulations (laughter in background). That’s where we missed—missed it. So it’s in there somewhere.

KUNO: Xadia CSI (IAIN laughs). So you two are married, um, can you tell us what it’s like being married writing partners?

IAIN: You wanna go?

DEVON: Um, yeah, I mean it’s—we actually knew each other professionally before we dated, so it wasn’t like we—it’s sort of like, it was easy for us to—to remain work partners because that was how we existed in the first place. Like I met Iain when I interviewed him for a job and I—he was great (IAIN laughs), he was fun, he was all right.

IAIN: Apparently I passed.

DEVON: But um, so yeah we had a professional relationship before we had a dating—‘dating’ relationship. Um, so it’s strange because a lot of people will say like, “Oh, that’s probably terrible. You probably, like, become absolutely sick of each other” but somehow we’ve managed to—to have like, two relationship patterns where when we’re at work and we’re working on writing stuff we have this very professional thing going on and then at home, we’re just married idiots and we have a lot of fun. So like, I don’t know, I’m never tired of you, personally.

IAIN: No, (DEVON laughs) yeah I mean when we’re writing it’s generally like, Devon’s the one on the keys uh, you know, putting the words in and so on, and it will kind of bounce back and forth between like, I’ll have the idea for the—how the scene should flow and I’ll kinda narrate bits and then we’ll go back and smooth things over. But I mean, I could imagine that with some people it would get tense, but I think Devon and I, we’re just absolutely the most comfortable with each other and neither of us takes it personally when it’s like, “that line that you pitched isn’t working” or “this joke could be funnier”, anything like that.

DEVON: It’s usually Iain who’s—cause I usually type cause I type really too fast.

IAIN: She’s really too proud of her typing (laughs).

DEVON: I type super fast, it’s my only real talent, but—like I’ll just sort of go off on some sort of like incredibly unnecessary, long description of something and Iain will sort of let me get about like four or five lines into this unnecessary nonsense and he’ll just sort start going like, “OK so like, do we really—do we need that? I mean, you know, could we sort of parse this down a little, a little less, a little less”. And then I, just like, “Ugh, fine” (laughs).

IAIN: But um, every word she writes is great.

DEVON: Mmm (skeptically)

IAIN: It’s perfect.

DEVON: Completely not true. Also in our scripts I think like—

KUNO: Aw.

DEVON: —in terms of the way that we work professionally, I think like a lot of my strengths are in—in really almost self indulgent levels of drama and he can kind of pull me back from being too indulgent on those fronts. And then I think that Iain is objectively absurdly funny and so when you kind of look at our episodes usually everything that’s pretty funny and lighthearted and like the sense of levity often comes from you and then if there’s anything that just feels really painfully sad it’s probably me?

IAIN: I’m the funny one.

DEVON: (laughs) It’s true.

KUNO: Aw, I feel such a connection to you Devon, because I’m actually, episode 3 was actually one of my favorite ones because I love all that like domestic stuff. I love just kind of like—oh, I don’t know what you call the trope, like a safe house trope where you go somewhere, you’re still kind of in the adventure but we’re in a space right now, a narrative space where people are safe, if that makes any sense. Like you—if you’ve ever seen How To Train Your Dragon, like (T/N I don’t know what was said here, sorry!), the base is the safe place, that kind of thing. So, I totally get that, I actually see—episode 3 was one of my favorites outside of pretty much every episode where Rayllum was a thing. (laughter from multiple people)

HAILEY: The whole season basically (laughs).

KUNO: Pretty much the whole season, um. I think there was one more question about two.

HAILEY: Yeah sooo.

KUNO: Before we get to the elves.

HAILEY: Yeah, definitely. Uh so it was mentioned that you’re now lead writer, Devon, and can you tell a little bit more about what that entails if you can, and how that’s been going?

DEVON: Yeah, I mean… I actually don’t know what I can say about it, um… I think it—it means that uh, for future Dragon Prince stuff I’ll sort of like take a bit more of an active role in leading the—the development and the storylines and things like that. It also means that from a company perspective um I’ve been kind of involved in some other side stuff that Wonderstorm is quietly looking into developing and um I help a lot with other IPs that we would love to make a real thing someday and that’s kind of all I can say about it I think or I’ll get in trouble.

HAILEY: All right, that’s great, that’s good to know, thank you.

KUNO: The Dragon Prince 2 (laughter from multiple people). I’m totally joking everyone that’s not a thing so don’t take that for—

HAILEY: Wow.

KUNO: I’m joking.

IAIN: Two dragons.

DEVON: The Dragon 2 Prince.

KUNO: Yeah. OK also if there’s anything that you guys say that you want redacted this is probably not going up for another week because I have to get our reaction episode out. So anything you guys think about that you’re like, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that” just message us and we’ll redact that. Yeah, cause we know that—

HAILEY: Or just say it. Just tell us, like, what’s—

DEVON: Hopefully we have some self-control but—

KUNO: Okay, so we are going to get really indulgent here and I think this is going to be really in Devon’s wheelhouse. We have a lot of questions and a bunch of the scenarios so try to get through as much of it as possible. Um so the first question is can you tell us more about the Silvergrove? What is the government system like in Silvergrove? Who runs it? If you could tell us that is that the only—at least like the leadership role? Um, is that the only Moonshadow elf village? And also do they actually get any real daylight because I noticed when the illusion thing happened it just got shady and I’m like, “They might be taking this Moonshadow thing too far”. Like the elves—do they really like that much? So like tell us about the Silvergrove and where Rayla grew up.

IAIN: So I guess it’s probably worth just starting off with a kind of blanket like, ‘if it hasn’t been in the show, we can’t say it’s 100% fact. A lot of this is just gonna be what kind of we thought, rough shape of things happen in our heads—‘

KUNO: Yeah, absolutely.

IAIN: —going into the writing and so on. So you know, don’t come after me with any, uh, fandom lawyers, anyone. But um yeah, I guess like it’s sort of—it’s most useful for us to think about it in comparison to how the Sunfire elves, like clearly they have very structured society. They have a queen, obviously, and they have large cities and so on whereas we think Moonshadow elves live in, as you saw, much smaller communities. And I think the Silvergrove is not the only one of those, it might be one of the better known ones where clearly the best assassins come from. But uh, I think are other ones out there, um, and maybe even Moonshadow elf people do not know where all the other ones are. Obviously the Silvergrove is hidden and maybe they don’t even have access to all the other ones. So I think there’s a sort of community run vibe to things. I think you know when they decided to—to ghost Rayla, and before that Rayla’s parents, I think that was probably a ‘let’s all come to a consensus before we make a decision about something like this’. I think, Devon, if you want to talk about the kind of like sunlight vibes things, because that was a big part of your driving force behind how this episode looked and felt.

DEVON: Um… well… first, I will say that it was potentially from the top down a complicated visual decision to have episode 3 take place in a Moonshadow elf shady forest grove and also the kingdom of sunlight.

IAIN: Yup.

DEVON: It created a couple production problems in terms of like the way we wanted the Silvergrove to look was very like evening themed and cool colors and you know shaded. And I had this really sort of self indulgent thing where I really wanted it to be as close to night time as possible and yet the story line in Lux Aurea was clearly taking place in the middle of the day. So we came to this sort of compromise that you know it is technically daytime through the whole day and there is enough tree cover that it’s already pretty shadowy but also I think there is some magic at play that’s sort of like generally um shrouds the whole thing in more of like a night time vibe. And my inspiration for that was I’m a big World of Warcraft player, or was I don’t super play a ton anymore but I really loved Ashenvale and some of the night elf regions and they had that similar thing that no matter what time of day it was it always felt like at least dusk or like this sort of like ever—ever shaded feeling. And I indulgently kind of wanted that to be where Rayla came from. So that’s what that’s about.

IAIN: Yeah and I think they’re magical beings. They don’t need vitamin D from the sunlight or anything like that. They’re totally fine if they just get moonlight every so often.

DEVON: But yeah, don’t write a script that has, you know, moon themed place and sun themed place at the same time. It was a… questionable choice (laughs). But I think it turned out—

KUNO: Yeah, ‘cause I was wondering—I was wondering—I was like “Okay” because a lot of the stuff you run through—you run the okay, if I were to write a fanfiction how do I use this. So it’s like, do they just never like—if they like—if Callum were to say live in the Silvergrove would he just have to get used to the fact that like it’s just never totally bright daylight or unless you leave the Silvergrove in the forest, uh, and like—that type of—is that what’s kind of like going on, they just like their shade?

DEVON: I think they like their shade. It’s like Scotland in the winter.

IAIN: Oh yeah, except we all get miserable by around about February when we haven’t seen sunlight in several months. But um yeah, I think it’s kind of like yeah, a combination of ‘oooh, magic’ and also just extremely, like, thick tree cover in the deepest parts of the forest. But I don’t think you have to travel too far. But uh, I think there’s a reason why everyone in that town was a Moonshadow elf and there were no Sunfire elves or random humans just like, chilling and living there. I think only the most goth of kids would be able to live in the Silvergrove without going a little bit mad.

DEVON: I mean you only have to go as far as the adoraburr field which clearly still gets a significant amount of daylight.

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: And you said there’s not really like a leader. They do as a community, but is there anyone that like makes decisions, like is there anybody that like if they were to go to somebody, like if they have like village leadership decisions. And obviously, um, blanket statement that all this we assume is kind a little bit of headcanon so it doesn’t have to be like for gospel, but you know for purposes of writing stuff.

DEVON: Um the way I thought about it—well, to back up a tiny bit, there was actually a version of the story where there might have—this was super, super early on, we were thinking about how the story might play out and we talked about there being potentially another Moonshadow elf leader type character that they would meet who, you know, was the one who ultimately called for the Ghosting decision. But that didn’t really fit the sort of, like, very personal nature of the story we wanted to play out with Rayla specifically. Um but thinking about that and the way that we were, you know, trying to shape it—I would imagine that like the assassins are sort of like a specific group that live in the Silvergrove which is otherwise—it’s not all assassins, like, not everybody there is an assassin. And I think that means that like you know Runaan was the leader of the assassins so he might consult with the leader of the blacksmiths who may be someone over Ethari but maybe it’s him now who might consult with the other general leaders—I don’t know. Like I think it’s more of a counsel of different groups than one single authority. It just seems like that would be a better fit for Moonshadow elves than the sort of like very, very strong-army, structured, high-and-mighty feeling that the Sunfire elves have, so, does that make sense?

KUNO: That totally makes sense, a little bit like an oligarchy, I think I had the idea that like they sound like they like a counsel. Like it sounds like a elven conciliatory.

DEVON: Yeah I think like someone might say, like obviously something horrible has happened and Rayla is exactly the person we thought she was. I’m calling for a—a ghost vote. And then you know—

IAIN: With a cooler name than that.

DEVON: No I think it’s canonically, I’m sorry—

IAIN: Ghost vote?

DEVON: The canon is “ghost vote” now.

IAIN: Okay.

DEVON: But yeah, they would all sort of like weight in kind of like a town hall scenario about of like why this is obviously the correct call and they would all sort of like have to come to some sort of agreement about what to do versus the Sunfire queen just being like “mph, time for the light, light decides!”

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: Okay um the next question being almost a little on that, does Ethari regret, um, what does he—does Ethari regret doing the banishing spell now that he knows the truth about Rayla?

DEVON: Oh absolutely 100%. But I don’t think he would have the power to—to reverse it. Like I think he could do a quick charm to help reverse it in the moment just to speak with her but ultimately it would take a lot for him to undo it and I’m not—we haven’t talked about what he’ll get up to in the meantime, but I don’t know he would be able to pursue it so directly—I’d have to talk about it, I think it would be an interesting side thought to think about how he might pursue redeeming her in the eyes of her people knowing what he knows, but—

IAIN: Yeah I think given that we said it would take everyone to do it collectively and make an agreed decision it would similarly everyone would have to understand the truth and go back on it and ‘oh I saw her one time and she said she didn’t do anything wrong probably isn’t enough to overturn that. But yeah I think he probably felt some regret even at the moment, but you know he’s in some of the worst grief of his entire life and he’s not going to make perfect rational decisions. And I’ve seen you know some people were slightly upset that he got so angry with Rayla in the moment of seeing her but I think like when you first see the person that you’ve tried to convince yourself sort of took the most important person in your life away from you, you’re gonna feel a big mess of feelings and it will bring up some grief that maybe you thought you were just—just starting to get over, so ah. Yeah I think hopefully he can turn that around in the years to come but they’ve all had a rough time. They’re at war. It sucks (DEVON laughs). Don’t go to war, kids.

KUNO: Hailey did you want to ask the next one or did you want me to?

HAILEY: Sure I can ask it. Could you—so I mean—you mentioned a stuff—a couple things about their government system and whatnot, but is there anything else you could tell us about Moonshadow culture, like what their day to day is like, and what it means to be a Moonshadow elf?

DEVON: Um I do think that a lot of the fandom I’ve been pleased to see has picked up on this sort of idea of a fairly rigid culture and you know there’s a lot of importance placed on things like honor, loyalty, and the ability to commit to things. And um I think that could come off as pretty strict but I actually think it comes from the place of valuing a close knit community. And I think, like, to the idea that we said like they probably have some kind of counsel instead of some single authority kind of ruler. It’s—I think their day to day would be very much going about their business in ways that support each other you know? Like does that make sense? It’s—you go to the blacksmith and he does work for you and it’s friendly and conversational but it’s productive—it’s all very for the good of the community.

IAIN: Yeah I think early on in season 1 even Rayla says that you know they’re not really meant to show their feelings. So I think everyone kind of commits to doing their task for the good of the village and doesn’t gripe about their day to day until something bad happens as the entire series to this point has been driven by. But um yeah I think they uh—they’re just committed to having a good, small, close knit village life and all supporting each other the best they can. And then occasionally the dragon queen tells you to go kill someone and that’s your job so you better go do that without complaining about it.

DEVON: I think we use the words “reclusive yet intimate” in the article we put up about the two moon creatures, the moonstrider and the shadowpaw. And I liked that a lot because I think they’re reclusive in the sense that they’re a little bit shut off from the wider world and they’re um isolationist in their preservation of their own culture but they are very close to each other and that is something that they hold at such an—like a preciousness level but it’s also a bit extreme, like if you betray that in any capacity like obviously they take that very seriously. And so it’s a double edged sword if you will, to have a community that supportive and that close but also your ability to perform all of yourself for the good of that community can be your undoing so—

KUNO: No I actually kinda get that um ‘cause I’m Pacific Islander so I think we’d call that what you’d call a collectivist society where it’s like the needs of the group supercede needs of the individual so I kinda like I—it’s not the extreme I think that they are because they’re very like reclusive but um I kinda live like that in a little bit of way. It’s what I grew up with. So I actually totally get that which might be why I like that so much (multiple people laugh). Um so the next question would be how does the banishing spell work that, um, that was used on Rayla politically and magically? I think we’ve talked a little bit about politically already but magically is—I’m assuming it’s a collective decision or does each person, like, opt in? Like could Ethari have opted out of doing it or did we—did they all have to agree?

DEVON: I think everybody have to agree?

KUNO: And how is it broken?

DEVON: I don’t think you can opt out?

IAIN: Um I think ‘how is it broken’ is something we definitely want to save for—for the future uh we really hope that Rayla manages to undo that. In terms of I think that it’s just culturally ingrained that you wouldn’t opt out. Um I think they would probably just argue forever until they manage to come to an agreement. So I—yeah I don’t think there’s you know half the elves in that village who are seeing Rayla and were like “Oh hey Rayla how’s it going?” I think uh they all came to the collective decision. That’s kind of the political angle. Um sorry, what was the other part? Magically how it works?

KUNO: Yeah? How would you do it?

IAIN: I—again, you know if it’s not in the show it’s not canon, but I sort of inspired by how the entrance spell works where they do a dance and there’s a ritual and I imagine it’s kind of similar. Like I think there’s a lot of that kind of like ritualistic style of magic and it’s kind of like what you see when they put the flowers out onto the water as well. There’s you know a collective dance probably involving a lot more people, a lot more cool intricate runes that happen only with a much more somber mood than the fun, happy times of Callum and Rayla dancing around in the forest. Um so yeah it’s probably—I would imagine it’s probably tied to some whatever the saddest phase of the moon is and that’s when they all get together and really somberly and really sadly uh commit to never seeing this person again. At least that’s the part of the plan. An interesting question that I think could be something that fanfiction writers such as yourself could get into is has any one of these ever been broken before or have they all been pretty sure that they would never need to go back on it? Is that going to be something that Rayla is going to figure out for the first time ever or is there a precedent for this happening. And we don’t have an answer right now but I think that would be a cool story to think about and write.

DEVON: Oh man I love the saddest phase of the moon idea. Imagine if they do it at the new moon because it’s like the moon’s face is hidden forever. Whoo.

IAIN: Whoo.

DEVON: Sad.

KUNO: Maybe we’re birthing things while we’re doing this interview. I actually think it would be like Callum does the Historia Viventum thing and it would be so—cause now I’m just imagining this whole village doing this sad dance which is the Banish Rayla dance essentially. And like that would be so sad for Rayla to witness that just for the drama of seeing her entire village decide to just not see her ever again. And that’s like wow, I’m so sad now.

DEVON: I love sadness.

IAIN: Yeah Callum just crushing a series of Moon Opals to show such a clip show of all of Rayla’s saddest history moments (laughs).

DEVON: Oh god.

IAIN: That’d be great.

DEVON: Thanks Callum.

KUNO: Thanks Callum. Um, she’d love him anyway. But um okay so some of my favorite stuff, what was it like for Rayla when her parents had to leave her to live with Runaan and Ethari and what was that transition like for them all? How old was like Rayla too?

DEVON: This was one that we’ve had a couple different ideas about so this is another one that’s like heavy not quite canon bubble. Like if we actually end up doing a story that involves some of these details it’s likely to change and be slightly different but the versions that I’ve liked have involved her being pretty young. And because honor is such a you know key part of Moonshadow culture I think like overall it was something that she felt you know sad about because she knew that she wasn’t going to be directly seeing her parents very often anymore. And—but it was uh such a huge honor that she felt you know pride in what her parents were being selected to go do. You know, act as Dragonguard and serve as these sort of like honorific, um, warriors that left the collective of the Silvergrove to go represent Moonshadow elves in the service of the Dragon Queen. And I think she had—she grew up being told what an honor that was and how much pride she should have in her parents because that is such a special thing. And then I think like it speaks a lot to how proud she was when she believed that they ran away and abandoned that duty because you know, how could they? If that was their reason for leaving her when she was a child and then they ran away from that job, like, how important could it have really been? And then you know, I’m sure that makes her feel very, very small. It made her feel so hurt that she told Callum at first that they were dead so she took it pretty hard.

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: But I think the other thing about it that we’ve sort of kicked around is that like, Runaan and Ethari were Rayla’s parents’ close friends and I think she was familiar with them enough that she didn’t feel like she was being you know left with two strangers. It’s sort of just like, you’re going to be under the care of people who are already very, very close to you and care about you quite a bit.

IAIN: Yeah I think with like Moonshadow elves in general the thing I think about a lot is like the good and evil that comes from suppressing your true emotions to show a different face to the world and I think we see a lot of that in Rayla. Like I think she probably committed pretty hard to Ghosting her parents because she had this like big mess of like sadness that she’d left but at least the soft landing of Runaan and Ethari to live with and so on. But believing like this sadness is worth it because they’re doing something so noble and then the betrayal of that—it just came out in kind of a messy like toxic way, right, where now she’s committed to becoming an assassin at a really young age in a way Ethari doesn’t agree with and so on. But I mean on the other side I think having a strong handle on your emotions is often one of Rayla’s strengths right? Like we saw in episode 5 of this season after she’s going through a whole lot of stuff, both her family situation and this new development with Callum, she’s just able to like operate as a cool badass extremely cool assassin without letting any of that affect her. But you know I think there’s balance in how you handle your feelings and how you externalize them in a good way that people can learn from, but sometimes you gotta—you gotta work (laughs).

KUNO: That makes sense. Oh well yeah I always had this personal headcanon which I kind of like incorporated into my fanfictions where she felt abandoned by her parents so in a way it’s kinda like slightly—kinda like that except it was all those feelings that have been repressed from years and years basically came out when she felt like—like the abandonment came to like the head when she felt like they had left because they had ran away—they kind of like ran away like from her.

DEVON: Oh yeah, absolutely.

KUNO: In a way—their duty to—

DEVON: I think that validates the suppressed feeling, you know.

KUNO: Yeah, since their duty to the Dragonguard was in it’s own way more important and that’s something that was like okay because it was an honor but since they ran away it’s like obviously it was more important in a terrible way, if that makes any sense?

IAIN: Yeah I mean I think it’s like she did her best and she’s trying to be a grown up but it’s hard at a young age to accept that you know there are meant to be higher callings than a bond between parents and children, right? Like that’s hard for her to grasp and she probably didn’t express that openly ever really. But I think it really did help that she had two genuine loving father figures ready to accept her with open arms even if one of them did train her to become the best assassin of her generation, which again I wouldn’t advise to—to most parents out there.

DEVON: I do think like even that was considered, you know, honorable. It was you know, you’re going to—not only are you going to get to live with Runaan and Ethari, like Runaan is the leader of the assassins, or at least maybe at that point in time he wasn’t the leader but he was very up and coming. I don’t know, it could be either or, but that I think was probably something that she fully embraced and fully wanted, like you know, ‘this is my purpose in life, this is my calling, my parents have gone off to do their calling and it’s a great honor for them, and this is my path and what I’m going to do with myself’. And that didn’t end up being true but it was probably a comfort to her at the time.

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: That makes a lot of sense. Moving on, okay, this, we’re getting real indulgent now—do you know what Ethari and Runaan’s wedding was like and what are Moonshadow elf weddings are like in general?

DEVON: Um, I have a, so a lot of the dancing stuff is because I have an enormous soft spot for tropes involving cute dances, like, just a huge, huge soft spot. And the thing that comes to mind is, if you’ve seen the movie Prince of Egypt, which is such a weird reference—

KUNO: Yeah, I love that.

DEVON: —the scene where he and the girl, I forget her name, they do the thing—

KUNO: Tzipporah.

DEVON: —with the ribbon and they do the cute little dance with the ribbon. For some reason that’s what I think of when I imagine what a moment in their wedding would look like would be a dance with a ribbon that they sort of use to—you know, Moonshadow elves love ribbons, I guess, but this is a good ribbon! It’s a love ribbon. But anyway, that’s just my idea. I love that specific—that song that, “Through Heaven’s Eyes”, it’s during that sequence but that—

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: —would be my go-to inspiration for like, it’s like that and then you know, everybody dances with them because Moonshadow elves like to dance.

