#I did actually write an outline for a hearing I have next week but it's almost 4pm now and it is raining outside

[it-is-the-hannah]

I'm stuck in the office for another half hour bc I have to wait around for a class and there is a very intense discussion of a plea bargain happening a few desks away while I'm here, scrolling through Tumblr

[charmercharm3r]

Hihi! I really like your writings. 💕

I would like to make a request. One for ot8.

I would like to know the boys' reaction when you moan their name in your sleep. Like, you're best friends with so and so member and your sleeping over and you're having a wet dream and you moan their name out loud. What would their reaction be? What would they do? Would they say something to you or keep it to themselves? Would they make a move?

If you do this request, thank you so much! 💕

And if not, no worries and thank you nonetheless. 💕

i kept this in the vault for TOO LONG im sorry

Masterlist

☆ﾟ

chan is a slut for you. S. L. U. T. even if you don’t know it. everyone knows this man is a night owl, so to get in your channie-time, you stay up with him a couple nights a week. one of those days happens to be in his bedroom. while he’s on a roll with this melody that’s stuck in his head, he’s humming into the microphone and has his big ass headphones on, so he doesn’t see you start to drift off. but when he finally returns to the outside world, he hears you mumbling in your sleep. you look so cute wrapped up in his bed, blanket tucked under your chin and taking up the entire single pillow he has. then you do it again, more intelligible this time. is that… his name?? he doesn’t do anything to stop you or wake you up. hard as a fucking rock, excuses himself to take a cold shower and get rid of the filthy thoughts swimming in his head. little does he realize that his mic is still recording. only later the next day when he’s going over the project does he catch the small moans in the background. those get put in an extra secret, extra secure folder on his phone. just for him, his hand, and the late, late night.

minho is the most straight forward out of all of them. he warned you, he didn’t want you to fall asleep in the first place because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep fighting off the stupid warm bubbling in his belly cus you’re so damn cute. you always thought he was being his normal teasing self whenever he’d tell you, “stop falling asleep around me, i’ll fall in love with you, i swear.” no way did he have a crush on you, too. refusing to admit it, you fall asleep in his bed one night anyways. doesn’t get hard cus he’s in shock and almost bursts into laughter at you moaning his name in your sleep. not because he thinks you’re funny, but because he can’t believe you’re actually doing it. of your own free will— well, as much free will as you have when you’re unconscious. wakes you up immediately by tapping the pillow you lay on. his face is right in front of yours with the most serious look on his face. you don’t remember the dream, but still, he won’t let you sleep until you admit what you did >:(

changbin would wake you up immediately. what the fuck do you mean, you moan his name in your sleep?! this whole time?! he’s not gentle about it, his cute aggression a lot stronger now that he knows you feel the same. it was the first time you’d fallen asleep in front of him, and this happens?! he would’ve made you stay over more often if it would’ve led to this. cus he kisses you as soon as you confess that yes, you’re incredibly into him and care for him more than a friend. things get steamy, but you’re still half asleep! it is the a.m., after all. don’t worry, he doesn’t wanna move too fast. you’re the needy one (his words), so he’ll do all the work for now. some nice, desperately in love head for the first of many mind numbing orgasms, it practically rocks you back to sleep. this time, with him cuddled up beside you.

hyunjin knew it from the beginning. he’s intuitive when it comes to other people’s feelings and emotions, is also very emotionally mature. it helps that he knows you so well. falling asleep in his bed, you can’t help the wet dreams when he’s a dream personified. light touches of his fingertips over the outline of your body from your head to your ankles, not wanting to disturb you but also not being subtle. you mumbling his name in your sleep solidifies that you want him just as bad, he can’t pass up the opportunity! brushing your hair with his fingers softly, that wakes you up but only enough to know that it’s him touching you. he’d come in close to press a kiss to your cheek and you think that it’s just a sweet gesture, until he comes in closer and closer to your lips. oops, now you’re making out— and you don’t wanna stop. he’ll stick his hand down your sleep shorts, let you use him however you’d like, but that’s as far as he’ll go until you’re more of a sound mind. would love if he could kiss you until he fell asleep, too.

jisung is another one where you think he’s kidding every time he tells you he’s in love with you. he says it to everyone! he pretends to kiss all of his friends! except he only started doing it to mask how much he liked you. a movie night with him turned into a slumber party, you on the couch and him on the floor in front of you. when you fall asleep on your belly, one hand hanging off the edge and it whacks him in the face, then he hears the slightly incoherent murmurs of you saying his name. ohhh he’s hit the jackpot now, and bricked up like no fucking other. would kiss the inside of your palm to softly wake you up, except you’re deep in this dream and need a bit more than that to come back to reality. slips a hand under the back of your shirt to feel your warm skin and he almost melts cus you say his name louder, consciously. at least, semi. would— and will— rut against the side of the couch when you lead his hand down the back of your shorts to feel how much you want him. rips the fucking fabric off you immediately and goes to town just like that. does not care whatsoever if it’s an unconventional position for a first intimate moment together, he wants you. and later intends to make it clear that he will not try to kiss his friends anymore if you say you’ll date him.

felix is so timid when it comes to romantic relationships, so his mouth is like a vault locked and sealed away when he hears you moan his name in your sleep. however, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pitch a tent in his pants, cus holy hell is he fucking hard. he isn’t shy when it comes to anything sexual, though. you two are close! so close that he feels comfortable enough to roll onto his back and pull his dick out of his underwear and dry fist himself to the sounds of your pretty whimpers for him. does he feel guilty? a little. would he do it again? absolutely. cums hard when your hips start to twitch slightly as though you’re reaching your own peak within the dream. will he be confessing after this? maybe, maybe not. who knows if he can even look you in the eyes again.

seungmin would also wake you up as soon as you say his name even just once. he’s not sweet about it, but he doesn’t make you feel like shit. kinda teases you and goads you into annoyedly confessing that yes, you have a massive fucking crush on him and yes, you were having a wonderful wet dream until he decided to ruin it. raises his eyebrows and smirks, “a wet dream about me,” as if you didn’t already fucking know that. asshole. kisses you to make you stay and forgive him for waking you up, but won’t outwardly admit he likes you back. intends on showing you that the feelings are reciprocated by making you cum on his fingers and in his mouth, “isn’t the real thing better? should’ve been having wet dreams about me this whole time.” “i have been.” “good to know. now, think you can handle more? one for each dream you’re gonna tell me about. who knows? maybe i’ll be nice enough to make it come true.”

jeongin is more flustered than you are when he accidentally falls off the bed and wakes you during his attempt at escaping. he’s only embarrassed because he’s hard as fuck and should not be thinking about his best friend like that— even if you’re thinking the same about him. it’s wrong! it’s immoral! and that’s why it turns him on so much. when you jolt awake to see him on the floor clutching his dick, he gets red in the face and ultimately admits that he was listening to you whimper his name in your sleep. it’s you who makes the first move and invites him back to bed, making him lay beside you while reassuring him that it’s okay to feel this way. he’s not doing anything wrong when you feel exactly the same. uh oh, you’re leaning in, does he kiss you? he wants to so bad. you’re so warm and smell so good. shivers covers his body when you trail your hand towards his waistband and simultaneously guide one of his towards your aching center. who would’ve thought a routine sleep over would’ve ended in the two of you hand fucking each other until you were kissed breathless and eventually fell back asleep in one another’s arms? he definitely didn’t.

[multifandomgirl08]

Glass Houses - [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: When Raymond had called you about going and getting lunch, you should have known that something was going on.

Warning(s): Jos Verstappen (Being himself/an asshole), Mixed formatting (Story + Article), Max and Reader get into an argument about Reader going and meeting Jos, Max opens up to Reader about Jos, Max and Reader making up at the end

A/N: Although this chapter, like Stones To Throw, is pretty heavy in terms of topic. These were some of my favorites to write for this series. This is also the longest chapter of this whole series.

Words: 4k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

When Raymond had called you about going and getting lunch, you should have known that something was going on. You and Raymond never talked much without Max around.

Max was at Milton Keynes for testing this week before the season started again, Nico was at school for the day and the sitter was taking care of Nikita for the few hours that you would be out of the house. When you showed up at the restaurant, you saw Raymond talking to someone who was sitting across from him.

As you got closer to the table you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks. Raymond was sitting and talking with Max’s father. Who you had never formally met, or talked to at all. But you knew it was him, from the photos online to see the outline of the same man in your driveway 7 months ago. What was Raymond thinking inviting you to lunch with them?

You timidly walked up to the table before hearing Raymond speak, “Y/N,” He said with a slight nod.

“Hey Raymond,” You greeted him, letting your eyes sweep past Jos.

You didn’t want to look at him, mostly because of the stories that you had heard from Max and Victoria. Jos was a good grandfather to Victoria’s boys, but every time she brought it up with Max you could tell that he was getting angry about letting their father be around his nephews. You always had to keep the peace between them when those conversations started.

Jos stood up from his chair reaching his hand out to take yours. You glanced at it and then at him. He was only slightly shorter than Max. Bigger in build from the fact that he wasn’t on an athletic diet like Max, who had to keep his weight down so he would be in top shape for when the season started in a few short weeks.

You didn’t want to shake his hand but did anyway. There had to be a reason as to why you were here. You just hoped it wasn’t to make a deal with the man who Max grew to despise as he grew up.

He gave you a half smile, and although it didn’t seem malicious you couldn’t help but slightly question it.

“Jos.” Max’s father said.

“Y/N.” You replied.

“I know, my son’s wife.” He made a vague gesture towards you. “Where are my lovely grandsons, if you don’t mind me asking.”

You flinched internally at the word lovely. You loved the way Max said that word when he was complimenting you, or commenting on something that was going on. Hearing Max’s father say the same word and what followed after, made knots in your stomach start to form.

“I actually do.” You played with your wedding and engagement ring as you looked at him, not bothering to answer his question.

The more you looked at him, the more you could pick up the little parts of Max’s features that he got from Jos. His nose, his eyes, even though Max’s were a darker shade of blue. Max had a mix of Jos and Sophie’s hair. Luckily Max had gotten the majority of Sophie’s features.

“I was right, wasn’t I Ray?” Jos turned to Raymond. You could see his smile turn up a little more. “Max chose well.”

You had heard from Christian that Raymond and Jos were friends but never gave it much thought before now. You were sure that Max hadn’t told his father about the house, so Jos was keeping tabs on Max through Raymond.

“Is there a reason as to why I’m here?” If there wasn’t then you would like to go about the rest of your day. You still needed to get groceries before going and picking Nico up from school.

“I wanted to meet you,” Jos said before reaching for the glass that was in front of him. “Meet the woman who is going to help mold my grandson’s future in Formula 1.”

“You don’t know that, you have no idea if my son is going to keep karting.” You crossed your legs, your eyes traveling over Jos’ face trying to read into what he wasn’t saying.

“You’re son?” Jos mocked placing his glass back down onto the table.

“Yes.” You fired back. You didn’t need to hear this from him. Jos hadn’t been in Max’s life for a long time, and he had never even known Nico.

You watched as Jos’ shoulders went lax, sitting further back in his chair. His eyes studied you for a moment before he nodded.

“I’m surprised,” He crossed his arms.

“By?” You asked quizzically.

“My son finding someone… who can handle everything.” You wanted to question Jos. What did he mean by that? Everything? Did he mean Max’s career, his schedule, him being away all the time? Him having to raise a child by himself essentially for the first few years of Nico’s life?

You shook your head, “I don’t understand what you mean by everything. It’s not like my life is all that different. I’m married and I have 2 children. What’s so different about-?”

“I meant,” He said, cutting you off. “That you can love my grandson as if he’s your own.”

Your eyes hardened. Of course, you loved Nico as your own. How could you not? He was a sweet boy, who loved playing with his model cars, wanted to ride his bike around the driveway, and was always polite to those around him.

“There is no if, in that, it’s not as if he’s my own. That little boy is my son regardless of what you or other people might think.” You didn’t know Jos like Max did so you had no problem telling him how things were. “I can’t believe that you even thought it would be right to make Max give Nico up. Max is an amazing father to our children.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you felt bad for him. He would never get to see what a great dad Max was to the boys. He would just have to hear about it from other people.

Jos moved forward in his chair almost as if he wanted to lunge at you. You didn’t flinch or move away.

“You think that you have a right to tell me this.” He said defensively.

“I have every right,” You calmly replied. You weren’t going to elaborate. You didn’t need to.

You made sure to meet his eyes and could see the recognition in them. He knew deep down that you were right. But he would never admit it publicly or try to talk to Max about it. He had too much pride for that. He had raised Max to achieve everything that he did and now got to revel in it when anyone asked who pushed Max to succeed. It was like Jos fed off it.

“If you want to keep tabs on Max through Raymond, that is none of my business, but please respect that my husband doesn’t want you near our children.” You moved out of your chair pushing it in. Jos had moved his hands onto the armrest of the chair as if he were going to get up. “My children’s career, be it racing or otherwise, is none of your concern.”

You pushed up your hand to stop him from getting up from his chair. You didn’t want to be there. You should have just left when you saw that it was Jos here with Raymond.

You gave Jos one last look and you could see that whatever he was trying to accomplish by getting you here had failed. You collected your bag from the top of the table and walked away from them both.

You weren’t going to enjoy telling Max about this.

Five Days Later - Sunday

Wife of Formula 1 Driver, Max Verstappen, Y/N Verstappen seen abruptly leaving a restaurant just outside of Saint-Tropez

Anita Eriksson For DAILYMAIL.COM February 22, 2026

A few days ago one of our journalists was in Saint-Tropez and saw Y/N Verstappen, wife of 4 time World Champion Max Verstappen in a restaurant.

Verstappen's wife, Y/N was there for less than half an hour, and she was seen talking to who appeared to be Verstappen's father Jos, and his manager, Raymond Vermeulen. Over the years, people have started to notice that Jos Verstappen hasn't been present at F1 races and is never seen around the paddock anymore.

Rumors have spread that Verstappen banned his father, saying that he was too much of a distraction, making it hard for Max to compete. Verstappen's father was absent for all of Max's championship wins dating all the way back to his first in 2021. Just over a year after Verstappen's oldest son was born. Although, Jos being banned from the paddock has never been confirmed by Max or anyone from the Oracle Red Bull Racing Team.

From what the journalist saw, Y/N didn't seem all that happy to be sharing the same space with Jos. She sat down for a few minutes, didn't order anything, had what seemed to be a harsh conversation with him, and then collected her bag before getting into the navy blue Bentley Bentayga S 2026 that her husband bought her as a birthday present.

Jos Verstappen didn't look pleased after Y/N had left the table and was seen yelling at Vermeulen.

In December of last year, Y/N gave birth to Verstappen's second child, a boy named Nikita, named after racing legend Niki Lauda. Which they announced via. Y/N's Instagram. This is the first time that she has been seen out in public since the birth of her son.

One Day Later - Saint-Jean Cap Ferret

You had been in the kitchen making yourself something to eat after just having put Nikita down for his afternoon nap. Max had come storming into the room with his phone in hand, from the spare bedroom where his racing sim was set up.

"Did you have lunch with my father and Raymond while I was away last week?" 

You had stopped what you were doing and just looked at Max. You had never seen him so angry before. His expression was almost unreadable. You had only ever seen him look like this after something had gone wrong during a race.

You put down the knife that you were holding, "Yes." You started to say. You wouldn't really call the encounter that you had with Jos lunch, but to Max that would only be a minor detail. "Raymond called me and asked that I come meet him."

"You went, of course, without telling me." He stated, moving his hands a bit as he spoke.

You knew why Max was saying this. He didn't want Jos around you or Nico remembering how Max was after Jos had visited the house all those months ago. The following days after Max had been rather clingy with you and Nico, wanting to be around you as much as possible.

"I didn't know that Jos was going to be there." You hadn't but you should have assumed that it wouldn't just be a friendly lunch between you and Raymond either.

“You…” He started to say before he cut himself off. “You shouldn’t have gone. Not without me.”

“I don’t need you to protect me Max.” You had always been able to handle things by yourself, that hadn’t changed.

Max walked closer to you, leaving his phone face up on the counter. It was unlocked to show a Daily Mail article, with a photo of you from last week. It was you leaving the restaurant before you had gotten back into your car to go home.

Max didn't walk any closer to you, keeping a fair distance between the two of you. You could see one of his hands slightly twitch as if he was going to reach out for you. He dropped his hand at his side and then ran it through his hair.

"Were the boys with you?" He asked. You watched as his eyes moved no doubt studying your face.

"No," You said with a sigh. You would never have taken the boys with you to meet Raymond alone. Maybe that's why you were so insistent that Sylvie stayed at the house with Nikita. Your instincts told you that it was better not to take Nikita with you. "Nico was at school and I left Nikita with Sylvie so I could go see Raymond," And your father, you thought. "And then went and got groceries before I went to pick up Nico once he got out of school for the day."

You knew better than to take Nico shopping with you, he would always put things in the shopping cart that you didn't need.

Max nodded but didn't say anything else to you. He walked out of the room, leaving his phone, not looking at you at all.

