#and it was interesting to figure out how to do this...but fun!

[9ofspades]

Interesting. This is a super weird experience to me because… to me, *reading* is a labor-intensive process where I’m analyzing and thinking and making connections, and there are definitely mechanical parts of that. Whereas writing is more like… a dreamy flow state of trying to capture what’s in my head on paper. Even editing is rereading and then trying to figure out what would improve the imperfections, which is fun; though I don’t really do a “first draft” in the conventional sense because I’m constantly self-editing. Anyway, it’s interesting to see how very different some people are from me.

Something that's been knocking around in my head for a while: I think a lot of new writers get thrown off by their assumption that writing will be anything like reading. Reading is a dreamy, passive experience--scenes, dialogue, and description flow over you as you are taken under the writer's spell. Writing, on the other hand (with the exception, sometimes, of the first draft), is the laborious, almost mechanical-like task of putting narrative elements together so that the reader can lose themselves in your story. In short, reading and writing are very different experiences, and the assumption that they will be, or even should be, the same, is cause for much angst among new and experienced writers alike. It's a frustrating thing, because a love of reading is usually what gets people interested in writing in the first place. I've been writing for several decades and I still feel confounded by this clash--it's part of why I don't read much when I'm deep into my writing, and vice versa. And when I am writing, I constantly have to remind myself: Writing is not watching a magic show. Writing is figuring out how to smuggle the rabbit into the hat.

[cevansbrat0007]

Guessing Games: A Fast Car Interlude

Summary: You accidentally trigger Ari's jealous streak. Takes place directly after the events in Guessing Games.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Future Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Jealous!Ari, Innocent Flirting, Stupid Men, Manhandling, Mentions of Spanking, Discussions of Self-Image, Mentions of Lingerie, Semi-Public Sex, Allusions to Fingering, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: After a shitty week, please enjoy this completely self-indulgent fic. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“Hey. I know this car.” You think as you come to stand in front of a vehicle on display that happens to look strangely familiar. Smoothing your hands down the skirt of your sundress, you manage a quick side-step, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small child who was too busy enjoying his ice cream cone to pay attention to where he was going. 

You’ve been wandering around Fulton County’s annual Classic Car Showcase for the better part of an hour now, and so far things were going better than you’d expected. And not only that, but you were even beginning to have fun.

“I can see why this one caught your eye.” A familiar voice muses as he comes up behind you. 

“I’m trying to figure out where I’ve seen it before. But I’m drawing a blank.” Angling your body, you reach for one of Ari’s big hands, grasping it with both of yours. “Any ideas?” 

“You really don’t recognize it?” 

“‘Fraid not.” Your lips purse as you continue to wrack your brain. 

“It’s an exact replica of The General Lee, the 1969 Dodge Charger driven by Bo and Luke.” 

“Who?” You stare up at him confused. 

That earns you a chuckle, followed by him placing a gentle kiss atop your head. “Bo and Luke. From The Dukes of Hazzard. It was a popular show back in the eighties.” He explains, brushing a stray curl away from your face.

“Oh. Got it.” You nod, pretending to understand. “Mystery solved.”

You both stand there a few moments longer – mostly so he can admire the engine, or whatever the hell you assumed he was doing. Once he’s looked his fill, it’s apparently time to move on to the next car that catches his interest. You’re seemingly content to trail behind him until you happen to spot a nearby cluster of tents. 

“Ari?” 

“Yeah, little Bird?” The rich timbre of his voice has you smiling before you even realize you’re doing it.

“I reckon all this car hoppin’ has me feelin’ a little parched.” You tell him, turning your attention to the concessions located just across the lot. “I’m gonna go fetch myself a lemonade real quick while the lines are short.”

As expected, your man responds without missing a beat. But not before leading you over to the shade so that you can continue your conversation. Which was a good thing seeing as the temperature outside was hovering around the mid-eighties.

“Well, we can’t have that now can we?” Mirroring your smile, he brings your hand to his lips so that he can kiss the ridges of your knuckles. “Let’s go get you somethin’ to drink.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll go while you hang out here in the shade.” Your palms come up to rest against the hard wall of his chest. “Besides,” you continue when he opens his mouth to object. “It’s not like I’m going far. I’ll just  be right over there.”  

“Nah.” Ari swiftly disagrees, adjusting his sunglasses. “How about you wait here while I go get us both something to drink?”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yep.” He gently flicks the tip of your nose. “After all, what kinda man would I be if I left my sweetheart out here to melt?”

“I mean…if you insist.” Rising on your toes – a feat made easier thanks to your wedge heels – you plant a smooch on his bearded cheek. “Hurry back, sugar.” 

Now that he’s officially a man on a mission, Ari wastes almost no time making a beeline for the concessions. But not before issuing a stern warning to you, his curious little Bird.

“Don’t you go wanderin’ off on me, darlin’.” He growls, leaning down to tenderly peck your lips . “I expect to find you right here in this spot when I come back.” 

And then he’s gone. You barely have time to respond with a playful salute before he’s striding off in search of sustenance for you both. Leaving you alone to twiddle your thumbs while you dutifully await his return. 

Not that you minded. If anything, grateful for this brief respite from the heat. It never crosses your mind to abandon your spot in favor of looking at more cars. At least, not until you spy one that has you gasping in pure delight.

“Woah.” You breathe as you come to stand in front of the one vehicle with the power to transport you straight back to your childhood: a 1958 Plymouth Fury.  

Better known as the car from Stephen King’s novel, Christine. 

You’d absolutely loved this movie as a kid. So much so that your Uncle had bought you your own personal copy after he got tired of renting it for you weekend after weekend. Why, you must’ve seen it over a hundred times. 

But as luck would have it, your private glee is interrupted by the sound of a voice coming up behind you. 

“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” The man asks, his southern drawl growing even more inviting when he tips his black stetson. “Restored her myself.” 

“Holy crap! It looks just like the one from the film.” You chirp, reaching out to run your fingers along the shiny finish before swiftly thinking better of it. “Sorry.” Is all you can manage as you turn to face him. “I just…never thought I’d get the chance to see it in person.”

“Well…” The dark haired cowboy admits, flashing a chagrined smile. “It’s not actually the car. But it’s pretty dang close. Took me a few years, seeing that pretty smile of yours makes it all worth it.” His smile only grows wider as he holds out his hand to you. “The name’s Russell, by the way.”