IAIN: Yeah, I kind of like the idea of the—there’s a lot of these symbols that are sometimes extremely sinister. I mean I think Ethari even kinda calls this out when he shoots the—the Shadowhawk arrow to inform the queen that her son is in fact alive. But like, Moonshadow elves believe that death and life are not good and evil, they’re mirrors of each other and an important part of the cycle. And you know, the moon has cycles and that’s an important part. So I think thinking about all the rituals and stuff that they have, which initially you’re introduced to as ‘let’s go murder someone party’, like if that was—there was a kind of inverse to that that was a big part of their wedding ceremony I think that would make a lot of sense to Moonshadow elves because this is two people binding their lives together forever. Binding for a shared purpose in a good way and not the grim ‘let’s go kill Prince Ezran’ kind of way.

KUNO: Yeah. Cause naturally this is involving like several ships so I’m like, I had to ask that. And on the piggyback of that, as detailed as possible, can you describe courtship customs for Moonshadow elves?

DEVON: Oh man.

KUNO: I mean like dating—dating customs, like a headcanon even if it’s just headcanons.

IAIN: Devon is deep in thought (laughs).

DEVON: I’ve never—like for some reason the—the headcanons that I’ve thought about are more specific to like, Runaan and Ethari than I’ve really sort of like branched out into thinking about how Moonshadow elves do this in general. So I imagine there’s intended—there’s some formality to it, I would imagine, in that like, because they’re so, you know, purposeful and thoughtful with how they express their feelings if at all, I think it would be, you know, exchange of gifts like small favors and making your purpose known in a way that starts small but has purpose. So I think like, there’s versions where Ethari would put extra detail into the work he was doing for Runaan which you know, could be perceived as a sign of affection or Runaan was coming to Ethari asking him to work on his weapons or metalcraft stuff a little bit more than was necessary and—stuff like that, where it’s a bit stiff and difficult but I think like once—once there is clear reciprocation I think there can be more of an open discussion about it, does that make sense? But I think Runaan probably struggled with this a whole lot, like, ‘cause he’s—did I, it might have been you who I responded to on Twitter but someone asked me something along these lines and I think Runaan had a really hard time even with this first sort of like simple offerings of affection because that’s just him. Like he sort of takes that aspect to an extreme. Like he has a hard time being like “here is the way I wish to express myself in a soft way and not with a—a sharp object. So I think Ethari had an easier time because he’s just more naturally soft (laughs).

IAIN: Yeah I sometimes think that Runaan is the most Moonshadow elf of all Moonshadow elves, but like, you know, it’s—

KUNO: I was gonna say that.

IAIN: Yeah, um, you know when they have such a hard time showing their feelings and they sometimes feel like they’re not supposed to and so on, and so Runaan is trying to pick up on the tiniest possible hints through professional exchanges and so on. And I think when it’s actually time to confess that there’s a feeling there you would, I think especially Runaan would have to be 100% sure and then do it entirely in private, the most private situation possible where there could be no possible spies who could see this if it was going to go wrong because that would just be the end of his entire life, obviously.

DEVON: Yeah he would bind himself to his own death (laughs).

IAIN: Yeah, that’s it. Gonna assassinate myself because I confessed love and it didn’t get reciprocated. That’s that.

DEVON: It’s over.

IAIN: So yeah, lot of—lots of awkward advances where they’re trying—trying to have the escape hatch of “Oh I didn’t really try to suggest that I liked you, this was just me asking you for a professional favor by let’s never speak again”.

DEVON: And then he comes back the next day (DEVON and IAIN laugh).

KUNO: Oh my goodness. Uh I felt—I—I kinda like headcanoning now that Ethari tells Rayla all this “how I met, you know, your surrogate dad” kind of stuff. Like, and that’s how she—she’s like, this is how you do love apparently.

DEVON: I do think that like, yeah, he had a much easier time and probably picked up on stuff. And to me there’s a side of Ethari that you don’t really get to see in the episode because he’s very sad. I think he’s a—he does have a playful side and I like to imagine that while Runaan was doing his, like, really just not-the-best attempts to display affection early on, like Ethari would pick up on them but not necessarily give the full signal back. And he played a little bit oblivious but he absolutely was—he’s just more emotionally in tune. So I think, “Oh hey, you’re back again, wow. I thought I did fantastic work on your blades last time. I cannot believe they’re already dull!” Like and he just sort of like, he knows—he knows there’s something there.

IAIN: I think like this kind of gets echoed in Rayla, like where Callum in an effort to pick her up and be honest about how he feels that she’s just an incredible person. Like to her that’s like, ‘person being entirely open with their feelings in a positive way? That’s a love connection!’ And then it goes wrong for one entire episode and then it turns out that Callum was also not fully aware of how he was feeling and so on. But I think like, yeah, I think that’s why she was like immediately “Wow, this is clearly meant to be romantic and this is—this is going exactly the way I want!” and then it didn’t. But then it did! So we’re all happy.

DEVON: Aww.

KUNO: I am! I’m certainly happy. Um—uh let’s see—the next one is—okay. What was Rayla like as a child growing up in a household she did—household? Um, she mentioned going to school and we’d love to know how baby Rayla fared as a student and just a child growing up in the Silvergrove and what that experience is like for a Moonshadow elf child?

DEVON: You want—you want me to do this one?

IAIN: Go for it.

DEVON: Yeah, um, I think Rayla was feisty (laughs) in a word. I think she—for some reason there’s a scene in the beginning of Korra where she’s already mastered like, three elements and she like comes out punching. I kind of think about that when I think about baby Rayla. She knows she’s—there’s that end credit scene where she’s got the two sticks and she’s posing with them and Runaan’s sort of lifting one of them up and I’m thinking like, okay so sheg’s like, from a tiny, tiny age thinking like, “I’m gonna be the coolest assassin the Moonshadow elves have ever seen!” and she’s like rambunctious about that almost, because you know, as a child you don’t really understand what the ramifications of that are but it’s considered like a highly, highly valued, honored position and so she’s obviously like, “Yeah I’m gonna do that and I’m going to be the best at it and there will never be any complications whatsoever!” In terms of Moonshadow elf childhood, I think with the way that I would think about it is—we talked about the sort of community aspect. I imagine Moonshadow elves have pretty, like, what’s the word, like, a lot of general education, sort of, like, “this is what weaponsmithing is like and this is gardening and raising crops and things to provide for the community” and so I think they would have a lot of ‘school’ that covers a lot of just like, life basics because you are expect to find a place that contributes to the collective whole. Does that like—?

IAIN: Yeah, I think like it’s also lucky for Rayla that a big part of Moonshadow elf culture is what we would call PE. Like I think she excelled at striving to be an assassin warrior and so on. Especially like, she’s trying to live up to her parents who at first were honored Dragonguard and you know, Runaan as well. I think in terms of like, more academic stuff like if there was Moonshadow elf history lessons and “let’s go out and understand the, you know, ecology of the Moonshadow forest” and stuff I think she was probably a bit kinda like, rambunctious and not super paying attention and running off and not really giving it her all and so on. Um, you kind of get that impression from early on where she knows what Primal sources are and she’ll explain that to Callum but like, when she’s talking about ‘how do you do that Moonshadow form thing’ she’s like “I don’t know, it just feels right”. Like I think that’s—she did everything very intuitively and focused on the things she cared about and understood and kinda did what she—did what she could on the other subjects, I guess, but didn’t care as much.

DEVON: Yeah I feel like if you imagine the kid that is going to grow up to be an artist is doing doodles on their math homework and just sort of like doing the math homework but—but you know, clearly the effort is being placed elsewhere. I think it’s that but she was excelling at PE and assassin training and therefore fell very, very easily into her supposed path.

KUNO: The—this isn’t on the thing, but did—did she ever—did she ever really have any friends? ‘Cause she doesn’t really mention—ever mention friends. I—maybe that has to do with the whole assassin thing where if she wasn’t learning being at school she would probably doing assassin stuff with Runaan or assassin training stuff—I guess not really assassinating. But um did she have really friends growing up?

IAIN: I think if she had friends they were not super close. And I think she valued her alone time. There’s a sweet moment early in—well end of season 1 where she like tries to cheer up Ezran by saying that fitting in is overated and I think she felt that a little bit. Um and you know I think there’s some amount of when you’re being trained in the art of an assassin like you’re probably somewhat taught to—to keep people at arm’s length a little bit, right? And I think she—she took that to heart. So I think that’s a big part of why when she was first traveling with Callum and Ezran there wasn’t that much trust between then and it was kinda like, it was Ezran honestly that bridged the gap being most empathetic number 1 child. And yeah, I think having a close friend is relatively new to her.

KUNO: Makes sense. Like just few, not the many. Um okay then next question before we get to Hailey’s batch of them are um, what are Runaan’s feelings toward Rayla as of right now and everything that’s happened since season 1? I understand he’s in a coin, he’s in a finacial crisis, he’s probably not thinking about it too hard—

DEVON: Oh my god (laughs).

KUNO: But you know, like he’s gotta be—you know he’s not doing anything right now, I’m assuming, so like what would be his feelings about her at the moment?

DEVON: I mean he’s got a lot of time to think, wherever he is. I think like—I got into this a little bit on Twitter in a self-indulgent rant at one point where I think he went through a lot very quietly during the first few episodes of the show where he very, very much wanted Rayla to succeed, even if he wasn’t necessarily like being the dad on the sideline of the soccer game, like, cheering for her. But he thought this was her moment, this was her time to prove that she really was more dedicated to you know, her cause and her people than her parents were because they had, you know, been the subject of such shame. And then ah, everything goes the way it does, I think he has a brief crisis of, “Is this my fault? Did I fail to train her well enough? Like, was Ethari right?” Because he always thought she had, you know, a softer heart. And I think like those are the types of things that he’s still stewing on, um like did—”did he overstep? Was it something—was he so eager to give her the opportunity to prove herself that he, you know, ultimately put her in a position where she could not succeed?” I think like, the other thing that I mentioned on Twitter was I think he took her off the mission both because he very, very much wanted to give himself and the others a chance to complete the mission even if it meant their deaths. But it also meant that Rayla had the chance to survive even if it was potentially going to be misinterpreted and she’d get slapped with the Ghosting, I think he believed that her alive was better than everybody being dead. So I think like, he’s got a lot—a lot to work through and I think like—I think he feels guilty. I think there’s the smallest part of him that he has the—again, a lot of time to potentially stew on and reflect on is he does feel like he put her in a position that was, you know, not fully taking into account the type of person she was and more projecting onto her the type of person he wanted her to be and gift he wanted to give her of redeeming herself in the eyes of her people for her parents. And I think he’s gonna have to work through that. Poor dude.

KUNO: That’s so sadly heartfelt. That’s so sadly heartfelt. Here I am thinking that he’d be, like, maybe a little angry with her, ‘cause obvious reason, but now it’s like, oh he feels guilty. Like, “Oh, okay, let’s just slap the angst on, okay”.

DEVON: I mean, I think like—

KUNO: Yeah, mm-hm.

DEVON: Sure he’d have some anger, like, “Awgh, I gave her everything. I gave her the exact opportunity she needed”. But I think like the guilt and the reflection leads to the “Maybe I—maybe it was me who stepped too far here”.

IAIN: Yeah, I mean another part of it is like, we don’t know what it’s like being trapped in the hell coin dimension, right?

DEVON: Oh I do. I—I mean—

IAIN: Oh you do?

DEVON: It sucks.

IAIN: Oh it sucks?

DEVON: When it happens to me on the reg (IAIN laughs).

IAIN: But you know, does it feel like an eternity is passing? Does it feel like no time has passed? Is he in eternal pain? Because if it’s like real bad—

KUNO: Oh my god.

IAIN: —in there I can imagine that like yeah there’s definitely some of those kind of anger feelings that you don’t want to feel in but you do sometimes, right? Like it’s like, if he has a snap moment of “I wouldn’t be in here if she hadn’t gone off and disobeyed our orders and, like, lied to me and so on”. So if he ever comes out uh don’t know what side of the emotional coin he’s gonna land on.

DEVON: Ohhh, please leave.

KUNO: Oh my god.

DEVON: Get out, oof, ouch.

IAIN: Finger guns.

DEVON: I do think like that sort of complex—

KUNO: It sounds—

DEVON: —emotion is just, I don’t want to give any time to that pun, we’re moving on. Like that sort of complexity of emotion and relationships is something that I really like in the show overall. Like you said earlier, you saw some people that were a little bit upset that Ethari was so willing to lash out at Rayla at first and I think like to me that was always part of the big, big thematic of the show, which is this sort of endless cycle of people being willing to hurt each other and not forgive each other and not, you know, accept that you can choose peace. It’s, you know, it’s—Runaan having that impulse to anger is a very natural thing and it doesn’t—I don’t think it necessarily makes him a bad person for feeling that. And I don’t necessarily think that Ethari having his moments of grief lead him to actions that are ultimately like, regretful, like I don’t think he would want that to define him in the long run. Like those are very human things but those are the things as we acknowledge them and as are—so long as we are capable of recognizing how flawed we are and how violent and…

KUNO: Messy.

DEVON: Messy! Thank you, that’s like, I was going to say like churning, messy is good. Like messy emotions can be and how they can like, dictate the way we treat each other, um, but forgiveness and patience and acceptance are ultimately just so much more powerful than those negative perpetuating lashing outs. That was an inelegant way of ending that screed, but yes.

KUNO: I actually really love that um ‘cause I from the beginning I’ve loved their father-daughter relationship so I love how complicated it is, ‘cause the truth is you know every parent-child relationship is a little complicated, except theirs is a little more complicated with assassination going on in the works, the family trade. So I love that it is this complicated ‘cause I know I remember in the beginning where people were like you know—you know she does have a dad. And it’s like I know she has a biological dad but until I am told otherwise that’s her father. I don’t care and I love their relationship so I love that that really reflects that. Another—the next question out of me before we get to, um, Hailey’s, which are all about different elves, is um, course I have to ask, my policy is one Rayllum question per interview. Um what are Runaan’s feelings—whah, no, whoop, how would Ruthari and Runaan react to Rayla’s relationship with Callum considering he’s not only a human but a human prince? ‘Cause as far as we know Runaan really hates, um, humans and I’d love to see that story later, both individually and as a couple. Because as far as I know, Ethari probably doesn’t know that their in a relationship unless he sensed it?

DEVON: Oh man, I—I think you should take this one, but I do want to say that I saw one comment on Tumblr at one point where someone said that they wished that Ethari had said something to Callum along the lines of like, “Take care of her”. And I want to travel back in time and pretend that was in the script ‘cause I think that would have been really, really nice. And I do think like, he picked up on the fact that Callum was important to her even if it—he didn’t necessarily read it as romantic right off the bat. I think he mostly was like, “Oh this guy is kind of like a cute—he’s a human but he’s, you know, a friend to someone I care about and that in and of itself is valuable and there’s something there”. So I think—pretend that was in the script. I wish I had thought about something like that but—

KUNO: I will (DEVON laughs).

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: That’s canon as far—as far as I’m concerned that’s canon.

IAIN: I think uh it would be best for everyone involved if they found out together, uh, because I think Runaan’s impulse would not be good immediately. I think like, when you spend so much time as an assassin and you drill into your head that the people that you’re meant to kill are not people, they’re the enemy right? Like I think that’s—sometimes that’s a thing he turns on to do the job and so on, but I do think that’s gonna bleed into his personality and it’s—you know, especially given his extremely recent history he’s not got the best feelings about humans. So I think it would inspire an immediate negative reaction in him that would not be pleasant for Callum and Rayla, but I think Ethari just has a much softer heart and that is where Rayla kind of got that side from. So I mean I’m not going to say that he would immediately—you know, they’ve been at war for hundreds and hundreds of years with humans and they’ve been told all through their history that humans committed the original sin of dark magic, et cetera et cetera, but like, I think it would take not that much time of seeing Rayla and Callum together for Ethari to see that there’s something there and then I think Ethari would have the ability to ah, to talk Runaan down pretty quick. But I also think that like, Runaan might not even show any of this, there might just be a kind of seething resentment that he’s not really talking about inside. Um unless it was like on the battlefield or something and he was like, “That’s a prince that I’m meant to kill” or something like that. But overall I think Ethari would sense that Runaan was not like—was not taking this well and they would be able to talk it through. At least that’s my gut.

DEVON: No, that sounds right (DEVON and IAIN laugh).

KUNO: I feel like poor Callum is just always on the edge of “Am I going to die tonight?” while he’s there, “Is this gonna be it?” Just gonna be like, “Oops sorry I had an accident—hey I had an accident in the middle of the night, you know, just a knife to the throat, that’s all”.

IAIN: I mean, he’s doing pretty well, like he said as they were about to meet Ethari and Rayla was like, “Remember Runaan?” He was like “Oh yeah, that guy who tried to kill me as soon as he met me? Cool guy”. Callum’s doing pretty well on the acceptance front these days.

DEVON: I do—

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: I do want to say that I think Ethari and Callum would get along really well because I think they both have sort of like a soft hearted friendliness to them that they would have a fun rapport. And that’s the sort of like “Trees to meet you” line is definitely supposed to be like—they’d you know, crack some goofy back and forths and I think that would soften Runaan too because he couldn’t ever hate someone that Ethari liked.

IAIN: Yeah, I think it’s a weird—

KUNO: Aww.

IAIN: —reversal where like Callum’s the one doing the dad jokes and Ethari’s like humoring them and Runaan’s like, “I don’t understand. Trees do not meet.”

DEVON: “Please stop saying ‘trees to meet you’.”

KUNO: Aw it never gets old. I love that. Um alright, Hailey, take it away. Your turn.

[ellana-ravenwood]

“You...have kids ? AND A WIFE ?!” - Fem!Reader (Batmom) x Bruce Wayne x Justice League

Synopsis : No one in the Justice League would’ve ever guessed that the stoic Batman had kids nor that he was...married ?! 

Just a lighthearted shorter fic (I know, must be surprising, haven’t posted one of those in ages hahaha) because I need it. Slowly getting back into a regular writing funk. And ya know I’m here to write the League interact with Batmom and co haha. Hope you’ll like it : 

My master list blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The Big Bad Bat that never smiles.

That’s the picture Barry had in his head when thinking of him...

It had been a few months now, since this “Justice League” had become an actual thing. And Flash was still not sure if it was reality or just a fever dream.

Of course, before they truly decided to gather all together to protect this Earth, Barry knew about his “colleagues”. Duh. Who, in America, never heard about the mighty Superman ? The Goddess of Truth Wonder Woman ? The fearless, and fear inducing Batman ? 

And here he was, amongst those legends. Was it making him a legend too, to have been selected to be one of the founder of this “little” team ? 

Barry just couldn’t admit that. What he could admit, though, was that it felt very nice to be part of something like this initiative ! 

It also felt nice that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had the support of people who were like him. “Different”, and with a purpose to make the world a better and safer place ! 

Well, up until now Barry was mainly focusing on Central City, but hey, some of his colleagues only had one city too ! 

And now, they took it further, leveled up in the protective business, and became, Barry would like to say, kind of like a family ! 

Ok, maybe not just yet, but at least they were all good friends. 

Well, “all”. Not quite. 

There was one who still refused to partake in their gaming nights for example, or in any discussions that weren’t work related. There was one whom Barry never saw smile, not even a little twitch at the corner of his mouth ! One who, it seemed, had no intention to bond with his new partners. 

Yes. Batman kept himself guarded from everyone else, which was odd to Barry because he heard that the bat sort of was the one who had the idea for this little world saving team. 

Flash just couldn’t figure out what was the deal with that man ! And Batman wasn’t letting him come close at all. Not reacting to his jokes or anything. While they were hilarious ! The only time Batman seemed to care about what Barry had to say, was when he was starting to speak forensics.

There was one person though, who seemed closer to the bat than all the others. Well, actually make that two. Two persons. 

Superman, and Wonder Woman. 

Almost as if they knew who Batman really was. Maybe they did ? After all, they’re really the one that started this little hero club. 

And so one day, Flash, sitting in the common room of their brand new space headquarters, was staring at Batman (who was making himself a cup of coffee) and without giving much context, he turned to Clark and Diana (who were...arm wrestling ?) and asked :

"Have you ever seen him, ya know, smile ?"

“Huh ?”

Superman turned his head toward Barry, and this two second loss of focus allowed Diana to throw him down. 

Quite literally. For a split moment, unfocused because Flash addressed him and his Ma’ always told him that ignoring people was impolite, Clark released a little pressure in his arm, and of course Diana took advantage of this to strategically put all her force in, and slam the mighty Superman down. 

Barry gave a worried look towards Batman. The last thing he wanted, was for him to come over and see what the ruckus was about. But, still at the coffee station, he just looked at both meta humans, frowned, shook his head, and left the room, visibly grumbling something under his breath. 

With a sigh of relief, Barry turned back towards them, and as Clark was getting back up, giving an annoyed (and slightly vexed) look at Diana, who was showing him her most beautiful smug expression, he asked again : 

“I was wondering, have you ever seen him smile ?”

Massaging his wrist, still a little sour about his defeat, Clark asked, a little absentmindedly : 

“Who ?” 

Flash, looking around, lowered his voice and said : 

“You know...his name rhymes with cancan ?” 

There was a short pause, before Diana says : 

“...A lot of our names rhyme with Cancan.”

“But only one of you never smiles !”

“Oooooh, you’re talking about Batman ?” 

Flash shook his head positively, looking around nervously one more time to make sure said Batman wasn’t there. Diana smiled widely (not a rare occurence in her case) and turned to look at Clark knowingly. And Superman laughed heartily, of his clear and a little childish laugh, and said : 

“No. No I don’t think I ever did...Wait, actually, there was that one time when-" 

"Wonder Woman. Superman. Flash. Hello." 

The big bad Bat himself was right next to them, and Barry couldn’t help but wonder how the hell did he arrive so fast ?! 

Bruce was looking straight at Clark, staring intently at him, and why was he ? It made the man of steel uncomfortable, especially when- Oh. Oh but of course. That one time Clark saw Batman smile was when... 

After a short awkward silence, Clark spoke up again : 

“No. No I never saw what, um, what you asked me I saw. Diana ?” 

“Nope, never.” 

Batman nodded, which mortified Barry as he realized that he knew what they were talking about, and left once again. And from this day on, The Flash couldn’t help but wonder...What was it, that made the Batman smile ? 

Because given the “trinity”’s reaction, it was clear both meta-humans saw him do that once...His curiosity intensely piqued, Barry kept this info about Clark and Diana knowing in the corner of his mind. 

************

Of course, no one would expect such a thing from the Batman. Who, in their right mind, could guess that the stoic, always so serious and harsh hero had a...