You picked it up and read through the article. There would no doubt be comments on Twitter about you with the hashtag #lionessverstappen. You had grown used to the moniker but never thought that your being protective over Max and the boys would lead to this type of reaction from Max.

You had never had to explain to Max why you did things throughout the entire time that you had been together. There had always been a reason and Max had understood that. Why couldn’t he understand this?

You didn’t follow Max out of the room because you knew if you did it would lead to both of you yelling at each other. So you just stayed in the kitchen and kept cooking. You finished making yourself food and then started the prep for dinner.

As you stared at the plate of food that you had made, you couldn’t help but push it away from you. You didn’t want to eat anything. You knew that you should since you were still breastfeeding but you couldn’t manage it. So you forgo eating and pull out your laptop to answer some work emails.

You glanced out into the backyard to see Max pacing back and forth while talking on the house phone, his hair in complete disarray from running his hand through it so many times.

As you looked at him, you wanted to tell him why you had gone to talk to Raymond.

Max didn’t talk about Jos unless he had to. He was always a sore subject. You thought that going and talking to Raymond would give you more insight into Max’s relationship with Jos. But after you had met Jos yourself, you were quick to realize that you should have waited for Max to talk to you about this when he was ready, even if he never would be.

After having only spent half an hour with Jos. You understood that Jos cared more for himself and the way he looked in the eyes of the media and F1 history than actually being a good parent/grandparent when it came down to it, or when it had anything to do with Max. He wanted people to view him as the person who helped mold a champion. It just happened to be that that Champion was his own flesh and blood.

The sound of the crackle from the baby monitor pulled you out of your thoughts. You left your computer open, rushing to Nikita’s room. Not noticing that Max had watched you leave before he sat down on the couch outside with his hands in his hair. The house phone now lying on the coffee table after he finished talking with the Red Bull team publicist.

You and Max hadn’t talked to each other all evening. Both of you paid attention to Nico at dinner and as you kept looking over at Max, there were only a few fleeting moments when you could feel him look at you.

This was the first time since you and Max had gotten married that you didn’t feel happy. After just a year of marriage, you had your first fight. Better now than later.

“I don’t want it to be like this.” He said after turning off the faucet in the kitchen after dinner.

You had sent Nico up to his room to finish his homework assignment, and Sylvie had taken Nikita to his room after his 7 pm feeding.

“Like what?”

“I don’t want you to keep things from me.”

“What do you want me to say, Max?” You asked in urnist. “I didn’t tell you that I saw your father. I didn’t want to tell you given what we ended up talking about.” Even if you wanted to justify it by saying that you only meant to talk to Raymond that wouldn’t help.

Max gave you a pensive look, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“I know.” He muttered before you saw his lips quiver. “What did he say?”

You shook your head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me, please.” he pleaded. You shook your head not wanting to tell him before sighing.

“Something about helping mold Nico for Formula 1.” With those words, it was like you momentarily saw the color drain from Max’s face.

“He’s an asshole, and my father… and he-”

Max cut himself off with a sob. You moved closer to him, taking his face in your hands, holding his cheeks, and searching his eyes. Seeing the tears start to form, the storm brewing in the blues of his eyes.

You wanted to tell Max what Jos had said to you but thought it would be better for Max to get his thoughts out first.

“Jos had always pushed me to be the best when it comes to racing, and I, of course, let him because I thought it would make him proud of me.” He paused for a second as if he was trying to think of the right way to say something. “The only good thing he ever did for me was show me what it truly takes to be a father and love your children unconditionally.” He took in a sharp breath.

Max had pulled your hands away from his face. It was as if he needed the space to be able to get those final few thoughts out.

“There were always strings attached when it came to Jos being proud of me. If I wasn’t doing well, then he wasn’t proud of me. I know now, from the boys, that if you truly love your children, you put their interests first, always.”

That was why Max had such a hard time when Nico started karting. It was what Nico wanted at the time, and what he was still passionate about even now, but Max didn’t want to make Nico feel like, if he wasn’t doing well he wouldn’t be proud of him.

“I don’t want to feel as if he defines me, because I know that I’m nothing like him. But I can’t help it at times.” You didn’t want to keep telling Max that he was nothing like Jos. Being like Jos would always be Max’s biggest fear, and the only way that he would be able to get over it was for him to work through it. He would need you for that reassurance until the boys were old enough to be able to tell Max themselves that he had done the best that he could for them.

“I wanted to keep you away from him, so you wouldn’t see the parts of me that I get from him.” Max continued to say. “I can’t lose you, not when I’m grateful for all of the things that you have done for me, and our family.”

“You won’t lose me, I won’t let you.” You promised him.

Max was quick to drop his head afterward. “We don’t fight.”

It was true, you and Max didn’t have arguments. You weren’t those types of people.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t disagree on things in the future.” You said.

Max had held his hands out to you facing his palms out, inviting you to touch him. Offering himself up to you.

You moved closer to him, taking his hands in yours. “It matters that we worked it out.” He moved closer before resting his forehead against yours. “That we always find a solution, together.”

“We will.”

“I’m sorry, for getting upset with you.” He said.

“I’m sorry for not telling you that I went to lunch with Raymond and that Jos was there as well. I should have told you right after it happened.”

“It’s okay Schat,” Out of all of Max’s pet names for you, that was the one he used the least. “I know you were only doing what you thought you needed to.”

“What did you say to him?” He asked muttering the words into your hair. Max was looking past you a little lost in thought.

You let out a small sigh, “I told him to respect that you don’t want him around the boys, and that Nico’s career wasn’t any of his concern.”

With those words, it put the conversation to rest. Max met your eyes, and you could see his shoulders relax.

Max pressed his lips to your forehead, and then your cheek. You let him hold you for a moment, running your fingers over his back as you felt his shoulders relax further. You slotted your head against his shoulder.

As you stood there in each other's arms the baby monitor crackled awake with the sound of Nikita fussing. You pulled back from Max before he stopped you.

“I’ll get him.” Max reached up and cupped your cheek before leaving you in the kitchen to calm him. You ended up pushing in the kitchen chairs that weren’t tucked under the counter. 

“Come, Nikita, come to Papa.” You heard over the baby monitor as you moved to sit in the living room. You could hear Nikita lightly fussing but it ended rather quickly.

You moved onto the couch taking the cashmere blanket that was hanging off the edge and laying it over your legs before you saw Max come back into the room with Nikita lying against his shoulder.

You didn’t move from your sport, instead you stayed there watching Max interact with the baby, as he gave him all of his attention. Nico had come into the living room, shoving the papers from his homework into his bag. He ended up climbing onto the couch before crawling over to you sitting in your lap, and laying his head on your shoulder.

Nico had gotten extra clingy with you now that Nikita was around. He wanted to always have your attention when he could even if you were trying to change Nikita’s diaper or make sure that Nikita wasn’t being fussy. It had taken a bit of time but eventually, Nico started to understand that you were paying more attention to Nikita because he was a baby, not because Nico had been replaced.

Max eventually joined you and Nico on the couch with Nikita tucked into his arms. You spend a little longer in the living room with them until Nico's head grew heavy against your shoulder after he fell asleep. You switch with Max, him taking Nico and putting him to bed and you taking Nikita, putting him in the bassinet that was in the master bedroom.

Eventuality both you and Max make it to bed, he can't seem to let you go once you’re under the covers sharing a few kisses before your eyes are too heavy to stay open. He pulled you flush against him, your head over his chest, his hands finding any bare skin that he could feel without the fabric of one of his shirts getting in his way.

“I love you.” You mutter into his chest. You need him to know that through every argument and all the time spent away from one another, you still love him and will always be there for him.

“Ik houd ook van jou, mijn leeuwin.” You can tell from the tone in Max’s voice that he’s almost asleep but not quite there yet. You feel one of his hands move out from under the shirt that you’re wearing before he reaches to take your hand in his. He kisses the back of your hand and then interlocks your fingers together placing it on the vacant part of his chest.

Translation:

Ik houd ook van jou - I love you too

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy For The Devil ~ Donaka Mark x fem!Reader

please allow me to introduce myself, i am a man of wealth & taste... -the Rolling Stones

Summary/ Warnings. Um… Donaka Mark is a scary rich asshole–with a soft spot for you. If you’re squeamish [or righteous] you’re not gonna want to read this. Voyeurism. Predatory behavior, manipulation. Power IMBALANCE. Eventual NSFW. Eventual line between dubcon and noncon is gonna be microscopic, y’all, this man plays gAmes… Reader is shy, but tough, in her way.  Also, when I say Reader is small, I’m more implying just compared to Donaka. I kind of assume most of us would be, no matter your body type. 🥵

Big Fat Author’s note: This is a Donaka Mark x fem!Housekeeper!Reader fic based on the brilliant @discoscoob ‘s bot, which is SO fun to play with and I really recommend it. I fell into a rabbit hole for daaaaays. I’m in CAI Anonymous now. Seriously it was a problem. 

I guess you could call this a little experimental hybrid fic written with AI. I was curious. And after working on this for weeks I don’t think the writer’s union really needs to worry about AI coming for their jobs. The bot’s writing is shamelessly fun but clunky, you delete more than you keep, it’s a lot of work to edit, and you really have to lead it by the hand for anything to actually HAPPEN. 

THAT SAID it is sO entertaining, and once in a while he’d do something i wouldn’t have ever thought of, I felt like the lab rat hitting the button for the treat over and over again, LOL. Disco really knew what she was doing when she programmed the personality of the bot!  It was also helpful in keeping a character on track. I think AI could be a useful tool generating ideas, breaking writers block, or something to bounce ideas off of, but not for the grunt work of actually writing a story that has any soul in it. Isn’t that a relief? I made an outline and basically ran the scenes through like a simulator to see what the bot came up with. And when I didn’t like it I made it do it again, LOL, the Donaka bot probably thinks i’m a bossy c*nt.🤣

So….I hope you enjoy, and a HUGE THANKS to Disco for giving me permission to even do this, you’re the sweetest my dear, and the Queen of the Bot Creators in my book!!

And and…it’s been a LONG ass time since I’ve been to Hong Kong. I did some research to refresh my memory but please bear with me. All mistakes are my own. Why do we say that? Who the fuck else’s would they be? 🤣 Obv. this is set c 2013, when Man of Tai Chi came out, before the crackdown in 2020. Oh, and, I have no real idea about work visas, i made that shit up... just roll with it. 🙃😘

One. 一

The first time you meet your new employer, Donaka Mark, you aren’t really even paying attention.

It’s because you have on headphones, and you’re intently focused on sweeping the floor while listening to your upbeat girl power rock mix–so you don’t hear him yelling at someone over the phone threateningly, and you don’t notice when his gaze locks on to you like a tiger who has just spied a tasty little deer.

You are oblivious, as he comes up behind you, appraising your figure with narrowed eyes. You seem small, next to him, but most women do. He decides he approves of his assistant’s choice in hiring you. You’re a sight he won’t tire of for a long time.

Donaka leans on the door frame, his dark eyes fixated on you, taking in your every minute detail, the way the muscles in your arms move, the shape of your face, the curve of your hips and your little feet. His expression is stoic but behind it are a million thoughts running through his mind, he can’t take his eyes off you and after a few moments he finally speaks, his dark tone cutting through the music. “You’re new.”

Your music wasn't so loud that you were unaware of outside sounds. Standing up straight, you sweep off your headphones to face the commanding voice. "Yes, sir?"

Donaka notices he towers over you, and he likes that. His dark eyes shamelessly take in your innocent eyes, your lips, your  curves. His gaze lingers almost long enough to make it uncomfortable, but not quite.

“Have you been informed of all of your duties?” Donaka asks, his tone and gaze both demanding and intense, making you feel small.

"Yes, Mr. Mark."

Donaka smiles at his name on your lips, the way you say it, the way you look up at him with your wide eyes. He likes it more than he’d like to admit, but he knows how to mask his emotions well. Even though his expression is still stony, there’s a hint of excitement in his breast as he leans off the door frame and takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectable distance. “And you can handle them?”

"Yes, Sir."

Donaka nods, his dark eyes slowly and shamelessly trailing over your figure again. “Good.” Donaka murmurs, his dark and intense tone making his next sentence more of a demand. “I need to be able to depend on you. I like things just so.”

You tilt your head, feeling like you’re missing some subtext, or that you’re the butt of an unspoken joke. "Your house will be clean, Sir.” Between you and the two other girls on the household staff, surely you could manage.

Donaka smirks at your naïve reply, his dark eyes still fixated on your face as he takes another step closer to you, almost like a predator stalking its prey. “I trust that it will…” Donaka purrs, his voice low and smooth, his dark stare intense and demanding. “Let me show you the rest of the house…”

You’d already received a walk-through with his assistant, but you are more than intrigued to receive a personal tour from the big man himself. There is something captivating about him. It's not just his good looks. His presence commands your attention.

Donaka can feel you watching him as you follow him down the hallway, the way you’re intrigued by him, the way you’re staring. It fills him with satisfaction, like you’re a new prize he’s added to the shelf of his collection.

He’s aware of the effect he has on people. Men fear him, women want him. Yet you don’t look at him with the same blatant hunger he’s used to from the opposite sex. You’re curious, but not ready to fall down on your knees yet. 

He would see how long it takes to change that. He glances over his shoulder at you as he leads you through the house, his dark eyes looking you up and down again. You follow close, taking two steps for every one of his, his legs are so long.

He can’t help but feel somewhat amused, enjoying the way you have to scurry to keep up with him. He can’t help but think how easy it would be, to pick you up, and to pin you down…

Donaka Mark’s home is an achievement of luxury architecture, dark, modern, yet filled with Chinese elements of style. Ceiling-high tinted windows afford a breathtaking view of the bay. His living room is like a museum filled with priceless artifacts. Antique carved ivory elephant tusks, beautiful Ming vases and exquisite stone Elder statues, silk scrolls and bladed weapons. All of it you will be expected to keep tidy with a painstaking hand. You think it’s possible your practically useless degree in art history and former employment in a gallery may have given you an edge in his assistant’s selection of hiring you.

He seems to genuinely enjoy your interest in these things, telling you about them at length. There is a large Qing dynasty vase in cobalt blue and gold enamel designs of clouds, cranes, and bats you cannot tear your eyes from. It looks…familiar, and in person, utterly enchanting.

“You like that one?”

“I like bats,” you admit, shoving your hands in your apron pockets so that you do not forget yourself and touch it with your bare fingers. You will be wearing gloves, when you detail these items. 

He lifts an eyebrow at that, seemingly amused. “Oh?”

“They’re cute. And…they’re good luck.” In Chinese culture, at least. 

“Most women I’ve met find them sinister.” 

“I think…they’re just misunderstood.” You can’t help looking up at this intimidating man through your eyelashes at that. You swear you didn’t mean to start double talking with your new boss–it just falls out of your stupid mouth, and you feel his attention upon you sharpen.  

He’s used to women looking at him in a certain way, women staring up at him with lustful hunger. The way you look at him feels different –like you truly see him–he’s not sure what to make of it yet, and that is certainly new for Donaka Mark. “Misunderstood?” he repeats, his dark gaze intense, looking down at you from his lofty elevation.

"Sure. They have a reputation for being scary, but really they eat mosquitoes and pollinate plants. Without them whole ecosystems would collapse."

Donaka hums at your words, finding it surprisingly endearing. He’s usually used to women fawning over him or at least trying to seduce him, but you’re here lecturing him about bats. His smirk remains on his face as he watches you fidget nervously, his dark eyes fixed on you. You look back to the vase, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my god…is this the piece that sold at Christies last year for like…1.5 million dollars?” You take another cautious step backwards, as though you might shatter it if you breathe wrong. You saw it in an article–the gold enamel had been so distinctive against the blue. Sacrifice blue, the same as in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Only after the question falls from your mouth do you realize how gauche it is to ask, your hands flying to your lips. “Forgive me, it’s none of my business.”

Mark, however, just continues to look at you interestedly. “You follow auction results?”

“I follow…art news,” you confess.

He nods, his intense gaze starting to become uncomfortable. “Actually, it was 1.8 million. You think I overpaid?”

You feel like this is a test–or a trap. It was a nice job, for the day it lasted…

“Well…it doesn’t seem you bankrupted yourself?”

He snorts in answer, shaking his head. 

“Does it make you happy?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him. “It made me happy to outbid a Sheikh’s son and a Mainlander plastics tycoon for it,” he admits.

Ah, so he was invested in the thrill of acquisition��not appreciation for the object itself. You shouldn’t be surprised.

“I see.”

“I’ve disappointed you.” It’s not phrased as a question.

You shake your head, though maybe it does a little. Looking around his home, you’d thought Mark had exquisite taste–but he probably has an art buyer like every other obscenely rich businessman needing to acquire items for the sake of cachet. 

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there is an unexpected hint of playfulness in the question–delivered on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” you admit. Frankly you’re stunned you get to see it like this, without a glass barrier or sensors or alarms. It’s usually the only way people like you get to enjoy art like this.