You two spend a few more moments exchanging names and pleasantries before he politely redirects the attention back to the prized vehicle in front of you. Russell invites you to ask all the questions you like, only to laugh when you eagerly take him up on his offer. 

In fact, you’re enjoying the conversation so much that you hardly notice when he slowly begins inching closer to you, his leanly muscled frame almost boxing you in. He was charming – you’d give him that much. And easy on the eyes.

Russell was the type of man who warranted a second look. Or at least he would. That is, assuming you hadn’t already been blessed with the gift of Ari Daniel Levinson. 

“You know,” He murmurs, his cool gaze warming as he boldly peruses your dress. “Something tells me this conversation would pair wonderfully with a glass of wine.” His hand reaches for yours once more. “Perhaps over dinner?”

“Oh, I’m sorry...” The shocked apology comes tumbling out of your mouth. “I–I can’t. I actually came with someone. He’s–”

“Look, I don’t wanna be too forward.” Russell smoothly interrupts, stroking his thumb along the ridge of your knuckles. “But I haven’t been able to let you out of my sight since I saw you damn near an hour ago. Honestly can’t remember the last time I came across a woman as sweet as you.”

“That’s awfully kind of you to say.” You reply, intending to let him down easy.

“I saw that fella you were with.” He continues in earnest, still refusing to relinquish his grip on your hand. “Also saw him walk off and abandon you too.” 

“He didn’t – no one abandoned anybody!” Closing your eyes, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. You weren’t used to men hitting on you like this. It has you feeling way out of your depth. 

“Be that as it may, I also believe in fate.” His already gravelly voice dips an octave. “I mean, I’ve come to this showcase year after year and never once have I met someone like you.” 

“I…I’m not sure I’d go that far.” You hedge as you weigh your options. 

On one hand, you really did want to be polite. But you also needed to be firm. You already had a man in your life. A man who owned you – mind, body, and soul. Not that you’d had any say in the matter. But these days, you were well past complaining about the handsome Beast of a man you’d come to cherish.

“Think about it.” Your would-be suitor implores, giving you a gentle squeeze. “There has to be a reason our paths crossed today.” 

Alright. It was officially time to put a nail in this coffin. You open your mouth to respond, only to have someone else beat you to the punch. 

“I think it’s about time you let go of her hand.” Ari rumbles, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. “Now.”

“Something I can help you with, buddy?” Russell responds without hesitation, clearly annoyed by the other man’s sudden reappearance. “Because the lady and I were in the middle of a conversation.”

“And I’m sure it was a great one.” Your bounty hunter is too busy glaring at his apparent rival to pay you any real mind. Although, he’s quick to shove a cup of what you suspect to be lemonade into your palm the second Russell releases his hold. “Too bad it’s over now. Let’s go, sweet Bird.” 

The ice in his tone is enough to make you shiver. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ari was none too happy to find you entertaining the company of another man. But the last thing you’d expected was for him to be jealous. 

Unless you were reading things wrong. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait, fella.” Russell surprises everyone by coming to stand almost nose-to-nose with Ari. “Because she and I were about to take the ride out for a little spin.” 

“We most certainly were not.” You try, impatiently tugging on his arm. “Ari, let’s just go.” Although, you’re not surprised when you end up being completely ignored. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Guess that’s what happens when you abandon a pretty little flower like her all alone in an empty field.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Russelly makes a point of poking your man in his chest. “I’m just glad I was lucky enough to be here to catch your mistake.”

Worry fills you when you see Ari simply nod along, his brawny shoulders wrought with tension. Sucking on his teeth, the bounty hunter briefly looks away as he forces himself to take a calming breath. Not that it seems to help any. 

“You know what? I get it. No, really–I do.” Ari smirks, reaching up to lightly scratch at his jaw. “I knew what I was getting into, walking into a showcase like this with a beautiful woman on my arm, wearin’ the hell out of that dress.” One thick arm wraps itself around your waist, hauling you close. “My girl turns heads everywhere she goes. She’s just too sweet to realize it.”

Tucking you behind him, your man bridges the last bit of distance between himself and Russell. And while you can’t see his face, you’re shocked when he gently lifts his rival’s hat from his head, before tossing it in the direction of his forgotten plymouth. 

“And sometimes that sweetness makes cowboys do stupid fuckin’ things.” Ari continues, sounding almost smug. But you don’t miss the danger in his tone. “Which is why I’m gonna be the bigger man right now and walk away, before I give into the urge to find out if you have what it takes to make the long drive home with a fractured arm.”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two.” You snap, finally fed up with all this male posturing. After all this nonsense, you just wanted to sit down and enjoy your drink before all the ice melted. “Russell, cool car. But I’m not interested, okay? And as for you, Ari…”

In lieu of responding, your man chooses to quirk one impatient, tawny brow. 

“You’re looking a little flushed. I think it’s time we got you outta the sun.” Grabbing his wrist, you proceed to physically drag him away from the scene. It takes virtually all your might, but you’re grateful when his legs finally begin to move.

You don’t stop walking until you reach a set of picnic tables that are far enough away from the show to give you both some much needed privacy while you hashed things out. 

“Darlin’, I can tell by your face you’re fixin’ to yell.” Ari growls, yanking his arm out of your grasp. "And I'd like to make my case before you start." His frown only deepens as he watches you perch on the edge of a bench, but not before taking a dramatic sip of your ice cold lemonade. 

It tastes divine – the perfect treat for a hot summer’s day.

“Did you really have to throw the poor man’s hat?” You ask, fanning yourself.

“Probably not. But it felt good.” He shrugs, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Should’ve stuffed his ass in the goddamned trunk while I was at it.” 

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I was in the process of letting him down easy.”

“Could’ve sworn I told your bratty self to stay put where I fuckin’ left you.” His normally clear blue eyes glitter dangerously, letting you know that he’s pissed. “I mean, it was bad enough waitin’ in line listening to two idiots talk about which one of ‘em was gonna be brave enough to ask for your number…”

“Yeah right.” You scoff, looking up at the sky as you pray for patience.