Yes. 

Even now, faced with the fact this was reality, Barry couldn’t quite believe his eyes ! It was just so surreal ! And he had a costume, too !! 

Out of nowhere, the man he had tried to make laugh or smile for years came out of the zeta tube with a little boy, who couldn’t be more than nine years old, and acted as if nothing happened !!

Understandingly so, everyone but Superman and Wonder Woman, stopped what they were doing and stared at them. 

Green Lantern is the one that said what everyone was thinking but didn’t dare to ask : 

“What the...Who’s that, Batman ?!”

The sudden exclamation didn’t seem to phase Bruce much, but the little boy stiffened and sort of hid behind Batman’s cape, looking shyly at everyone from behind it. They were all staring at them. It was a little scary.

Bruce turned to Hal, and calmly and matter of factly said : 

“My son. D-Robin.” 

Which made everyone but Clark and Diana unable to stop their : “WHAT ?!”. And to little Dick, it was quite something to witness all his favorite heroes freak out like that, and looking in total shock. 

That’s when Bruce, clearly annoyed, and a little mad as he noticed his usual extroverted boy looking unsure and shy, and hiding behind him (and no one made his kiddo feel like that without repercussions !), said : 

“Get a grip, everyone. You’re making him think you’re all completely nuts. It’s embarrassing, I brought him up here because he was excited to meet all of you, and now you’re acting like mad men.”

The big bad bat then squatted down to put himself at the boy’s level and asked, his voice taking a complete different tone, one that Barry never heard him have. 

“Are you ok, buddy ?"

No one was quite sure what was the most shocking. That Batman had a kid, or that he just took the softest voice ever to talk to said kid, and showed an entirely different persona ?

The young boy nodded, and Bruce turned back towards everyone, putting a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. 

“Please, handle yourself better in his presence. You’re intimidating him.” 

Barry had a thought about how odd it was, that this kid was intimidated by him and his friends, while apparently totally ok with Batman. Because in his eyes, Batman was the most intimidating guy he ever met ! Yet that boy seemed to cling to his cape for dear life, as everyone kept staring at him. 

The worry in the boy’s look, and the “mama goose” stance Batman suddenly took, made Barry snap out of it first and, smiling, he said : 

“Well, welcome to the Justice League of America’s headquarters, Robin ! Want a tour of it ?”

And this warm feeling that irradiated from Flash seemed to unlock something in the boy, and, smiling widely, he shook his head yes enthusiastically and slowly walked out of his father’s shadow.

That’s when the zeta tube emitted the sound it does when someone comes through, and someone nobody saw before came from it. She was wearing an unknown costume, and her sudden appearance and the fact she was a stranger made everyone take a fighting stance ! Everyone, but Batman and his son. 

“Hey mom ! Flash is gonna show me around ! It’s Flash !! The real one !” 

Wait...”mom” ? Did that...mean...SOMEONE ACTUALLY MARRIED THE BATMAN ?! 

************

It was quit a shock, the day everyone discovered that Bruce had a family. 

Granted, it was all fairly recent as he only met you a few years back, and Dick had been adopted only a little bit more than a year ago (he only recently started to call you mom, after certain events happening (you can read about it in this story : clickclickclick), and wasn’t quite yet calling Bruce “dad” but it was just a matter of time, really. In Bruce’s eyes, the boy was most definitely his son, now).

But what was the most shocking of all, was how whenever you or the boy would be around, it felt like they were discovering another Batman ! 

Whenever Dick said something smart, he would praise him. Whenever his look would cross yours, his expression would become incredibly soft (”lovesick puppy” was not words Barry thought he’d ever associate with “Batman”). It wasn’t particularly a noticeable difference for the untrained eyes, but it was most definitely there. 

His “soft” expressions were all very fleeting. But someone like Flash ? He definitely saw them. 

The Batman was still this serious, stoic and unwavering man, but as soon as they all discovered he had a family, he became a little more human. 

His “legend” wasn’t broken by the fact he could feel emotions, on the contrary. Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Green ARrow, Black Canary...Everyone. They just realized what Superman and Wonder Woman discovered a while ago now. 

There was two Batman. 

The working one, the superhero, the unforgiving one, who was strategic and pragmatic. 

And the family man. 

And as he observed those two Batmen, Barry realized more and more that they weren’t actually two different persons like it could seem to certain people. They were just different facets of the same man. Two sides of the same coin. 

Of course, Flash should’ve known. Just like in his day time work, just like in forensics and such...Things weren’t always that simple. People, weren’t that simple. Real people weren’t “one dimensional”. 

His theory was confirmed one day when you said that Batman could most definitely be a total jerk towards you or your son (or Alfred), in his “dark moments”. And that you fully accepted it, because you did not love him conditionally. 

Because you understood him, and that in your opinion, nobody was perfect. Hell, you admitted, with a little laugh, that you could be very obnoxious at times...And if he could forgive your bitchy moments, then you could most definitely forgive his dark ones. 

Especially when you knew why he was like that. 

Sometimes, Barry felt jealous, that Batman found such an understanding and loving wife. But then he just had to take one look at how said Batman was looking at you, and he realized that both of you were lucky. 

************

It turned out that Dick wasn’t a shy kid at all. He just got a little overwhelmed at first, to be stared at by Earth’s mightiest hero. But as soon as he relaxed himself and finally opened up, he was a rather talkative little dude. 

Full of energy. And all of a sudden, Barry truly understood why Batman could look so fondly at his boy, or at you. 

The kid clearly was a little ray of sunshine. Although, if we believed you and Bruce, he could sometimes throw terrible fits of anger and...Well, once again, people were more complicated that they can first appear to be. It’s not because you have mostly a joyful nature, that you’re always that way. And Barry could see this whenever Dick would partake in missions. 

The boy was serious too, and resembled his father a lot in those moments. 

However, he was still mostly very extroverted and curious while at the League’s headquarter, and Barry could see how the arrival of such a burst of light in Batman’s life could brighten him indeed.  

It was difficult, to look at you and Dick and not smile. 

Barry wondered, if neither you nor Dick came into his life, how Batman would be now. Probably still cold and seeming unemotional. Maybe even worst than what they experienced so far ? 

There actually wasn’t a doubt in Barry’s mind, that you and your son’s presence in the Big Bad Bat’s life radically changed him.

************ 

Flash could see there was something wrong with Bruce when he came up the League’s headquarter that day. 

He was much grumpier than usual. And when Barry joked : 

“Gee, where’s your boy, I think you need to cheer up.” 

Batman gave him the most murderous look he ever saw, stood up, and quietly left the room, leaving behind him a very cold and scary atmosphere. 

You got up from the zeta tube barely two minutes later, looking both distressed and annoyed, and ask Flash where Bruce was. 

Still sort of in shock, Barry gave a timid gesture towards where the Bat went, and watched as you went there in a hurry. 

Later on, Barry would learn that Bruce and his son got in a fight, which resulted in his beloved boy leaving to join the Teen Titans, and ah, all of a sudden, everything made sense to The Flash. 

************

Jason’s first introduction to the League was quite different from his older brother’s. The Leaguers were less surprised, and therefor more welcoming immediately. 

Jason was a shy kid, who would often whisper things in his dad’s ear before doing it. 

Like for example, the boy didn’t dare, at first, asking Flash how fast he could truly run. So he went to Bruce, and asked him, murmuring in his ear and hiding his mouth. Which made Batman, THE Batman, stand up from the computer on which he worked on, and walk with his son towards Barry. 

“Go ahead, ask him, don’t worry, I’m here.” 

He said, pushing Jason a little forward. And the boy was playing with his hands nervously, before he dared to ask : 

“Howfastcanyoureallygo?” 

And the fond smile Batman had as he stood there, behind his son, silently encouraging him, made Barry feel like he was understanding him more and more. Smiling, The Flash answered : 

“Well, what’s sure is that I’m not going as fast as you asked this question !”

Which made little Jay widely smile and chuckle. Just like Bruce discovered, Jason could be a little “wild” yet “reserved” at first, but it only took a little push for him to become an overly enthusiastic little boy, eager to please and to learn.

It was obvious Jason had a tough childhood, which make him afraid to bother people and be in their way. Which sometimes made him want to be fiercely independent. It was obvious that Jason didn’t have an easy life up until now...

And that he was embracing fully this new chance at being happy and having a family. He’d follow Bruce like he was his shadow. He’d cling to you often. He’d talk about his older brother Dick regularly. 

Little Jason was home with you all, and it was a heartfelt thing to witness for each members of the League. 

It was yet another proof that Batman most definitely had a heart.  

************

Years passed, and nothing much changed. 

Batman was still good old himself, with that softer change when you or his sons were around (fortunately, things with the first Robin, or “Nightwing” now, as he called himself, greatly improved, and although Dick stayed with the Teens Titans still, him and Bruce were speaking again. Of course they were). 

He was still that man who had difficulties to say “thank you” (yet he improved on that front), who was strategic and pragmatic, but now, the members of the League knew better than to judge him just for that.

His children came from times to times to the League’s headquarter, mainly to hang out with their dad, as it was extremely rare they’d take part in League’s mission (Batman was surprisingly protective of his children). 

You’d come up too, a little more often, actively participating in monitoring the universe. And you and the Leaguers became fast friends (he’d never admit it, but the Bat surely wasn’t always happy about that). 

And whenever you or/and your kids were present, Batman most definitely seemed to be in a better mood. 

And things seemed to go normally, albeit for, you know, the moments they had to save the World and sometimes almost died during so !

But yes. Everything as more or less normal up until...

************

For months, the League didn’t see much of neither you nor Bruce. 

When Bruce came back up, the news he lost youngest his son was known by all of them, but of course, they knew better than to mention it. 

Barry knew he wouldn’t smile again in a long time, if he could ever even smile again. 

You and Dick were still there. But you lost a son too. Dick lost his little brother. And if the only people that could always turn Batman’s frown upside down were sad and hurt too, how could he get out of that dark pit ?

It didn’t feel right, to not see your nor Dick ever smiling either. 

It felt, when Jason died, that this nice and warm new family Bruce build for himself, that his new chance at being happy, sort of crumbled. 

Yes. You, him and Dick were still here and alive. Were still supporting each others. But there was nothing worst than to lose a child. A brother. 

Once again, it became clear to Barry that the Batman moods truly became tied to his family. And it didn’t surprise Flash when the man threw himself, mind and body, into his vigilante activities even more...

For a long time, they did not see you, nor Bruce. 

And when Bruce finally came back to League’s affair, it didn’t seem like you’d ever come up again...Or like he would smile ever again.

************

And then one day, a while after Jason’s disappearance, Batman came up accompanied once more. 

It was neither you nor Dick, but someone they never saw before. 

A little boy, who claimed to be “Robin”. One more that the Batman adopted.

And once again, Barry could see a slow shift in Bruce’s mood. 

Ever since Jason died, it felt like something irreparable broke in the man. It felt like he was regretting ever coming close to people again, putting you, his children, in danger. 

As if he thought he was cursed to lose everything he loved...

Ever since Jason died, things have been very difficult, in your family. You and Bruce had each others, but the pain was often too grand to handle and it was difficult to mourn your lost son...

Bruce felt it was his fault, you felt it was your fault, neither of you blamed the other...It was a vicious circle. In those years, you almost broke up because of how everything was tough. 

But in the end, your love got only stronger, and you realized that without the other, you could’ve never come back from this dark times. 

The arrival of a new kid most definitely helped, too. 

The first that came out of this sad funk that surrounded everything was Dick. Nightwing. Barry noticed, he went back to be a little more cheerful again, and didn’t fully turn like Batman was. 

It was thanks to Tim. Thanks to being a big brother again, and having to set an example. Something he didn’t quite do in the beginning, with Jason, as he felt jealous at times...One of his greatest regret. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

The first time Tim came up the tower, he ran into it and started to ramble about everything, asking questions faster than anyone could answer, and touching everything on his way ! 

“Wooooow look at that it’s the best telescope I’ve ever seen !! Hey Green Lantern is it true my dad beat you multiple time and that without your ring you’re nothing ? It’s what he said...OH HEY ! Uncle Superman, how are you today ? WOOOOOW you guys have cookies here ?! -bites into a cookie- Mm, not as good as Alfred’s...AH WHAT’S THAT ?! Hey hey, Black Canary, how high can your voice get ? Oh wow what is that, what does it do ? OH HI AUNT DIANA !! Can you breathe in space ? If I went in space without a spacesuit I would freeze and all my blood vessels would explose. Sounds like a painful death right ? Woooow daaaad look at that !!” 

And that was it. Right there. The first smile Flash saw the Batman have in a very long time, as the man looked at his son running everywhere and be excited about everything. 

It was very easy to understand that this new Robin, little Tim, was an extremely smart child. Curious of everything in a way his brothers weren’t, as he needed detailed explanations about stuffs, not just a simple answer. 

It appeared as he was understanding even complicated notions, and would even give his opinion in the matters ! 

Later on, Flash would learn that at first, Bruce refused to take Tim as the new Robin. Because he still had parents (albeit shitty ones), because he didn’t want another Jason to happen, because...Because he couldn’t have his broken once more. 

But the boy was persistant. And he crawled his way in in Dick’s heart first. Then yours. And finally Bruce’s, who just couldn’t resist. Especially when the boy lost his biological parents too...

When Tim was on the Space Station, you’d be most often there too. It seemed like ever since you lost Jason, you became even more protective of your sons. Like you had difficulties letting them out of your sight. 

Tim didn’t seem to mind. His parents never cared enough about him...So it felt nice, to be loved in that way. 

Quickly, this new little Robin brought back a certain balance to his new family. Of course, no one would ever forget Jason. That’s one of the reason why there was a glass case filled with his costume throning in the midle of the Batcave. 

Jason was unforgettable. The love you all had for him, even now that he was gone, would never die. But the mourning was finally reaching its last step. 

Acceptance. 

And in big part, it was because of that young and smart new Robin, whom the League immediately loved. And were quite thankful for. 

After all, they were Batman’s friends. His pain and struggles, over the years, reached them too. They could understand the pain of losing a loved one. Martian Manhunter, who lost his family, for example, truly was empathetic. 

And slowly, without realizing, all of them sort of got used to dark, cold and harsh Batman being soft around his family ! It didn’t feel right, that he would only be dark, cold and harsh...

That day, that first day Tim got up the Headquarter and got overly excited about everything. That day Batman was again seen with a small smile on his face. A smile he couldn’t hush or hide...

It felt right again. 

************

Cassandra emerged from the zeta tube, getting a piggy back ride from her older brother Dick, a calm day at the League’s headquarter. 

She wasn’t very talkative, but she had an aura that was both impressive and sweet. Just like Jason, Barry could see that this young child went through a lot...But it didn’t seem to dim her light. 

It didn’t take a genius to know she went through years of abuse. That her life most definitely hadn't been easy. Maybe even worst than young Jason’s...

Later, Barry would indeed discover the reason why she didn’t speak much, and would be heartbroken for her...Except. 

Except he slowly witnessed her evolution. 

How having a family, a loving and caring and protective one, made her bloom. 

From that first time she came through the zeta tube, on the back of her brother, who then proceeded to give her a piggy back ride all across the Headquarter, to now...

Flash slowly witnessed her change. 

She was quiet at first, but interested in everything. She would listen to whatever ramblings her brothers would tell her, or to her father explaining things. 

She was probably the one that they sheltered all the most, even you, who were usually a rather chill mother. It felt like you all tried to catch up for the lost years where all she felt was pain, mental and physical, and fear. 

“You. Flash.” 

She once said to Barry, and it was the first time he heard her spoke, so he got a little excited and exclaimed : 

“Yes I am !” 

Before going on on rambles about things, of which Cass’ reply was pointing at him, laughing, and saying : 

“Funny.”

When her father came to tell her it was time to leave, Cass pointed at Flash again and repeated “funny”, which made Bruce...Laugh ?! 

Sure, Barry saw him smile and he thought that once, he heard him chuckle at a joke you made (but he wasn’t certain), but to hear him full on laugh like so ?

Once more, Flash was faced with the fact that Batman really was a man. Whose family would uncover the best part of him. The kind and warm part. Barry would only wish though, that this confirmation in his feelings wouldn’t be at his depend. 

Because clearly, Batman was mocking him, right now. But at the same time, the Big Bad Bat turned to him, smiled at him, and...winked ? 

That day, Barry felt that Bruce truly was warming up to him. That maybe, just maybe, he was letting more than just his family in. 

And when he ruffled his daughter’s hair, and confirmed Flash was one of the only funny one, it took Barry a while to come back from it. 

************

Cass made incredible progress in her speech, helped by her family. She loved to come up the tower and often asked anyone who was up there too to tell her stories of their missions. 

She loved stories. 

She’d listen and give them detailed feedbacks about their way of telling stories, and every single time, it’d warm everyone’s heart. But the heart her presence warmed the most was definitely the Batman’s. 

************

One day, a man wearing a red helmet and a leather jacket came up with Batman. He walked in, looked around as people were sort of staring at him, wondering if Batman had adopted yet another kid (who was  grown ass man..), and he said : 

“Wow, didn’t change one bit. Lame.”

When he took his helmet off, he still had a mask under, and...

“Jason ?” 

Clark is the first one that recognized him. And as Barry turned around, looking curiously at this person he thought to be a stranger, he realized...It was most definitely little Jason Todd ! Except, he wasn’t so little anymore. 

Actually, he was taller than his older brother, Dick. 

Barry recognized that slightly mischievous spark Jason always had in his eyes, as if he knew something you didn’t (Jason was the one most similar to you, always quick to have a sassy come back and make clever jokes). 

“I’m back bitches.” 

The shift in Jason’s personality was quite an obvious one, but somehow, Barry knew it was all for show. That deep down, the man was still that little boy full of enthusiasm and curiosity that worshipped his father and mother. 

In fact, Barry quickly understood that Jason’s reason for this so called shift in his personality, was how much he loved his parents, how much he trusted them, and how Bruce not killing the Joker felt like a betrayal. How much it hurt him. 

Yet. Yet “Red Hood” was back in his family now. 

Barry couldn’t help but think about how incredibly strong that boy (man) was. Able to overcome such pain and feeling of betrayal, to forgive his father. To try and understand his point of view, and why he did what he did. 

The Flash was certain that you were for something in this new recovery Jason went through, but also the Bat himself...It was clear Bruce had lived years feeling guilty and regretful. And now he had another chance, and he wouldn’t let it go. 

His persistance in showing what Jason meant is what brought him back. The love you gave him, is what brought him back. 

Jason was finally home again. 

************

When Damian first came up the Justice League’s watchtower, he seemed unimpressed and like he did not care about whatever was happening. 

But Barry hung out with Batman long enough to now “feel” when someone was protecting themselves behind a shield of arrogance. 

And that little boy ? That little boy clearly took this trait after his father. And Barry wasn’t fooled anymore, by this icy sort of exterior. 

Behind Damian’s eyes, he could see curiosity, and wanting to ask many questions, but not asking in fear of appearing too childish. Behind Damian’s eyes, eyes that clearly already saw too much for their age, Flash could still see the kid he wanted to be. 

Barry’s first impression of Damian was right. As confirmed when you emerged from the zeta tube, and the boy rushed to you to give you a hug, and then excitedly tell you everything he saw on the Space Station. 

When Damian took your hand and made you run along with him because he wanted to show you something, which triggered this small and fleeting smile Batman would have whenever his family would be around, Barry knew. 

He knew that there was more to Damian than that pesky arrogant child who acted like nothing touched him personally. And he was right.

Damian had an odd and painful childhood, raised by people who warped his vision of the World. But with yours and Bruce’s love, with the protection and love his siblings gave him, he “healed”. There was, often, a glimpse at the child he was supposed to be. 

And just like with his father, this “glimpse” would only be triggered by him being with his family. 

************

Barry’s suspicions where confirmed the day Superman brought his son, Jon, up with him. Here was another proof Damian was, in the end, just a kid. 

He first took a smug look because he came up there first, but then excitedly showed his friend around, and the two boys went off and had typical kids’ conversations. 

Like wether the mega-computer could play video games, or who was the strongest in the League (at first they didn’t agree, both saying it was their fathers...until they settled on “Aunt Diana” being the best). 

Damian could still, sometimes, be a little arrogant and such (just like his father), but there was a clear shift when he was surrounded by his loving family.

************

Barry might’ve never realize how you were truly the corner stone of the family up until tragedy took you away from them (in this quite old story : clickclickclick). 

Batman quitted the League, and your children were lost. 

It’s only when you disappeared, that he could truly have a grasp of the importance you had in this family. Without you, things could be drastically different for sure. And your loss was felt by everyone. 

The League’s members were your friends. 

Diana, Clark, Hal, Barry himself, J’onn, Dinah, Oliver...

They all felt the loss. 

You had also became a vital member of the League. 

And when you were gone.....

Barry felt his heart regain color, when he heard about what your sons’ went through to get you back. And when you came up to the Headquarters, a warm welcome is what greeted you. 

Batman didn’t even try to hide his smile, or, for the first time since everyone discovered he was married, didn’t shy away from PDA. 

Flash does not think that there was one moment when Bruce didn’t at least hold your hand. And when at least one of your children would cling to you. No matter how old. 

Yes. It became truly apparent that day, that you were the center of it all. The sun around which they all gravitated. But without them, you also had no purpose but to burn out all alone. You were all linked, forever. 

There was no you without them, and them without you. 

************

It was clear Duke wasn’t quite used yet to all the craziness that came with becoming a vigilante. 

When he arrived at the League’s headquarters, he was rather shy and reserved, and Barry saw his “what the fuck ?” face often as Damian and Cass showed him around headquarters. 

Both Damian and Cassandra were born in a specific environment which made it easy for them to assimilate how everything was absolutely nuts. It was the same with Dick, Tim and Jason. From a very early age they were thrown into that world ! 

But Duke ? Sure, he was used to all the shenanigans that happened in Gotham. But he had a pretty normal childhood. So things could often appear completely crazy or him ! He really tried though, to slowly get used to it.

It was actually quite adorable, to see both Cass and Damian explaining things carefully to a Duke who was trying to assimilate everything. Their bond was obviously strong, it didn’t take a genius to realize that.

Bruce had brought Duke up for a particular reason, which was : getting to know other meta-humans and talk to people who went through the same things he did. 

His talks with Superman and Flash himself seemed to help the boy a lot, to grasp and understand his feelings. It wasn’t easy, to suddenly discover you were different. To suddenly have to control abilities you never had before. 

From afar, you and Bruce kept a close eye on what was happening, making sure Duke was alright and comfortable. And clearly, the boy was actually having a really good time here, finally able to talk with people who truly understood the struggle and loneliness that could come with being a meta human. 