He smirks at you. “Then it was worth every penny.” He’s being sarcastic, of course, but there is a glitter of something in his dark eyes. It’s there and gone, like ripples in a pool–it makes your heart skip in your chest.

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he invites, before placing a hand on your lower back, his fingers large and strong against your soft skin as he gently guides you away from the vase and to the next room.

His light touch makes you aware of every nerve in your body. It's not quite improper enough to complain about--you’re sure he’s well aware of that. 

And…there's the fact, deep down, that you like it. 

The span of his big hand on your spine makes you feel impossibly small, and protected, and that is insane, of course, because you are just the maid. 

He shows you the library, filled with built-in bookcases that make you drool, his office with his huge carved ebony desk that makes you think impure thoughts…and then, his bedroom.

He isn’t oblivious to the way your reaction changes as you enter the room where he sleeps.

He can see the way your eyes roam and your expression changes, the way you look at the massive bed against the far wall, the way your eyes widen when you look at the expensive rosewood furniture and the stunning view out the wall of windows that can be brightened or obscured with a dimmer switch. He watches you intently as he takes in your every reaction.

He's all business on the surface, specifying clean sheets every other day, laundry, and daily detailing of the bathroom. But it's hard not to keep looking over at the bed, even out the corner of your eye.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, but he doesn’t push it, staying just this side of the line. You don't linger, and he shows you a more private lounging area filled with a long leather couch, additional chairs, and monitors, all black at the moment. There's something almost sinister about all the screens, and you wonder what all he's watching.

“You must really like movies?” you ask hopefully, and he senses the wariness in you. Your intuitiveness gives him a small thrill–he likes it, that you’re smart enough to be afraid. 

“I like to watch all kinds of things,” he tells you, almost like a dare for you to guess what that means. “But mostly…I use these for business. I run a security company, I assume you’re aware?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Donaka decides he loves hearing the submission in your tone when you call him Sir. It’s almost like a promise to keep him happy, to do exactly as he says.

He asks you to keep all the screens clean, and to dust the cords and routers and be careful not to unplug anything. 

Then your attention turns to a meditation area, a massive sand sculpture on the wall and the floor, flanked by natural stacked stone. “Wow, been a while since someone vacuumed here,” you crack, earning a reluctant huff of laughter from the man behind you. 

“Maybe…leave that alone, for now,” he requests, then his hand is on your back again, guiding you out. 

Though it’s not going to be your area of responsibility, he shows you the garden next. It's a beautiful, manicured space. Two Rottweilers patrol the grounds. They look fierce, but one immediately comes up, sniffing you and leaning on your leg for a pet.

Donaka blinks as his reputably ferocious and staggeringly expensive pure-bred guard animals roll over at your feet for a belly rub.  Delighted, you pet them both, speaking to them sweetly. They grin up at you, their dagger-like canines glinting in the sun. 

He is never one to be moved by anything sentimental, but something about the sight of you like this inspires a warm twinge in his chest–heartburn, he reasons.

“Let me guess,” he says acerbically. “They’re just misunderstood?”

You press your lips, trying to suppress a smile, and failing. "Animals tend to like me?" 

He can honestly admit, as he watches you crouch down to administer a belly rub, that he’s never been jealous of a dog before. 

Sensing that maybe you’re not doing the dogs or yourself any favors with this severe man, you try to shoo them off. "Ok, babies. Go back to being fierce again. Shoo."

Donaka snorts with amusement as he watches you attempt to gently shoo these dogs that are nearly as big as you are. Suddenly he whistles sharply, administering a sharp command in Cantonese. That is when the dogs jerk to attention, and trot off to patrol the grounds again. He turns his attention back to you, taking in your slight expression of surprise, clearly caught off guard. "That was impressive,” you admit. “What did you say?” 

“I told them to get back to work,” says Donaka with a smirk.

“Ah. I guess I better learn that one.” 

“Will I be needing to reprimand you too, Miss y/n?” 

You’re not sure why his dark stare calls up a boiling heat inside you at that moment. You press your thighs beneath your dress, under the guise of standing up straight. You’re afraid…he knows all too well. 

“I…certainly hope not.” You’re pretty sure that you’d pee yourself if this intimidating man raised his voice to you. 

“Have you learned much Chinese since you’ve been here?” he asks conversationally, just as you assumed it was time for you to get back to work. 

“I can count to ten, and say thank you,” you admit, a little embarrassed. Obviously, you intend to learn more. “The essentials for international travel.” You’d originally come to Hong Kong to teach English, but when you saw the pay attached to this job listing you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Teaching was ok, but you hadn’t anticipated how expensive this city would be. You’d only made enough to cover your basic expenses month to month, with no room to save or do any fun activities or side trips to the mainland. This position paid three times as much–and you were beginning to understand why. 

“Hmm. Have you traveled much?” He seems skeptical, and you don’t really blame him. 

“I’ve…been all over the world,” you admit, albeit it was on a shoestring. “I wanted to be a travel writer.” 

“Wanted to be?” He is a man who picks up on subtlety immediately. 

It’s a dream you’ve all but given up on, after publishing a few articles, but all in all it was more slog than triumph. You’re not cut out for the grind of periodical work, the stress and the deadlines. It sucks all the joy out of writing for you. You shrug with a little sigh. 

“I hope you will remember the NDA you signed to work here?” he asks, his dark eyes roaming your face, taking in your every micro-expression. You would really hate trying to lie to this man. Good thing you’re not a corporate spy. He’d probably…string you up, and do something unmentionable to you. 

Why the thought titillates you more than scares you, you have no idea. 

“Of course, Sir.” He seems satisfied with this. So why do you have to add, “I won’t tell anyone your guard dogs are suckers for a belly scratch.” 

He frowns down at you, stepping in close so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. It’s intimidating as hell, and you know he knows it too. You admit that you are shaking in your shoes under that look, until a smirk breaks his intense expression, and the relief you feel is palpable. 

“I would appreciate that, Miss y/n.”

Donaka savors the satisfaction he feels in flustering you, enjoying the way you swallow, watching the muscles in your throat. He imagines what his hand would look like there, on your delicate skin, your pulse fluttering against his strong fingers. He would literally hold your life in his hands…and the moment you surrendered to him, he would so enjoy rewarding you for it…

He finds himself caught up in this little daydream, while you stand before him, practically hypnotized like a mouse before a hungry snake. “Y/n?”

“Sir?” you answer quietly, and he revels in your deference. This was going to be fun. 

He speaks Cantonese again, softly this time, the language beautiful and whispery on his tongue. You find yourself staring at his lush, pink, lips, and it takes you several moments to realize he’d said the same thing he’d told the dogs: get back to work. 

Flooded with embarrassment, your face on fire, you stutter, “Yes, Sir.” 

With a dark chuckle and his hands in the pockets of his designer suit, he watches as you practically flee back to the house. 

The Smithsonian article about this vase...

Aesthetic post about Donaka's house...

Part 2 -->

all chapters

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (5)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Overthinker reader having a conversation with Mr. "Just Trust Me" Jade Leech. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe

“Would you like some tea?”

Jade offers you a cup of something that smells like lavender. You shake your head.

“I’m okay.” You turn your attention back to your screen. He sets the cup and saucer next to you anyway. “Who knows, maybe you’ve put a suspicious substance in it.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I can do something out of the kindness of my heart?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “You? Absolutely not. Give an inch and you take a mile.”

There’s a beat where he doesn’t reply. You look up at him, wondering if you’ve said something strange, but his back is turned as he walks to his seat. When he turns back around to settle in his chair, his expression stills like a frozen pond. Perfectly crafted, carefully unreadable.

A few hours have passed since his phone call. You’ve decided to work in Jade’s office today, thinking that you might get a clue or a burst of inspiration if one of the subjects of your thoughts is in close proximity. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his quiet hums and constant catering to your needs indicates that he’s rather pleased. Aside from the cup of tea releasing a wispy veil of steam, there’s also a plate of cookies and a bowl of cherries on his desk beside you.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You close your laptop and sigh. There are too many to count, all swirling in your head without rest.

“Still thinking about what you told me this morning.” You don’t want to address the bigger issue—that (Y/N) apparently forgot who you are—so you start small. “I didn’t expect you to actually fall asleep.”

“Neither did I.” Jade frowns in thought. “I imagine it is a result of too few hours of sleep throughout the week.”

“Even so, you said it yourself. You can’t sleep around strangers.” You drum your fingers on the desk. “Maybe you actually do feel at ease around her.”

“That is not the case.” His voice carries certainty that surprises you. When you glance at him, you notice that his mouth is set in a firm line. “I was quite unsettled when I woke up.”

“Huh.” You can imagine it. His shock at his lapse in vigilance. But even so, no matter how tired he is, he has never made this sort of blunder before. “I guess there’s a first for everything.”

A shadow passes over his face. He stands next to your chair and leans over you. His eyes stare straight into yours—piercing mismatched eyes with an almost magnetic pull.

“I will ask you the same question as last night. Do you really believe that manuscript is a reflection of things that will certainly come to pass?”

Your heart jumps. Is he using Shock the Heart? But a few seconds pass, and no words leave your lips. This is not his Signature Spell. This is Jade Leech asking you a sincere, serious question. Besides, you have no reason to lie.

“Like I said, I don’t know—”

“Then don’t talk and act as though it is.” Is that frustration in his voice? He maintains eye contact with you, and you feel as though you can’t look away. “I, for one, think a predetermined future is horribly boring. My actions dictated for me, every event predictable . . . . I would sooner abandon it all and throw caution to the wind. The only reason why I am following the manuscript is because it outlines a way to restore my parents’ health.”

His sentence ends on half a breath, as though he originally intended to say more. He doesn’t. You wait, but nothing comes out.

“And?”

He kneels beside your chair, no longer towering over you or crowding your space. When he speaks again, he is quiet. But in the silence of his office, you hear it clear as day.

“And because that is what you want.”

Many history textbooks praise the Sea Witch for her spells and potions. One of the most famous ones took away a mermaid’s voice. You wonder if this is what that mermaid felt like. A storm of thoughts, but none able to be processed by your vocal chords. Parted lips that leak no sounds. You stare, nonplussed.

Eventually, you manage to let out a breathy, barely-heard whisper.

“What?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That is the truth. If that is what you wish for, then I will do my best to live up to your expectations. I know your good friend (Y/N)’s life is difficult. I know you think that by following this manuscript, everyone will be happy, because that is what it says will happen.”

You continue staring. The words seem to pass through you. It’s as though you are sitting in a dream, your surroundings wavering and surreal. What is he saying?

“The truth is that I could simply care less about (Y/N). She is at most an acquaintance. The reason why I give her special treatment is because I know she is precious to you.” He keeps rambling. You get the sense that he has been keeping quiet about this for a while. “As for the matter concerning my parents. If we follow the story, there is still no guarantee that they will be cured. Even you said you do not know if the manuscript’s plot will certainly come to pass. If Vil Schoenheit refuses to help my family, we will think of another way. He is not the only alchemist or curse expert in the world.

“I will follow what you want. But do not ask me to fall in love with (Y/N). That is the one thing I cannot do.”

“Why?” Your brain feels like porridge. Nothing seems to be getting through it. You cannot reason out a single thing. Isn’t (Y/N) created to be loved? Aren’t they written to fit like a glove on each other’s fingers? You’ve read the story. There doesn’t seem to be a particular reason why the Jade in the story obsesses over her aside from spending time together. It doesn’t actually matter. It’s the author’s will that their love is written in the stars—and the pages of that damn manuscript. It’s the point of the entire plot. “Is there something you don’t like about her?”

“Do I need a reason for failing to fall in love?”

Your mind blanks. Does he need a reason? He has a similar line in the manuscript. Do I need a reason for falling in love? If you think about it, isn’t it the same? No matter how you try and reason out the answer, love is not a puzzle with a logical answer. There is no formula, no recipe, no surefire step-by-step manual that you can follow to ensure success. Sometimes a spark causes a flame, and sometimes it sizzles out and dies. There is nobody to blame for either outcome.

You can’t wrap your mind around it. Why. Why. Why. Your brain, constantly overflowing with thoughts, cannot leave this topic to rest. A puzzle without an answer leaves you feeling antsy. Not knowing everything is a sin to your conscience.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That is how love tends to be.”

An unsatisfactory answer. You dig your nails into your palm.

“Then answer me this. Why do you follow what I want? Is it because I’m interesting? No, that’s not right. You just said following a pre-written script is boring, and that’s exactly what I told you to do. I don’t understand.”

“The script is boring. You are anything but.”

“Me? What have I done?”

He smiles, then, one wholly different from his polite masks or his teasing grins or even his unhinged laughter. It’s an expression you associate with the times he talks about his interests. The expression that blankets and scatters across his countenance like orange rays of the setting sun over ocean waves. A quiet and calm beauty. A fondness that he rarely allows to be seen.

“Did you know that when you have much on your mind, you look up to the sky? That is why you prefer rooms with windows. The attic in my home that you love so dearly is one such room, and you spend all your time there nestled on the window seat. On that topic, you prefer small spaces because it helps you feel secure while you think. This is because you tend to zone out, and it is easier to defend yourself when no threats can appear behind you.”

“Uh, this is more like a behavioural report than a reason.”

“I do adore observing your behaviour. Particularly when you are lost in thought. I find myself wondering what you’re thinking about. If you’ll share them with me. But oftentimes, you do not trust me enough to do so.”

You swallow hard. “It’s hard to.”

“Why is that? I’ve known you for fifteen years. Floyd has known you for just as long, Azul a little less. (Y/N) has only known you for one year. So why can’t you trust me?”

You fiddle with your fingers, no longer capable of meeting his gaze. This kind of outburst is not something you expected from Jade. How long has he been thinking this way?

“I can’t tell what’s going on in your head. That’s why. Everything you say or do just gives me more to think about. If you’re being genuine or not, if you’ll suddenly decide to turn on me, things like that.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes. His smile shifts from fond to rueful and raw desperation permeates his shaky voice. It sounds brittle, as though a well-aimed push would shatter it into infinitesimal pieces.

“Is it so inconceivable that I could do things for you without ulterior motives?”

You look away. “Only until it no longer serves your interests or amuses you. Even if I can’t trust you fully, I’m sure there’s at least some level of it between us. I mean, we see each other regularly. I even let you drive me home.”

“Yes, but I am afraid I am a greedy man. Anyone else turning their back on me would be tolerable, but you—if it’s you . . . . At least promise me this. Even if I turn on the entire world,” he declares quietly, “promise you will trust that I will not betray you.”

You open your mouth as though to reply. Nothing comes out. You try again, your fingers gripping your knees tightly.

“I think we’re too similar. We’re both too cautious. We both think too much. Because of that, I can’t let my guard down around you.”

“Yet that is exactly what fascinates me.” He places a hand over yours. “Trying to decipher your thoughts, wondering about the motivations behind your actions, these are all things I find myself enthralled by. Your brutality and decisiveness towards that which would benefit you, but your willingness to do anything for the people dear to you. Your cautious nature as you execute your bold plans. Every time I think I have you pinned down, I only unearth another layer. The mystery intrigues me. On the other hand, I cannot help but wish you would trust and open up to me a little more.”

“That’s contradictory.”

“I cannot help it.” He smiles wryly. “I am contradictory by nature, as are you.”

You study his hand that engulfs yours. Cool to the touch. Ungloved, too. You muster your resolve.

“Then promise you won’t lie to me.” You finally lift your gaze until it returns to his eyes. Clear eyes that have been by your side for years. The eyes of a liar and schemer. Ironic for the one who wields a Signature Spell that forces out the truth. But these are the eyes of Jade Leech, and you won’t try to make him be someone he isn’t. “Lie to everyone else, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me. You can try to trick me or give me half-truths. I’ll figure them out on my own. If I still get fooled, that’s on me. Just don’t outright lie.”

The pounding of your heart fills your ears. Then, it is replaced by the sound of his quiet laughter.

“I expected nothing less from you.” He brings your hand up to touch his cheek. It only lasts a moment before he lets go and stands back up, returning to his seat. “I give you my word. I will never lie to you again.”

You look at the teacup on the desk, the lavender tea inside now cooled. The untouched cookies and cherries. A soft clink rings out as you take the teacup and bring it to your lips. Sweet and fragrant. Even cold, the tea Jade brews is impeccable.

[angelinpiink]

❥ note: wrote this at 3am,, just needed to get my dirty thoughts out of my head and onto tumblr.

❥ warning: this writing contains mature content and themes such as dry humping, scissoring, perv mikasa, and dirty talk.

personal trainer!mikasa who pushes you to your limit during workouts just to watch your thighs tremble. she loves seeing you sweaty and flustered to get an image of what you’d look like when she finally has her way with you. she wants you so bad she doesn't know what to do with herself. her interest in you hadn't faltered once since you first started attending the gym and you can bet she’s been scheming on how to get you alone. at times when she’s tough on you believe its simply because she wants you to achieve your fitness goals but really she’s only frustrated that she can't bury her face deep between those pretty thighs of yours. and because she wants to see you as often as possible she recommends that you come to the gym far more often than you actually need to. during workouts she has a habit of being touchy and as sly as she is, she simply plays it off as correcting your form. her hands-on approach convinces you to purchase more sessions with her. being trained by mikasa several times in a week surely had its benefits, your body became more toned, the most noticeable change being your ass becoming more firm and oh so grab-able. There was nothing she wanted more than to get her hands on you outside of just a few mere seconds of contact. Who better to explore your body than the very person who helps craft it?