“Roll ‘em at me one more time, baby. Swear to God.” Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he finds himself wondering for the umpteenth time just what the hell he’d been thinking bringing you to something like this with you wearing a dress like that. “I’m just itchin’ for a reason to lift that skirt and redden your disrespectful ass.”

In Ari’s mind, you were always the prettiest girl in the room. But on a day like today? You were downright irresistible. And what made it even worse is that you honestly had no idea the effect you had sometimes – on him and damn near every other man who came into your presence.  

“You can’t talk like that!” You hiss, hoping that you weren’t being overheard. 

“And just why the hell not?”

“Because we’re in public, you Beast!” 

Rising to your feet, you set your drink on the table, deciding it might be better if you put some distance between you. Too bad Ari chooses to follow, walking you backwards until you feel yourself collide with the base of a nearby tree. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, effectively caging you in with his much larger frame.  

“I should’ve known what I was getting into the moment I decided to let you walk outta the house wearing that dress.” Ari rasps, trailing his nose along the delicate column of your throat. “I thought I was safe, even with that lacey little scrap of nothin’ you’ve got hidin’ underneath.” 

You barely manage to stifle a moan when your man captures your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking hard before releasing it with a soft pop. One of his hands leaves its purchase to settle dangerously low on your hip. 

“But I see now that’s not enough for you, is it baby?” You press your thighs together when that same hand moves once again. This time working it’s way under your skirt - his short, blunt nails dancing along your skin as his mouth hovers a mere centimeter above yours. “I’m not sure why you thought it might be a good idea to tease me like this. Not too keen on you flirting with other men.”

“I promise I wasn’t.” Your eyes flutter closed as he grinds his growing erection against the softness of your belly. “I just got excited about the car. It’s from one of my favorite Stephen King stories.” 

“Is that why I found you two holdin’ hands?” You let out a whimper when you feel the roughened pads of his fingers dig into your heated flesh, making you squirm. “Because you were excited?”

It wasn’t often that your man got riled up like this. But when he did there was almost no getting through to him until he calmed down. If you were lucky, you could typically drag him to some place quiet, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, sugar.” Leaning up, you press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I wouldn’t like it either if I saw you holding hands with a random woman. Promise it won’t happen again.” You add, weaving your arms around his trim waist after all you receive is a grunt for your trouble. 

Although you can’t help but notice that some of the tension seems to have finally left his shoulders.

“Thank you.” 

Ari allows his forehead to rest against your own as he struggles to collect himself. Wanting more, you cup his face with your hands, bring his mouth down for a much needed kiss. His eager tongue dances with yours, demanding more of your submission as the passion builds.

You’re both breathing hard when you finally come up for air. However, you realize your man’s not done. At least not yet. 

“You’re enough to drive a man insane. You know that?” He groans in between soft, yet feral kisses. “I swear I try to be progressive – I do. I got sisters. A niece.” A sound almost like a purr rumbles in his chest as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. “But I’m also man enough to admit I’ve got a bit of a jealous streak. Never was much of a problem until I met you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” You murmur at the same time as your pussy spasms, dampening your panties with your slick. 

“Good.” Ari lifts your leg, hitching it around his waist and not giving a damn about who sees. “And Bird?”

“Uh huh?” A shiver courses through you as he begins covering your exposed flesh with tiny, possessive love bites. This time you make no move to stop him. Thank goodness you’d had the foresight to pack some concealer.

“I hate to break it to you.” His mouth finds yours once more, deliberately teasing you with each sensual stroke and flick of his tongue. “But you and me, we’re not gonna make it back to Bell’s Creek tonight.”

“And w–why is that?” Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as his fingers find your clit, toying with the swollen nub through the soaked fabric of your panties. 

“Because I’m having the damnedest time trying to talk myself out of fucking you hard and fast on the hood of my truck.” He responds with an unapologetic shrug. “But I suppose I’ll just have to settle for a hotel, huh?” Grinning, he increases the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves, loving the way you buck and writhe beneath his touch.

“I’ll start hunting for reservations.” You move to reach for your phone even as you feel your vision blur and your toe s curl. “But whatever you do…oh God…just please don’t stop.”’

END

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[h2llish]

⁀➷ ˖ what a show

notes ─── happy birthday @floydsteeth! love youuu

FLOYD LEECH ─ secrets that aren't secrets.

warnings ♡ fluff, male reader, lowercase intended, shenanigans ensue, floyd's a loser in love /aff, reader can sew

there's something so amusing to jade as he watches his brother experience his first time having romantic feelings for someone ─ before and after he established a relationship with you. (and while jade himself has never experienced such attraction, he knows his brother, and he can tell this is nothing like when floyd catches an interest in someone or something. ─ yes, this is different.)

floyd may not be the easiest person to get along with ─ mood swings that remain hard to predict, his intimidating appearance, and of course, the threats. but you made it seem like it was no trouble to get along with someone so many tended to avoid. (and jade found it almost funny, how quick you were to match floyd's energy. perhaps that's why floyd liked you so much.)

before you two started dating, jade had made it game between himself, tallying everyday as he watched the two of you interact ─ waiting to see if his brother would notice his feelings towards you. and, if he was correct in assuming you felt the same way towards floyd, if you would notice your own towards his twin. the count began the moment he noticed floyd's feelings; and for the longest time there was no clue towards any change between the oblivious dance his brother was unknowingly leading. ─ and well, it sure was a show.

but while things did change when you two finally realized your feelings ─ it wasn't all that different from before. jade still found it funny to watch.

even more so when it seemed as if your friends were completely unaware that you two were dating at all. ─ perhaps because your attitude towards each other weren't so different from when you guys were still friends and unaware of your feelings. perhaps because you guys never outright told anyone; simply let it happen as it was, for people to figure out on their own. ─ the only thing, is no one was quite figuring it out. (save for jade, and perhaps rook, as nothing goes past the hunter. and he's sure there were others, but those close to you, well, they seemed clueless.)