It seemed to Barry, that this newest member of “who manages to make Batman smiles without trying or realizing it” club was on the right track to become quite the hero. 

************

Sometimes, Barry would notice that, when he wasn’t doing something “work” related, Batman’s face would suddenly soften and relax, and a small smirk would appear. 

The big bad bat, in moments of calm, not working on the computer or anything, for example as he made himself a cup of coffee, would suddenly let go of that icy marble-carved expression, and give place for a brief expression full of fondness. Of course, it would always be very fleeting, but it was definitely there.

Barry liked to think that in those short moments, Bruce was thinking of his family. That he would catch a glimpse of the loving and sensitive man hid under the scary costume.

And Barry was right. 

************

The big bad Bat that never smiles (unless with family). 

That’s the picture Barry has now when he thinks of him. 

As he was looking at the baby Batman was holding in his arms, and proudly showing the League members, Flash was reminisced of his first impression of the man, years and years ago. 

Cold, harsh, arrogant, “need no help and doesn’t say thank you”. How Barry was almost sure that “The Batman” wasn’t actually a real man at all. He never showed emotions, never showed weakness or anything, was entirely focused on his work. 

But the truth was, and it was clear at the expression of his face was one full of fondness and love as the baby cooed at him, that Bruce was actually like any other man. 

It’s just that, in the League’s early days, he didn’t have another chance at having a family yet. In the League’s early days, he was wary of making strong connections, new friends and what not, afraid to lose them and feel the pain to continue on leaving without a loved one. 

However, as the years’ went by, Flash saw the changes. Thanks to you, to his children. How he trusted his friends of the League’s more. To the point of bringing up his one month old son to present him to them. 

When there was a time Bruce used to scold little Dick for using his real name at times, it was difficult to imagine what things would become. 

Yes. Over the years, Barry realize he greatly misjudge the Batman. 

He was not that cold, unfeeling and unemotional man. He was the opposite. It just took him taking a chance at being happy again to show it. It just took a loving family once more, for him to smile. 

Of course, when they weren’t there, Batman still had that scary persona. But now. Now Barry new better. Because he saw the fondness and love on his face.

 The softness that even the Bat himself, didn’t realize was painting his every feature.

The End.

__________________________________________________

Here we are, a new story haha. Sorry if it’s meh, I’m really slowly getting in a new writing rhythm, and writing  about the Bats again. I hope you still liked it ! :) I honestly have no idea why I ended up going with writing mostly in sort-of Barry’s POV ! But I hope you liked that...Haha I posted it RIGHT in time, it’s 11:53 pm, I said I’d post it at the latest on Monday, pfffeew what a ride. 

As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are extremely welcomed. Like, really beyond appreciated. Thanks in advance, and see you soon with a new story <3. 

PS : In case you’re wondering, the baby mentioned at the end of the story is the one appearing in those fics : The Great Mall adventure, Master of Diaper, Shaky steps and bad teaching, Polichinelle, “Go away, you’re confusing my baby”, How do you make babies ?, What it means to be a big brother,  Wild Child 2, “We want them back” and After Batmom’s death

[sierraraeck]

The Jailbird and the Mouse

Spencer x Fem!OC (Aundreya)

Masterlist

Summary: When Aundreya shows up to consult on a case, Spencer seems less than pleased to see her, but his actions tell a different story. Bonus chapter!

Category: Smut. Hate fuck. Apparently I’m incapable of writing a single thing without some angst, so we’ve got a sprinkle of that in there at the end, too.

Warnings: Cussing. Choking. Nicknames. Degradation. Cuffs are used. Unprotected penetration, female masturbating, oral (male receiving), fingering. Semi-public at the beginning.

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Okay so this is supposed to take place during How to Lose Friends when they are both in their fresh, post-prison forms and are beyond pissed at each other, but you don't have to have read that chapter or the series to understand this. Also, shoutout to @writing-in-april for looking this piece over and helping me make some edits!

Things to Know: All you really have to know is that Aundreya was a criminal who’d already been to and broken out of prison, joined the BAU, Spencer and her had a previous relationship, Aundreya got Spencer sent to prison, broke him out, then took the fall for something Spencer was being accused of that she didn’t do, getting herself sent to prison again.

I’d been called back to help the BAU solve a case. Fascinating how when it was convenient for them, I held some value. But, after that I was just easy to throw in a jail cell to be forgotten about.

I didn’t want to be there, but unfortunately I didn’t have a choice. So, I closed my eyes, and took a long, deep breath before forcing the door open. I had barely entered the room, barely had made eye contact with Hotch standing opposite me, before both my shoulder blades were shoved against the wall behind me, with long fingers wrapping around my throat.

“What is she doing here?” the hiss in Reid’s voice sounded exactly how I’d imagined it in my head preparing for this encounter. He looked almost as bad as me. His curls were going in a million directions, and I could only imagine the amount of times he’d run his hands through them, probably due to stress. His eyes were blood-shot, slightly puffy, and the dark bags underneath seemed more defined. The only thing that contrasted all of that, and let me know his head was still in it, was the darkness he now held in his eyes. There was nothing lighthearted or soft about them anymore, at least, not for the moment and certainly not for me. Plus, there was a red-hot rage I could see boiling at the surface. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror, a warped version of myself being reflected back to me. I’d seen the same fury and darkness in my eyes every morning that was in his now, and the irritation that radiated off him matched my own. Really, the only difference between Spencer and I, was he still had his gun and badge and I didn’t.

“I was invited to help consult,” I snapped through my somewhat restricted breath. “So you better get the fuck off me.”

He gave my throat one last tight squeeze before stepping back, his intense gaze never leaving me. I met his gaze with a wicked smile while brushing my fingers over where the ghost of his hand used to be. I wanted him to see that he didn’t affect me. Angry or not, he held no power in our dynamic anymore.

“Chambers, good to see you,” Derek mocked, giving me a side eye laced with suspicion.

“Can’t say I feel the same,” I deadpanned, then turning on Hotch. “So, why am I here?”

“We have reason to believe that a rogue gang member is kidnapping and killing ex-military if they refuse to join,” Hotch explained with seemingly no emotion, as if he was unaffected by my presence.

“Cool,” I deadpanned again before asking, “So why do you need me?”

“We wanted to know if you know anything or have heard anything-” Derek started.

“Heard anything?” I cut him off with a scoff, “You mean besides the constant clanging of metal bars when I’m not left in complete silence by myself? No, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Can you find them?” Spencer asked as if it would be a difficult task for me.

“So you do want my help,” I clarified.

“I want your skills.”

I let out a disgusted chuckle in response to his quip. Venom dripped from my words as I voiced my thoughts from only moments before stepping into the room. “Oh, I get it. You only want me around when it's convenient for you. Otherwise you just wanna give up on me and let me rot in a cell.”

“What was I supposed to do!”

“What were you supposed to do?” I asked in disbelief, eyes wide. “What were you supposed to do?” I mumbled to myself again in a mocking tone, rolling my eyes. I put my hands on the back of the empty chair in front of me I assumed had held Spencer at one point, and leaned in toward him. He’d retreated behind the table since releasing me, and I quietly snarled towards him, “I don’t know, but sitting there on your tiny, plushy ass, wasn’t it. I’m leaving.”

Spencer was back over to me in a flash, slamming his hand on the door before I could even reach for the handle. Someone got better reflexes. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“We have a suspect list that we want you to review.” Hotch caught me before I pushed Spencer out of my way.

“Fine. Make it quick.” I looked over the list Hotch gave me that contained about 30 men, none of which rang any bells. “This was a waste of time.”

“Hold on, guys,” Garcia trotted in, “I just found something.” She was in such a rush that she initially didn’t see me, bee-lining it straight for Hotch. Handing the iPad over to him, her eyes lifted to take in the rest of the room. That’s when she noticed me. Her eyes grew to the size of beach balls, and her perfectly done lips hung open. I tried not to feel too hurt, knowing that my presence would come as a shock to her, but it still stung seeing her at a loss for words, possibly even scared. She’d really been the only person who still had any hope left for me, and I was starting to wonder if that was true anymore.

My voice softened as I greeted, “Hey, Penelope.”

She struggled for words, a few ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’ headed my direction, ultimately being saved by Hotch. “Dave, you’re with me. Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to go to the ME, Garcia we’ll need you on call, and JJ, Lewis, I want you to go talk to this man.”

“What about me?” Spencer asked.

“You’re going to stay here and watch her,” Hotch commanded. I started laughing at Spencer’s visible discomfort. Spencer glared at me before opening his mouth to argue, but Hotch stopped him with a voice filled with authority, “I know you won’t be able to focus out there if you know she’s still here unattended. Let’s go.”

When everyone had left and the door shut behind them, I sang, “Well if it isn’t Doctor Reid drawing the short end of the stick, yet again.”

“Just sit down and shut up,” he tried to order with confidence as he took his own advice, sitting as far away from me as possible. Not once had he looked me in the eyes since I’d initially walked in and he had attacked me. Sure, his eyes were on me, but they never connected with mine.

“Is that a demand, doctor?” I challenged him.

“No, but it could be. I just don’t want to be the one responsible for letting you get away.” He shrugged in his chair, resting the ankle of his leg on the knee of the other.

“So you’re just gonna trust me to do what you ask?” I questioned. Throughout the entire time I’d known Spencer, he’d never gotten super riled up over something, but this was a whole different Spencer, one that I didn’t recognize or know . He was more on edge, confident, and clearly willing to wrap his hand around my throat with no hesitation. A type of Spencer I was more than happy to get to know. And let’s face it, I’d been in prison for 15 months. There wasn’t a ton of action going on in there that I wanted to get involved with. I just wanted to see how far I could push him before he snapped. “You don’t trust me, and you know you can’t. I put you in prison, just because I could,” I shrugged, contradicting what I’d insinuated earlier for my own entertainment, “and you think that I won’t just walk away from you when given the chance?”

“You’ve had the chance. For the past three minutes and forty-six seconds you could have left and you didn’t. What’s keeping you here?” he smugly fired back. Oh yeah, he’s definitely going to be fun to mess with.

“What’s keeping you here?” I copied, “Why’d Hotch bench you again? Because you can’t focus when I’m around?”

“No one can focus with you around!” he huffed hotly.

“Not well, but they certainly can do better than what you’re doing right now,” I patronized, “What is it about me that makes you all so nervous, huh? I’m just another criminal who happens to be a former co-worker. I thought you were used to working with those day in and day out.”

“Criminals or co-workers?”

“Either.”

“None of them are like you,” he bit.

“Oh I know,” I ran my tongue over my lips, “So I’ll ask again, what is it about me that makes me so different?”

He looked up at me. In contrast to the first time he locked eyes with me, his expression was stone cold. “You were a part of this team, and you betrayed us. You betrayed me. I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid to believe you were actually helping us! I just want to know why you picked me. You were going to take one of us down, why’d you choose me?” I could see the gears spinning in his head, and was about to answer when he frustratedly added, “Was it because you thought I’m the weakest?”

That’s it. That’s what’s always made him tick. And he used the present tense. We were still an entire table length apart, so I started slowly sauntering toward him. I prodded, “Is that what you think? You believe you’re the weakest on the team? Or do you just think that’s what I thought?”

“We all have our roles,” he responded, but not nearly as confident as he had been before.

“That’s not an answer,” I pushed.

“You still haven’t answered me, either,” he growled, and I decided to let this one go. We didn’t need to fully delve into his insecurities, no matter how much I wanted to.

“It was similar to that. You were the most afraid of me, I could smell it in the air.” I closed my eyes and pretended to revel in the stench of fear. “But, I could’ve gotten any one of them if I wanted.”

Spencer scoffed at that, “I think you overestimate your abilities.”

“I don’t,” I quickly fired back, “I could’ve gotten any of them, and to be honest, I was going to go after Derek, or maybe Emily, but then you spoke up from the corner of the room and I knew it had to be you.”

“Why?”

“Why this, Aundreya, and why that, Aundreya? Is that the only question you can ask?”

“Is it the only question you can’t answer?”

I was about halfway to him now, and decided to give him a little false hope. “I picked you, not because of your intellect, or how the rest of the team coddles you, or how relationship starved you are. I picked you because I could see something in your eyes that was different, something dark. And once I heard your full back story, I realized just how similar the two of us are.”

“We are nothing alike,” he insisted.

“Really? Because had you made one different choice or one thing went just a little bit wrong, you could have ended up just like me, with no family and no one to give a shit about you or what you do, except for the cops who just wanted you locked up and controlled.” I was dangerously close to him now, his head tilted to look at me, but he didn’t cower away. He actually seemed to welcome it. Which reminded me of something, “After knowing all of that, my past and everything I was, you still agreed to let me on your team.”

“I was the last person to say yes to you joining,” he informed me. This was news to me, but I couldn’t even be sure if he was telling me the truth. “I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be working with us, but I was outnumbered and outranked.”

“No, you caved to their wishes,” I twisted his words to suit my needs, “Like you caved to mine.” I slowly reached down to place a hand on his chest. He eyed it all the way until I made contact with him, and it was like flipping a switch. He grabbed my wrist and held it close as he pushed out of his chair, the wheels spinning it wildly back into the monitor. He reached for my other wrist, which I let him grab, and held me against the wall, arms pinned next to my head. I did everything I could to not smirk. And he’s still caving.

“I didn’t want you here. I resisted the idea of you being around us,” he spat.

“Like you’re resisting the idea of being around me right now?” I arched an eyebrow, scanning him from head to toe, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on a few spots. He opened his mouth to say something, but he shut it again, locking his jaw. I could see his genius mind at work, trying to come up with some way out of the little mouse trap I’d set up for him. I watched his eyes trail down to my lips and neck, soaking it all in. When his eyes met mine again, I tried to reach for him, but he forcefully slammed my hands back, pinning me to the wall again. Though, I wanted him to touch me this time. He was taking too long to make a move for my liking, so I decided if I couldn’t use my arms, I might as well use my legs.

All of his weight was already leaning toward me, so it wasn’t difficult to wrap my right leg around his waist and bring him all the way to me. The moment that they were within inches of my face, I attacked his lips. I was almost disappointed by the fact that he didn’t seem surprised at all, as if he knew how impatient I was and knew that I would force the first move. But, I wasn’t disappointed for long.

Spencer’s whole body was pressed against mine as he quickly swiped his tongue across my bottom lip, looking for entrance. I granted it, but I wasn’t going to give him the complete dominance that he wanted over the kiss. Instead, our tongues slid over each other’s searching for more than the other was willing to give. It was hot and messy, and he released his grip on my wrists, moving them to apply the same amount of force to my jaw. With my hands free, I made quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt, ripping it open. I was expecting skin and sighed when I found yet another shirt. This man and his layers.

Spencer took advantage of me sighing, giving him more access to my mouth, which I wanted to be annoyed about, but couldn’t care to be. I decided to make better use of my hands, running them down the sides of his body as he wrapped his behind my back. He pulled away from me so abruptly when I tried to massage him through his slacks, he basically dropped me on the floor. It was like being left out in a cold winter storm, just barely out of arm's reach of warmth.

Spencer shook his head, eyes on the floor, as if that would clear his mind of what clouded it, which was me. But I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “There. You got what you wanted.”

I gaped at him before retorting, “We both know it wasn’t just me who got what I wanted. I’m sure you had a hard time pulling away.”

He glared at me as he rolled the chair back toward the desk and took a seat, “Not really. I have important work to do.”

I stood there staring at him trying to compose himself. His face was red and he tugged at his pants before crossing his leg over the other. I pressed my lips together, but still failed to contain the small laugh that escaped through my nose.

“Sure,” I mocked, “Especially since everyone else on the team is already doing that work for you.” He didn’t look up from whatever papers were on the table, trying in vain to ignore me, though I wasn’t ready to have his attention off me yet.

I shut the folder that he was in the middle of reading, not like he was actually reading it considering how long it was taking him to flip the page, and sat right on top of it. He was about to reach for it again, but retracted his hand at lightning speed when my legs got in the way. I flashed another mockingly sweet smile his way, but he looked out toward the window, right next to the wall I’d just come from. I swung my legs back and forth off the side of the table just a bit, careful not to completely kick Spencer in the shin, though I couldn’t help but let my toes accidentally tap him a few times. As with all of the other times I’d touched him, he moved out of the way, uncrossing his legs with a perfect foot-sized gap in between his knees. I rested my foot in that small gap on the chair, rolling his body closer to me. Then, for no other reason than wanting to feel him squirm underneath me, I plopped down on his lap, my legs straddling his. I pretty much had him locked in his seat.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, a look of complete indifference gracing his face, but I knew it was just a front.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job,” I replied, winking at him.

“And… how do you think this is helping me do my job?”

“I’m making sure you’re paying attention to me,” I whispered in his ear seductively, lacing my fingers together on the back of his neck, “Plus, I’m doing what you asked me to. How did you put it? Sit down and shut-”

Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched my cheeks and brought my lips to his forcefully. The kiss was just as hungry as the last, teeth clashing and tongues furiously fighting. He moved his long fingers onto my hips with a bruising grip, which I had absentmindedly started grinding against his. He pulled away from me for a moment, and his harsh tone reminded me that this was nothing like the last time we’d been together, when we’d both been a bit more innocent. “You never did have any manners at work.”

I smirked, “I know. Imagine my manners at home.”

A low, almost inaudible groan came from Spencer’s throat at my suggestion, but he tried to cover it up by moving my hair out of the way and latching his lips onto the side of my neck. I gasped at the contact of his teeth pulling at my soft flesh, paired with the feeling of his growing bulge pressed against my core. His fingers gripped my hips harder and moved them faster, drawing a small whimper from my lips. I felt him smile as he trailed kisses down my neck to my collar bone, leaving a single bite mark there. I tried so hard to contain my high-pitched moan when he moved one of his hands from my waist to pinch one of my nipples through my shirt.

But I was supposed to be the clear-headed one, so I forced myself to not get too wrapped up in the feeling. If I wanted to get to my end goal, I was going to have to leave him wanting more, which unfortunately in turn meant leaving myself in the same condition.

My hips had gotten faster along with Spencer’s hands, but when I felt him start to buck his hips up against me, I knew that he was getting close and it had to end. Immediately, I stopped my movements and untangled myself from him, but not before dragging a finger up the column of his throat, sneering, “Too bad. I could’ve helped you, had you done anything to help me.”

I left that open for interpretation, either as a jab to his masculinity or to what started my rage in the first place: being left in prison. He didn’t ask for clarification either, clearly too bothered by being left on edge. He did, however, follow up with, “Help you? Why would I want to do that? You’re a terrible person.”

I grinned as if receiving a medal of honor, “That I am, Doctor.”

I moved the lay down on the couch while Spencer attempted to refocus on his work. I made a show of sighing a couple times and rolling around ‘to find a comfortable position’ on the couch, just to piss him off. I could tell it was working based on his clenched fists turning white, and the way his leg was jumping. He was resting his head in his hand, which almost perfectly shielded my face from his.

He still wasn’t turning the page, so I offered, “Can you flip the page by yourself, or do you need some help?”

He wasn’t given the opportunity to respond, because Hotch, followed by most of the team, came barreling through the door.

“Colby Ulton, 43 years old, has a long record and wasn’t home,” JJ announced, following Hotch. It’d been a while since I had to deal with their inhuman pace when it came to talking about unsubs and profiles, so most of the stuff they said next flew over my head.

I was way behind in the conversation, but none of that mattered when Hotch turned to me, “Colby Ulton. I want you on him.” He'd barely gotten the command out before I was reaching for the door handle.

“I don’t.” The words were hot and dry and coming from none other than Doctor Reid. I rolled my eyes. He moved to step in front of the door, blocking my passage out again, leaning casually with his back against it, arms crossed. Our faces were barely centimeters apart.

“Why not?” I asked in a mock-curious voice.

“I don’t trust you. Who’s to say you won’t just run off? Then we’d let a high-profile criminal walk free. Plus, we’re not even sure he’s the right man,” Spencer pointed out. I was going to point out how I had just made that same argument about me leaving, and he refuted it himself only to bring it back up now, but I didn’t get the chance.

“He’s the best we’ve got right now,” Derek countered. I could tell he sort of just wanted me out of the room, but Spencer’s motives appeared very different.

He never took his eyes off of mine as he recited, “We think it’s a rogue gang member who’s either left or been kicked out within the past year. Ulton’s been in prison, which could mean he’s gone rogue, or it could mean he’s joined a new gang, one that, as you probably know, wouldn’t allow this type of acting out. Either way, he hasn’t demonstrated gang affiliated behavior in almost three years. Not to mention he had his tattoo removed and is out of our age range. I don’t think putting her on, most likely, the wrong man’s trail is worth the risk of letting her walk free.”

The room was silent as we all waited for someone else to make the first move. I decided to be that person. “So what do you suggest they do with me, hm?” I questioned, walking my two fingers up his chest with each word. Then I leaned in and made it very clear, “Because I am not going back to prison.”

I bit his earlobe on the way back, and I saw the way his pupils dilated just slightly at the feeling, “I’ll watch her for the night.”

“What?” Derek and I said at the same time, but our facial expressions were very different.

“Yes,” he stated, more confidently now, “She has nothing to do right now, but we might need her later in the investigation, so sending her all the way back to prison doesn’t make sense.”

“And you'll make sure she doesn’t escape?” Derek questioned.

“She hasn’t so far, has she?” Spencer challenged. When he got unnerved looks from the rest of the team, he assured, shooting a small smirk my way, “Trust me, she won’t.” How cute. He thinks he can wrap his skinny little fingers around my neck and pull a moan from me once, and all the sudden he’s in control. He switched our position, pinning me up against the door, clasping the handcuffs back around my wrists in front of me. I was starting to think he had a thing for pushing people into walls. It was his turn to whisper in my ear, “And you won't want to.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

When we arrived back at his apartment, I took a moment to survey the room. It looked almost exactly as it had the last time I’d been there. Books piled up everywhere, papers strewn all over the desk, a little dark and dusty, maybe a bit more worn, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The only difference was that it no longer suited him as well anymore. He used to be this shy, studious, loner-type that didn’t really like people, and he had a certain innocence about him. There was nothing innocent about him anymore. He didn’t seem shy either, much more confident; still studious and a loner though. However, I bet he liked having at least one person over at all times, or not being home at all. It meant that he didn’t have to be alone with his own mind, and after being in solitude myself, and knowing that he’d been in there too, that feeling of complete silence, utter aloneness, was something we’d never want to experience again. We were honestly perfect for each other in that way.

The other thing I’d noticed, based on what I'd seen of him within the last few hours and what I knew prison could do to a person, I guessed he went off of instinct rather than intelligence more than he ever had in his life.