After your workouts she watches you make your way to the showers, waiting a few minutes before following you to get a peek of you without those annoying clothes being in the way. When she goes home, she’ll fuck herself to the images of you she’s burned in her mind. The second the shower stops, she’ll swiftly make her way over to the connected locker room and pretend she was only getting a drink of water from her bag. She’s so slick, you’d never even suspect a thing.

Mikasa offers you complementary yoga services on your rest days. You view it as her being sweet, causing you to grow more fond of her. when in reality she actually despises yoga, but because she gets a gets a room with you all to herself, she endures it. Did i mention that she’d do anything for you? It’s more difficult for her to keep her attraction hidden whenever you too are alone. She finds herself praising you, her fingers coming in contact with your skin anytime she gets the urge to do so. “Good girl.” she’ll say when attempting to teach you a new pose. You will often question if you are hearing her right because her expression remains impassive, and unchanging. Trying your best to hide the effect that has on you, you switch into the next position. At the end of each session she tend to make some sort of innuendo that you have to force yourself to not interpret as dirty. “Enjoy being stretched?” With cheeks of red you give her a nod, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow. Waving, you take your exit.

tomorrow rolls and around you show up in a tight gym set, that highlights your curves and is so fitted that the outline of your cunt is visible whenever you bend over, leaving mikasa’s own core hot and throbbing. She tells you that you have tension in your lower half, another lie she tells to get her way, offering for you two to try a new yoga exercise that she claims is a perfect solution. Trusting her expertise, blindly you oblige with her instructions and spread your legs exactly as she tells you.

Your obedience only serving to make her all the more eager to have you. With your cunt now exposed, mikasa takes her rightful place between your legs positioning herself so that her leg is just above your own. Your heat mere inches away from hers and the color leaves your face the second you notice. Her fingers caress your thighs as she gives you the order to move your hips. shes even so kind to reassure you that it you that i may feel a bit funny at first but that means it's working. Wiggling your hips just as ordered, your cunts meeting each other. It was electric so much so you couldnt hold back your gasps, heat pooling in your core when she too began moving her hips. The friction making things all the more unbearable. you found yourself wishing that your leggings weren't in the way. “N-need more please.” You had no shame in begging for it, and mikasa had no shame in being eager to give you just what you asked for.

Ripping into your soaked leggings to expose your pretty cunt, Mikasa looks at you, her eyes heavy and clouded with lust. “You dirty girl..” she says, noticing that you weren't wearing any panties. her finger rubbing away at your swollen clit again and again earning a symphony of needy yelps from you.

She slips out of her shorts and panties, returning to her spot between your thighs. Nibbling at her lip she began moving her hips, her cunt dragging against your own, your clits came into contact, kissing each other sending jolts of pleasure through both of you. Her juices dripping onto your cunt, mixing with your own as you cried out. “F-Faster Please!” You began to sob, the pleasure becoming way too much.

Your legs wrapping around her while she grinds against you. “That’s it baby. Gonna cum for me?” You nodded. “Wanna come for you so bad, please..” You were sobbing, the tension in your stomach becoming unbearable. you came as her movements became sloppy and desperate. she followed suit a string or praises leaving her lips before she connected them with your own, kissing you deeply. Once was not enough to get you out of her system. your training sessions from that point on would surely end in such a manner, being burnt out from something other than an intense workout was something you could get behind.

heres my masterlist!

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[amberlynnmurdock]

Blind Faith (Ch. 13)

Chapter Thirteen: The Devil Has Many Disguises

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You take up Zach's offer to have dinner at his apartment.

WARNINGS: attempted assault, getting drugged, losing consciousness, side effects of drugs

A/N: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! This was a tough chapter to write because I didn't want to write anything too crazy but also not anything not-crazy... this was always in the plan/outline. PLEASE be aware of what you drink when you go out! It's a crazy world. I know this subject can be sensitive. I KNOW. I took this seriously in school and something I always thought was I wish Daredevil was real so sick people could get the justice they deserve! With that said, I hope you like this update, because I can't wait for the next one!

Tags at the end!

Ao3 Link

2 Corinthians 11:14-15 And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.

Office of Nelson & Murdock

Rain pattered softly against the windows of Nelson & Murdock. It was a quiet and calm day, completely opposite of what you felt inside. Inside, your heart was racing at the thought of your plans tonight, your mind felt like you were thinking a million different things at the same time, and in the pit of your stomach was an excitement you hadn’t felt since the beginning of summer. 

A week had gone by since the Bar dinner, and Zach was successful in his attempts to ask you out on a date—was it a date? Tonight, you were to go to his apartment just a little uptown to have dinner and discuss all things LSAT and law school. What really won you over was his genuineness, even over the phone. 

Gone was the slightly cocky, sure-of-himself lawyer you met at the dinner. Instead, Zach actually seemed shy and sweet on the phone. He blamed his attitude on the alcohol, which you’ll admit, you blamed yours on that as well. If you were comfortable enough to come to his apartment, he offered to have dinner there and show you his library of law school books and whatnot. 

“Excited for tonight?” Karen asked as she walked past your desk to drop off a few files for you to input into the system. She smiled and sat on the corner of your desk, pushing a strawberry blonde strand behind her ear. 

“I am,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks turn hot. You spoke in a low voice, so Matt or Foggy couldn’t hear. “I mean, a free fancy dinner and LSAT help? It really can’t get that much better for me right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Karen said. “Text me, though, if you feel uncomfortable at all or if the date seems to be going wrong, or if he just grosses you out. I’ve had my fair share of dipping on dates early.”

You laughed, “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t go down like that.” 

Karen told you more about the files she dropped on your desk—most of them didn’t have to be put in until Monday, and instead you could use most of the day to read and learn them first. Foggy came out of his office, whooshing past you and Karen, and straight into Matt’s office.

Matt locked himself in his office all week, seemingly avoiding any small talk or conversations. He must’ve been busy with his cases—there were a lot more coming in this week—or so you thought. No, Matt’s mind was occupied with something else, something that’s been slowly eating at him since the Bar dinner last week. 

He sits in his office quietly, one earbud connected to his Orbit reader, the other trying not to eavesdrop on your conversation with Karen, but who was he kidding? He knows Zach has been reaching out to you the entire week, trying to invite you to his apartment for dinner… but something wasn’t right. Matt didn’t know what it was, but something didn’t feel right. 

So what did he do? What he does best—investigate that annoying, hard-to-ignore intuition. Earlier this week, he decided to pay a visit to Landman & Zack on his lunch break without telling anyone. Like clockwork, Zach’s been calling you right at 1:00 p.m. 

Matt was able to listen in from the third floor of Landman & Zack’s building, from the inside of a broom closet, all the way up to the 10th floor where Zach’s office was.

“Hello?” 

“Miss __,”

“Is this Zach?”

“It sure is,” he chuckled lightly over the phone. 

“How can I help you, Zach?” 

“Well, I—I haven’t stopped thinking of our meeting at the dinner last week. I was wondering if I could see you again.”

“You were, were you?”

“Yes,” Zach said, with a hint of impatience only Matt could hear. “I was.”

“Hmm.”

“I was serious about the LSAT help, but I was also thinking we could combine dinner with that, at my apartment uptown?”

“I’m not usually one to go to someone’s house on a first date.”

“None of that,” Zach shook his head. “I just want to help, that’s all. And treat you to dinner, of course.”

It wasn’t the way Matt could hear Zach tapping a pencil on his desk, or the way Matt knew the palms of his hands were sweaty that was off-putting, but it was the way Zach’s heart was beating when he spoke those last few lines to you—about wanting to help.

He was lying. 

And since that moment, Matt’s been contemplating what the right thing to do was. So, by locking himself in his office and avoiding your presence, he thought the answer would come to him—well, it was clear, but it was a matter of whether he should ignore it or not. He listens to you as you gush to Karen about your plans with Zach tonight. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s clenching his jaw until Foggy walks into his office, seemingly picking up on what your plans are. 

“Hey man,” Foggy greets casually, “can we talk?” Matt leans forward on his desk as Foggy shuts his door. 

“What’s up?” Matt asks. 

“I didn’t want to ask to be weird, so I figured I’d come to you. Did—what happened at the Bar dinner last week? We sort of talked about it, but I don’t think I got the full scope,” Foggy explained, gesturing to you and Karen. 

Matt sighed and ran his hand over his cheek in annoyance. “We ran into an old colleague of ours,” Matt said with a forced smile, “Zachary Zack.”

“I gathered that, but—is—don’t tell me that asshole is coming onto her,” Foggy said. He runs his hand through his long blonde locks. “That guy got everything handed to him at that firm because of his father! And now, he thinks he can just cozy up to one of our employees and bribe her to leave us?”

“He’s not bribing her, Fog—he’s trying to win her over, see her—I don’t know,” Matt said exasperated. “You should’ve heard him at the party. He’s the same pompous asshole as he always was.”

“What, you mean like ask her out on a date?” Foggy asked with concern. “He asked her out, and that’s what she and Karen are talking about?” 

Matt nodded his head slowly. Hearing it said out loud caused Matt to feel an uncomfortable rush in his chest. He hands turned to fists as he took a deep breath. 

“He gave her his number at the party. I’m assuming she must’ve messaged him because he’s been calling her every day. Yesterday, he finally asked her to dinner at his apartment and to help her with the LSAT.” 

“Jesus…” Foggy sighed. “I mean, I don’t want to scare her or tell her what to do, but Zack was bad news back then. I wouldn’t want him to hurt her or take advantage—what’s his intention?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said cooly. “But I do know he lied to her about wanting to help.”

“Lied—how do you know?”

Matt sighed and took off his dark red glasses. 

“The other day, I took my lunch and decided to go to Landman & Zack, right before I knew he would call her. I…listened to their conversation and could hear Zach’s heartbeat. He was lying, Foggy,” Matt whispered. “I don’t like that.” 

“What should we do?” Foggy asked. 

“Not we,” Matt shook his head. “What am I going to do.” 

“God Matt,” Foggy shook his head, “you really think it could be that serious?” 

“I don’t know,” Matt answered. “Just to make sure she’s safe, I’ll follow her. That’s all. If he seems fine, then I’ll leave. Maybe his heartbeat was a product of nerves asking her.”

“Maybe,” Foggy said. “Well, be careful. And make sure she’s safe.”

Matt nodded as Foggy left the room. He sat there for a moment, thoughts swimming in his head—he thought of the last night you banished him from his life, as the man in the mask, as Daredevil, as your savior. He thought of the very first night he ever met you, the first night you shared on your rooftop. This wasn’t about his feelings for you anymore, or his heartache, or yours—it was about making sure you were safe. 

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

Entering the last case in the system, you nervously watched as the clock finally struck 5:00 p.m. Karen was gathering her bags and jacket and Foggy was almost halfway out the door. He stopped in Matt’s office for something and then wished you a good weekend, and to be safe. 

“You too, Fog,” you smiled. He looked at you with a soft expression before heading out. Karen walked by your desk to wish the same thing. 

“Let me know how it goes,” she said quietly. “Great job today, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you blushed. “Have a good weekend!” 

She said goodbye to Matt and shut the door quietly. You finished typing your last sentence before you began to pack your own things up. 

Zach said to come by his apartment anytime after work, so you weren’t going to put pressure on yourself to get ready in a rush. Though, you did want to get there at around eight o’clock. 

As you were about to head out, you noticed Matt was still sitting at his desk, hunched over a pile of papers, running his fingers over the braille. He was so concentrated, you weren’t sure if you should slip out or wish him a good weekend. He may have felt your presence, you weren’t sure, but he looked up behind his dark red glasses as you stood in the doorway. 

“Heading out?” Matt asked. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just wanted to say goodbye and have a good weekend. Got any plans?” 

Matt chuckled a little as if to say, me, plans? 

“Not really,” Matt answered. “Think I’ll take this weekend to relax, maybe catch up on work.”

“You’re always working,” you smiled and spoke softly. “Why don’t you take a break and actually relax?” 

“I take a break, the cases pile up even more,” Matt said. “Do you have any plans?” 

“Not much going on. I am—I’m going to have dinner with that old colleague of yours, Zach?” You told Matt. “Took him up on his offer to help me with studying. He’s making dinner, too.”

“Hm,” Matt replied, “that’s good. A date?”

“I’m not sure,” you laughed nervously. Telling Matt these things treaded weird territory, but you felt comfortable enough to talk to him like this. You remembered that night outside of Josie’s when you confided in him about your savior. “What was he like? When you worked with him, I mean. How was he?”

Matt shifted in his seat. You wanted to say never mind, but then he started to speak. 

“He was… loud.”

“Don’t hold back now,” you smirked. 

“He was a little pretentious. I don’t know if you know, but his father is the elder Zack. I never worked that closely with him, but everyone knew who he was.”

“Hm,” you answered thoughtfully, “why did you and Foggy leave?”

“We didn’t agree with how they ran their firm,” Matt said. 

“Interesting,” you replied. “Well, I guess I’ll let you know if he’s still pretentious.”

“I’m sure not much has changed,” Matt laughed, “But I hope it goes well. I really, really do.”

With that, you smiled once more at Matt, before leaving him alone in his office. 

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓ Uptown 8 PM 

Zach’s apartment was a little bit uptown, but not much. Just like you were stunned at the venue of the Bar dinner, your reaction to his apartment was no different. On the 12th floor, his apartment had a beautiful view of Manhattan, especially at night—the building lights twinkled as you looked out his giant living room windows. He had an open floor plan, so when you first walked in you basically saw almost all of his apartment. To the right was a kitchen with a white marble countertop, and to the left was a small dining room with the same countertop. In front was the large living room, and beautiful large windows. 

He was in his kitchen, keeping an eye on the linguine he was boiling. That and the shrimp in the pan smelled delicious. 

“Like the view?” He called from the kitchen. Separating you was his large living space, with a tan suede moon crescent-shaped couch. The ceiling had a diamond chandelier and a glass coffee table. You were happy you opted to wear a white silk shirt and matching skirt. For some reason, you had a feeling his apartment would be minimalistic and classy. 

“I do,” you answered, “but nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

He laughed as he stirred the pasta. “Guess the view of the city all depends on where you stand. Wait til I show you my library.” You looked at him—he wore a white button-down shirt and khakis. His blonde hair looked more warm in the lighting. 

“The library,” you repeated. “Where all your law books are?”

“And even more,” he smiled brightly—his chiseled smile caused goosebumps to form on your arms. “Do you want some chardonnay?” 

“Please,” you accepted his offer. He turned the stove on medium heat before grabbing a brand new bottle from his separate wine cellar. Bringing out two large wine glasses, you watched as he poured you the cold, golden liquid. 

“Say when,” he said, catching your eyes. Your heart leaped. 

“When,” you smiled. 

Zach raised his glass—you mirrored him as the wine glasses clinked. He held your gaze for a moment before you both took a sip of wine. It tasted sweet. You blushed and looked away. 

Suddenly, the pot on the stove overflowed. Zach immediately turned the stove down and took the lid off the pot, scratching the back of his head. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I’m not much of a chef. Why don’t I show you the library now?” 

You laughed, sort of caught off guard by how he seemed unsure of himself. Taking another sip of wine, you nodded your head. 

He walked you down a narrow hallway in his apartment. At the end of the hall was a glass door, away from the view of the city. When Zach pressed a light switch on the wall, the room lit up a soft glow and your reaction was similar to the first time you saw the giant blue whale hanging in the middle of the Museum of Natural History. You were in awe.

“The rest of the collection is at my dad’s,” Zach laughed as he watched you gape in the room. Against each wall were bookshelves lined with the most beautiful leather-bound books. Between blank spaces were the scales of justice, or a mini statue of lady justice. At the front of the room was a long mahogany desk with two lamps on either side and a quill and ink bottle for style. You gravitated towards it, running your fingers over the smooth wood. 

“Where are the LSAT books? Could we take a look?”

“When dinner’s over and we have some more drinks in us,” Zach smiled. Part of your heart fell from disappointment, but it made sense to not rush into what you came here for. Plus, you were really hungry. And this wine was delicious. 

By the time you made it back to the kitchen, you finished your wine. You took a seat in a golden chair at the marble table and looked at this side of the room. There was a long mirror against the wall and some house plants in each corner. Zach wasn’t much for decorating, you could tell. 

With his back to you in the kitchen, Zach poured you another glass of chardonnay. He brought you your glass before he went back and prepared two plates of shrimp linguine. You drank from the wine glass and started to feel that familiar buzz wine gave you. 

“Dinner’s served,” Zach smiled as he sat in the seat next to you. It smelled delicious—you wasted no time twisting your fork in the pasta and taking your first bite with a small piece of shrimp. 