"where were you? what are you smiling about?" azul asked as floyd entered the mostro lounge, a grin that was much too wide to be deemed comfortable on his face. azul was eyeing him with suspicion, while jade approached with a knowing smile upon seeing his brother return after floyd had skipped out on his duties in the lounge. (he knew his brother too well ─ that was no smile of mischief, but rather an eel who was feeling prideful and maybe even giddy.)

jade folded his hands in front of him as he looked between azul and his twin, "my guess is the prefect."

of course, azul knew about floyd's relationship with you, there's simply no reason for him not to ─ it's one of things floyd doesn't shut up about when he's working. jade is quite sure all of octavinelle is aware (which begs the question, how your friends weren't). azul however, chose to face it with a sigh and a complaint every time floyd skipped out on his duties at the lounge to be with you.

floyd didn't appear or express annoyance at the immediate interrogation of his return, rather it seemed as nothing could quite snuff out his giddy mood. he was carefree as he often appeared when he was teasing someone or having fun, "hey i'm gonna borrow the kitchen, okay, azul?"

"for what? it's late." azul asked. floyd didn't answer him, marching past him, and both azul and jade were sure he was giggling to himself.

jade chuckled at his brother's behavior while his twin disappeared into the kitchen. ─ floyd's attitude and his question no doubt influenced by something that had to do with you, he's sure. he and azul could hear the start of floyd beginning to cook ─ what and why, they weren't sure.

azul stared at the door to the kitchen with a frown, before shaking his head and turning away to begin towards his room, likely to begin turning in for the night, as many of their peers had already begun to do.

jade remained in place for a moment, his smile amused as he listened to the sounds of his brother in the kitchen. he didn't know the context of his behavior, but you were the most reasonable answer. ─ with a hum, jade turned to begin towards his own room, knowing floyd would join him when he was done with whatever it was, he'd busied himself with making.

it turns out what floyd had been so giddy to make, was lunch for you and him to share outside of the cafeteria together. (a date, floyd called it. ─ his brother was just so amusing, jade thinks.) the reason was a compliment to his cooking while you two were spending time together the day before, after floyd skipped out on his mostro lounge duties once more. you'd learned it was him often in charge of cooking, and you complimented him. leading to the giddy behavior the night before when he returned to the dorm.

(and perhaps he sent you a message about the affect you had on his brother when it came to compliments, in the guise of a complaint from azul ─ because it was all that more amusing to him.)

jade wonders how your friends might've reacted; if they haven't caught on, realized, when you'd told them you were going to have lunch with floyd instead.

he gets his answer come lunch time.

"[name]'s been acting weird, don't you think?" ace asks, chin in his hand and elbow on the table as he addresses the table of first years, minus the usual you, who often sits beside your dire beast other half. (jade wonders how grim took it, when you decided to leave him with your friends to have lunch with foyd. he's quite sure grim wasn't happy, if the pout on his fuzzy face is anything to go by.)

"no kiddin'!" grim whined, throwing his paws up and stomping his foot on the table before a grabbing a pawful of the food on his plate and stuffing it into his mouth. he spoke through the mouthful of food, much to the disgust of his peers sitting with him, "ditchin' me and leaving me with you losers."

deuce scolded grim for a moment about talking with food in his mouth, before turning to ace and scratching his cheek, "i guess he's been a little weird."

"a little?" epel scoffed.

"i don't think it's any of our business." jack said, "he seems happy."

"i agree!" sebek nodded, arms crossed over his chest. ─ a reasonable reaction from both; it would've been the most respectful opinion if you were actively trying to hide your relationship with floyd.

ace was visibly displeased with their words in reply to his, choosing to brush them off, "you think he's hiding something?"

silence.

and then deuce asked, "what would he have to hide?"

ace didn't have an answer.

(and who is jade if he didn't take this opportunity? ─ really, it's not his fault your friends have proved to be quite dense.)

"forgive me for being rude." jade said, standing behind ace as the party at the table flinched. neither of them heard or seen him approach. "i couldn't help but overhear."

"jade?" ace asked, or rather, gulped, as he looked over his shoulder and up at the leech.

jade didn't seem fazed as he continued, a hand to his chin with a faux look of concern, "floyd has been acting quite strange as well." ─ not a total lie, perhaps, ─ "i don't suppose you think his behavior and the prefect's are connected?"

his underclassmen went silent, glancing at each other with expressions better explained as shocked.

"prefect did ditch us to go have lunch with floyd." epel said, "do you think─"

"floyd's tryna steal my hench-human!" grim yelled, or rather, screeched.

"grim─" but whatever deuce intended to say to the dire beast was interrupted as grim had already hopped off the table and bolted towards the cafeteria doors on all four, likely in search of you.

with some complaints and a few groans from the group of first years, they had all stood from their chairs to chase after grim, their trays forgotten for the ghosts to clean up later. jade wondered if they chased because they too were curious, or simply to stop grim, or maybe even both; either way, jade made the decision to follow, deciding he simply couldn't not do so, after such an entertaining reaction.

how grim managed to find you both so quickly was anybody's guess ─ but it's not like you were actively trying to hide, sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard under the shade of a tree. the box of lunches floyd had made empty and sitting beside you forgotten. ─ before anyone could stop him (and not like anyone had tried), grim pounced at you, yelling your name. you jolted, but before he could land in your lap, the scruff of his neck was grabbed and now the dire beast was dangling in front of floyd, who didn't look too happy.

"hey there, baby seal." he said, perhaps a bit bland in greeting as he stared at grim with his lips threatening to form a frown. "what are you doing here?" grim struggled in floyd's grip, grunting at him, and trying to claw free, but floyd remained unbothered. eventually grim stilled with a huff and took to pouting and glaring at the leech.

with the dire beast no longer yelling, you decided to speak up, "grim?" ─ you glanced up as the rest of your friends and jade joined you in the courtyard, staring at you and floyd, and the eel's jacket in your lap, that you had been busy stitching up, a tear in the sleeve obvious to them. "what are you guys doing?"

ace placed his hands on his hips and sent you an accusatory look, "we should be asking you that."

"what?"

"you can't steal my hench-human!" grim interrupted, pointing a claw at floyd, who still held the dire beast, but floyd only continued to look at grim with a look of boredom. (perhaps a bit upset that his lunch date with you was interrupted.)

you sent grim and ace an odd look, "what are you guys talking about?"

"you've been acting weird and that obviously has something to do with floyd, and we want to know why!" ace explained.

you stared at him, your confusion apparent as you didn't say anything more, the thread and needle in your hand forgotten for a moment in favor of trying to understand what he was talking about.

floyd seemed to catch on before you as he turned to jade with a frown, "you know why they're here. you could've told them instead havin' them come all the way over here to bother us."