Spencer had to take the time to shrug off his satchel and kick off his shoes, neither of which I even had. All I had was myself and what I was wearing, which wasn’t much. At least I wasn’t in an orange jumpsuit anymore.

“Wow, you’ve really renovated the place,” I snickered. Spencer didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and brushed past me. I forced my wrists outward a couple times, making a clanking sound with the cuffs, asking, “You gonna take these off?”

He faced me with a smirk and shook his head slightly, “Don’t think so.” Pulling out a chair at the puny kitchen table, he sat down, and I felt like we were much in the same position we’d been in at the office. I was in his home turf, if I could even call it that, but I wasn’t just going to let him be in charge.

I decided to go straight for the jugular, “Why’d you bring me home, Spence?”

“This isn’t home, not for you,” he snapped.

I scoffed, “Doesn’t look like it is for you, either, but that doesn’t change the question.”

“I told you. I didn’t want to risk you running away.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” I inquired. He could hear the way I was rephrasing it to change the narrative, not like I was wrong, but he successfully dodged it.

“I didn’t want to lose an asset over the wrong man, tipping the right one off, and potentially risking him going underground. I’m just trying to catch an unsub,” he shrugged.

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” I shook my head in amusement.

“You don’t?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course I do,” I quickly answered.

“Then answer this,” Spencer squared his shoulders, now completely facing me, “Why didn’t you run the moment you got the chance?”

“I had three FBI personnel in the car with me, then a team of BAU agents surrounding me, and then was left alone in the same room as an agent who can shoot 100 on his test. I am many things, but I am not stupid nor am I suicidal.”

“How’d you know I shot 100?” Spencer followed up.

I smiled, “I know things.”

“How about all the chances you got when you were in prison? You’ve broken out plenty of times before, why not do it again?” He was leaning forward, and he seemed genuinely curious.

It was a good question, one that I actually hadn’t pre-thought the answer to. Frankly, I wasn’t expecting to even make it this far. “I was biding my time.”

“For..?”

“Leverage.” It was a simple word, but one that seemed to make a great impact. Spencer leaned back in his chair and contemplated my answer. It wasn’t a complete lie either, I just didn’t want to give away too many details.

Spencer finally whispered, “Against?”

I flashed him a wicked smile. “You.” His face contorted into something I couldn’t fully recognize, eyes narrowing. “You, Spencer. I’ve been waiting for you to make an error, a mistake. That was the one flaw in my plan, that while I picked the easiest to emotionally manipulate, I picked the hardest to mentally manipulate. And you don’t make very many mental mistakes, do you Spencer?” I asked, approaching him. I’m really hoping you’d like to cash one in right now, though. I could practically see the internal argument being fought inside Spencer’s head; one side telling him to give in, it wasn’t that bad, the other telling him to resist, that somehow, this would corrupt him further. I needed the former to win. “You wouldn’t let yourself get caught up in the moment, would you? You wouldn’t crack, take what you want, what you need, what you deserve against your better judgement. Because you’re all brain, Spencer. All brain, and no heart.”

That’s what did it.

Spencer literally swept me off my feet, tossing me onto the couch like a rag doll. His hand returned to my throat as if it belonged there, and he pushed open my legs with his knees. My hands may have been cuffed, but they could still be useful. I moved them to start unbuttoning his shirt when he swatted them away. He spat, “I’m not heartless. Not like you.”

“No,” I agreed, “You’re worse. At least I can admit to what I am. You just hide behind a badge and gun.”

Spencer shoved two fingers in my mouth, probably trying to shut me up. I smirked, running my tongue up and down the long digits, making sure to give him a preview of what was to come if he’d let it. His other hand trailed down the side of my body until it reached the waistband of the pants I was wearing. Forcefully, he yanked them down, taking my panties with them. I knew I was already pooling, but of course he had to rub it in. Snarky, he mocked, “For someone who talks a big game, you’re already looking pretty weak.”

I silently cursed my body for finding him arousing, and was about to have to come up with a clever comment when I saw Spencer pause. He was charging straight into this, and then he just stopped. I tilted my head, “Worried you don’t have it in you?”

Spencer met my eyes, and cooly stated, “I’m not going to let you be my mistake.”

Dammit. When I felt him start to pull away, I knew I had to say something to get him to stay. I needed to turn this into an advantage in his eyes, not just mine. “Why? So you can let this rage build up inside of you, eat away at your every thought, until you snap? What then? You lash out during a case, which causes someone to die, either because of your incapabilities or at your hand? And what for? Because you’re still mad at me? I’m right here in front of you, Spencer! You’re never going to get a chance like this again, so just do something!” By the end, it was a plea, and one that was brutally answered.

Spencer pushed two of his fingers inside me, already moving at a quick pace. I let out a small yelp at the sensation which clearly pleased Spencer. I attempted to refocus on unbuttoning his shirt, which became increasingly difficult because of how he was curling his fingers to hit that spot just right. I barely finished, pushing his shirt away from his shoulders when he leaned away from me, taking both of his fingers with him. I was about to complain until I saw him dropping his shirt to the ground and unbuckling his belt, pushing his own pants and underwear out of the way in a similar fashion as he’d done to mine. He pumped his fist over his shaft a couple of times before lining himself up between my wide open legs. He teased my clit with the tip of his cock, and I could feel the precum beading there. I bit my lip as I looked up at him.

Spencer’s eyes were blown when he quietly demanded, “Say it.” He wants me to beg. I was okay with him thinking he was in charge for now, so I played into it by shaking my head. He slammed my cuffed wrists against the arm of the couch just above my head, bringing his face so close I could feel his lips brush mine as he repeated, “Say it.”

It was more forceful the second time, and something about his hot breath on my face and the feeling of his hips trying, and failing, to stay still against mine pulled a whimper all too genuine from my lips, “Punish me.”

At my words, he slammed his cock in my entrance, setting a merciless pace. With no time to adjust to his length, the heat burning between my legs got fiercer. The sounds of his hips hitting mine filled the room, both of us trying to control our moans, not wanting the other to know how much we were really enjoying it. My back arched off the couch, sending my fingers over the arm, brushing over thin objects on the small table there. A pen and paper clip.

I pressed my lips together to contain the grin that just about took over my face. Looking down at Spencer, who was way too busy biting marks into my skin, I could tell he hadn’t noticed the detrimental error I’d just realized he’d made. I made quick work of unclasping the cuffs from around my wrists, but left them on loosely just for show.

The coil in my stomach was getting tighter and tighter, and while I usually would have tried to control myself, I let the moans tear through my lungs. This caught Spencer’s attention, perring up at me with a twinkle in his eyes, one that told me he thought he had me. He mouthed into my neck, “This too much for you to handle, Jailbird?”

I scoffed at his pet name. Alright Doctor Reid, you’ve had your fun. Now let me show you how to really be in charge. “Not in the slightest, Mouse,” I quipped. Before he could think, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and put my hands on the back of his head. I flipped us off the side of the couch, landing on top of Spencer. With the wind knocked out of him, I quickly grabbed his wrist, clasping one of the cuffs around it, looping the chain behind the couch leg, then synching the other around his free wrist. I placed his head on the ground and leaned back, tracing patterns on his chest.

It took him a moment to realize what had just happened, but I saw the moment the light went off. “You filthy bitch.”

I chuckled, “It seems as though that genius memory of yours forgot that I’m a criminally sound escape artist.”

He was fuming, but contained himself long enough to ask, “What changed?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Since last time? You had no problem letting me take control then.”

I simply stated with disgust, “I was soft then.”

“Who’s to say you aren’t still now?” Spencer challenged.

I laced my fingers with his as I pinned them to the ground, my turn to be the one looking down on him, faces only centimeters apart. We locked eyes as I explained, “You can see it too, I know you can. I wake up and see it in the mirror every day, and I see it in you too now. It’s in your eyes. That darkness. That feeling of destruction, of being broken, of being a monster. It’s there. I can see it like it’s my own.”

I expected him to snap at me. To argue with a clever quip. But he didn’t. Spencer leaned up as far as he could and kissed me. Not in the angry, predatory-like way that we had earlier, but really kissed me. I was so taken aback by the gesture that I practically jumped off him after a few seconds. I hated myself for letting it happen for even that long.

I stormed away from him, hissing, “Don’t try to get my sympathy now that you’re the one chained like a dirty animal. I’m not gonna fall for it.”

I saw something quick flash across his face before it hardened again. I could feel his eyes following my every move as I walked away, so I decided to make a show of it. I swished my hips back and forth, and even bent all the way over to pick up our clothes for no reason, just so he could have a perfect view between my legs. I heard the rattle of the cuffs against the couch and smirked to myself.

Tossing the clothes as far away as possible, I reached under my shirt to unclasp my bra, slipping it out one of the arm holes. I spun it around my index finger a couple of times before letting it fly off in the direction of the rest of our clothes. Toying with the hem of my shirt, I rhythmically moved it around my body so that he could only see some exposed skin at a time. I slowly pulled it higher and higher until I removed the garment completely. Standing completely bare in front of him, looking down on his naked body, I’d never felt more in control.

Spencer was drilling holes into me as I got down on my knees, crawling toward him. Again, his hands shot forward only to be stopped by the metal. I tutted, “Now, now, Mouse. That’s not how this works.”

I stroked a single finger up his length, and when it brushed over the tip, he squeezed his eyes shut. I wetted my lips as I wrapped a single hand around his cock, starting at an agonizingly slow pace, a stark contrast to the one he’d set earlier. I had barely started moving at a faster pace when Spencer started to buck his hips up into my hand. I slammed his hips back down with my other arm, giving him a cold look. His hips stilled and I knew he was getting desperate.

I flattened my palm against his lower belly, making sure he’d stay in place as I steadily picked up the pace. Spencer threw his head back when I swiped my tongue over his tip, and huffed when I retracted my hands, breaking contact all together.

I hummed, “Actually, this isn’t that interesting.” I scooted back on the floor, holding eye contact with his piercing irises as I spread my legs wide open for him to see. Neither one of us has had our release yet, so I might as well take mine and leave him high and dry.

I brushed my fingertips down my body, cupping my breasts on the way, until I reached my clit. I started to rub circles over the bundle of nerves, not realizing how close I already was. I let out exaggerated moans as I continued my ministrations, steadily pushing myself toward the edge.

“Stop.” It was barely a whisper, and I wasn’t sure if I even heard it, so I ignored it. Right as another moan ripped through my lungs, I heard Spencer say, louder and more demanding this time, “Stop.”

I was too close to stop. I barely had the mental capacity to smirk down at him before I felt my release crash over me like a tidal wave. For dramatic effect, I whined out Spencer’s name as my walls clenched around nothing, helping myself through my orgasm. Slowly coming down from my high, my head lulled back, release seeping into his rug.

Barely allowing myself to catch my breath, I leaned forward onto my knees, and looked at Spencer’s face, which was red with anger or desperation I couldn’t tell, but brought my lips down on his dick regardless. He grunted at the sensation, and I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I swirled my tongue around him until I couldn’t anymore, opting to just trace a protruding vein instead. I started to hollow out my cheeks when he bucked up into me, forcing me to take all of him in at once. He groaned when I started gagging around his length, and when I coughed after pulling off him, he had the audacity to laugh.

“Having trouble there, Jailbird?” Spencer smugly asked. I looked down at his length laying against his stomach and saw that it was a deep red, and had to have been painfully hard at that point. With that in mind, along with my recent release, I crawled over him.

I looked at him as I hovered my pussy just above his cock. “I wouldn’t be worried about me. I’d be worried about how you’re gonna take care of yourself with your hands cuffed if I decided I’m done with you.”

That threat wiped the smug look right off his face. I was already wet again, and allowed him to only barely feel what was waiting for him if he behaved, lowering myself down so his length was just brushing my lips.

His face contorted and then he said the word of my victory, “Please.”

Taking hold of his cock in one hand, I lined myself up, and slowly sunk down. He filled me up completely, a bit thicker than I remembered, and I sat comfortably in his lap. This was clearly what Spencer wanted, but there was no way in hell it was going to be that easy. I just sat there looking at him, and based on the crazed look on his face, he was expecting me to start moving immediately.

We stared each other down for a moment before his whole body jerked forward, hands yanking on the cuffs. It was my turn to laugh at his pathetic struggles, but I still didn’t have quite what I wanted yet. Raising my hips up, I quickly slammed them down, pulling the loudest groan I’d heard from Spencer. When I didn’t move again, he started squirming underneath me, and I asked, “What is it you want me to do, Mouse?”

Then he broke, his strangled pleas music to my ears, “God, fuck me, please, just fuck me!”

I grinned as I captured his lips in a vicious kiss, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth. Steadying myself with my palm on his chest, I lifted my hips up, only to let them fall back into his lap. I started slower than either of us wanted, letting myself adjust to his full size before bouncing freely on his dick. The sounds of our heavy moans filled the air, sweat collecting on our bodies.

I was honestly surprised at how long Spencer had lasted when he let out one final shriek before coming undone below me. He’d given up, completely relaxed on the floor as I started chasing my second orgasm. Spencer peered up at me through hooded eyes, and soon enough starting letting out cries, and I knew I was pushing him. I didn’t want to completely overwhelm him but I was so close…

I wouldn’t get there, not yet anyway, because Spencer did something I was not expecting. The couch hit the floor with a loud thud, giving Spencer the freedom to move his arms. He wrapped the chain of the cuffs around the back of my neck and flipped me over in one swift motion, almost identical to how I’d just done it to him.

I was completely caught off guard, and let a surprised squeak leave my lips. I was almost impressed. Almost.

As if he could see straight into my mind, Spencer remarked, “I’m a quick study.” His entire body weight was over me, and there was very little wiggle room for an escape.

I followed Spencer’s eyes as he scanned around the room, glanced at his wrists, then sighed when he spotted his pants. Must’ve been where he put the key.

I raised my pitch and snidely sang like a schoolgirl, “Whatcha gonna do Mouse? You gonna fuck me like the inmate you are, or are you gonna free yourself, hm?”

Pressing his hands down on either side of my perfectly laid out ones above my head, the chain between the cuffs digging into my forearms, he chided, “I’m sure I can handle you just fine with them on. I’m not quite done with you yet, Jailbird.”

My walls fluttered around his cock at the gravelly sound of his voice and the threat that accompanied it. It’s as if he’s chained to me. I shuddered happily at the thought.

“Is that what this is about?” Spencer hissed, clearly catching my pleased look and the way my pussy pulled him in a little more at his harsh words, “You just enjoy seeing me as some twisted killer?”

“I enjoy seeing you for who you truly are.”

I wasn’t able to form another coherent thought after that one, the pace Spencer was pounding into me like one I’d never felt. He fucked his cum from only seconds ago back into me, the wet sound of our mixing fluids filling the room. I could barely focus on where his hands had moved to, teasing my nipples, because the fire between my legs was jumping higher and higher. As it finally burned through me in the sweetest way possible, I reached to grab onto anything, the first thing my fingers found being Spencer’s hair. He growled when I tugged, but his pace never let up.

As I came down from my high, Spencer didn’t stop. The feelings were becoming too strong, too overpowering, pleasure bordering on pain. I tried to pull my hips away from his, but there was nothing I could do. To stop my squirming, he sat back slightly and pressed his large palms down on my hip bones. Moving also changed the angle he was slamming into me, now bottoming out with each thrust. I needed some reprieve.

“Spencer,” I whined, but there was a nothingness in his eyes.

His hands snaked up to my throat, applying massive pressure to my windpipe. “Is this what you wanted?” Spencer yelled, “Is this what you think I truly am?”

I was having trouble getting the air into my lungs, let alone respond. I wanted to force him to face his reality of being an ex-con, knowing how shitty it was to be on the inside and just letting me sit in there. A consequence of my own actions, but considering I was doing it to save him, I was looking for a little bit more effort on the getting out process.

But he’d left me in there. He didn’t care. He didn’t care despite the fact that he knew what I was going through, that I could tell he was still dealing with his own PTSD and not well, and that everything had changed for him. People looked at him and treated him differently. He was a different person. Corrupt. And he’d only been in there for not even three months.

I’d been in there for five times as long.

I wanted him to realize just how much damage him and his useless team were doing to me by not helping me get out. I wanted him to realize how fucked up that was, and how terrible of a person that made him. I wanted him to realize he was just as big of a monster as I was.

I accomplished that. But I underestimated how much darkness he’d really been holding back.

My head started to feel light, and I could tell I was on the brink of my third release. The sound of skin slapping skin was sinful and I couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of his tip hitting my a-spot, the way my legs were shaking around his body, the way the muscles in his back felt against my nails as I clawed them down it. My release came quicker than Spencer’s, who wasn’t too far behind me. His thrusts became shallower, as he spilled into me for the second time. It was as if all the energy had been drained out of me in an instant, along with my anger and hatred. Spencer rolled off of me, and I saw his figure weakly collapse to the ground.

It was an eerie calm, the sound of absolute nothingness, the only disturbance being our labored breathing.

I didn’t know how long it’d been when Spencer’s voice, the softest I’d heard it since the day’s start, whispered, “Are you okay?”

I glanced at him with a confused look. He let out a small sigh at my non response, collecting himself before walking over to his long forgotten pants for the cuffs key. After freeing his wrists, he walked back over to me and helped me up, ushering me to the bathroom.

I could tell he was examining me, but it wasn’t until I stood in front of the mirror that I realized why. “Look at those bruises around your neck, Jailbird. They suit you.”

The bruises were deep and already turning a nice purple. I scanned the rest of me finding more bruises on my hips, thighs, shoulders, wrists, and not to mention the bite mark on my collar. I scanned Spencer next, his only bruises coming from his wrists and the red marks I left on his back. “I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

He met my eyes in the mirror, “What were you expecting?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know.” I truly didn’t. I went into it knowing I wanted to force him to see everything he had, everything he was, but I guess I didn’t really think about what that would force me to see. My exhaustion started to give way to a heap of emotions, and a single, involuntary tear escaped my eye. Spencer brushed his fingers over my neck, simultaneously pulling my hair behind my shoulder.

He kissed the tender, bruised skin, and I remembered the times before, the times when it felt like we’d really been in love. I felt his breath on me as he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I turned on my heels to face him, “You didn’t.”

I didn’t know what compelled him to confess what I never thought he would, but he sounded deeply ashamed when admitting, “I wanted to.”

“What stopped you?” I was genuinely curious. We’d hurt each other in the most extreme ways before today, getting the other sent to a cage in hell, betraying each other.

“I’m broken, but I’m not beyond repair, and hurting you would make me someone that I don’t want to be.”

I gave him a tired smile, and all I could muster was, “Pretty convincing.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t. You couldn’t,” I assured him. It was the truth.

“I should’ve,” he bit, looking down at his hands, which were so delicately holding my waist I couldn’t be sure he was even touching me.

“Why?” I questioned, the seriousness evident in my voice, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shook his head, and a stray curl or two tickled my forehead. “I could’ve.”

“I trusted you not to.” I clasped my hands together and rested them on his back.

Spencer’s shaky voice matched his glistening eyes as they locked with mine, “I just wasn’t sure. All I know is that I scare myself sometimes.”

I pressed my forehead against his own, “Well, then I guess we’re two people who have nothing to fear other than ourselves.”

Read the full series

Taging some people:

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx @andiebeaword @psychicdonuts @aperrywilliams @goldentournesol @homoose

[midoriyashotos]

Unbreakable

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Kirishima Eijiro/Midoriya Izuku

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Kirishima Eijiro, Bakugo Katsuki; MINOR ROLES - 1-A students

Summary: “Get out of the way, Kirishima,” Katsuki warns him. “I won’t hesitate to break your face in fucking pieces!”

“Then DO IT! I DON’T CARE!” Kirishima roars. He’s never sounded this angry. “I won’t let you break Midoriya EVER AGAIN!”

--

In which someone finally stands up for Izuku.

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: basically I wrote Kirishima being protective of Izuku, because it’s interesting how he hates bullies but never stands up to Bakugo...

I hope this isn’t too OOC. Enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNINGS - minor violence, bullying/abuse and injury.

*NOT BAKUGO/KIRIBAKU/BAKUDEKU FRIENDLY!

--

Izuku is happy, really.

Sure, it can be exhausting. It can be aggravating to live up to what comes with being the Symbol of Peace. And it’s also terrifying the reminder that Katsuki knows about his secret and has a lot more reason to hate him.

Not that Katsuki would ever quit hating Izuku, but still.

In the very least, the explosive boy doesn’t hit Izuku regularly anymore. People in their school don’t take Katsuki seriously like it happened in Middle School, so it’s a relief.

(They constantly call Katsuki and Izuku childhood friends, though.)

(Or rivals. Are they really rivals?)

Regardless, as long as Izuku stays away from Katsuki, he’ll be fine.

So, he’s happy.

--

When they can, 1-A has fun nights that may include eating cake and candies, playing games and watching movies – sometimes all in the same night. His classmates are very united in that sense.

Tonight, they’re sharing a big cake everyone helped Sato with; the teenagers are all separated in groups that fill the common room with life.

Izuku might subconsciously flinch every time a certain voice raises near him. Thankfully, it’s not directed at him – once he looks, he finds Katsuki and his friends messing with him. The greenette sighs in relief.

The boy spends most of the night alongside Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu and Todoroki. At one point, though, Izuku rests alone on the green couch, honestly a little drained by all the energy today, given the yelling and cursing that persists in what should’ve been a good time.

As his head is stuck in his thoughts, Izuku jolts when someone reaches him in the almost untouched spot.

“Hey, Midoriya! What’s up, man?”

Kirishima grins at him. His usually spiky hair is down today (a detail Izuku strives not to stare at for too long, because that’s creepy).

“K-Kirishima-kun! Hi!” Izuku stammers.

“You partied a lot?”

Izuku laughs shyly, “Yeah, had plenty of cake.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kirishima smiles. “Mind if I take a break with you?”

“A-Ah, sure. I mean, you can sit! Feel free to!”

His red-haired friend sits close to him, maybe… a little too close, the other notes. Izuku holds his cup of now-warm soda, playing with it nervously. Kirishima’s enthusiasm and passion honestly still catch him off guard. At first, Izuku thought he’d be… different. Spiky hair, red eyes, sharp teeth…

Instead, Kirishima turned out to be one of the sweetest and brightest people Izuku has ever known. He brings a lot of spirit to their class.

(And now that Izuku knows, Kirishima does look a lot more friendly and… cute.)

“… Midoriya, you’re looking kind of red…”

Izuku’s green eyes enlarge comically, cheeks burning.

“GAH! I-It’s nothing, Kirishima-kun! It’s just- h-hot in here, isn’t it?” Izuku ignores the fact they’re all wearing sweaters in this chilly night; but he supposes Kirishima does it as well, since he doesn’t touch on it.