“This is amazing,” you breathed, “wow.” 

“Thank you,” Zach nodded, “it's a recipe from my grandmother. It goes perfectly with the chardonnay.”

“It really does,” you said, taking another sip of the wine. “I’m actually not much of a wine drinker, but I do enjoy it occasionally with dinner.”

“I love it,” Zach smiled. 

“So, I have a question,” you began. “What was it like working with my bosses?”

“Nelson and Murdock?” Zach questioned, “I didn’t work with them that closely. They weren’t even there that long. To be honest, they seemed a little too soft for this field.”

“Woah,” you said in defense, “these are my bosses you’re talking about—be careful, Zack,” you squinted your eyes playfully. Zach shrugged his shoulders, seemingly serious about what he was saying. 

“Being a lawyer isn’t all about justice. I learned that the hard way,” Zach said, “it’s more than just lady justice and good vs. evil. It’s a business. You’ll learn that in law school.”

You didn’t agree with what he said. The whole point of the justice system was to serve justice—it’s not all business and it’s not all money. 

“Maybe it’s business for Landman & Zack, but not for Nelson & Murdock,” you gently argued. 

“That’s why our building is on Fifth Ave and yours is off a corner in the Kitchen,” he said rather smugly. Not wanting to push the matter further—clearly, there was some weird tension between Zach and your bosses--you smiled and took another bite of linguine. 

After your next sip of wine, you placed the glass next to your plate, and there was something unsettling about the way the liquid splashed on the glass. You watched curiously as if in slow motion, as the cold wine splashed outside the wine glass and on the back of your hand. You felt an inclination to react, but you sat there, staring in confusion. 

“You okay?” You heard Zach’s voice, which strangely sounded muffled. Were you drunk already, after only one and a half glasses in? You knew wine could have this effect on you—your wine drunk was different from your tequila drunk—but why were you such a lightweight tonight? 

“Yeah,” you said or tried to say—your voice felt like it was a thousand miles away from you, and you were still staring at the glass and your hand covered in the sweet, sticky liquid. Did you even hear your voice? Were you going deaf? Where did this loud ringing sound come from? 

You watched as Zach dabbed your hand with a napkin. You flinched at his touch and tried to bring your hand close to you, but it felt like it weighed a ton. You couldn’t move it. It was like when your arm fell asleep from sleeping on it wrong—not even a pinch you could feel. Your eyes fell to your shrimp linguine, which suddenly was nauseating to look at, even smell. The linguine noodles looked like a bowl of just yellow, with a few orange dots that tried to be shrimp. You shut your eyes, blinked really hard, and opened them to feel even more dizzy. 

“Something’s not right,” you said weakly, so softly you weren’t even sure Zach heard you. Your tongue felt thick. Your heart started to pound, no, hammer in your chest—not a rapid beat from adrenaline, but an agonizingly slow and steady beat—you could hear it in your ears, your pulse, like a hammer was hitting your chest from the inside, telling you that something wasn’t right. An impending feeling of fear washed over you like an ice-cold wave, but at the same time, everything started to feel too hot. 

“Let’s lay you down,” Zach’s muffled voice said. You tried to get up from the seat but even that was too difficult. You could barely hold onto the armchairs. Zach expertly got up and pulled your seat out, lifting you from behind. You stood on your feet but nearly fell over the table. Your glass of wine spilled across the table, the glass shattering into pieces. “Let’s lay you down,” he says again.

“I don’t feel good,” you slurred. It was the strangest thing you’ve ever felt, a mix of terror and confusion. You were still wondering how you ended up so drunk, and why you suddenly felt a strong urge to go home. You could barely walk, let alone stand. Zach was practically dragging you to the long, suede couch. And you’re not sure if you tripped, but you flung onto the couch and landed on your side, feeling your whole body weigh you down like you were made of sand bags. Your heart was still hammering slowly in your chest, and you felt like you were sinking. Sinking into doom, into fear, into an abyss you couldn’t crawl out of. Sinking in a dream you couldn’t wake up from. 

The only way you could describe it was like being in the middle of a terrible, terrible nightmare—the worst you could think of—and just as things were about to get terrifying, just as whatever dream-maker had control over your dreams was going to commence the final act of doom, you think you will wake up to sweet relief and reality—except, the nightmare keeps going, and this is your reality. Tunnel vision now. You can barely see. 

“You said you wanted to lay down,” Zach appeared over your head now, his once-blue eyes now beady as he looked down at you. His fingers felt meaty as they forced you to look up at him. You furrowed your brows—I wanted to lay down? I asked?—you tried to wipe your hair out of your face but an unpleasant grip took your wrist and threw it above your head. You felt heavy, numb, powerless. 

“Shh,” Zach cooed in a sing-song voice, “it’s okay, you wanted this. Remember?” He’s leaning over you now, and you’re watching as he begins to unbutton your white shirt. 

You don’t remember. You don’t remember how you ended up on the couch, and his voice made you turn your face and push into the soft velvet cushion, away from him, an attempt to escape. An attempt to have any kind of control. To hide. 

And then suddenly, his body weight on top of you was gone, like an intense pressure on your chest immediately disappearing. 

You looked at the soft, suede, tan-colored couch. The sort of color that reminds you of old peeling wallpaper in a doctor’s office; uninviting, ugly, yellow and dry. Before, the color of this couch was ordinary—but with your cheek pressed against it and you lying on your side, you see the color for what it is. Boring, ugly, and something you absolutely hate to look at. And you want to hold onto anything familiar in your mind—a familiar feeling, a familiar image, but you can’t. You’re breathing heavily, and your eyes feel like they weigh a ton. You struggle to keep them open but now the room looks like it's spinning from the way you lie—like a washing machine. You see a figure in black moving around before black is simply all you see. 

Hell’s Kitchen 12 AM 

The first thing you wake up to is your uncontrollable shaking. It reminds you of a time when you were in middle school and you came down with the flu. You remembered being wrapped in a hoodie and sweatpants and socks, under thick blankets, and shivering like you were out in the cold. Your mom brought you chicken soup and your dad put on your favorite cartoon. There was a huge difference between then and now. You were shivering, but there wasn’t that familiar feeling of home. Only panic.

Your eyes shoot open and it takes you a moment to realize you’re not in a room you recognize—your eyes first land on dojo-type sliding doors, a soft glow coming behind them. You look around a little more, and there’s not much in the room except for a wooden armoire tucked in the corner and tiny windows in the front. Bright, neon lights shine through them before they disappear again. You shut your eyes once more. It’s then you realize you have an IV in your arm. A strange, tight pinch in the middle of your arm, on your most delicate skin. 

You shoot up in bed, shaking, and your head pounding. The bed you were in must be king-size, covered in dark silk sheets. Black or dark blue, you couldn’t tell. You’ve never slept in silk sheets before. At the edge of the bed are more folded blankets, and you immediately grab them, desperate for some more warmth. Throwing them over yourself, you immediately lay back down, cautious of the IV in your arm. Your teeth started to clatter. 

You’ve been wanting to avoid the only answer that brought you here. You didn’t even want to say his name, think of him, or that God-awful voice he used… 

Tears welled in your eyes—you can’t remember much other than that. You don’t remember how it happened, all you know now was you were in bed, with an IV in your arm. Tears streamed down your face, and the familiar hammering heartbeat started in your chest again. It wasn’t from terror, but sadness. You felt so incredibly sad, and you didn’t know why. Your whole body felt weak and cold. Your chest felt heavy. 

You jumped when you saw the dojo doors slide open slightly. Wiping your tears and holding your breath, you looked around nervously for a weapon to use against whoever stood behind the doors. 

You felt immense relief and confusion when you saw your savior step into the room—his room, you concluded. It had been months since you’d seen him, the lightness that filled your chest was telling you—that you missed him, so much. But what strange circumstances were you in now? 

“M-Mike?” God, even your voice was quivering and hard to mask. “What—you brought me here?” 

He was silent in his movements, his face half covered and in his usual black outfit. You were relieved it was him but confused all the same. Did he know where you were? How? Did he save you? 

Of course, he did. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly walking over to you. You flinched, for some reason, like second nature as he got closer. He stopped in his movements and held up his hands. “It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said in a shaky voice, pulling your knees to your chest. “I don’t know why I flinched.“

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Can I sit next to you?”

“Yeah,” you answered weakly, more like a desperate plea. “Yes.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, and you scooted over a little to give him room. The bed dipped when he sat down. You stayed in your fetal position, shaking. You wanted to reach up and touch him, but you were all too weak. “How do you feel?” He asked, even though he knew the answer was obvious. 

“I can’t stop shaking like I have a fever,” you said. “My head is pounding. My throat is dry.”

“You do have a fever, but the IV is helping bring it down,” your savior explained softly. 

“Did you hook me up to it?”

He shook his head. “No. A friend did.” 

“Mike,” you whispered, “what happened to me?” Your voice cracked at your question, and your savior’s throat bobbed, like this was hard for him, too.

“Nothing happened to you,” he said softly. “I didn’t let him.” 

“Did he… I felt like everything was fine and then suddenly I couldn’t walk. Did he slip my drink something?” 

Your savior didn’t speak, he only nodded. “You’re experiencing the side effects now. It’ll be in your system for 12 hours, but the IV is flushing it out.”

“Oh my, God,” you cried, “oh my, God,” you cried into his silk pillow, feeling something tighten in your chest. You felt his warm hand on your shoulder, caressing your skin. You sobbed, hiccuping cries, and your savior stayed there, holding your arm. 

“__,” he said your name after your cries softened. “You’re with me.” 

You opened your eyes and wiped your tears, looking at your savior. Slowly drawing his hand away from you, he reached behind the back of his head and pulled his black mask loose. With his head down, he slowly drew it back and off his face, and you swore you couldn’t tell if you believed who you saw or if the drug's side effects were still in your system because you were looking at Matt Murdock right in his hazel-brown eyes.

_____

TAGS:

@starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynn @mattmurdocksstarlight @marvelcinematiquniverse @hailey-murdock (please let me know if I missed you!)

[tmwcs]

Heethans reaction to readens miscarriage??? I know it's not the best topic and I'll completely understand if you don't want to write about it<3

"Baby's Breath..."

Warnings: Miscarriage, torment, trauma, depression, fluff, overcoming trauma, learning to move forward.

.............

Pacing back and forth in the room, you wait for him to come back from the store. It normally took him only ten minutes to make a trip, which was perfect considering you've been aching to confirm a gut feeling you've been having, all triggered by certain events that took place.

The last three weeks have been torture, painful in fact. You didn't tell him, since you knew he would have become worried and overwhelming with his sincere affection for you. You weren't sick....at least, not from the viral plagues known to man, instead, you were sick from everything else. Food, your favorites in fact, all made you sick. Scents from candles and plug ins, which had never bothered you, were now something that you couldn't stand and caused you raging headaches. Being in a car, riding along with him by your side, was becoming a triggering event that caused you to become nauseas. Suddenly it hit you one day, while you were in class, when out of nowhere you hurriedly excused yourself from class and rushed into the bathroom, and was ridden over the sink for who knows how long....despite you not eat at all for days following it, you managed to throw up whatever was left in your gut and that's when it began to hit you.

"Am......am I.....pregnant?"

You couldn't be. At least, there was no way. You were always careful to take your birth control pills, yet due to a shortage, you weren't able to actively take it for weeks, but you still couldn't be....not after taking those Plan B pills that you had obtained with the help of H/N. But what if......just what if.....?

So you obtained a pregnancy test, and have been waiting to use it.

............

"Pretty baby, you wanna come to the store?"

"Um...i'm good, i'll wait here for you. I'm going to take a quick shower."'

"Okay, stay here, i'll have the doors locked and my housemates are all downstairs. I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't leave the room."

"Okay."

.............

The moment he left, you made haste and used the test strip. Waiting after wiping the handle clean, your timer finally sets off and you hurried back into the bathroom to view the result.

......."two bars.....that.....the box says that that......oh my God...."

You slowly fall to your knees as your hands rest on the ledge of the counter. It was positive, you were indeed pregnant.

"What am I going to do?....I haven't finished college...I just started....what are my parents going to say?"

Worrying about everything around you, the one and only person you didn't have to be concerned for, was Heeseung. Though he hardly ever expressed his emotions in being a father, aside from looking at impregnating and creating children with you as a symbol of his love for you, a product of your union with him, which would escalate his happiness more than anything, he never really did outline any detailed traits on fatherhood. It was all just merely for the sake of reflecting that you indeed belonged to him.

Walking back over to the bed, you laid down and cradled into a slight fetal position, feeling confused and scared.

"What's going to happen? Is everything going to be okay?"

Hearing his car pull up, you felt the dreadful sense of hearing Heeseung walking in the house, saying hello to his frat mates downstairs before walking up and reaching for the knob. Entering the room, he quietly makes his way over as he sets the bag down on the floor next to the bed, and leans in to caress your face.

"Whats wrong pretty baby? Tired?" He asks sincerely as he notes you laying, yet you were widely awake.

"mm....no...not really.....well..i am actually i just...." You found yourself stuttering and stumbling on your words, not making any sense as he chuckles. "What's wrong baby? Do you want some juice? You need some sugar in your system or do you want to go to sleep early tonight?" his voice was deep yet so tender as he considered all options to bring you to comfort.

".....He-Heeseung......"

"What is it beautiful?"

Reaching up and over his lap, you pull out the drawer to his nightstand and retrieve the test. Handing it to him, you let him observe it for a second before elaborating the meaning behind the results.

"Two bars means........it means......."

"......You're pregnant...." he finishes, as he raises his head and views you with those deep and dark lustful eyes, peering from under he bill of his cap. He neither smiled nor frowned, just looked completely neutral and dazed in his gaze for you.

The moment he said his piece, you broke down and started to sob hard, and uncontrollably.

"Hey, heeeeeeey. Whats wrong? Come here pretty." holding you, he presses his lips atop your head. The oversized tee shirt you wore, which had belonged to him, shrinks up and fits you like a small mini dress as he tugs on your frame and pulls you in against his chest.

"I....I....what am I going to do? I'm not finished with school.....I'm......what about my parents? What am I going to do?"

"Shhhhh...." stroking and petting your head, he deeply whispers....

"First off, not 'I'.....its 'we'.....and I'm going to tell you what WE are going to do.....we're going to be happy." kissing your forehead as he leans your face against his shoulder, he keeps his face turned over towards you as he mumbles against the thatch of your hair covering your ear. "We're going to be just fine. Your parents are going to be happy for us, and I'm going to take care of you. We're going to live life and enjoy the fruits of our labor, even if it is in the form of a baby boy....or girl. Haven't I already made it obvious that I'm always here to make your life easier? Hmm?" moving the pieces of subtle strands away from your cheek, he lays a tender, soft kiss as he mumbles against your skin. "Everything is going to be fine no matter what...I'm excited.....but I would like for you to be as well.....so if you need to take a moment...maybe a day or two to settle, then that's fine. But I promise things are going to work out."

Suddenly hearing his words...his deep tone and the softness in his meaning, you started to feel better......in fact you began to feel excited, and happy. In the end, he was right, your parents were happy, things were fine as he helped plan out your enrollment periods so you could continue to do school online for when the time came you could no longer attend classes on campus. He did make things easier. As always, he made you feel warm, loved, and he did everything right.......if only you had done so right from the start.

................................

Weeks right before you were scheduled to find out the gender of your baby, you felt the happiest. It was so amazing, the feeling and knowing that there was something growing inside, something that was a part of you, and Heeseung. It was forming, growing, and taking after the both of you. Heeseung's seed, his child, his baby, developing and taking nutrients from your body, as you continued to replenish your vitamin intake and focused on making it as healthy as possible. The baby you had formed a close bond, a loving and nurturing relation with, had continued to grow. But when you began feeling sharp pains in your stomach, initially you felt that it was just the weight of your healthy baby growing strong, yet the constant aches grew more and more. Fortunately tomorrow you were to go to your follow up to not only find out the gender, but you could also address your issues with your doctor.

But fate had other plans.....that caused devastation and turmoil in your heart and soul.

..................

"..mmm...mm......AAAH!!!!"

Shooting up and immediately grabbing onto you, Heeseung wakes up to a blood curling scream as you lay next to him.

"Y/n, whats wrong?" Grabbing his phone, he shines the flashlight over you and scans the entire room. "Whats wrong?" leaning over, he whispers into your cheek, thats when he noticed the beads of sweat on your face, your hair damp and your breathing escalating. Lord only knew just how scared he was at that moment. Without even delaying and asking any more questions, he knew he had to get you to the hospital. Jumping out of bed, he throws on a tee shirt, not even bothering changing out of his sweat pants and places on his cap as he migrates back over to the bed to help you out. Flipping the blankets off, he froze for a moment as he takes in the view of what was hiding under the covers. Blood.....so much blood......blotches of thick clots that raged deep red, staining the sheets and bedding.

One particular spot, where at first glance, looked to be a collection of sticky and bloody residue, yet upon closer look as he grabbed his phone and flashed the light over, he saw the one and only thing you had been bonding with for the last 15 weeks.....