"why, i haven't a clue what you mean." jade grinned, his voiced lilted in a way that proved he was lying, and enjoying the scene, that he didn't bother to hide. "i only wanted to know why you've been acting so odd as well."

it was then that you understood, "hold on─" you shook your head and looked between your friends and grim, who still dangled in floyd's grip. "you guys are saying you had no idea we were dating?"

"what?" there was a chorus of surprise to which you flinched. grim was finally released by floyd as a barrage of questions were thrown your way.

"you're dating him? since when? why?" ace sputtered.

floyd frowned, narrowing his ace on the heart with a not-so-pleasant expression. (well, this isn't quite how you expected the rest of your lunch to go.) "you got a problem, crabby?" floyd grumbled, and you almost laughed at the way ace shrunk, and the rest of your friends quieted.

"nope, not at all," he managed to say, grinning in a way that didn't hide how much the leech intimidated him, "actually, you guys look great together."

it was then that any further conversation was put to a stop as the bell rang, and lunch was dismissed. ─ meaning you were likely going to find yourself at the end of more questions on your way to class once floyd wasn't at your side.

you glanced at the jacket in your lap and sighed, "i'll have to finish this later, just try not to rip it anymore, okay?"

floyd's frown was quickly replaced with a grin as he wrapped an arm around you and nuzzled against the side of your face almost aggressively, (but you knew it was all affection). he didn't seem to care as your friends watched on in shock.

"[name]'s the best!" he praised, to which you raised your hand to pet his hair, laughing at his actions as he continued to nuzzle his face against your cheek. (and your friends were, best explained, horrified.)

yeah, you were definitely going to have a lot of questions to answer.

do not repost, translate, copy, or run my writing through ai.

[judgeanon]

So About That BATGIRL #1...

I put this review up in another site, but since folks here on Tumblr seem to be realizing I have a lot of Thoughts about Lady Shiva, I figured I'd transplant it here. So here's how I feel about it. The short of it is that I think it's a strong start with a few small quibbles because I'm not sure how much of Shiva's writing is her being intentionally OOC and how much is Brombal trying to humanize her.

The long is here:

Now, one of Shiva's main issues as a character ever since they finally split her from the League of Assassins (God bless you Bryan Hill) is that, instead, writers have stapled her to Cass. Literally every major Shiva appearance since 2017 has involved Cass in some way. That is a problem not so much for Cass, who gets to have her own stories and series with and without the Batfam (although mostly with), but for Shiva, who doesn't get nearly as much exposure as her daughter. If there's a Shiva comic coming out, odds are it's gonna have something to do with Cass. Well, except for the other Shiva comic coming out this month that's gonna suck shit.

But at the same time, I don't think that means nobody should ever do another Shiva/Cass story, because I still feel like that's rich soil that nobody has had the time, space or desire to really commit to mining. Hill in Outsiders was writing a whole ensemble cast and couldn't linger too long on them. Writers like Grayson and Cloonan/Conrad both teased Shiva trying to reconcile with Cass but never took it anyhwere. A Shiva/Cass story can still be compelling and interesting as long as the writer is willing and able to Actually Write It.

So when literally the first panel of this new issue is Shiva addressing Cass and their relationship directly, I'm already perked up. Right from the get go, you can tell that Tate Brombal is absolutely here to tell a story about these two women and pretty much nothing else, and also that Tak Miyazawa and Mike Spicer are a killer art team. I adore how hard Tak's figures look without (usually) being stiff, thanks to some solid body language and expressions. And Spicer's colors have a cool kind of dark-but-vivid look. The last leg of the issue, with everything illuminated by fire, is especially cool.

Going back to the opening, it's curous how despite this being an issue #1, there's very little in the way of character introductions or set up. There's no slow burn here, no lengthy creeping intro like previous Shiva/Cass stories. And while I can't help but feel that it must be a little awkward for readers unfamiliar with them or their current situation, I think it also accurately reflects one of my favorite parts of the comic, which is Cass' being just absolutely fucking DONE with her mom.

After years of hyper dramatic standoffs and tearful moments of cheap heartbreak, it's fun to see a Cass who has no time for her mother, who's not interested in what she's got going on, and who's confident enough in herself to even be a little shit about it. It's fun and refreshing and fits Cass very nicely.

That not-quite-breakneck but still fast pace keeps up when the Unburied show up after just a few pages of setup and you know, in a couple of interviews, Brombal mentioned being influenced by Daredevil. And this is the page that made me go "Ah, yeah, that tracks." 'cause brother, those are some MILLER-ass ninjas.

Why Shiva fears these guys or thinks Cass can't handle them is not yet explained, but her desperation to keep Cass around does lead to a small but very meaning-heavy moment: the first punch in this series is not thrown into the face of the new enemies, but it's Cass decking her mom in the face and Shiva loving it.

It's an excellent touch and a perfect mission statement about the series. I love it as much as I love the ensuing fight, full of cool moves in big and small panels, but the most fun thing to me is how it's choreographed as Cass fighting her mom almost as much as she's fighting the Unburied. And on top of being a great fight, it ends with a small nod to QUESTION #1 or the 'Tec '88 Annual, in case I was somehow not sold enough already.

And while I still love Cass being so willing to call Shiva out on her lies, it does bring up one of the small gripes I have with this issue: I don't like it when Shiva lies constantly. I think she's best when she's strong and confident enough to not need to lie, when she just lays everything out on the table the way this comic is almost doing. It's good for Cass, as it keeps showing her as someone who has grown to understand her mother, who sees Shiva for who she is and what she does. And it does set up a slightly heartwarming scene at the end.

Of course, that's personal preferrence, and I'm not gonna say this is a bad comic because it doesn't follow my own idea of what works best for Shiva, especially since it's clear that Brombal is writing her with a lot of intention here. But that leads to the other big-ish issue I have with this issue: it's a bit hard to tell, from this story alone, how much of these moments are Brombal building his own personal version of Shiva and how much of it is Shiva, in-universe, acting out of character for the sake of some hidden scheme. After all, Cass points out that twice in the issue Shiva backs down, first from a moral fight and then from an actual fight.