If anything, the redhead smiles at him fondly.

(For the love of All Might, it’s too breathtaking.)

Izuku finds some ease, though, in his friend’s heat next to him. Kirishima’s presence is solid and stable like his quirk, but soft and gentle all at same. It perfectly encapsulates who Kirishima is, as a hero and a person.

Still, the freckled boy can’t help but wonder why Kirishima has decided to join him. Izuku is not doing anything particularly interesting. They’re not talking… but it’s not awkward, either.

Regardless, Izuku’s peace is disturbed yet again by Katsuki’s yelling bursts, his steaming hands felt from far away. As always, it’s just Sero, Kaminari and Ashido having fun with him.

Before Izuku can dive in his terrified relief, he’s reminded of the fact Kirishima is next to him, and maybe watching him as well.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Yeah… Kacchan’s enthusiasm is…” Izuku gulps, “a little too much sometimes.”

“Oh.” Kirishima sounds a little suspicious, but he quickly resumes his smiley nature. “Man, tell me about it,” he jokes.

Izuku holds his plastic cup tighter, refraining himself from tearing it apart and spilling all the soda on the floor.

“I can tell he’s having fun, at least,” Izuku analyzes. “He really likes you guys.”

“Yeah…” Kirishima pauses, only to laugh nervously, “he doesn’t really know how to show that, though.”

(Izuku recalls all the punches to Kirishima’s stony hair, and the insults Katsuki throws at him on a daily basis.)

“At least he likes you, Kirishima-kun,” Izuku reassures him in a lighthearted tone. “Kacchan was never happy with me.”

Admittedly, he hasn’t quite thought over these words – nor was he expecting Kirishima’s concerned gaze, his fondness of Katsuki gone.

“What do you mean?” The red-haired boy inquires.

“Ah, you know…” Izuku clears his throat, as his other classmates party and pay them no mind. “Kacchan’s called me weak since we were kids. He’s always been competitive, and- since my quirk took a while to show up”— he gulps due to the weight of the lie —“we were never…” he trails off, really not wanting to give more details.

“… you were never friends?” Kirishima completes.

Izuku swallows the bitter taste in his mouth and silently shakes his head.

“B-But it’s okay, though! We’re good now,” he tries to convince his friend (… and himself). “I just have to stay away from him because- you know how he is. But he’s got you guys as friends, so I know he’s happy.”

Kirishima looks away, thoughtful. He doesn’t seem entirely relieved by his words. Izuku suddenly feels the need to escape – what has he done?

“I- I need to go to the restroom!” He jumps from the sofa before Kirishima stops him.

Izuku is in such a rush that he doesn’t realize Katsuki is in his way.

“Oi!” Katsuki snaps. His eyes are immediately spiteful. “Deku…”

“K-KACCHAN! SORRY!!” Izuku runs even faster – how embarrassing.

“Get in my way again and I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Bakugo, chill,” Izuku hears Kaminari say nonchalantly.

This is his reality.

He’s happy with it. He is.

--

Everything was fine. Truly. Izuku has no idea what he did wrong.

(He’s never known, beside having no quirk in the past.)

They were training at the gym, outside of class time. Izuku tends to train on his own, but lately he’s been sparring with Kirishima, whose quirk helps with more physical attacks. It also helps Kirishima’s special technique in return.

Basically, Izuku and some of his classmates were going for a break, to drink water and eat whatever strengthens their quirks (like Sato having to eat more sugar). On his way, Izuku passed by Katsuki, who’s literally never in a good mood.

“Deku.”

“S-Sorry, Kacchan! You can go ahead!”

“As if I’ll fucking do what you say,” Katsuki bumps his arm into Izuku, hard, as he mutters in his breath, “shitty nerd.”

Izuku gulped and said nothing else.

(The freckled teen strived to not let One for All concentrate in his clenched fists.)

So, when everyone is gathered, chatting with one another, Izuku is admittedly distant from them. Katsuki would glare at him every now and then just for existing, no matter how far he was.

That’s the reason Izuku refuses to train with all of them when Kirishima suggests. Izuku tells them he’d be on his own again – his tone maybe too tight and serious. His classmates don’t question it, despite their concerned looks. Izuku tries to avoid Kirishima’s in particular – because he loves spending time with them, with him, he really does but…

“Yeah, leave Deku,” Katsuki voices in opposition, “it’s better than dealing with a dead weight.”

“Yikes, Bakugo! That’s really uncalled for!” Kaminari protests.

“I know you guys are rivals, but that’s too much, don’t you think?” Sero scolds.

Izuku stares at Katsuki, ignoring his classmates’ statements. Izuku stares deep into his red eyes: unlike Kirishima’s, they’re dreadful, have been since they were only five. He has the same superior stance and tone. Katsuki is the exact same person as the senseless bully that told Izuku to kill himself not too long ago.

The green-haired teenager’s look becomes intense. Furious. The kind of fury that doesn’t always show, because everything is bound to fall apart.

Even when his eyes avert from Katsuki, that’s what ultimately happens.

“Oi, fucking look at me!”

Despite Katsuki’s terrifying rage, Izuku defies.

“Why should I?” He mumbles, his voice gradually raising and deepening, “I can’t even exist near you.”

“What did you fucking say?”

Izuku’s hands clench into tight fists, glowing with One for All. His green eyes sparkle with intensity and ferocity.

“You heard me, Katsuki.”

The atmosphere is instantly changed.

“H-Hey guys, come on, don’t fight!...” Sero chuckles nervously, only to be pushed away by powerful hands.

Katsuki rages and advances, raising his arm.

Although he can defend himself, Izuku can only brace for the impact.

(It’s what he can do. The anticipation. The acceptance. He’s always expecting a blast to his face, and the reminder that he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, whether or not he has a quirk; nothing matters to Katsuki, as long as Izuku stops existing.)

Izuku waits.

But it never comes.

No. He hears the explosion blocked by something hard – hard like a rock. And once Izuku looks up, he covers his mouth to contain a gasp.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Kirishima screams, arms together like a shield, the sharp skin scratched by the burnings of Katsuki’s hands.

Katsuki himself is also shocked for a moment. For one, nobody else has ever dared to get in the way of his attacks, either because they’re too scared of him… or they don’t fear him enough to stop him. But most importantly, Kirishima has never stood up to Katsuki. Kirishima has endured his insults, sure, but he’s never defied him in an actual fight.

“Get out of the way, Kirishima,” Katsuki warns him. “I won’t hesitate to break your face in fucking pieces!”

“Then DO IT! I DON’T CARE!” Kirishima roars. He’s never sounded this angry. “I won’t let you break Midoriya EVER AGAIN!”

Izuku can’t move. He can’t say a word.

Katsuki is about to hit Kirishima again without any remorse, only for Sero to hold him back with as many tapes as he can make. Sato, Shoji and Koda help, while Kaminari tries to calm Kirishima down, which has zero effect.

“You’re not a man, Bakugo! You’re a goddamn abuser!” Kirishima points at him. “And abusers ARE NOT MY FRIENDS!”

“Dude, stop! You’re going to make it worse!” Kaminari scolds him, whereas Katsuki has already reduced himself to incomprehensible, enraged noises. Jiro might even rush to call Aizawa-sensei to hold both Katsuki and Kirishima back.

In spite of all the rage he must be feeling, Kirishima still stands protectively in front of Izuku, instinctively approaching him every time Katsuki threatens to break free and come after them.

Regardless, Izuku can still do nothing.

Nothing at all.

--

As expected, Katsuki and Kirishima are suspended for days – similar to when Izuku was forced to fight his classmate a few months ago.

Uraraka and Todoroki stay with Izuku as they wait. Only Kirishima returns to the dorms for now. His friends initially don’t understand why he fought Katsuki, assuming he’d lost his calm for nothing.

Yet Kirishima answers to none of these questionings. The moment he finds Izuku, his look softens, and he rushes to check over him.

“Midoriya,” he whispers in concern, “are you okay?”

Izuku dumbly gazes at him in response, swallowing a gasp when he notices the damage that Katsuki’s explosion did to Kirishima’s face; even with Recovery Girl’s help, the painful scratches can still be seen.

“K-Kirishima-kun…” Izuku chokes with tears welling up in his eyes, and the many feelings and words he’s struggling to understand.

The boy isn’t sure how he should feel. He’s guilty for putting Kirishima in danger, and for ruining his friendship with Katsuki. But Izuku is also angry at Katsuki for not hesitating to hurt someone that cares so much for him. Izuku is furious that Katsuki hasn’t changed at all.

Even so, the freckled teen feels relief. That someone was there, that someone actually stepped up and defended him.

(That someone was his hero, differently from when All Might saved him from the slime monster.)

Izuku launches himself towards Kirishima, wrapping his shaking arms around him. He wants to say all of those things so badly, but he fails. Kirishima’s soft arms hold him back and caress him, fingers running through his messy green hair.

“It’s okay,” Kirishima whispers to him, and says those same words countless times. Izuku’s cries are muffled by his shirt.

It’s like everything else disappears, and it’s only Kirishima and Izuku in this world. Kirishima shields him from every insult, every kick, every punch and slap across his face and his ruptured heart. Kirishima embraces his scars and making sure to be there to tend to them.

Izuku can only cry.

--

Later that night, Kirishima stays with Izuku in his dorm. It’s not like he can sleep with Katsuki’s room right next to his.

Izuku has already dried his eyes out of tears, and flooded Kirishima’s shirt as a result. Regardless, the two boys are glued to one another in Izuku’s bed, Kirishima rubbing his shoulders and the back of his neck. Izuku can’t help melting and clinging to him.

Even so, Izuku only has one question in mind.

“… Why did you do it?”

“He hurts you,” Kirishima answers simply.

Izuku gulps. “But he’s your friend…”

“I don’t think he was ever really my friend, Midoriya.”

Izuku pulls away to face him, the scratches in Kirishima’s face clearer than ever.

“I remember our first class with All Might. Bakugo wanted to kill you,” Kirishima harshly reminds, hands tighter on Izuku. “I knew there was something wrong with him, and yet I still went on to hang out with him. I admired his skills, I called him a man, I sacrificed everything to save his goddamn life because I cared about him. I… thought he was my friend.” He pauses. “Even when he called me Shitty Hair or hit me… I thought I could endure him – and maybe I did. But in the end, I ignored who he really was, and I let him hurt someone I care about for way too long.”

“No…” Izuku protests, “please don’t blame yourself! I was the one who—”

“Midoriya, you’re my friend. I knew Bakugo sucked, and even if he was my friend, I never did anything! And I’m really, really sorry.” Kirishima cups Izuku’s cheek with one of his hands. “I’m so sorry I ignored you. I promise you, I’m not enduring any of his shit anymore.”

Izuku gapes at him. “Kirishima-kun…”

“If he ‘cares’ about me, I don’t give a crap,” the red-eyed boy says firmly. “He sure as hell doesn’t respect me, only when I behave the way he wants. I don’t owe him anything, and I’m not standing around and letting him hurt me or my friends ever again.”

Maybe he should insist. Tell Kirishima that, if it weren’t for Izuku’s pathetic existence, his friendship with Katsuki wouldn’t have ended.

But Izuku doesn’t.

Because Kirishima is right.

Izuku’s hand touches his face, internally flinching when he feels the wounds caused by Katsuki.

“I just don’t want you to hurt because of me,” Izuku admits.

“Midoriya… nothing Bakugo does to me could ever hurt more than knowing he’s abused you for your whole life.”

Abuse. The same word he used for Katsuki earlier today.

“I’ll make sure he never hurts you again, okay?” Kirishima squeezes him. “I promise.”

Although he doesn’t literally say it, it’s clear to Izuku the love in his friend’s words.

The love in Kirishima’s smile whenever Izuku stutters and says a jumbled mess. The love in Kirishima’s concerned eyes when Izuku insists he’s okay when he isn’t. The love in his red eyes and words when Katsuki hurt him. The love in his touches, his soft hands protecting Izuku, understanding his scars.

Kirishima loves him. He really does.

Izuku bursts in tears again and Kirishima lets him, soothing him until the end.

[ahgaseda]

phoenix | one

I’ll be the phoenix, leave it to me, we be flying, spread your wings behind your back, they call us phoenix, ride or die, ride or die...

summary : the clock is ticking as you recount your passionate affair with Jackson, the most wanted man in Shanghai, to the people trying desperately to catch him, but no one - including you - knows if he will risk his life to save yours.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, mentions of blood and violence, references to drug and alcohol use, graphic sexual content, self-destructive themes, potentially triggering elements involving kidnapping, arson, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The chains rattled on the steel table. The cold cuffs wrapped around your wrists were anchored to the surface, looped through a bolt. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

It had been a quiet Thursday night. Nothing out of the ordinary to note. You left your apartment and went out for dinner. The steak was cooked just right. Your company of friends were lighthearted and buzzing from wine, but for once didn’t grill you about your relationship.

On the way home, you were ambushed. You put up a fight, of course, knowing all the while it was futile. The men had descended on you like thieves in the night and none of them were gentle.

Shoved into a chair and fastened to the table, you were read your rights, but by their tones, you had none. Five hours had passed since your less than legal arrest. The clock slipped past midnight a while ago. There was no telling when you would be reported missing, if at all.

Your closest friends knew you vanished from time to time. It was that good for nothing guy you dated, whisking you away to god knows where, they often jeered. Envy was ugly.

He was on your mind. He would notice your absence. Especially the empty space left in his bed.

The detective slapped a file in front of you, but the loud smack that echoed through the room did little to rouse you at this ungodly hour. He was middle-aged and the lines of his face were hard, furrowed. You wondered about the kind of people often in your current position. Gangsters, killers, and the like. You had done nothing to warrant the same treatment.

“Am I being charged with a crime?” you asked, poised and calm as you had been trained. You tossed the idea of trying to speak to them in their native tongue the moment you were booked. Your Mandarin was rudimentary and would likely get you into more trouble. “You have no right to hold me here, chained up like a criminal.”

He shot back, “You are at the center of a government investigation.”

Those words alone should have sent your heart somewhere to the pit of your stomach, but you knew better. All your life, you had been a law abiding citizen. But they treated you like you were wickedness personified.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” you replied, head held high. You dared not give them an inch. You couldn’t afford it.

He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes scathing. His reply was bitter, dripping with disdain, “Your lover has done plenty.”

You didn’t argue. It was abundantly clear you had no rights in this damned metal box. Lover; the word lingered in your mind a second or two. Yes, he was your lover. No man had loved you like him and no man ever would again.

Was he in love with you? Not even God knew the answer to that.

The detective finally took the seat across from you, in an attempt of appearing more diplomatic. His shouting and intimidation had gone nowhere.

“Tell me about your relationship with Jackson Wang.”

Your eyes fluttered. Just hearing his name made your heart spin. The boy owned you - mind, body and soul. Lacing your fingers together in front of you, you lied, “I don’t have one.”

The detective snorted. Then, he withdrew a photo from the file and placed it before you.

There you were in black and white, centered in a scope that for all you knew could have belonged to a sniper’s rifle, caught up in Jackson’s arms as he kissed you with abandon. Passion flowed freely from every inch of the photograph. It belonged on display in a gallery for twisted, ill-fated lovers.

You could still remember that day in the picture clearly, how it felt when he pushed you up against the window. The glass was frigid on your back, but did nothing to rival the heat of his body against yours.

Jackson always felt as if he carried the entirety of Hell inside him.

You lifted your gaze from the image at last and murmured, “A moment of weakness… a long time ago.”

The detective didn’t believe you for a second. He rifled through more pages in the file and fanned them out in front of you. “Phone records. Travel logs. Looks like you live in a constant moment of weakness,” he sneered. There was no doubt he resented having to share the same oxygen as you; a woman that willingly slept with the devil himself.

“I do,” you retorted, almost regretting the words when they left your tongue.

The detective raised his voice angrily, “Jackson Wang is singlehandedly running the underworld of Shanghai and is a major player in the open rebellion against the People’s Republic.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. One day you knew you would be confronted with what he was, what he had done. There were nights you lay awake, wondering if you slept in the arms of a murderer.

The detective tapped his finger on the table and the noise brought back your attention. His face was severe, red from stifling his rage. To him, you were a valuable pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. His ass was on the line. Perhaps you were the one and only chance he would get at piercing Jackson’s armor.

“I have no information to give,” you answered quietly. “I know nothing of that. Nothing.”

He had gathered that. From the months they had you under surveillance, you were never seen near any of Jackson’s businesses or his known safe houses. He went to great lengths to keep you at a distance from his work.

“Given the nature of his crimes and how viciously he runs his underlings, what would happen if we were to… leak that you were in here, singing like a canary?”

The first threat of the night. You knew it wouldn’t be the last.

You scoffed. He knows I would never betray him. It didn’t matter what Jackson did, you were loyal. Jackson had the ability to inspire loyalty in those close to him. He tolerated many, many things, but disloyalty was not one of them.

The detective lifted a brow, thinking your silence meant he had found an edge. “Have you seen what he does to his enemies?”

Your expression didn’t change. No, he made sure I never saw.

Jackson was ruthless when he took his pleasure from your body. Even more merciless when he buried his head between your thighs. You could only imagine how intensely he ran his underworld.

“Do you know nothing of what he is?” the detective exclaimed, incredulous.

He never wanted me to know, your thoughts wavered.

The world didn’t exist when you were with Jackson. Together, it was just you and him, and everyone else be damned. Every moment spent with him was a lifetime unto itself.

A spontaneous trip to Maldives. An impromptu midnight ride on his yacht in the harbor of Hong Kong. A weekend in South Korea spent locked away in a riverside cottage with only the birds to witness your sins.

Jackson had money. There was no denying that. But so did you. You had made a fortune in your line of work and from then on, no one could buy your attention or affection. Jackson was different. He didn’t shower you with designer clothes or heavy diamonds. He paid attention. Learned your interests and kept you on your toes. He understood you to be like some beautiful mystery in need of solving.

You bit your lip, tears pricking your eyes. You wanted Jackson, wanted to be safe in his arms, hidden against his chest. You loved him. God, you loved him with every fiber of your being. He had taught you how to live again. He showed you there was still a soul somewhere inside you.

Even if his own had been burned out of him.

Clearing your throat and pushing back your emotions, you asserted, “For your own safety, don’t show me anything and don’t leak that you have me in here against my will.”

The man before you bristled with wrath, jaw clenching. “For my own safety?”

You frowned. It was not your intention to anger him. You just needed to keep buying time.

The detective stood abruptly, knocking over his chair and shouting, “Is Jackson going to come for his whore?”

You winced, more so at the screeching sound of his chair scraping the ground than the unsavory words. You weren’t surprised that was how they saw you.

They had probably sent women to seduce Jackson before. Find a crack in his walls to exploit. They must have waited years for him to finally have someone he could love, someone to ultimately break him.

The detective began circling the room, like a vulture spiraling around its next meal. You weren’t afraid. There were laws in place for situations like these. At least, you hoped they still applied to you.

I have to get out, you thought. You steadied your breathing and remembered what you had been taught.

Being held captive was something you had rehearsed many times. Jackson tried to chase you off once. He didn’t want you to live in a constant state of danger because of what he was. Then, Jackson realized he had been waiting his whole life to find you - the person who completed him. And that’s when he started preparing you.

In fact, rehearsing being in police custody was one of your favorite roleplays.

You remembered being led into a tiny room, no larger than a closet. Bound to the only chair, Jackson had stormed in and treated you like a traitor. But you knew how soft he was for you, and how bad of a liar he was, and had seen through the ruse all too quickly.

Nevertheless, he wanted you to be ready for whatever the dirty cops would throw at you should the day come you were in their clutches.

“Baby, had I known you were going to tie me to a chair, I would have worn something a little more seductive,” you teased, licking your lips.

With your hands overlapped and cuffed behind your back, your shoulders were pressed to the top of the chair rather uncomfortably. Jackson skulked before you, not uttering a word. His face was shadowed, dark and menacing. All it did was turn you on.

With heat in your eyes, rather than look demure or nervous, you spread your legs.

Jackson let his gaze fall to your parted thighs, clad in black pantyhose. He had bought you the red bottom heels you were wearing and fuck, if they didn’t make your legs look longer. Without a word, he bent down before you, taking your ankle in hand and slipping off the shoe.

You watched in surprise as he tossed both shoes to the wall where they clattered loudly. No distractions, you mused, wanting to giggle.

Jackson saw your little smirk and fought a grin. You weren’t fooled by him in the least. He stalked across the room, coming to stand behind you with a hand gliding up your arm.

You shivered when his fingers found your neck.

“We have ways of making you talk, sweetheart,” he whispered darkly.

“Mm,” you hummed, breathing heavier as his hands stroked your jaw and throat. With every pass of the rough strokes of his palms, they moved further south. You sucked in a gulp of air when his fingers grasped the buttons of your blouse.

Glancing down, you watched him unfasten one button. Then another and another.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked softly, pulsing with adrenaline.

Jackson traced the pads of his fingers down the lines of your cleavage, which he already knew quite intimately, and grinned at the sight of your blood red bra. Also a gift he had bought for you. Perhaps you wore the matching panties beneath your skirt.

It went without saying that red was his color.

You shuddered when you felt his breath hot on your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your hair stood on end. Electricity prickled across your skin. His touches on your breasts were maddening, drawing senseless patterns that only served to stir a fire between your legs.

“I want you to say,” he replied venomously in your ear. “That you’re going to give me everything I want.”

You gulped, shifting in the chair. That voice was lethal, drawing you into a heady fog that almost made you forget the purpose of this roleplay in the first place. And his hands cupping your clothed breasts were even worse. Jackson had godlike hands. Long fingers. Bulging veins. Your mouth watered.

“I’m waiting,” he taunted, taking a patch of flesh on your neck between his teeth.

You quickly asked, “What is it that you want?”

Jackson squeezed your mounds, tugging down the cups of your crimson bra to expose your nipples, pinching them between his deft fingers. With how badly you squirmed on top of the chair, it was safe to say his hands alone were doing a number on you.

“Jack…,” you started, about to tap out. You needed him to soothe the ache he had created.

Jackson caressed your nipples with his thumbs, smirking at the way your chest rose and fell for breath. “Where is the money?” he growled, trying to sound vicious.

You shook your head in defiance. “I never cared about the money.”

Jackson flicked his tongue over the blemish he had made on your neck, one of his hands leaving your chest to wrap around your throat. His next question sounded more like an accusation, “Are you saying you don’t trade him your body for money?”

You snickered. “I give him my body because I love what he does with it,” you purred, snapping your jaws as if you were going to bite him in retaliation.

“Good girl,” Jackson said with a chuckle, thoroughly pleased with you.