Sighing in defeat, brushing his hand over his mouth as he stroked the lining of his lips briefly, he acted fast, all so you wouldn't notice. Taking his shirt off, he gently, yet quickly, collects the product of his love for you and wraps it delicately. Taking a quick glance at you, he brushes the hair away from your face and sets the child aside. Despite it not fully formed, still having a long way to go, yet will sadly never see the day where it would see light and the face of its beautiful mother, it was still.....a child....his child...your child......your baby.

He puts on a new shirt, and collects you, handling you softly as he helps you into his car, and drives you to the Emergency Room. You dipped in and out of conciousness as you vaguely remember the car ride, checking into the hospital, and the nurses dressing you into the patient gown. As soon as you were settled in and laid sleeping, hooked up to numerous IV's as the hospital staff pumps fluids and vitamins to your body, Heeseung remained by your side.

A nurse comes in to conduct the initial examination, prior to the doctors arrival.

"Okay, i'm just going to check on some vitals real quick......can you tell me what the symptoms were again?"

Looking at the woman's face, dead straight on, he doesn't say a word, at least, not with his voice, or his lips.....he spoke with his eyes as he firmly, and sternly locks on a gaze with the nurse, as he quietly and calmly, hands her the fruit of his love for you, all still delicately wrapped up in his t-shirt. Bloodied and stained, his hands appear rusty as the blood starts to dry out and become brown in color. Receiving his stare, the nurse grew intimidated and fearful as she watched the man raise a brow, displaying an eerie and harsh stare as he gestures for her to take the small bundle.

Taking it, the nurse gently holds it close as she takes her pen and notepad, and steps out, not even bothering to force the issue of gaining information. The man's eyes told her all she needed to know, in order to relay to the doctor.

...................

Waking up to the over cast of bright, florescent lighting that beamed into your face, you whimper as you shot up, immediately placing your hands over your stomach. Noting that the small, round bump that had molded in the last few months, was suddenly no longer there, you shook as you began to sob. God, never have you cried so hard....never have you felt that you lost something until now. All those moments when you thought back to the times when you lost your favorite pen, your key chains, your necklace, your shoes, or your favorite photos from your childhood........all those times when you were upset over the loss of things that you held dear...those material things.....you now realized that what you had felt those times....were not loss....this....this right now......this was loss. This was losing. This was losing grip, watching something so dear to you....disappear.....never having the chance to grant it it's first breath, the very thing you had dreamed of whenever you were rubbing your tummy as you read your books and did your homework assignments.

The sound of the door behind the privacy curtains could be heard gently opening and closing. Walking through, you saw Heeseung as he stood tall and sets his gaze on you, his face, was calm, neutral, and staring at you with heavy lids.

"........I.....I lost it.......didn't I?.......I lost.....I lost my baby.....!" at the last bit of your sentence, you feigned a smile as you began to sob uncontrollably, your cheeks drenched with tears.

He remained calm and composed as he walked over to your side, sat next to you and leaned in over you, pressing his lips against your forehead, where they remained, despite you shaking from the hard cries as you dispel your whimpering and depressing sighs of defeat.

"You didn't lose anything......you didn't lose your baby." he softly speaks against your skin. Looking up at him, you furrowed your brows in despair as your tears continued to stream down. "You didn't lose our baby.......please understand...."

Looking off to the side for just a moment, he sighs out as he turns his glance back at you, and softly smirks with a look of sympathy to accompany it. His words that followed suit, was something you didn't know you needed to hear....ever.....but just as usual, despite his overbearing flaws, all due to his love for you, Heeseung came through when you needed him to.....

"Baby.....you did great.....you did wonderful. You were a good mommy.....you were a wonderful mommy......and you would have continued to be the best mommy in the world. Its just....our baby wasn't ready to come into this world......he wasn't ready to be born. Not because of anything you did......because of you, our baby boy thrived and was happy....he was peaceful......he got to know his mommy and saw how much she loved him. He was content with that.....it just wasn't his time......but that doesnt mean he wont be back.....his body might have given up on him, but his soul is still searching for the right time....when he can come and see us."

Stroking your cheek, he caresses your skin as he softly widens his eyes and looks at you with such love and adoration you desperately needed. It took a while.....it took much longer than you would have liked to overcome the series of depression when you recalled the feeling of the pain you felt in your gut that night.

It took a while.....but in the end, Heeseung......the love of your life, was right yet again.......so right. Your baby boy did come back, years later.

He came back with a stronger, much healthier body, and the first moment you kissed his face upon hearing his strong, loud cries in the delivery room, you knew it was your baby....your precious baby. Watching as your son flashes a gummy gape as he cries out under the bright lighting, you rub the tip of your nose and smell his breath. This...this was the moment you waited for.....for so long......the moment where your baby returned to you.....

"Sweet son of mine....I've waited to see you for so long......its so good to see you again......so healthy...so strong......I've missed you so much....I'm sorry we had to say goodbye so early the last time....but now that you're here, i promise we'll make up for all the time that was delayed. I promise to play and laugh with you, and to be the cause of your happiness and strength. I promise that you're going to be alright this time, now that you're here....my sweet, sweet boy......."

Standing off to the side, with his arms crossed and admiring the view, Heeseung smirks. He was thrilled, but contained himself to allow you to have your cherishing moment, knowing that it was long overdue.

"Name our boy, and be happy y/n. You always did so well.....and you continue to do well.....so rest easy and be loved by me and our son. Nothing was lost......just misplaced.....yet found again."

Authors note: Did anyone else cry? I got a bit glossy eyed on this one, ngl, it was so heartbreaking but also heartwarming. I feel like Heethan (despite being an asshole sometimes) really helps teach us valuable lessons and how to cope.

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️ 

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

[goodluckclove]

Hi Clove! I'm a new follower and I rather enjoy seeing you on my dash. I also live in Portland (transplant not native) and I think it's cool whenever you mention someplace that I'm semi-familiar with.

Anywhosies, I've been stuck on a scene in my book The Book of Daemon for probably 3 weeks now, and it's not really because I don't like the contents of it or because it's not working or any other craft reason. I'm just not having fun writing it. It's a scene that acts as a bridge between two different plot arcs essentially, and I can't exactly cut it. I just really, really wanna get to writing the next scene, because more fun things happen. It's a struggle.

Has that happened to you before? If so, how did you go about making it fun for yourself?

(If not, that's cool! Either way, I just wanted to go out on a limb and say hi, hello, I think you're cool and good luck with writing today!)

Hi! Sit down with me. It's just started kind of raining for some reason here. I'm also a transplant! Here for about four years from the Bay Area! I love it here because it's so bikeable and full of trees, even though people love to walk their dogs without leashes which I find insane. But I'm sure you've seen that.

So yeah, I've written 13-15 books (I've lost count) over the course of fifteen years, and I've absolutely come to points that weren't the most exciting in the world. It happens. In my experience there's a manageable kind of boring that's just kind of like yeah man one step at a time. That's fine. I'm fine with that.

But when it sucks? When I point that I just don't want to do, to the point where I actually stop writing entirely?

Yeah, man. I don't write that.

See I'm a big proponent for the intuition of a writer and the autonomy of a character. This is where my Magical Thinking comes into play as I say in a semi-professional setting that I think sometimes your characters have opinions and thoughts and it's part of our job to decide when to accommodate them.

This isn't something that people who rely heavily on outlines like to hear. They already decided everything the character does before they wrote a single word - but now the character exists, and they think their thoughts, and they actually don't want to do something? Fuck that! Lobotomize them and shove them back in the outline drawn by a writer who hadn't actually met the character yet.

Is that dramatic to say? Yes. I'm a dramatic person. I don't think all outlining is bad, I just kind of wish more people were open to adjusting an outline as a character develops, because they should develop as you write them.

So yeah, if I want one of my characters to keep a secret and they say it immediately, I'm like well shit I guess you felt like telling him now. When I want another character to be angry and he's mainly indifferent I'm like dang man you don't get angry like I thought you would. It's probably not for anyone, but I'm super happy not being the all-knowing god of my universe. I'm mainly just some little weirdo scuttling on the edges of each scene, taking notes in a battered composition book. Keeps it interesting.

And it's got to be interesting. It's got to be fun. That's how you keep the prose genuine, I think.

So yeah, the scene's not working? Maybe the scene's fucked. Maybe you need a new scene. Maybe you don't need a scene. Oh shit. Maybe the two plot arcs don't bridge yet. Maybe you jump straight to the cool thing and then go back and explain how they bridged later. Maybe it's non-linear. Can you imagine? What the fuck would happen then?

I'm psyched just thinking about it.

[ionalottabookmarks]

So the thing about potentially losing "All Media Types" tags

Is that a reader, it's annoying. The primary tag I use for looking for fic would no longer exist, and I would have to choose a specific, smaller piece of the fandom instead. I wouldn't be able to exclude crossovers like Danny Phantom and Miraculous Ladybug without also excluding a dozen different versions of Batman that would now count as crossovers, too, without the umbrella tag. Some very specific fandom tag - who knows which one - would be flooded with all of the previous All Media Types fics, which may or may not belong there, and which are going to be a major nuisance to people actually looking for that specific tag.

But I'm much more concerned about this as a writer. Batman (All Media Types) is the tag I chose for my work, because it's where I feel my work belongs. If someone deletes that tag and moves my work elsewhere, that's a problem. I can hope it'll be moved somewhere semi-reasonable, like Batman (Comics), but given the Sherlock catastrophe, it could just as easily wind up somewhere like Batman (Nolan-verse). But wherever they move it, if I don't like it, I can go back and move it to somewhere else, to whatever I feel is the next best thing after All Media Types.

Because I've been hearing about this happening, and am still active on AO3.

If this hadn't become a topic of discussion online this week, it might, based on my writing patterns, have taken me up to a year to notice this change on my own, after it had been implemented. I would have noticed when I uploaded a new fic, tried to tag it Batman (All Media Types), and couldn't.

A lot of writers whose fic AO3 hosts are no longer consistently using AO3, or no longer writing for the same fandom, or go several years between posting new works, or otherwise are not going to stumble upon this change on their own. A lot of writers will never know their fics were arbitrarily sorted into a new category. And those fics are forever going to be where AO3 puts them, regardless of how poorly they fit there.

If I put my fic in Batman (All Media Types), and AO3 moves it to Batman (Somewhere Else), they're making a change to my fic - to how it's labelled, how it's stored, how it's perceived, that I did not consent to, and wouldn't even have been informed of by AO3. I do believe that this decision qualifies as changing my work, which is something I thought I could trust AO3 to never do.

If they're going to delete an existing fandom tag, the VERY LEAST AO3 needs to be doing first is sending some sort of notice to every user who's written for that tag, outlining where AO3 will be automatically moving the fic, what your other fandom tag options are for moving it yourself, and a date - several weeks in the future - when the change will actually be implemented.

Which still leaves plenty of authors uninformed and unable to do what they can for their works - authors who've changed emails, authors who've passed away, potentially authors who've orphaned their works or posted anonymously - admittedly I'm unclear on exactly how those processes work.

This change is currently on hold, and we don't know yet how it'll all shake out. But I'm very concerned about the potential implications for authors, and the precedent it sets. If they can just go and delete these long-standing and frequently-used tags, they could delete others. If they decide not to support the umbrella fandom Batman (All Media Types), what's to stop them also deciding not to support any other, smaller fandom that doesn't have another tag to go to?

I do believe that no one involved in this had any bad intentions, and I'm hopeful that with the feedback they've gotten, everything is going to work out well. But them quietly deleting fandom tags like this, without even making an announcement, has definitely shaken my faith in the organization as a whole.

[blarrghe]

Shop talk! I know you're currently doing the whole writing and posting thing differently than before - like the whole thing is written, you're just editing and posting once a week. So what do you think of that? Do you prefer it over how you worked previously? Does it depend on the fic??

And how much editing are we talking? Both in terms of words changed as well as time spent on it? Do you do editing the next chapter for a whole week? Are you constantly editing all upcoming chapters??

Thanks for the ask! I love talking about this stuff :) Sorry for the obscenely long answer.

So it's the first time I've done that, and now that I'm in the posting part I am liking it a lot. I like the structure, I look forward to Wednesdays, I feel like I gathered a little bit of an audience that is there weekly with me as well, which is nice for everyone. I don't know if it makes any difference to people in terms of engagement if they hear that its completed in advance or see it posting regularly, but idk if it was me as a reader I would appreciate the regularity so I hope people do. At least one person has told me they're waiting to read it until it's finished/waited to start until it was over half posted, idk if I'll suddenly get new readers when its up in full or what but I def understand that. But yeah! The posting weekly thing has been nice. It feels productive even if I actually don't do a ton of writing every week.

Actually writing the thing took like two years though, specifically because there was absolutely no gratification to it haha. I didn't really even post wip snippets or talk about it much, because I wanted to keep my secrets. I was writing either Matchsies or A Complicated Match still when I had the idea and started plotting, so part of it taking so long is also that I was dividing my attention, and devoting more of it to the ongoing stuff I was actually posting. But I started this fic with the intention of letting it be a slow side-burner project so that I could make it "really good" by the time it went up. And that was a good call, because I did a lot of re-writes and re-structuring to elements of it, especially some of the early chapters, when I got further into the plot. To be clear, it's had the same outline all along, but there were connecting details that didn't work, like logistical travel time things that would have been glaringly annoying if I'd posted the first drafts of the first few chapters before writing the later ones. Also I re-vamped Sylvanna's character really early on into a more major role. She wasn't originally a bodyguard! Or really a main element of the story at all. Absolution came out at some point and I got Ideas.

Anyway, a lot of the editing that went into the fic before I started posting was pretty major, but by the time I was ready to actually start posting everything was much more concrete. I tend to edit the next chapter in the days before it goes up, and right before posting, mainly just for little details. But I try to give myself some distance and not overdo the constant editing so that when I do look at it right before posting I have some fresher eyes, right now I haven't looked at the next chapter (lying, I read it last night, but not from an EDITOR standpoint) in a couple weeks and I plan to put on editor glasses tomorrow morning before I post it. A big part of the editing that is ongoing is for how the prose reads, like I might come up with some gorgeous metaphor or re-do how a scene is described but keep the content the same. You get better all the time as a writer, so it's just about getting the Good Copy as Good as I can before it goes up. Every now and then I have a genius thought and go stick it in where it fits. Every now and then I also delete stuff or have a genius thought that doesn't actually fit and stick it in "CUT CONTENT" on the bottom of the doc. There's some Taren-perspective Bher stuff in there that didn't work with how I structured Ch. 20, for example. I was thinking for a sec I'd re-write that whole chapter and do a flashback chapter for him but it did not suit the flow at all and I only got a couple paragraphs in and then just... added like two lines of Taren Thoughts to get the point across instead haha. I also cut a couple chapters in half but didn't change them (19 and 20 are an example, which is also why a ch. 20 rewrite did not work.)

The most major edits I've made have been to the last two chapters, mainly to add in a few new ideas I had or to tie up loose ends I realised I was still leaving. I haven't majorly changed any of what was going to happen, it's more just me trying to really nail those last chapters. I am also constantly re-reading it in full (sometimes making minor tweaks to names in the narration ;) and also boring stuff like punctuation). I'll post a chapter and immediately get excited for the next one and go read from that point to the end...

There's also a "secret" epilogue that I wrote, really liked, and then cannibalized and entirely re-wrote like, yesterday. I wasn't initially sure I'd even post it but now I definitely will. So stay tuned for that ;)

[romanscool]

HIYAAAA it's Ocean 😽

First of all..... Happy holidays!!!!!🎄💫🩷

I know it's only November, but I'm really feeling the Christmas spirit

Anyways I came on to tumblr as I do once every 3 weeks and I saw you posted this ask game thingy so I'm about to bombard you with a bunch of these asks 😼

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

Yuh

hi hi hi!!!

happy holidays to you too!! and to be honest, I have been really excited for the Christmas and new years' spirit this year too for some reason unknown,,, maybe it's cause im excited for January haha

im so glad for that!! thanks so much for this ask <33

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

I actually don't listen to music much while I write,, I'd much rather play a collection of F1 tiktok on loop haha - I have this weird thing where I need repetitive sounds to concentrate, something familiar that my brain doesn't need to focus on :') it's the neurodivergence in me I guess

i've had quite a long period of playing songs like 'We'll Never Have Sex' by Leith Ross, 'No One Noticed' by The Marias (or even 'White Ferrari' by Frank Ocean) on loop while writing the last couple chapters of wcmn,,, so if that helps, I like soft dull songs haha

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

I don't! sometimes I think that's unfortunate, considering English is very much not my first language, but I also quite like my weird syntaxes and made up words so,,, im happy about that :)

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

definitely tucked deep in my bed with my cat sleeping on my shins (that little guy finds this weird weirdly comforting, though it's got to be a little awkward no?)! I'd much rather have background noise (like my repetitive tiktoks) than no noise, and sometimes find having someone -anyone- doing their thing next to me to be quite focusing. not even talking, just me writing and them doing whatever helps me concentrate for a reason I do not know haha

I've often found public transportation (like the bus or the tram) to be very inspiring too! though usually I only write my prompts/outlines/first drafts there because I tend to be easily distracted and write words and sentences that hold no meaning even to me

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

most of it all is written on my laptop (I like the little sounds of the keyboard) because I find that I write faster and more precisely on it. I sometimes write on my phone, especially if im on public transports, but my train of thought is quick to go everywhere and not make any sense,,,

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

so many things!!