So it's possible that even the constant lying is Shiva playing a role in favor of a grander scheme which will be revealed in later issues. Which, fair enough, I'm willing to see where it goes. But that second moment of yielding does lead to what's maybe my biggest problem with BATGIRL #1, and it's the Unburied themselves.

There's nothing in that initial fight with the Unburied that suggests Shiva and Cass would've had trouble dealing with them. Hell, there's very little to suggest even one of them would've had trouble with them. Now, I'm not suggesting that this issue should've started with the titular character and her mom getting their asses handed to them. But it feels like there's just not enough to these new enemies yet to justify the escape. Ninjas show up, Cass and Shiva beat them without getting hit once, more Ninjas show up and Shiva self-defenestrates herself.

Again, entirely possible that Shiva has something up her sleeve here, and issue #2 did promise to show us the main villain behind them, but as it stands it leaves me with this weird mix of not quite intrigue, not quite disappointment. It's just odd. They could've had, I dunno, a bomb set in the building or some other reason for Shiva to exit the venue like that.

Speaking of odd things, however, I did NOT expect to be reading a comic that brings up Shiva's cult from Puckett/Scott's BATGIRL #25. It's an "Order of Shiva" now though, with chapters and temples and stuff. Which is a bit of a change, since back in #25 they came off more like a gang of fanboys than an order of servants or anything like that. And after being summarily disposed by Shiva in that same issue, they were never really explored again.

So this is Brombal not just bringing back a bit of old lore, but also shifting it slightly, turning it into a more organized group... and then summarily disposing of them one panel later.

Also, I don't know what it is but I *LOVE* this panel. Shiva's face, her "wut" pose, the O.O, it's just... beautiful.

Anyway, once they're in the temple for the last bit of the issue, I start to see a bit more of what Brombal's doing. Like Gail Simone and Bryan Hill, Brombal seems to want to soften Shiva up a little, to make it clear that deep inside, she does have at least a bit of a heart, or enough of it to feel sadness at the wasteful death of people she may feel like she owes something to. Compare it to BIRDS OF PREY #62 for example:

This one is not quite as dramatic or vulnerable, but it's clear that Brombal wants to write Shiva with a slightly more human heart. Which, again, I'm not opposed to but I don't think it's the best thing you can do with her. I prefer Shiva being more detached in regards to death, like the most she'll do is see it as a waste but she's not gonna get emotional about it, she's going to be way more matter-of-fact. Death happens and such. But I think that kind of aloofness often gets interpreted as monstrous disdain for life by writers trying to make Shiva into a villain, and if I had to choose between what Brombal's doing and what, well, what Tom King's probably gonna be doing in a few weeks, I'll take this anytime.

Anyway, I also didn't expect to see the apprentice from BATGIRL #26, having apparently gotten a promotion somewhere in the last 20 years. Good for him! Less good for him is the shitload of arrows he eats two pages later but oh well.

The last couple of pages lead to a nice moment of sheer badassery for both Shiva and Cass and one last showcase of Miyazawa and Spicer's glorious team effort. Those two work really well together and I'm excited to see more of them in future issues. And while we're at it, I gotta give props to Miyazawa for being one of maybe two artists to draw a visibly older Lady Shiva.

His version isn't just aged but hardened by that age, looking stern and determined without having to rely on gritted teeth or angry looks. And on top of all that, he still finds more than enough moments to give her the kind of cocky smiles that bring out the more playful side of Shiva that some stories tend to either gloss over or turn into outright sadism.

Man... I just love to see that momma smile.

Other than that, there's a couple of minor quibbles I have with the issue. There's a funny moment where Cass pulls a Batman on her own mother (who charmingly acknowledges Bruce's influence) but it's undercut by Cass poofing back into existence on the next page. And there's also the weird, almost surreal emptiness of the city around them. Even after a building explodes, there's literally nobody on the streets other than Shiva and Cass.

On one hand, it speaks to the intentions of this run. This is VERY much a two-woman show so far, with no room for much else. But it's still glaring enough to be distracting.

However, it's that intentionality that ultimately wins me over. Even with all my personal little issues with Shiva's characterization, it's obvious from the start that this is a writer who is genuinely trying to write her as a character, who is ready to engage with her and with her relation with Cass on a deeper level than just hero and villain, or good daughter and evil mom.

Brombal, Miyazawa & Spicer have put some meat on the grill, and although I don't think the biggest pieces are there yet... I'm ready to let them cook.

[tiny-starlight-creature]

answering these to introduce myself in this blog!

1. how did you first find out about agere in general?

I've known of the community for about... two years? I dont remember exactly how I found it, but probably someone mentioned it to me on discord.

2. how did u first find out that you were a regressor?

less than a year ago now! I started out as an age dreamer but started experiencing involuntary regressions.

3. what nicknames or pet names do you like to be called when you’re little?

anything related to space or stars! also stuff like Bubba, Little one, Baby, Tiny, Kiddo are good too. I also like nonhuman pet names like Kit, Cub or Chick.

4. does your music taste change when you’re regressed? if so, how?

I tend to prefer instrumental music when I'm little. I don't like to heard the lyrics like when I'm big, so I just have a playlist with the instrumental versions of the music I like.

6. do you usually regress voluntarily or involuntarily (or a mix of both)?

a mix of both, but its still more voluntary than anything.

7. what most often makes you regress?

being tired or sleepy, being cozy in bed with a warm drink or watching my favourite movies. feeling safe in general, I can't regress if I feel exposed or unsafe.

8. if you don’t have a cg, would you want one? if you do have a cg, how’d you meet them?

don't want caregivers, I'm a big kid! I can take care of myself just fine (I have fictional caregivers tho! they rotate depending on my current interests, now it's mainly The Doctor from Doctor Who but there are others)

9. if you have other marginalised identities (lgbtq+, neurodivergent, poc, etc), how do they figure into your regression? (intersectionality is so cool)

I'm aroace and autistic (probably)! being autistic is a HUGE part of my regression, as I let myself unmask when I'm little and I let out my emotions more than I usually do. I'm also nonhuman, and that impacts my regression too.

10. are you open about your age regression irl? how about online outside of tumblr?

nooo. too scary.

11. what physical places do you associate with your regression? (school, parks, shops, people’s houses, etc)

my room only. I don't feel safe anywhere else.