You smiled victoriously. Whenever he said those two little words, you melted into his hands. The man could play your body like an instrument. He could draw the devil out of you like poison to dance with his own.

Jackson pressed a single chaste kiss to your temple. Then his thumb and forefinger gripped your neck, suddenly pressing to your blood flow. Your vision clouded and thrummed. The room began to fade. When you felt a hand dip between your legs and settle on your clothed sex, you knew you had passed the test and would get your reward.

You found yourself back in the present, crossing your legs beneath the steel table. It did you no good to think of Jackson and the power he had over your body. Always leaving you satisfied, shaking and screaming. He took pride in making a complete and utter mess of you, ruining you for anyone else.

The detective resumed his threats, but his voice faded into static. He offered to toss you in a cell and throw away the key. But in your mind, you were back in Jackson’s bed, naked save for his dress shirt as he told you what to expect.

“They’ll try to scare you into talking,” he said levelly, sporting only a towel around his waist after a hot shower. “If you flinch, they’ll escalate. Find your happy place and don’t give them an inch. Never let them know you’re afraid.”

You nodded, distracted by the fiery tattoo that covered the full expanse of his back. Jackson was a perpetual distraction.

“Then, they’ll switch it up. Offer you a deal. They may give you full immunity if you give me up,” Jackson continued, focusing on your face to see your reaction.

You rose to your knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed and grabbing him by the hips. Pulling him close, you pressed a kiss to his lips and crooned, “Ride or die, babe.”

Jackson rewarded you with another kiss, but pulled back the moment you tried to slip him your tongue. His expression turned grim. “Then, they might turn off the camera. Might start threatening you with pain.”

You shook your head. Being with him made you brave. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

Jackson cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin, and whispered, “I won’t be there to protect you, but I promise on my life… something bad will happen to them when they least expect it.”

“Just get me back to you, back to where I belong,” you told him impatiently, carding your fingers into his damp hair and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip before kissing him again. At the time, you wanted him to hush this line of conversation, wanted him to focus on the precious time spent together.

What you didn’t know was that the noose had been tightening and Jackson was setting things in motion.

For a moment, he indulged you, sucked eagerly at your tongue in his mouth and kneaded your hips in his broad hands.

Finally, he stopped you, cradling your face and staring intently into your eyes. “You need to know this,” he whispered in hushed tones. “The cops are dirty. Corrupt, every last one of them.”

You nodded your understanding and made sure never to forget it.

The door opened and you snapped out of your reverie, the detective joined by another officer that had been one of the men to participate in your violent arrest. He strode in forcefully, a phone you swiftly recognized as your own held in his hand. The device was hooked to a number of wires and receivers.

“Here, talk to your bitch,” he snapped harshly.

The officer grabbed a handful of your hair and shoved the phone to your ear.

You groaned at the stiff tug on your head and answered confusedly, “...Hello?”

“Baby,” was all Jackson said.

“I’m fine,” you spoke like a well-rehearsed robot, looking up to make eye contact with the man holding your hair in his fist. “They are treating me very well.”

The officer shouted loud enough for your lover to hear, “She’s being a very cooperative cunt, Mr. Wang.”

You bristled, practically feeling Jackson’s wrath through the phone.

“Baby girl, rest assured,” he hissed under his breath and you had never heard his voice devolve into such a growl. “They are all dead men.”

You flashed your teeth in a grin at the man gripping you so roughly and sang, “Yes, Daddy.”

The line clicked dead.

“Damn it,” the officer groaned, releasing you none too gently.

The door swung inward again, causing the man beside you to jump. Whoever had just entered was clearly a superior, because the others bowed deeply.

“Out,” said the stranger with little to no patience, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit.

You watched the two shuffle through the door, metaphorical tails tucked between their legs. It was a relief to be free of them. Though you now had a new enemy to confront.

The interrogator spoke your name in greeting, offered a warm and somewhat reassuring smile, and introduced himself, “I’m Park Jinyoung.”

“Korean,” you mulled in surprise. “What are you doing in Shanghai, Mr. Park?”

He looked barely Jackson’s age, but you already respected him more than the others because of his kind manners. He wasn’t here to play any violent games with you.

“I was about to ask you the same question, Mrs. Wang,” he retorted, pointing at the ring on your left hand.

“I’m not his wife,” you were quick to correct, overlapping your hands to hide the piece of jewelry. It was the most precious thing you owned. You sighed in relief when they hadn’t removed it during your arrest process.

Jinyoung approached and withdrew a key from his pocket, unfastening your cuffs. You caught a glimpse of the gun strapped to his hip and decided not to cross him. Once you were free, he sat down comfortably across from you, unfastening the button of his coat.

You murmured a small thank you and studied him carefully. He was a far different entity than the corrupt detectives.

“I apologize for the unsavory care that has been given to you in here,” Jinyoung said, seemingly genuine. “From what I understand, this is hour five for you.”

You nodded. “Spent the first hour being read my rights. The only word out of my mouth was lawyer. Then, no lawyer in sight, hour two they left me in here to sweat,” you told him as you rubbed your aching wrists. “I didn’t sweat.”

Jinyoung bobbed his head as you spoke, as if he was well aware of all that, adding, “And as I saw, he has already been in contact.”

You sighed. “Not long enough to get a trace.”

Given the officer’s reaction when Jackson hung up, you gathered that much.

Jinyoung smiled. He was almost amused. Opening his notebook to a blank page, he tapped his pen and said, “We both know they won’t get anything from you. You’re not going to crack.”

You tilted your head. “Are you interested in finding a way to break me, Mr. Park?”

Jinyoung was a master tactician, highly respected for his intellect. He had been watching from behind the tinted glass. Your behavior with him was a stark contrast than with the detectives. You had been trained. You were more at ease with him. Jinyoung realized he didn’t put any fear in you. And that was an advantage for him.

Jackson’s words echoed in your mind, “If someone comes in from the outside, a different agency or a different country, he or she will be the real deal. They will have been hunting me for a long time and will see you as a key to finally bringing me down.”

Jinyoung’s delayed response cut through your thoughts, “I’m more interested in how someone like you became involved in this. Level with me. How did you meet the one and only Jackson Wang?”

You shrugged. “Why do you care? It won’t help you find him.”

Jinyoung uncapped his pen, ready to write, and pressed, “Some girls are drawn to men like him. Men with violent, dangerous power.”

“I never knew about his powers,” you shot back vehemently. Was he implying you were insane for loving someone like Jackson?

“I’ve spent the greater portion of my professional career in a cat and mouse game with him,” Jinyoung confessed, trying to smooth your feathers. “Help me get to know him better.”

“You’re the mouse,” you smarted.

Jinyoung glanced up through hair straying into his eyes. With a smirk, he scribbled something at the top of his blank page and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

You exhaled loudly.

The last of Jackson’s warnings rang in your ear. “If they’re the real deal, buy time. Get a feel for them. Figure out what it is they’re after and how they want to use you. And then, whatever you do, don’t give it to them.”

Glancing down at your nails, noticing one or two had broken in your scuffle during your shady, back alley arrest, you began, “I met him at some ritzy, overpriced hotel. It had been a shit day. Another board meeting of senior partners where no one gave a damn what I had to say. As long as our stocks came out unscathed, they didn’t care if the rest of the world was about to go to hell…”

You had been sitting at the bar, manicured nails drumming on the black marble. The bartender kept a steady flow of red wine coming your way and you sipped your glass in an attempt to clear your head of all its moral conscience.

It was a wonder you had lasted this long and you pondered how much longer you could keep going. You never imagined selling your soul to a corporation, playing with people’s lives. It had all just been numbers and math, at which you excelled, and then the corruption steadily seeped into you.

“Another crisis, Luke,” you told the bartender.

He tossed a cloth over his shoulder and retorted, “Another Tuesday, madame.”

You chortled and put the glass to your lips. “That’s the truth if I ever heard it,” you mumbled bitterly.

You saw the numbers. Numbers were your expertise. The market would crash. Much, much worse than before. Hard-working people would lose their retirements, their livelihoods. Some would never recover. Meanwhile, you and your bosses would roll in cash and the government would cut the banks a giant check to fix the disaster they had created.

Looking at your hands, you marveled how clean they looked for being so stained and filthy.

Luke glanced at the television overhead, where you had asked him to switch to the financial channel. The bell was chiming. The market had closed, deep in the red. No surprise there.

You glared at the screen. They had no idea what was coming tomorrow morning. People worked hard, but greed worked harder.

Luke turned to you, pointing at the coverage, and inquired curiously, “That kind of crisis?”

You tipped your glass toward him for more wine and nodded. “Now is the time to pull out.”

“My pull out game has never been good,” Luke quipped after topping off your drink.

You nearly spat your wine with laughter and your stomach ached. Fuck’s sake, when was the last time you laughed?

“Dammit, Luke. How am I supposed to cut in now?”

You angled to the man who had been seated a few stools down from you.

Luke held up his hands in defense, smirking with satisfaction.

The first thing you noticed about Jackson Wang was his smile. It was warm, undeniably playful, yet something about it put you at ease. Most men in your field had smiles that warned of danger or bad intentions.

Your eyes met and Jackson could see right off the bat you were unimpressed. It had been a rough day and you were in no mood to flirt. So Jackson decided to finesse, which luckily was his specialty.

Turning back to your wine and tasting it on your tongue, you tried not to steal another glance or two at the handsome man at the bar.

“Should I unload my portfolio?” Jackson asked, wanting your attention.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye and feigned disinterest, “What’s your pleasure?”

He cocked his head and joked, “I’m surprisingly vanilla.”

You rolled your eyes and deadpanned, “In stocks.”

Jackson recognized that icy tone of a woman who did not have a single fuck to give him and knew he would need to melt you a little. You had caught his eye at the bar, but beautiful women were a commodity in his line of work.

At first he dismissed your glowing skin beneath the bar lights and your big beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. You almost hooked him with that tight black dress and the way it hugged your every curve. And your legs, hot damn, keeping his eyes off of those had been even harder.

Then, he heard you speak. You talked with intellect and eloquence, and he was ready to hire you to narrate the rest of his life. He realized you may have some intelligence in that pretty head of yours and that snared his attention.

Because Jackson had learned long ago he was very, very easily bored. And the vapid nonsense that came out of the mouths of the girls he tended to attract with his money just didn’t cut it for him anymore.

The pursuit was on.

“Mostly gold, some silver. A few auto brands,” he replied, attempting to sound humble.

You answered expertly, “Gold and silver will bounce back in the long run. They always do. Some auto manufacturers may not survive, but just the American ones are at risk. And more than likely Uncle Sam will bail them out like last time.”

Jackson winced, but it was for effect. “Bye-bye, Cadillac.”

You chuckled.

Jackson sobered a little, frowning at the television. “Another crash, huh?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered under your breath, sipping your wine and knowing every time you opened your mouth, you jeopardized your entire company.

In the morning, when the opening bell rang, your firm would unload all of its dirty, worthless stock to unsuspecting buyers, and the market would collapse like clockwork.

Numbers didn’t lie.

“I trust your expertise,” Jackson flirted, voice like silk.

You gave him a sideways glance, not convinced. More than likely he was just trying to get into your pants. “Most men get turned off when I speak with expertise in my field,” you said, running a hand through your hair.

Jackson shook his head and retorted, “I’m not most men.”

You giggled; how predictable. “That’s what they all say.”

But you knew now that he was right.

As the conversation went on, Jackson moved closer and closer. By the time he sat at your side, his presence was a welcome one. After another glass of wine, you started leaning into him.

You talked about everything. Topics shifted from the market to the weather to international travel and finally to your favorite subject, good food. You were never one for small talk. In fact, you hated it. But Jackson spoke like he could match your rhythm.

He didn’t shy away from more complicated discussions. He didn’t bat an eye when you challenged his opinions. He could keep up with a little verbal sparring and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. And he never tried to dumb you down like so many men before him.

Finally, after you didn’t back away when he moved dangerously close to you, Jackson cut to the chase and teased, “Don’t act like you’re not feeling me.”

You laughed, but there was no weight behind it.

Jackson shuffled closer and murmured, “I see you.”

You blinked up at him innocently. “What do you see?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I can’t explain it, but I could try if you wanted me to.”

It had been a long time since you indulged a man to sweet talk you or romance you or even get you into bed with him. You had given up on the opposite sex not long after you began ascending the ladder at work and learned the vast majority of them were threatened by your success.

Jackson was not the least bit intimidated by you. At this point, he was a goddamn unicorn.

“Explain it to me,” you whispered slyly, realizing his lips were mere inches from yours.

Jackson moved even closer and whispered for your ears only, “You’re gravity. You’re a magnet. I can’t stop getting closer.”

You lowered your head, hiding the heat quickly rising behind your cheeks.

Jackson slipped his fingers beneath your chin and tilted you back up to meet his unwavering eyes.

It was the first time he touched you.

“I want you,” he said, a low rumble of a growl in his throat.

Your eyes flickered, faltering under how intensely he looked at you. You wanted desperately to hide how badly his words and voice affected you, and you sneered, “Does that line work?” You had to keep him on his toes in this little dance. You weren’t ready to surrender yet.

Jackson wasn’t going to let you have the upper hand anymore. He knew you were what he wanted and he was coming in for the kill. “You tell me,” he spoke, more aggressive. “You’re the first woman to hear that from me.”

You pouted when his fingers slipped from your chin, satisfied he had made his point. “You’re smooth,” came your reply, a little hesitant from the tension. “I’ll give you that.”

Jackson slouched comfortably on his bar stool and said, “I’ve flashed the watch, the rings. Most girls get very friendly once they’ve seen sparkly rocks.”

You clicked your tongue and snorted. “If you only knew how much money I make.”

Jackson tried another approach. “So I can’t buy your affections?”

With a shake of your head, you crooned, “Sadly, not for sale.”

“Fine,” Jackson said, noncommittal and rather abrupt.

You panicked. It sounded like he was about to throw in the towel. Your heart began to beat a little faster against your ribs.

Jackson gulped what was left of his drink and set the glass back down loudly on the bar. Adjusting his tie, Jackson rose to his feet and peered down at you, whispering, “Tell me you’re not feeling me and I’ll go. And you’ll never have to see me again.”

That was not a welcome thought.

At your silence, Jackson pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to Luke. “Mine and the lady’s tabs, pal,” he said, driving the last nail into the coffin.

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve without hesitation, gazing up at him with naive eyes. You had no idea then what you were getting yourself into.

“Don’t…,” you whispered bashfully, cheeks flushing again.

Jackson moved back to your side, a victorious smile on his face.

You saw his grin and chuckled, realizing you’d been beaten in the game.

Jackson cupped your cheek and leaned in with confidence, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Your lashes fluttered. He smelled good, ridiculously good. You wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

Jackson resisted the urge to slip his hands in your hair and kiss you like he really wanted. Your skin was soft; so soft he wanted to trace his lips over every inch of you and write his name with his tongue across your body.

You managed to hold onto some semblance of self-control throughout the elevator ride. The tension was thick. The air was heavy. No words passed between either of you. And you stood at opposite corners of the elevator.

Jackson led you down the hallway, your hand tucked inside his. The moment he stopped at door 309, the two of you were on each other.

“You’ve got some nerve getting me turned on like this,” you teased, panting softly.

Jackson’s lips were on your neck, his arms around your waist. He crushed you between his body and the wall, and you couldn’t be happier. After that comment, he pulled back to look into your eyes and smirked, nipping at your lips.

You took his face in your hands and smashed your lips on his. It went without saying that you really liked kissing Jackson. It was all you wanted to do for the foreseeable future. He tasted of liquor and really bad choices.

Jackson wedged a knee between your thighs and made room for his hips to fit between. You moaned into his mouth, tempted to lock your ankles behind his back, but rather conflicted about it. Were you going to hook up with him? Your first thought was an emphatic yes.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders and back, feeling taut muscles underneath his expensive suit. He was hard like iron, thick thighs bracing you against the wall. His hands wandered too, exploring your body, finally able to touch those curves.

Despite his hold on you and your tongue down his throat, Jackson managed to pull the keycard from his back pocket and swipe it over the panel. You heard the familiar beep of the hotel door unlocking, followed by Jackson pushing it open.

Mumbling against his mouth, you grabbed his wrist and pulled, blurting, “We can’t.”

“What…,” Jackson exclaimed, his lips red. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, letting your head fall back against the wall in defeat. “If I go in there, we’re gonna fuck.”

The words alone made a certain something twitch in his pants. Jackson fought a chuckle and gave you a glance over. You were already disheveled and breathless, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Is that so?” he taunted, expression full of boyish energy.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, still at war with yourself. Then, you leaned into his chest and collided your lips back to his.

Jackson smiled against your mouth, tightening his arm around your waist and meeting the rush of your kisses. He took them to mean you changed your mind and swiped the key card again.

Hearing the chime of the door, you grabbed the lapel of his suit with both hands and broke away. “No, we can’t.”

Jackson laughed, amused by you. “Okay. Okay,” he relented.

“Sorry, but…,” you trailed, still trapped in his arms. “I’ve never fucked anyone I just met.”

“Me neither,” he replied softly.

You cocked a brow. No one gave a damn if men had sex with every human that passed their sight. For that reason, you were inclined to believe him.

Jackson pulled the door closed and pressed the sweetest of kisses to your lips. When he stopped, your eyes fluttered open and you peered up at him.

“Gravity,” was all he said, chuckling to himself.

Yeah, you felt it, too.

Running your fingers into his hair and tugging gently, you ordered, “Keep kissing me.”

Jackson didn’t need to be told twice.

The rushed, hurried kisses were over. Now that the two of you weren’t sprinting to the bedroom, you could focus on how your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. Jackson stroked a hand down your thigh and hooked your leg over his hip, needing to be as close as humanly possible to you.

When his lips moved back to your neck, you rolled your eyes and the catch in your breath almost sent him to his knees.

“Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes,” you replied, fingers pressed to his shoulders.

Jackson proceeded to suck a mark of possession beneath your ear. “And dinner tomorrow evening?”

You were out of your mind, insane with lust and desire. Sweat was beginning to gather beneath your dress, courtesy of the fire burning inside him. “Absolutely.”

Jackson licked the bruise he was making, tasting your skin. “How about the day after that?”

You groaned in frustration. He was making it fucking impossible. “And the day after that. Just don’t stop kissing me,” you whined, bringing his face back to yours for another kiss.

You blinked your eyes rapidly, dismayed to find you weren’t in Jackson’s arms, but still caged inside the grey room. Grasping the ring on your left hand, you spun it around - a nervous tick, but it was vaguely comforting. The ring had been a gift on your first anniversary. Inscribed along the inside of the band were the words, never stop kissing me.

It was the closest Jackson had ever come to confessing his love for you. Slipping the ring on your finger, the finger generally reserved for wedding vows, Jackson had said, “So every man knows you’re spoken for.”

Jinyoung let his gaze fall from your face to your hands, noting how you turned the gold band around your finger to soothe yourself. It was human nature, to cling to something sentimental when under duress.

You noticed where his eyes had fallen and quickly covered your hand. His expression was one of scrutiny and belied interest, and you deflected, “Alright, I told you how we met. Makeout session included. Tell me what you hope to get from that.”

Jinyoung replied without hesitation, “I want to catch him. I want to put him away forever.”

A bitter taste filled your mouth. “I will never help you do that.”

“You already are.”

You blinked.

Jinyoung leaned back in his chair, at ease when he explained, “I can keep you here indefinitely. We wait for him to crawl out of his hole.”

You shook your head vehemently. “He won’t.”

“He won’t trade his life for yours,” Jinyoung questioned, seemingly shocked.

“He…,” you paused with indecision. “I don’t know.”

The cold, hard truth was, you didn’t. There was a part of Jackson’s life he never shared with you. The life that was centered around his powers.

But you knew Jackson took great pride in what he had built. He came from nothing, was told his whole life he would never amount to anything, and he had destroyed all the odds stacked against him. He not only beat the game, he changed it forever.

“You’re in here, ready to give up everything for him,” Jinyoung’s voice faded into the background.

“Am I?” you questioned, lost in your memories.

The first time Jackson made love to you, he revealed himself to you and said something that was burned into your mind forever. The two of you were naked, exposed and vulnerable to the other. So many little nothings had been spoken while endless promises and vows were written into each other’s skin.

Then, in a moment of stillness, Jackson cradled your face and drowned himself in your eyes. He called your name and you stared up at him, hinged on his every word.

“Do you know what they say,” he breathed, chest heaving. “About playing with fire?”

“Are you going to burn me?” you asked him innocently.

“I burn everything I touch,” Jackson told you, filling with sadness. “And only I survive.”

“I’ll be your Phoenix then,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to rake teasingly down his back over the tattoo of the immortal firebird inked into his skin.

Jackson smiled and shifted on top of you to take you again. “You are the closest I will ever get to heaven…”

And you watched in disbelief as the dark brown of his irises turned to scorching red.

Jinyoung called your name. He knew you were somewhere far away in your head.

You blinked through oncoming tears.

“Do you know what he is? Do you have any idea what he’s done? Do you even know what they call him?”

You heard the rumors and read the headlines, just like everyone else. He wasn’t the only one; these men with strange powers. Some said they were harbingers of the end times.

“The Phoenix,” you interjected.

Jinyoung frowned in contempt.

“Because he burns everything and everyone in his path,” you finally confessed. Whatever gets in his way.

“One day, he’ll raze cities to the ground.” Jinyoung’s tongue was a razor. “Did you think you wouldn’t get burned?”

I asked for it, you admitted to yourself. I fell in love with the villain.

Reaching down to pick up the photo still on the table of you swept up in Jackson’s arms, you sighed in acceptance of fate, “Moth to the flame.”

Somewhere out in the night, as Shanghai finally drifted to sleep, Jackson sat in the backseat of his tinted car, gripping the phone so tight he was sure it would snap at any minute.

There would be hell to pay for those that had taken you. Jackson already identified each of them. But in the meantime, he could only sit and think. Getting revenge was easy. Getting you back was considerably harder.

He had to stay ahead of the game. They took you for a purpose. You wouldn’t roll on him, Jackson was sure of that. You would never give them the satisfaction. But they would try to use you as leverage and Jackson couldn’t risk everything he had built. It would make the entire city fall down on top of him.

If he tried to rescue you, then the whole world would know he had a weakness and you would never be safe again for as long as you lived. If he didn’t, then the corrupt cops could put you in the hands of enemies that were much worse to make a bloody example of you.

Jackson grit his teeth. He knew this day would come, when he would finally have to confront his feelings for you. He swore to never let his heart out of its cage, but it had escaped and fled to the palm of your hand. There was a reason he never told you he loved you.

He couldn’t admit it to himself. Love was meant only for humans.