I think the most 'impressing' is the whole learning dutch language, because I did initially start for wcmn and the dutch dialogue in it (though I've had to use some google translate also,,, sorry duolingo I guess)

a fun one is all the little baby/kid/teen maxiel stuff that I've also put in wcmn and it's little 'epilogue': all the little facts about Daniel being scared of the dark and max having his mum's dress from when he was born as a plushy is all canon!! I wish I could've added more of those in, but I tend to info dump a little too much, so I've decided to keep it to that ;') (for more info on this feel free to check the teen!maxiel tag though!!)

thank you so much for this ask ocean!! it's been lovely to answer all of those little emoji <3

hope you liked my answer, even if they're a little boring or over explained sometimes,,, I hope to hear from you again soon (even if its in three weeks time <3)

lots of love, roman

[lucky-clover-gazette]

evil emails

1050 words | canon-compliant | vio & shadow

Per our previous conversations, I would like to again emphasize the initiative and skill V has shown since swearing allegiance to our cause. I am contacting you today to follow up on my request to offer him a permanent position as my

Shadow looks up at Vio, whose stupid hat bounces up and down as he gesticulates wildly. He might not fully understand whatever niche historical event has piqued Vio’s interest this week, but Shadow loves to listen all the same.

as my assistant

as my companion

as my official right-hand man.

Author's Note: This is not my usual type of fic, but I thought it would be interesting to try some things I haven't before. This little moment takes place during the canon manga events and is not as clearly ship-oriented as my other work for this fandom. The line between platonic and romantic is up to you to draw.

read it on ao3 or under the cut:

It's an unconventional arrangement, but it works.

"...so the thing about attempting the trials on Master Mode, is that the enemies are all scaled up but the weapons remain mostly the same. An exception is an additional Iron Sledgehammer on the fourth floor, but it's not even useful on the miniboss because it's scaled up to a Luminous Stone Talus, which is the only kind of Talus that doesn't take four-times damage from that weapon. It's just another thing that makes the trials so fundamentally dysfunctional, not to mention how the durability..."

Shadow balances the laptop on his knees and elevates his legs onto Vio's lap. Half-listening to the blonde’s interest of the day, he clicks on the keyboard with freshly-painted purple fingernails.

Hey Boss,

Shadow shakes his head and backspaces. Writing emails will always be a chore, but it was ten times worse before he had Vio around for background noise. He can’t really explain why it helps him so much—logically, it should probably distract him from his writing—but it boosts his efficiency and makes Vio happy, and those are two of Shadow’s main priorities these days.

“…and the sneakstrike chaining is really essential because—Shadow, did you hear that, I said the sneakstrike is essential—”

"I did," Shadow replies, raising a thumbs-up. "Sneakstrike chaining is essential because you can exploit it indefinitely.”

"Well, actually, on the tenth floor it's harder to pull off, because the lizalfos are by water…”

Shadow rolls his eyes with a smile, returning his attention to the screen.

Dear Lord Vaati,

I hope this message finds you well.

Truthfully he couldn’t care less, but with the request he’s about to make he needs the hackneyed salutation.

Progress is going well on Death Mountain. The Fire Temple has been prepared for the heroes’ arrival with more than enough time to spare.

"Two silver lizalfos, Shadow, that's insane! It's like, impossible to beat."

Shadow hums and meets Vio’s eyes. “But didn't the Hero beat it?"

"That's what the legends say, but I still have my doubts. I just don't understand…”

Per our previous conversations, I would like to again emphasize the initiative and skill V has shown since swearing allegiance to our cause. I am contacting you today to follow up on my request to offer him a permanent position as my

Shadow looks up at Vio, whose stupid hat bounces up and down as he gesticulates wildly. He might not fully understand whatever niche historical event has piqued Vio’s interest this week, but Shadow loves to listen all the same.

as my assistant

as my companion

as my official right-hand man.

“One historian postulates that the Hero could have cheated the tenth floor using campfires, but frankly I think that's absurd."

“You're absurd,” Shadow teases, and is promptly flipped off. He sticks out his tongue and opens his file explorer.

I have attached a document outlining Vio Violet Link's contributions over the past few months, as well as statements from the head of HR (Hinox Resources) and Big Poe. Please share this information with Lord Ganon in preparation for next week’s board meeting. I would like to secure my associate’s role in the organization before the end of this quarter.

Shadow hesitates—here comes the hard part.  

As strange as it may sound, V’s allegiance is essential to our continued success. His capability for manipulation is far beyond what we had anticipated, and at this moment the lesser heroes still believe him to be on their side. With this deceptive advantage in mind, I believe we could potentially take over Hyrule before this quarter’s end. Of course, once we have achieved our goal, V’s original purpose in the plan will be fulfilled.

I humbly ask insist that V’s life not only be spared, but also protected indefinitely, by the forces of evil. Violet Link is our proven ally, your faithful servant, and my associate accomplice

“… may have lots of health, but they also die instantly when they hit the water, so of course the strategy is to knock them off the tower, and—hey.”

Shadow feels a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” Shadow asks, his tone more irritated then intended.

Vio frowns, meeting his eyes. He places his free hand on Shadow’s knee, holding him steady. “You just started looking really worried there for a second. Not an emotion I’d normally associate with emails.”

Shadow shakes his head, mustering a smile. “Then you must not know much about emails.”

Vio doesn’t appreciate his joke.

“I’m okay,” Shadow assures him. “Just trying to figure out the right word for something.”

“Oh. All right. Do you want help with that?”

Hylia, no he does not. Shadow places his hand over Vio’s. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it.”

“Do you need some quiet, or do you want to hear more about…?”

“I want to hear it all.”

Vio seems surprised by Shadow’s response. “Thank you. I’m… still not used to hearing that.”

Shadow resents the world for ever making Vio feel unheard. It’s good, he supposes, that they’re going to destroy it together.  

So, he types:

Violet Link is our proven ally, your faithful servant, and my friend.

It may seen unprofessional to mention friendship in our correspondence, but I see it as assurance. I swear to take full responsibility for V’s actions—past, present, and future. I understand, of course, that there is always a possibility of his betrayal. In such case I

“…shock arrows in a treasure chest, but it might not be worth your—”

 “Vio,” Shadow interrupts, his hand hovering over the keyboard.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t apologi—you know what, we can talk about that later. I just have to ask… I can trust you, right? You’re devoted to the darkness forever?”

Vio blinks. “Why are you asking me this now?”

“I need you to say yes, and I need you to mean it.”

“Then I say yes. You can trust me. I’m devoted to the darkness forever.”

Shadow nods, strangely unsatisfied by his satisfaction.

In such case I swear to end his life myself.

It’s his most compelling argument yet.

“So anyway,” Vio says, his discomfort getting the best of him. “The final boss is a Hinox, actually, and—”

I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Shadow Link

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait Chapter 18

Cat and Mouse

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: Lorelei and Nick find themselves involved in a different kind of wesen business, and Nick learns that his little sister is capable of taking care of herself.

“And you’re sure it doesn’t unlock anything in the trailer?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Nick said, although he was focused on writing his entry into the Grimm journals.

It was late in the afternoon and the Burkhardt siblings had met up at the trailer to discuss the key. Lorelei had also encouraged Nick to start writing down his interactions with wesen for future generations. He was currently outlining his experience with the klaustreich and the seltenvogel.

“And a real ass.” Nick said out loud. He laughed and Lorelei joined him.

“I don’t think you should add that.” Lorelei told him.

“I know, I know. What’s the word I’m looking for….mean? No, catty.” He chuckled to himself again. And Lorelei rolled her eyes. “Big no…Got it, sadistic…and treacherous.”

“That sounds much better.” Lorelei said and Nick looked up at her.

“It does.” He said, shooting her a smile. He finished his entry before looking back up at Lorelei. “So, how much did Aunt Marie tell you about the key?”

Lorelei sat back in her chair, kicking her feet up. “Not a whole lot. Its really old, I think she mentioned something about the crusades. I got the impression there may be more keys out there. Oh, and of course she stressed the importance of making sure it doesn't end up in the wrong hands. She didn’t give examples though.”

Nick nodded, leaning back in his chair as well. “If there are other keys, they may include other parts of the map. But what was so important that they had to hid it?”

Lorelei shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe the Holy Grail. Were you able to figure out a location?”

Nick shook his head. “Nah, it doesn’t give much away.”

Lorelei chewed on her lip, deep in thought. “If it was hidden by crusaders, it would be somewhere in Europe. Or maybe even in the Middle East. Whatever it is, it’s important.”

Nick agreed. The two sat in silence for a bit, before Lorelei spoke up. She had been putting off telling him, but her relationship with Katie was getting more serious. Lorelei was due to meet Katie’s parents next week. “Hey Nick.”

“Hmmm.” Nick looked up from the journal he was reading. “What’s up?”

Lorelei let out a slow breath. “I, have a girlfriend.” She said slowly.

Nick looked surprised. “Oh really.” He said, as a smile started to cross his face. He closed the journal and lent forward. “Tell me about her.”

Lorelei returned his smile. She had been a little worried about telling him, not sure how he would react to her dating. “Uh, her name is Katie. She is a sophomore, studying architecture. Uh, she works at the café on campus. That’s how we met. And she’s an….” She trailed off mumbling something the older Burkhardt couldn’t hear.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lorelei took a deep breath. “She is an eisbiber.” She said more clearly.

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re dating a wesen?” he asked, looking surprised.

Lorelei nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t know I was a Grimm when she first asked me out, but I told her on our first date. And she seems cool with it. She’s even introduced me to some of her friends, all eisbibers. They are nice and accepting. They think its kinda cool they can tell people they are friends with a Grimm.” Lorelei told him. “I’m actually meeting her parents next week.”

Nick sat back. “Wow, meeting the parents already, how long have you been seeing each other?”

“Only a few weeks. But she’s a lesbian and they are reported to move pretty fast.” Lorelei smiled, deciding to tease her brother. “Who knows, we may be engaged by Christmas.”

“Oh, ho. I don’t think so.” Nick said, giving her a stern look. “No marriage until you graduate college.”

“I already did that.” Lorelei sassed back.

“Well then, no marriage until you get your PhD. I know you’re aiming for that.” He said, his smirk indicating he was only partially serious.

“That’ll be years away.”

“Exactly.”

Lorelei rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.” She bit her lip. “But you’re cool with me dating…and a wesen at that?”

Nick smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m cool with it. As long as she treats you well and makes you happy. Otherwise…” he made a slash movement across his throat and the pair started laughing.

Since Lorelei’s class for the day had been cancelled and she was running low on her bedtime tea blend, she decided to visit Rosalee at the spice shop. She was lucky enough to get a park close by. After making sure her car was locked, she walked up the footpath and upon reaching the door was surprised to find the closed sign. That was weird, Rosalee was usually opened by now. Lorelei peered through the door, trying to see in, however the main lights were off, and it was dark. However, she could hear talking from coming inside and light shining from the side room.

“Rosalee?” she called out, knocking on the door. She heard the voices quiet down. She knocked again. “Rosalee, It’s Lorelei.”

After a moment, she saw a figure step out from the side room and make its way to the door. As the figure got closer, Lorelei could see that it was Rosalee. She opened the door a bit and peered out at Lorelei.

“Hey.” She said softly, glancing behind her, back into the shop. “I’m sorry but I’m closed today sweetie. Something has come up.”

Lorelei was immediately suspicious. Something seemed off. She glanced in the direction Rosalee had been looking in and leaned closer to her. “Are you ok?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rosalee gave a strain laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just, you know, one of those days.” She said. “We should meet up this weekend. You can tell me how meeting Katie’s parents went.”

Lorelei was becoming more and more suspicious. She narrowed her eyes at Rosalee, as she felt around for the dagger strapped to her hip. “What’s going on?” she asked, noticing that Rosalee was unable to meet her eyes and was even glancing out into the street as though keeping her eye out for some kind of danger.

“Seriously. Everything is fine.” Rosalee repeated, but Lorelei wasn’t buying it. Without another word, she pushed her way into the shop, dagger in hand. “My god, you are freakishly strong.”

Once Lorelei entered the shop, she did a quick once over and was surprised to find Monroe and another man in the side room.

“Hey Lore, what are you doing here?” Monroe asked in a jovial tone that indicated to Lorelei she had walked into something suspicious.

Rosalee had finished locking the door back up. “Lorelei, sweetie, put the dagger away.” She said in motherly sounding tone as she stepped up beside the young Grimm. She sighed. “Lorelei, this is Ian. Ian, this is Lorelei. She is the younger sister of the man we were telling you about.”

Lorelei sized up the unknown man. He was looking at her with as much suspicion as she was looking at him. Rosalee and Monroe seemed the trust him, so she would too. She put her dagger away.

“You have two Grimm’s in Portland?” Ian asked looking incredulous.

“Yes, we do.” Rosalee stated, pushing Lorelei further into the room.

“You’re wesen?” Lorelei asked him, still sizing him up.

Ian nodded. “What are you doing carrying a dagger around?” Monroe asked her.

Lorelei shrugged. “Girls gotta protect herself.”

“Can we trust her?” Ian asked, gesturing to Lorelei. “I am not even completely comfortable involving the other Grimm. How old is she anyway? How old are you?”

Lorelei straightened up. “I’m almost nineteen.” She told him, wondering what her age had to do with anything. “Will you tell me what’s going on? What’s with all the cloak and dagger?”

Rosalee filled Lorelei in about the situation, while Monroe called Nick and Ian continued staring Lorelei down, as though waiting for her to attack him.

“Ok, so Ian is a leader of the resistance, also known as the Laufer, who oppose the Verrat who are an organisation that serve the seven royal houses, who are not wesen but still stick their noses in wesen business. And the Verrat are responsible for some of the shit that’s happened in the past hundred or so years including the White Terror, Hitler, and the Arab Spring? Have I got that right?”

Rosalee nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“And Grimm’s have been mercenaries for the royals?” Lorelei directed this question to Ian, who nodded. “No wonder you are extra wary of Grimms, I’m sure you’ve been fucked over by them past.” She paused for moment; however, she didn’t miss the hint of a smile that crossed Ian’s face. “And you are being hunted by the Verrat?” Again, Ian nodded. He hadn’t said much, Rosalee had done all the talking.

Monroe came back in. “Ok, uh, Nick is on his way. Lorelei, you better leave. He will freak out if he finds you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Lorelei said indignantly. “I want to help Ian. For too long Grimms have been on the wrong side of history. I want to change that.”

A little while later the door to the side room slide open, and Monroe stepped in with Nick behind him. The minute Nick saw Ian he had his gun drawn ordering Ian not to move. There was a moment of panic as Rosalee and Lorelei stepped between Nick and Ian. Ian raised his good arm in the air to show he was unarmed.

“This man is wanted for murder.” Nick said, keeping his gun on Ian.

“Well, I guess he is just trying to do the right thing.” Ian said sarcastically, his comment directed towards Monroe.

“Nick, put the gun down. We can explain.” Lorelei said slowly, keeping her hands up as though she was interacting with a dangerous animal.

“Lorelei, move.” Nick said sternly. “I found his passport next to the bartender that he shot.” He started to move closer to Ian and so did Rosalee.

“Ian lost his bag, when he was shot.” She said, emphasising the shot part. “That’s how the guy who shot him, got his passport.”

Nick looked incredulous “That’s what he told you?” he said.

“When was this bartender shot?” Lorelei said, now having moved to stand in front of Rosalee.

“Four hours ago.” Was Nick’s reply.

Monroe spoke up this time. “Then it can’t be him, Nick. We’ve been with him longer than that.”

“Ian’s been here since I opened the shop this morning.”

“Clearly he wants you to find me because he can’t.” Ian added. “That’s why he shot this bartender. If you arrest me right now, then he’ll know exactly where I am.”

Nick looked at Rosalee. “Did you check him for weapons?”

“He doesn’t have any.” Rosalee told him. “He came here because my brother was supposed to help him.”

Finally, Nick lowered his gun, seeming to have deemed the Ian was not an immediate threat. The tension in the room seemed to have dropped dramatically.

“Well, Nick Burkhardt meet Ian Harmon.” Monroe said. “Ian, Nick.”

“Pleasure.” Ian said.

“The man who’s trying to kill you, what’s his name?” Nick asked as he holstered his gun.

“Edgar Waltz.” Ian told him. “He’s an enforcer for the Verrat.”

Nick looked confused. “The Verrat. I thought they only operated in Europe.”

“Their influence is spreading. They occupy positions of power everywhere. Politics, industry, organised crime. Anything that is corruptible is susceptible to their influence.” Ian said, slowly making his way closer to Nick. “Even law enforcement.”