12. what’s something typically associated with agere (pacis, babbling, bluey, etc) that you don’t do?

I don't like pacis, and I don't do the baby talk that other regressors seem to like (it's too difficult to read for me). also, I don't like the kidcore aesthetic.

13. how does your current regressed personality differ from your personality when you were physically that age?

not much to be honest. I'm more low-energy and much more quiet than when I was a kid, but that's because I'm an adult now and my personality has changed a lot. but otherwise, I act a lot like how I did back then.

14. do you use different pronouns or preferred names when you’re regressed? if so, what are they?

yes yes! I looove space-themed names, they're so fun! my favourite is Starlight, but I have A LOT of them. my pronouns are the same tho.

15. what platforms do you usually go to for agere content? (tumblr, pinterest, instagram, etc)

tumblr! I don't have any other social media.

16. what’s a niche or unpopular interest you associate with your regression?

SPACE. I think that's obvious :D even tho its not really niche. ummm... I like bugs!

17. what’s ur favorite color + something you love that’s that color?

blue! my favourite blanket (a very soft cloak thingy that I wear around the house) is blue. I also like purple! and yellow!

18. which (if any) fictional characters do you think would be littles?

Spiderman has Big Little Energy!! all of the turtles from ROTTMNT too (specially Raph and Donnie). oh and Jonathan Sims from TMA. and Crowley from Good Omens! they are silly little guys.

19. which (if any) fictional characters do you think would be caregivers?

The Doctor from Doctor Who! (hes my cg :D) also Batman. and some Pokémon (not all of them tho). and Aziraphale from GO. and Steve and Alex from Minecraft :D

20. what’s something you wish you knew about agere when you first found out about it?

that its not as dramatic as some stories paint it to be. it can be intense sometimes, sure, but you can just. do little activities while not regressed. its allowed. you can do whatever you want forever!!

hi friends !! i finally finished making this :D i tried to come up with inclusive agere questions that rly make u think and aren’t specific to any brands, countries, media, etc. hopefully i did a good job at that ^^

feel free to use or repost this image as long as the credit stays in tact !!

. :+* made with a free canva template by So Swell Edu

. :+* plain text version under the cut !!

20 AGERE QUESTIONS

1. how did you first find out about agere in general?

2. how did u first find out that you were a regressor?

3. what nicknames or pet names do you like to be called when you’re little?

4. does your music taste change when you’re regressed? if so, how?

5. which fictional characters do you most relate to (or kin) when you’re little? do you still relate to them when you’re not regressed?

6. do you usually regress voluntarily or involuntarily (or a mix of both)?

7. what most often makes you regress?

8. if you don’t have a cg, would you want one? if you do have a cg, how’d you meet them?

9. if you have other marginalised identities (lgbtq+, neurodivergent, poc, etc), how do they figure into your regression? (intersectionality is so cool)

10. are you open about your age regression irl? how about online outside of tumblr?

11. what physical places do you associate with your regression? (school, parks, shops, people’s houses, etc)

12. what’s something typically associated with agere (pacis, babbling, bluey, etc) that you don’t do?

13. how does your current regressed personality differ from your personality when you were physically that age?

14. do you use different pronouns or preferred names when you’re regressed? if so, what are they?

15. what platforms do you usually go to for agere content? (tumblr, pinterest, instagram, etc)

16. what’s a niche or unpopular interest you associate with your regression?

17. what’s ur favorite color + something you love that’s that color?

18. which (if any) fictional characters do you think would be littles?

19. which (if any) fictional characters do you think would be caregivers?

20. what’s something you wish you knew about agere when you first found out about it?

by @tiny-tk on tumblr

tumblr tag: #20 agere questions

[justin-chapmanswers]

how did ii come to be? like did you guys have the idea of mephone creating everything from the beginning or did it come to be after a few episodes? i find the concept of inanimate insanity so interesting and i'd love to learn more! :D

Glad it interests you! I pitched the concept of MePhone creating the lives of the contestants back in liiiiike- early 2015 I think? And once that concept was put into our heads, we knew it was a keeper. Just needed to figure out how it could play out. Fortunately we always knew we wanted to do fun, weird things with exploring MePhone's generation abilities, so we set up things for the twist in small ways before that point without intending to. And we knew that so much of season two was exploring the feelings that come from the show, and dissecting the "reality" part of reality shows- and so the twist fit very neatly into the theming of what's real and what isn't. And it spawned a whole bunch of concepts that are still yet to make air!

While it's certainly odd that season three takes place when it does, among many other behind-the-scenes reasons to make it, it also did allow us to get one more season with these contestants while still staying true to our vision of how season two plays out. Season two, as you've seen, ends in a way that makes it impossible for season three to exist the way it does. That excited us. As well as the possibility of getting in a few more hints and setups for the season two finale, as a lil' bonus.

And even more to say on this after the finale has concluded!

[captainofthetidesbreath]

I will say, at the end of the day, I am very fond of Illario Dellamorte, despite it all. Yes, he managed to make every single POSSIBLE bad decision one can make, then figured out how to make a few more that nobody else would've thought possible. Yes, he was increasingly sloppy and incredibly stupid about it all. Yes, a lot of his frustration and rage is incredibly misdirected. Yes, I said before the game came out that I support him having a villain era, and I still do because it's fun and I love mess and drama—as much as he stresses me out and makes me want to strangle him because Jesus Fucking Christ.

Still, I think I like the idea of forgiving him. For me, there's something interesting in how he doesn't kill Caterina, in how he didn't ask for what happened to Lucanis and seems genuinely angry—wrong as he is to direct it at Lucanis—that the control that Lucanis so highly prized was taken from him rather than dying at his best, in how he can engineer Lucanis's death but experience a grief that still feels harrowingly genuine at the wake, in how he clearly is grasping at any possible advantage and is carelessly choosing his allies not because he believes in their goals or ideals but because he's desperately power-hungry and ambitious and no more. In how, if he is forgiven, Lucanis is impressed he almost got away with it, in how Illario goes to help the Crows in Minrathous in that last gambit.