“What do I fucking do?” he cried out in his mother tongue, wringing his hands before hiding his face behind them. He needed you in his arms, needed to hold you again.

But he would lose everything.

The phone chimed and Jackson opened the text.

Call it off. Or she drowns first.

Jackson shook with rage and opened his hand, irises turning crimson as flames appeared on his palm. Then, he closed his fist, snuffing them out.

next chapter →

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[81scorp]

21 tips for writing humor

 This was not written by me. It was written and uploaded to deviantart  Jan 13, 2017 by DesdemonaDeBlake.

All credit goes to her. I just copied and pasted it here.

There are many theories as to the nature, science, and reason for humor. It's an element of human behavior that seems objective in the skill that is required to execute it successfully, and yet just as subjective for how unpredictably it can hit every individual audience member. Today, I'm going to talk about the various forms that humor takes, and give you some tips for making your humorous story a success. To start with, lets look at what I will call the “five scales of comedy”. (Please note that the following is not intended as definitive list of the only sources and scales of humor in the world, only the ones that I have been able to identify within my own life, time, limited understanding, and culture. Also note that I will use the word “Humor” instead of the word “Comedy,” simply because I do not want this discussion on genres to be confused for the type of story that is opposite of Tragedy.)

The Five Scales of Comedy

A story or other source of humor can usually be found along the lines of five different scales. These are: High Humor vs Low Humor, Sweet Humor vs Acidic Humor, Distanced Humor vs Close Humor, Predatory Humor vs Reflective Humor, and Clever vs Ridiculous Humor. These scales stand apart from the sub-genres of humor (dark, slapstick, dry, etc...), and have to do with how the humor affects the audience. Note that there is no “best” type of humor; there is only humor that works in different ways and which impacts different sorts of people. So wherever you find your story in the scales, know that there is no need to change it unless you want to. Also, the names of the scales are just that—names. Just because your story falls into the category of “low” humor, doesn't mean that it is any less valuable than “high” humor.

Range 1: High Humor

Within the range of High vs Low humor, what we are discussing is the how large an audience we are trying to reach. High humor involves jokes and comical situations that are only understood by a very select group of people. An example might be a comedy series that focuses its humor on the experience of working in a corporate office (like … The Office), or perhaps political commentary. These are only funny to those people who have shared the experience or the political knowledge of the person generating the humor. Basically, the higher the humor, the more the entire set-up begins to resemble an inside joke. This type of humor is excellent for gaining the interest of select demographics who you may want to address. For example, if you only want to talk to nerds (I say non-insultingly because I am one and am proud of it), you might have lots of references to science fiction and fantasy.

Range 1: Low Humor

On the opposite side of the range, you have Low Humor. Low Humor deals with topics, jokes, and situations that are more universal to the human experience. An easy example of this is a fart joke. Everyone in the world farts, and most people are in touch enough with their inner child to think that it is funny if the joke is skillfully set up. Again, there is nothing wrong with low humor; and in certain situations it is even preferable. The lower your humor, the larger your potential audience can be. Other examples of low humor might be family life, slapstick, and situational comedy based on everyday experience. Shows like Spongebob Squarepants, for example, involve such a low degree of comedy that people of all ages, demographics, and locations across the world are able to find delight in it.  

 Range 2: Sweet Humor

The next range of humor, Sweet vs Acidic, deals with the intensity of the humor itself. Sweet Humor involves jokes, situations, and characters that require less pain and cynicism to appreciate. For example, a story that involves simple characters bumbling around, making mistakes, overcoming, and becoming better people for it would generally fall into the range of Sweet. We don't laugh at their misfortune (or if we do, its lighthearted and with limited consequences, like slipping on a banana peel), we laugh because their situations are joyfully amusing.  

An example of this are the sort of jokes and humor found in Youtube “Lets Plays,” like those of Markiplier and Jacksepticeye. We don't laugh because of anything bad happening to these people (or the characters that they play); we laugh because they are eccentric, silly, and joyful in a way that also makes us feel joyful. This form of humor can be tremendously encouraging and uplifting to the types of readers who enjoy it.

Range 2: Acidic Humor

On the other hand, we have Acidic humor. Much like with food, most people have strong preferences and limits to how acidic (spicy, sour, or bitter) they like their humor. Acidic humor deals with laughing at topics that are increasingly serious or even tragic, such as death, illness, social injustice, etc... A popular example of acidic humor is South Park. Those of us who enjoy acidic humor will find ourselves laughing at topics that would otherwise likely bring us to tears. The power of acidic humor is that it helps its appreciators to cope with the difficult truths of life, and also to acknowledge problems that we are otherwise tempted to ignore because they are too hard to think about.  

An example of an issue addressed in South Park is the elderly, their treatment, and our fear that we will face the same. Sure, when we watch an episode we laugh when the younger characters mistreat and abuse the elderly in the community. However, a conscientious viewer will then begin the chew on the issue, once the episode is over. We'll look at our own actions, and begin to wonder if our treatment of the elderly is just as bad. Because of the acidic humor, these difficult truths come to the forefront of our minds, we gain the courage to actually think about them, and we can even bring them up in discussion with others. This discussion can then lead to people changing the world for the better.

Range 3: Distanced Humor  

This range has to deal with the necessary emotional distance we need in order to be able to appreciate a certain level of humor. Even with lighthearted humor like slapstick, which has very low acidity, the audience needs to be distanced in order to laugh. For example, if I watch Bugs Bunny wallop Elmer Fudd on the head with a mallet, it's generally pretty damn funny. I know that these characters are both flat cartoons with limited depth to their character, and that as non-beings they don't really feel pain. Therefore, I don't have empathy to Elmer's pain (because it is really non-existent), and I can laugh. However, if the show were to show me Elmer's life, how he's been a vegan but famine has caused him to need to find meat to feed his family, and how he struggles to even shoot at a rabbit because it makes him feel like he's betraying himself; then I'm not going to laugh if Bugs hit him with a hammer. I'm too close, and need emotional distance in order for my empathy to not get in the way of my humor.

Range 3: Close Humor

We do not need distance in order to find something funny. With close humor, the jokes and situations actually rely on how well we know the characters and how much we empathize with them. An example of Close Humor is Scrubs. In the show actually find ourselves within the mind of the protagonist, JD, and seeing the entire world through his eyes. He tells us about his insecurities, his genuine pain, his fears, and we actually really care about him as a character. Yet, we find humor in his minor misfortunes and even in his silly victories. The closeness of our perspective amplifies the events that happen in his life in a way that distanced humor cannot achieve. For example, when he stutters and says something embarrassing in front of someone he idolizes, we find ourselves giggling. If Elmer Fudd were to stutter in front of someone he idolized, we wouldn't laugh nearly so hard because we can't possibly understand the stakes of the moment or why meeting this person is so important to him. We need to be close to a character for Close Humor to work.

Range 4: Predatory Humor

With the range of Predatory Humor vs Reflective humor, we are discussing who will be the “butt” or target of the joke. (Note that a joke does not necessarily need a butt, as we will discuss later.) While often used in a negative way, in order to bully and shame others, predatory humor is not a bad thing in and of itself. Predatory humor can be used to tackle and harm negative constructs and ideas in our society. For example, Fairly Odd Parents used to frequently attack neglectful and abusive parenting. Note that the while Timmy's (the protagonist of the show) Parents were frequently the butt of jokes, they were also not the real target (just like parents in general were not the target). The targets were their selfish and non-reflective actions that had damaging effects on their son. We can use predatory humor to attack ideas, and point out the evils that are so often overlooked in society. The trick is to always keep vigilance of your own mind, actions, and motives to makes sure that you do not become a bully who targets the people themselves. Because even if someone acts in an evil way, bullying them will never cause that to change.

Range 4: Reflective Humor

On the other side of this range we have Reflective Humor, which serves to make fun of itself. Again using South Park as an example, the creators would often make their own beliefs and ideals the target of their ridicule. For example, it's fairly clear that the show speaks in favor of LGBT rights and for their being accepted as equals in society. However, they also go as far as to mock people who are so over-enthusiastic and pro-LGBT (to the point of hypocrisy). Another example is when the show begins to teach a moral lesson, the writers will often make fun of themselves through the character of Kyle for being so preachy. The effect of the show making fun of itself is two-fold. First, those of us whose beliefs South Park mocks feel like the show is being fair. Thus, we continue to listen to and respect the views of the creators, even if we don't always agree. Second, we trust the messages of a story more when it has the integrity to point out its own failings. Note that unlike with other scales, Reflective and Predatory Humor can actually be interwoven so that a joke or story makes fun of itself just as much as its target.

Range 5: Clever Humor

The last range of humor that we'll discuss is that of Clever vs Ridiculous. This range is fairly self-explanatory, but the core of its nature is what sort of punchline is delivered at the end of a humorous situation. Clever humor takes the audience expectation and amplifies or twists it to an unexpected place. You can see this in the work of comedians such as Louis CK and Demetri Martin. Martin, for example, has a humorous bit about doorways that say “Exit Only.” The joke then involves his compulsive desire to tell store workers that they underestimate the potential of those doors by about 50%. The delivery of the punchline is true and logical, but it such a way that it humorously exceeds audience expectation.

Range 5: Ridiculous Humor

Opposite of Clever Humor, we have ridiculous humor. This is when the punchline of a humorous situation is so absurd that we can't help but laugh. And example of this is the Spongebob Squarepants episode where he and Squidward get lost while delivering a pizza. They become lost in the wilderness and spend the episode becoming more and more so. Then, right at the end, Spongebob exclaims that they are saved because he's found a big beautiful boulder, the likes of which the pioneers used to ride for miles. And, to make matters even more ridiculous, the boulder works—driving just like a car. We find humor because the punchline is simply so grandiosely absurd that we can't help but enjoy it. Note that both Clever and Ridiculous humor require a great amount of skill and thought to pull off successfully, it's just a matter of your preference and your target audience.  

The Five Sources of Humor

Once we identify what type of humor we are employing by using the scales, the next thing to consider is what makes our stories funny. This is something of a challenge, because we don't generally put much thought into why humor makes us feel the way it does. The humor either hits or misses, and we laugh or we don't. Making matters even more complicated is that there are so many theories as to why and how humor works—with everyone from Aristotle to Freud interjecting an opinion. But if we look at the particular sorts of things that make people laugh, we can improve how we use humor in our stories.

Source 1: Misfortune  

Whether a cartoon character is slipping on a banana peel, or a character in a romantic comedy finds themselves in an embarrassing situation, the misfortune of others seems to be the most popular form of humor. This is why slapstick and funny home videos have been so prevalent in modern humor. Plato and Aristotle seemed to believe that this was because such humor made the audience feel superior to the characters being ridiculed (Superiority Theory). This seems especially true when we see unlikable characters (like the villain in a children's cartoon) experience misfortune in a comical way.  

Though Superiority Theory has its place, I would assert that there is an alternative way that people enjoy misfortune. Perhaps the experience of slipping on a banana peel or being in an embarrassing situation is funny because of our own memories of experiencing the same thing or something similar. Freud and others theorized that humor was a release of energy (Relief Theory). Maybe our camaraderie with the character, mixed with emotional distance from the scene we are watching, creates a safe space to release our own stored feelings of pain or embarrassment. Thus laughter really does become a healing force.

Source 2: Absurdity

In his essay “The Myth of Sisyphus”, Albert Camus defines and explains the absurd.

“It's absurd” means “It's impossible” but also “It's contradictory.” If I see a man armed with only a sword attack a group of machine guns, I shall consider his act to be absurd. But it is so solely by virtue of the disproportion between his interaction and the reality he will encounter. […] Likewise we shall deem a verdict absurd when we contrast it with the verdict the facts apparently dictated. (29)

Though Camus is not talking about humor (rather the existentialist question), I think that the absurd is a source of humor. Audiences are often entertained by the absurdity of a situation. And by looking at Camus' explanation, we can hypothesize that this form of humor comes from the disproportionate contrast of action and situation. An example of this might be one of the last battle-scenes in Braveheart. In this scene, victory looks unlikely, the dramatic tension is high, and it seems to be the most serious moment imaginable. Then, upon being signaled, the protagonist's soldiers pull up their kilts and reveal their bare asses to the enemy. It's so unexpected and so absurd, that many people cannot help but to keel over laughing.

This scene is completely disproportionate to what we would expect to see in this dramatic a moment. The action does not suit the situation, but in a strange way it also kind of does—with the action juxtaposing itself against the situation. Perhaps, just like with misfortune, absurd humor creates a needed release of energy, connected to our own sense of existentialist absurdism. The absurd could then serve to release our feelings of despair in a positive light. The show, Rick and Morty, seems to be built on this connection between absurd humor blended with existentialism and nihilism. Of course, this is just a theory. What you'll want to focus on when writing absurd humor is the relationship of your characters' actions to the situations that they find themselves in. Are they lost in the desert? Have them climb a boulder and ride it home. The stronger the contrast between action and situation, the higher you'll make the potential for absurdity.

Source 3: Wit

Wit is the essence of Clever Humor; its the pithy intelligence that makes us laugh because of all the thought put into a situation. When we hear a witty joke or are part of a witty situation, we find ourselves moving in a forward humorous momentum, instead of the backwards and diagonal momentum of the absurd. But we don't stop at the expected location. For example my mother called me a few months ago, asking me if I was going to wish my brother a happy birthday. The expected response for this sort of set-up/situation is to answer “Yes” or “No”. But I went forward and beyond “No” by asking why she wanted me to congratulate my brother for being one year closer to death (I have an acidic sense of humor sometimes). This reply was much more thoughtful than what my mother expected, and pointlessly taken beyond the realm of reason. Therefore, she found it funny.

Perhaps there is an element of the absurd in any given amount of witty humor. It's as if we are taking extra steps to be as intelligent and rational as possible—ending with us standing somewhere close to the absurd. Using Camus' illustration of absurdity, the soldier with a sword wouldn't necessarily attack the machine guns, but instead go home, refusing to sacrifice his life to be a metaphor. You can see this sort of humor in Youtube series such as How it Should Have Ended. In this series, animators take a closer look at popular movies and then make efforts to enforce logic in worlds and characters that didn't have them. This includes having Severus Snape use his time-travel gizmo to go back in time and kill Voldemort before he became a problem—an action that is so logical that it erases the need for any of the Harry Potter stories to even happen. So when you create witty humor, look to take things beyond the realm of expectation—aiming for the absurdly reasonable.

Source 4: Anti-humor  

Anti-humor is when something is so unfunny that it becomes funny, sort of like puns. As we find delight in the absurd and the unexpected, humor and jokes can begin to feel predictable. We begin to look for the solution in jokes, and we're usually smart enough to begin to be able to predict it. In this case, the expected becomes surprising. An example is the classic: “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.” If you haven't heard it before, this anti-humor joke is actually kind of funny. A great example of this are the great collection anti-jokes found online.  

You can take anti-jokes to the next level using extremely acidic humor. This is where you take serious, grievous, or tragic topics and use them as the punchline for your joke. For example, a joke about a fatal illness is not funny because the person making the joke finds that topic amusing (otherwise that person needs some counseling). A joke about fatal illness can be funny to some people for the exact opposite reason—because of how dark and unfunny it is. Again, I believe this ties into a release of negative energy while in a safe space, and the processing of difficult emotions. If you plan to use the extreme form of anti-humor, please note that many people have very legitimate reasons for not enjoying it. So be careful, and give your audience some sort of forewarning so that you do not spring something so emotionally charged on them without their consent.

Source 5: Familiarity and Value

When I was taking university writing classes, I had an extremely eccentric professor who had all sorts of mannerisms that were unique to him. In the moments when he was particularly eccentric and acting out of his true nature (which he was quite comfortable with), I would find myself laughing, even if the situation wasn't funny. I think others can relate to this, as we all love to talk about fun people that we used to know, and find ourselves laughing even when what we are remembering isn't particularly funny. We laugh because those people acting happily out of their own nature gave us joy, and so anything they do creates a laughter that feels akin to humor.  

This mirth through familiarity can be accomplished in stories as well. In Bob's Burgers, for example, we really don't even begin to understand the humor until we develop an attachment and feelings for each individual character. Sure the situations are mildly amusing, but true laughter and humor doesn't begin until we know the characters, their likes, their dislikes, and who they are deep down inside. Once we know that, we laugh as each character acts out of their nature. When we see Louise (one of the protagonists) act with mischievous intent, we laugh even before we know what she's doing because we are happy that she is about to act out of who she really is. Note that this is a rather difficult sort of humor to pull off because you have to create a relationship between the characters and the audience before the humor will be possible.

General Tips for Humor

Tip 1: Create a patterned and uniform blend of humor for your story.

When you choose what sort of humor you plan to use in your story, the best way of maintaining audience enjoyment is to keep it constant. Just like when we watch a stand-up comedian, we begin to develop a taste and sense of expectation for whatever we are watching or reading. Over time, your audience will begin to really appreciate the flavor of your humor, and that appreciation will make your jokes increasingly funny (so long as they are creative and continue to be intelligently crafted). The pattern will also make all of your jokes seem, feel, and become purposeful. Your audience will enjoy this much more than if you seem like you are desperately trying to milk the humor from anything you can get your hands on (you perv).  

I recommend you begin by analyzing the origins of humor in your story's world. Is the world simply absurd, with unseen gods of chaos just dropping coconuts on people's heads for pure amusement? Does the humor come from a specific character? A group of funny people living in a serious world that they must learn to cope with through humor? A funny narrator with a unique perspective on life? Once you figure out the origins, determine where your humor will fit on the scales (it doesn't have to be on any extreme, you can stay in the middle of the scales and still be hilarious); and then figure out the source.

Tip 2: Create a genuine story with genuine characters, in order for humor to gain the most power.

If we value stories in terms of how much people enjoy and remember them, the best humor stories are those with good plots and characters. This may seem counter-intuitive when your intent is to make your audience laugh, but think of it this way. If an audience wants just concentrated jokes, they will read a joke-book. Your audience is choosing to dredge through the murky waters of story in order to find the humor with more difficulty because they want a blend of story and humor.  

An example of this is the movie,“Austin Powers.” Many people, myself included, watched these movies before we ever watched the James Bond movies that they were making fun of. And we enjoyed them greatly, and laughed the entire way through. Why? Because the characters and story, ridiculous as they were, were good enough that we actually invested our interest and emotions into them. As an added bonus, the story has become timeless and respected in its own right. Even if we face a future where nobody knows who James Bond is, the Austin Powers movies will be able to stand on their own merit because they are more than just jokes.  

Tip 3: Be careful about dating yourself.

Speaking of parody and humor losing its ability to be funny, let's talk about references that date our stories. Humor at the expense of popular culture (movies, politicians, celebrities) is a fun ploy of high-humor. It's especially useful for nighttime comedy shows that will be lost to time anyways, within a couple years. When you are writing a novel, however, you are trying to create something that will last a bit longer than that. Additionally, novels take a lot longer to write than an episode of a late night comedy show. This means that by the time you publish and people begin to discover your book, they may not know who the vapid pop star you're making fun of is. Your humor will be lost to time, and your book quite possibly forgotten. Of course, I'm not telling you that you can't use this sort of humor, just that you should be aware of the risks it holds.

Tip 4: Mark every line that is supposed to be funny, and make sure that it is.

Nothing detracts from a story or from a spirit of jovial humor so much as an obvious joke that falls flat. It's like watching an acrobatics show. If the acrobat falls on their face too many times you'll either be embarrassed for them or you'll empathize and start worrying for their safety. Either way, you won't find the situation amusing. In your own personal copy of the manuscript, mark every joke for analysis of whether it actually succeeds and whether it serves to empower the story. Then, ask your editors, test-readers, and writing partner to circle every point that they genuinely found funny. Be sure to pick test-readers who fall into the niche you are writing for, as well as those who do not. If nobody but you marked a specific joke, then you need to either get feedback for how to make it funnier, or else cut it.

Tip 5: Write within your own expertise and authority.

This does not mean that you can't laugh at things, and poke fun at things that are outside your realm of expertise, so long as you have done your research. But consider the power of an insider making a joke about something that you are a part of vs an outsider doing the same. It would be like the difference between me calling most writers narcissists (as I am one, and know that it is pretty true in most instances) and a politician making a joke and calling writers narcissists. I mean, what right does that asshole have to judge us, even if it is true? The point is that your jokes gain power when you can tell them with the confidence of an insider. Not only that, but your audience who is a part of the group at the butt of the joke, will be much more gracious and feel far less attacked when the joke comes from one of their own.  

Tip 6: Humor is personal  

Humor is something that is highly individual to specific groups and people. For example, I do not understand, nor am I really able to appreciate most British or Spanish comedies. This is not because they aren't funny; they are just as valid and hilarious as every form of comedy that I do enjoy. The reason is simply that because of either how I was raised, my life experiences or because of who I am by nature, I can't enjoy them any more than I can enjoy olives on my pizza (seriously, I hate them). It doesn't matter how artfully these types of humor are composed, there is simply no effect akin to joy, amusement, or laughter when I come across them. In other words, the problem is me and not them.  

All this is to make three points. First, it may be more difficult to find test-readers and worthwhile criticism for humorous work. Even if I'm really good at critiquing stories, I will not be able to give you any helpful feedback if your humor doesn't match with mine. And that isn't your fault any more than it's my fault. It's just a difference in taste. Second, humor is as personal and close to the heart as any other story or craft. When you create a joke, you are channeling whatever emotions and mixes of experiences have led you to the type of humor you have. So recognize the emotional bond between yourself and your humor.  

The third piece of advice is for those on the other end of the spectrum, those experiencing the humor of others and perhaps trying to give advice. Please recognize that others' sense of humor is just as valid as yours. Whether their sense of humor is simple, complex, dry, witty, dark, acidic, sweet, or anything in between, it is their sense of humor and not yours. Be careful in how you voice any attempts at criticism, as there are few ways to break your friends' trust and confidence as completely as when you tell them, “That's not funny.” You might as well be telling them that their heart sucks, and they are a sucky person.  

Instead, acknowledge the differences in people's humor, value it even if that humor makes you uncomfortable, and voice your criticisms accordingly. Try: “This joke wasn't successful with me, and might be perceived as racist/bullying/insensitive to some readers; so seek other feedback to see if it's just me.” You will voicing just as honest an opinion, without formulating a direct attack against the person who has trusted you with something so delicate to them.  

Weekly Recommended Watching: Doraleous and Associates by Hank and Jed. (A free animated fantasy Youtube series that manages to successfully mesh several humor types with an over-arching plot. Examine how even there are plot elements that are serious and even sad, the series maintains its humor through well-balanced distance and wit. And if this form of humor does not amuse you, that is perfectly valid and your own unique sense of humor is still a valuable thing.)