“Nick, these guys make the Spanish Inquisition look like SPCA.” Monroe told him. “And Ian’s resistance group the Laufer, is the only thing that stands in their way.”

“This world is on the brink of war. The turmoil in the Middle East, the crises in Europe, the Arab Spring, all of it is tied together.” Ian continued. “Agents of the Verrat, working for the seven houses have infiltrated the highest levels of all governments.”

Nick looked confused again. “The Seven Houses?”

Ian looked surprised that Nick didn’t know about the Seven Houses. Lorelei guessed Ian had assumed that being young was the reason Lorelei didn’t know much. He seemed to expect Nick to know. “The Seven Royal Families. This is not a new struggle. It’s been going on for centuries. With this struggle, the Royal Families recognise opportunities to gain more control. People driven by fear, choose stability over freedom, when their neighbours start to die.”

“My parents were part of the resistance.” Lorelei glanced at Rosalee. “And my grandparents, my brother. I never wanted to be involved. It always seemed so far away.”

Ian started talking again, this time addressing both Nick and Lorelei. “Your people changed the balance of power when they decided to work for the Royal Families.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grimms, Nick.” Lorelei told him, he glanced at her, giving her a weird look.

“Evidently you don’t know how valuable you are, how valuable your sister is to the Royals.” Ian glanced at Lorelei. “I haven’t known you long, but it is obvious that you have wisdom far beyond your years, Little Grimm.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick frown. “Look, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but right now I am trying to find a murderer, and not get a wesen history lesson.” Nick said with an incredulous and slightly awkward smile on his face.

“Nick, Ian needs your help.” Rosalee said. “We have to get him out of here before Waltz finds him. The only reason he’s not dead is because the bullet went through his pack first.”

“But he lost his papers.” Monroe continued. “And without them, he can’t leave.”

Nick stared at Monroe for a moment before he clocked on to what Monroe was trying to say. “Are you talking about getting false documents to get him out of the country?”

Monroe let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He said, looking down.

Nick sighed as well. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“Rosalee’s brother was the last stop for wesen trying to get out of the country.” Ian said. “He was going to help me.”

“Alright, if all of this is true, then the most important thing for me to do is find Edgar Waltz. I can’t promise anything else yet.” Nick said.

Ian nodded. “Ok, yeah, fair enough.” He replied.

“Does Waltz know about Freddy?”

“No.” Ian said with a slight laugh. Nick looked at him, causing Ian to look unsure. “If he did, I would be dead by now.” He looked at Monroe, Rosalee, and Lorelei. “And so would they.”

Nick stood up. “Ok, stay here for now.” He said, before looking at Rosalee. “Do you know where we can get him new papers?”

“I think so.” Rosalee said, looking towards Monroe and Rosalee. “We were looking through the shop and found a bunch of fake passports of my brothers. I know the man who did them, his name is Reginald…”

Nick cut her off. “Don’t tell me anymore. Ok?” He looked towards Monroe and Ian. “I’ll call you when I get something.”

“Thanks Nick.” Monroe said, patting Nick on the back as he made his way out.

Nick paused and turned back towards Lorelei. “Is there any point on telling you to go home?” he asked her.

“Nope.” Was her reply.

Nick stared at for a moment. “We will be having a chat.”

“I have no doubt.” Lorelei answered. He simply shook his head and left.

Rosalee headed out to see her brothers contact, while Monroe and Lorelei waited at the shop with Ian. Lorelei continued asking Ian questions about the Verrat, the Laufer, and the Royals. She had learnt more from Ian in a day than she had learnt from Aunt Marie in almost two years. “And there is also the Wesen Council, who are wesen who enforce wesen law?” She asked.

Ian nodded. “That is correct.” He seemed to be warming up to Lorelei the longer he spent with her. She was certainly more open to learning about wesen history compared to her brother. He was also learning more about the young Grimm as well. The more he learnt, the more he realised how much the Royals would love to get their hands on her. She would be a valuable asset to them.

While Ian and Lorelei were talking, Monroe was pacing. As he tended to do when stressed out. “Are you always this animated?” Ian finally asked Monroe.

“Well, you made me miss my yoga, so…” he trailed off and returned to pacing.

“You care about Rosalee.” Ian wasn’t asking, he was stating it as a fact.

“I do. I care about all my friends. Even the ones you don’t like.”

“I don’t dislike him. He’s just…a Grimm”

“Well, we’re all equals.” Monroe said, moving to face Ian. “Isn’t that what you’re fighting for?”

Before Ian could answer, Monroe’s phone rang and answered it. After a brief introduction, Monroe turned to Ian and asked if he had heard of a freidenreden. Ian directed Monroe to put it on speakerphone.

“Yeah, you’re on speaker with me, Ian and Lorelei.”

“Who asked you about a freidenreden?” Ian asked.

“Waltz called me.” Was Nick’s reply through the phone.

Ian looked worried. “Does he know you found me?”

“No, I don’t think so. He wants me to meet him at 10pm. He asked me if I knew what a freidenreden was. I said I did, but I don’t”

“It’s a truce – a white flag meeting. You both come unarmed, and you both leave of your own accord.”

Monroe interrupted. “Dude, you can’t seriously be thinking of meeting this guy unarmed.” Monroe said, the concern obvious in his voice.

“He will honour it.” Ian told them. “They have a great belief in the sanctity of rules. Nick, one more thing. Once the truce is over, the minute you walk away, anything goes. So, watch your back.”

The call was ended, and Ian glanced at the other two. “Waltz is getting closer. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

Lorelei let out a sigh. “We can’t go to my place. I live in a dorm surrounded by college kids. And we can’t do Nick’s, Juliette will be there.” She looked up at Monroe and he stared back at her for a moment before groaning.

“Fine, we can go my place.” He said, not looking happy about it.

“Thank you.” Lorelei said, pulling him in for a hug.

“You’re lucky I love you.” He murmured into her hair.

Lorelei smiled. “Love you too.” She pulled back and glanced at Ian, who had a small smile on his face. “You guys should head out. I’ll wait for Rosalee.”

Monroe did not look happy about that. “Uh, no, no way. You are coming with us. What if Waltz shows up?

“I agree with Monroe. You would be better off with us.” Ian told Lorelei.

“You guys. I am not completely helpless. I was trained by Marie Kessler. I am a Grimm. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken on a hunjager, on my own.” She told the two men, who looked surprised. “And spoiler alert, I won. If anyone tries to hurt someone I care about. I’ll kill them.”

Both men still looked surprised and although Monroe was still looking sceptical, Ian seemed to have a little more faith. They eventually left, however. Lorelei quickly slipped out to her car and went around to the back. Once it was open, she opened a secret compartment in the floor and looked over the weapons she had stowed in there. After she had loaded up, she returned to the shop, slipping back into the side room.

Lorelei kept glancing out the window, waiting for Rosalee return. Eventually she did, however Lorelei saw someone following her. She contemplated moving to the main room to greet Rosalee, but decided to stay hidden in case the person following her was Waltz. Not long after Rosalee entered Lorelei heard to bell again, signalling someone had followed her in. She listened to them converse and at first it sounded as if the man was just a customer, however Lorelei had a bad feeling. Eventually she heard the man ask “Where is he?”

Yep, must be Waltz. Lorelei contemplated what to do. She had no doubt that he was armed. If she wasn’t careful, Rosalee could be hurt. As could she. The last hunjager she encountered preferred to use brute force as opposed to guns. She didn’t want to get a lecture from Nick if she got shot. It would be hard to explain to certain people.

Waltz told Rosalee to call Ian, to see whose life he valued more. Lorelei heard Rosalee make the phone call and it sounded like she reached Monroe. At one point it sounded as if Waltz was on the phone. Lorelei took a chance and glanced out. They were on the other side of the main shop. Waltz was facing the direction of the counter and Rosalee was facing her direction. Rosalee saw Lorelei and her eyes widened. Lorelei raised her finger to her lips, indicating Rosalee should stay quiet. She then slipped out of sight again. Although Lorelei couldn’t see, she had no doubt Waltz had the gun in hand.

When she heard they had at least fifteen minutes, she felt slight relief. She had a bit more time to come up with a plan of action. She needed to separate him from his gun, without either her or Rosalee getting shot. She still had the element of surprise. She could try to just knock him out. Lorelei glanced around her immediate area, hoping to find something. She didn’t want to move around too much, in case Waltz heard her.

The clock was ticking, Lorelei was running out of time. There was nothing nearby that was heavy enough to knock out a hunjager. And she didn’t know if back up would arrive by the time fifteen minutes was up. If Rosalee wasn’t here, Lorelei would have already taken Waltz down. But she didn’t want her friend to get hurt.

“You may think I am a monster, but what I am is necessary.” This time when Waltz spoke, it sounded as if he was right beside her. No doubt just outside the side room. “No society can exist without order. Free thought is not free.” Oh god, is he giving a villain monologue? “There’s no such thing as revolution. The oppressed always become the oppressors, and the cycle repeats itself over and over. The only way to win, is to stay out of the cycle.” He paused. “You don’t understand a word that I say.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.” Came Rosalee’s sassy response.

Lorelei decided that now was the time to move. Her footsteps light, she slipped out from her hiding spot, coming to stand behind Waltz. “I was. I suppose it’s a matter of opinion though.”

Waltz spun around, gun in hand, pointing towards Lorelei. However, she was already moving, A punch to the throat, then the nose. Her hand reaching out to grab the hand he was holding the gun with, she directed it away from herself and Rosalee. Lorelei spun them around, moving to slam Waltz’s arm against the doorway separating the main room and the side room. There was a loud snap and Waltz yelled out in pain, dropping the gun. His face changed and his gaze met Lorelei’s. “Another Grimm.” He growled. Lorelei didn’t know if he was more surprised or in pain. She didn’t give it much thought, heading straight for the gun. Waltz followed, however he let out another yell of pain when Lorelei kicked back from her bent over position, her foot hitting him in the face. A crunching noise followed.

Losing her balance slightly, Lorelei saved herself, tucking herself into a roll, grabbing the gun as she did so. Once she landed, she spun around and stood up, gun in hand and fired off three shots. Waltz landed heavily on the ground, a look of surprise on his face, two bullets to the chest and one in the centre of his forehead. “Lorelei, oh my god.” Rosalee said, rushing over to her, as Lorelei put the safety on the gun.

At that moment, Nick, Monroe, and Ian came bursting in the door. Nick with his gun drawn. The three men looked at the scene in surprise. Waltz, dead on the floor, Lorelei with a gun in her hand and Rosalee besides her, no worse for wear.

“Lorelei?” Nick asked, looking shocked.

She held the gun out to her brother. “Told you I can take care of myself.”

Before Ian got away, he helped Nick and Monroe cover up Lorelei’s crime. They moved the body, while Lorelei helped Rosalee clean up her mess at the spice shop. She kept apologising to her friend for the mess she had made, but Rosalee kept shushing her, reminding Lorelei that she had saved her life. Before he had left, Ian pulled Lorelei to the side, offering her a position within the resistance. Lorelei had thanked him, but insisted she needed to focus on her studies. Ian seemed to understand. “You take care, Little Grimm.” He said, smiling fondly at her.

Lorelei thought she would be able to avoid her brother for a few days, but the next morning he showed up at her dorm. Coffee in hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

“You killed a man.” Were the first words out of his mouth.

Lorelei signed and sunk down on the sofa. “It’s not exactly the first time I killed hunjager.”

Nick looked at her in surprise. “This has happened before?”

Lorelei nodded. “Yeah, last year in Baltimore.” She told him. “One attacked me as I left work one night.”

Nick sunk down beside her. “You shouldn’t have been involved in this in the first place.”

“My friends were involved.” Lorelei said. “And I kind of barged my way in. I thought Rosalee was being held hostage or something.”

“You should have left and called me.”

Lorelei sighed again. “Nick, I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a Grimm. I was born to do this, just like you were.”

“I’m your older brother. I’m supposed to protect you, keep you safe.” He said, a pained expression on his face. “You went up against a murderer. And yeah, you won but it could have ended badly. Plus, you killed him.”

“You’re right. It could have gone badly. And yeah, I killed him. But you can’t arrest every bad wesen we come across. You heard Ian, the Verrat are powerful. They probably would have found a way to get him out.” Lorelei told him. “And what about that guy, Stark. Jail didn’t hold him.” She let out a breath. “I don’t like the idea of killing people, but sometimes, that may be our only option. And I know it contradicts everything you know as a police officer. But when it comes to bad wesen, sometimes we need to be the judge, the jury, and the executioner. To protect the people of this city, including the good wesen. Like Monroe and Rosalee.”

Nick sighed and leaned back. “I can’t lose you.”

“I understand. I feel the same way. And I promise to be careful, when possible. But you can’t keep me from doing the job I was born to do…. Especially if you keep dragging my friends into it. Ok?”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know.”

Next Part

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[wildflowerteas]

Hiiii!! I am just one of the many people absolutely enamoured if not downright obsessed with your work!Just the authenticity of the storyline in 'when I awake', and how it completely altered my perspective on so many thematic concepts.and to also discover you were someone in the same age range really really made me admire you soooo much.I wish you luck in your life and whatever you do in general cuz you're a real gem 😊

I'll be honest, I don't make it a habit to interact with others online, preferring to just be a bystander, but I thought I'll just take the risk.If it's not too much of a bother I wanted to ask you: How do you find yourself able to write with consistency? To further elaborate my point, how do you write so much and keep that flow of words to continue on until the end?I wish to start writing as well, fanfic,personal writings etc., and I just can't seem to make progress after writing only one page,I feel like even with extensive planning and carefully organised notes I never seem to be able to produce a large body of work that encapsulates all my ideas.It's always just...one paragraph and then the initial meaning just loses itself.

Oh goodness,I wrote too much! I'll stop here I just thought maybe I can ask someone with first hand experience instead of just figuring out somehow.Hope you have great day and thank you so much once again!!!❤❤❤❤

Hii!!! Oh my gosh thank you so so much! I'm so glad to hear that my writing resonated with you, and that it was able to make your life a little bit brighter ( hopefully ) as a result. Thank you so much <3 This really made my day. First of all: This is absolutely not a bother, and I'm really really excited that you reached out! I love talking/interacting with people hehe and I'm more than happy to help!

This is a super good question. I don't really notice it in the moment ( when I'm writing ), but getting chapters out every week--with most being well into the 8-10k range--IS actually kind of insane. Not to mention WIA was 23 chapters, which is nearly six months of just writing and writing. I think a lot of that consistency had to do with my unhealthy obsession with the pairing, but also the fact that the writing became sort of . . . routine? I was always happy to do it, and very excited to sit down at my desk, crack my knuckles, and get started. It never really felt like I was slogging through it ( even though I would spend the better half of my Fridays-through-Sundays doing nothing but writing ). I think writing something you love will just be like that--exciting, and energizing--even if the writer's block hitting and editing can be very painful. That sounds a bit masochistic, but I really did enjoy the struggle at times. And ultimately, I came out of it a better writer than I was before. But something that really helped me write consistently was my desire to read the work when it was finished. Writing something you want to read means the only one you can blame when you have no ending is, well, yourself. And especially when it comes to fiction ( fanfic and personal works ), these stories are to be shared but ultimately they're for us. To satisfy a desire to tell, or to capture some part of our imagination, or to reason our way through feelings or thoughts. Now onto the next part of your question. Truthfully, when it comes to planning, notes, outlines--I'm one of the worst people to ask. However, I do have one thing that might be useful to you: I always, always, write with the ending in mind. I think even with little scenes, I'm looking ahead and asking myself "How does this get me to the place I want to go?" or "How does this shape the character into the kind of person I want them to be when the story is over?" That's not to say I don't write filler ( which I do--I love writing slow, nothing-really-happens scenes ), but when it comes to writing something full-length, the idea of having a set destination really makes the struggle of the journey ( in WIA's case, a journey of 230 thousand words ) feel a lot easier.

I also struggle with getting past the first page and even find outlines a little claustrophobic. Sometimes inspiration strikes randomly while I'm writing, and I'll betray my notes, go with the flow, and suddenly things like character relationships and even major plot-related scenes will be uprooted ( a lot of the well-loved and interesting scenes in WIA were 100% improv). I think falling into a committed relationship with your outline/notes can be a bit suffocating for creativity ( maybe for people like you and me ), while for others, it's a scaffold that helps them tell the story they want without wandering too far. It's about finding what works for you, rather than subscribing to a formula. It might be helpful to dip your toes into just writing and letting the story flow from your imagination first, and then when you have more than one page, creating an outline that is guided by the trajectory of what you've already written, rather than vice versa. Phew. You were apologizing for writing too much ( which you shouldn't, btw ) but I might be the one who has to say sorry! This was a lot, and I hope that at the very least, a tiny bit of it was helpful. Again, thank you so much for enjoying my writing, and for having the courage to reach out and ask. It sounds like you stepped a bit out of your comfort zone, and I really applaud you for that <3 I hope you're having a lovely day.

niko <3