He's a mess, and he's selfish and ambitious and vicious and contradictory. But, I have a soft spot for characters like him and relationships like his and Lucanis's, y'know? Forgiving him and forcing him to work out his life after he's burned nearly every bridge he has is just really interesting to me, especially given how Lucanis is still full of hope and affection for him alongside the hurt. How do you rebuild after all that, you don't even have the devil-may-care breezy mask anymore because everyone knows better now. Figure out where he fits now in his cousin's life, because I do think—at the end of the day—the affection and relief is still there from both sides, under it all. Deeply buried possibly, for Illario, but there.

I think there's enough pieces here to suggest that he and Lucanis have a chance to actually figure it out, and to suggest that Illario might actually get his shit together and be willing to given opportunity, time, and patience. It's also a messy choice (and a huge risk), but I do personally like the idea of forgiving him. I like the messy, insane, dramatic narrative of it. He has potential, as Lucanis himself notes. I would love to see if he can rise to it, now that he's gotten all of this out of his system.

Or, at least forgive him because there's something funny about that and I want to see what else he does if given the chance. It'll probably also be a mess, but I'd love to see what messes he gets up to when he's not plotting against the person closest to him in the world. It'll be fun! But, sincerely, I do think he can get his shit together, and I hope and believe he wants to. It's the more interesting and fun story to me, for both him and Lucanis, personally speaking.

[cakepoppresent]

I'm a Grown Ass Woman

Malcolm is veryyyyyyyyyy demanding. It's very much his way or no way

Transcript under the cut!~

[Luna]: Should we go back home for Winterfest? It's been a while

[Malcolm]: Go back and do what? Spend the rest of the year with Dad? Don’t be dumb

[Luna]: It was just a suggestion you fucking bitch.

[Malcolm]: We haven’t been back in years why go back now?

[Benji]: That sounds like fun. We can all go back. My dad has been bothering me to meet up with him anyways

[Luna]: Stop being such a fucking downer. We don’t even have to go back home...we can stay in town or something. Rent a house I don’t know but lets just go back

[Malcolm]: Why the hell are you so interested. What’s back home for us anyways

[Luna]: Benji, sweetie can you get some beers for Malcolm and some wine for me please?

[Benji]...okay. Malcolm...behave yourself

[Malcolm]: Shut the hell up! Luna. What’s the issue?

[Luna]: Malcolm. I’m going to say something and I need you to not react. Let me finish speaking

[Malcolm]: The way you’re starting this conversation is already pissing me off.

[Luna]: I didn’t even say anything!

[Malcolm]: I swear to god Luna this better not be about Andre. I swear to fucking god

[Malcolm]: We can dead this conversation right now. Forget all about Andre and going back home and not piss me off

[Luna]: Too bad.

[Malcolm]: Luna what the fuck

[Luna]: Listen, Malcolm. I love you and that won’t ever change but I also miss Andre. I worry about him, he’s not doing okay...how can I just ignore him

[Malcolm]: Easy. Just forget that he exists, follow his example and never bring him up again

[Luna] I don’t think I can do that Malcolm.

[Malcolm]: Omg Luna why are you acting so dumb? Andre never cared about us just leave him alone!!

[Luna]: Watch how you fucking speak to me. This isn’t me asking you for permission, this is me telling you I’m going to reach out to Andre and figure out what happened.

[Malcolm]: Jesus Luna. Why can’t you just drop it. Who cares about Andre?!

[Luna]: You aren’t fucking listening! I care about Andre! I do! Im worried Malcolm what if something went wrong. What if Dad made him leave!

[Malcolm]: That’s even MORE of a reason to leave him alone! Dad is scary! You’re being so fucking stupid!

[Luna]: You know what? I'm leaving, I don’t have to sit here and let your bum ass talk to me like this.

[Malcolm]: Fine! Then leave!! Since you don’t wanna listen to my fucking advice

[Luna]: I'm a grown-ass woman and don’t need my brother telling me what I can and can’t do. I’m going to see Andre and you can mop all you want about it

[Malcolm]: Is that fucking right? Weren’t you the one who said it would always just be us? You already breaking promises by reaching out to Andre. You’re a liar!

[Benji]: Please let’s just calm down so we can figure something out. Malcolm you know that's not true

[Malcolm]: It IS true! Look she wants to leave right now! So let her leave!

[Luna]: I’m saying it again since you aren’t fucking listening. I love you and would never put Andre above you, but he’s suffering out there and we don’t know why and I can’t just leave him. He’s my brother too...

[Malcolm]: I don’t wanna hear it!

[Luna]: Fine. I said my peace. Call me when you stop acting like a damn child

[Malcolm]: Whatever! Don’t call me when this all blows up in your damn face!

[Luna]: Whatever you big ass baby.

[Benji]: Lun-

*Door open and slams shut*

[Benji]:...fuck..

[drabbles-mc]

Just Like Old Times

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & F!Reader

Written for @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Inception: fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn't have one & "He made me who I am" & improvement

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: the way that the last week or so has gone really just zapped all the motivation and creativity out of me, so getting this written really fought me every step of the way lmao. but i will say, that thinking about Jake Seresin in high school was fun. giving him a brother was also fun. going three for three on these prompts was challenging and rewarding and fun. and now i want to revisit these two at some point because idk i have issues lmao

You knew from the second that you’d walked into The Hard Deck that night that he didn’t remember you. Part of you didn’t really blame him, high school being such a distant memory for all of you now. Not just in years, but in all the experiences you’d packed into those years as well. From one standpoint you understood it…sort of.

From another standpoint you couldn’t believe that he could look you in the face and not say a word, not have even the tiniest flicker of recognition. He had looked right at you, and moved right on along to the next person. No matter how much things changed, they always stayed the fucking same.

It wasn’t until everyone was sitting out on the beach after the football game that the two of you even had a real conversation. Up until that point everyone had been running circles around each other, and you had much bigger things to worry about than Jake Seresin’s recollections of you, or lack thereof.

You were mid-conversation with Bob and Natasha when you noticed that neither of them were really looking at you anymore. You searched their faces, trying to figure out what it was that they were looking at.

Natasha leaned back, palms sinking into the sand as she said, “Bagman, six o’clock and incoming.”

You rolled your eyes, still not turning around to look at him. “Man knows how to ruin a good day.”

You didn’t have to look back to know how close he was, the tilts of Bob’s and Natasha’s head spelling out that information for you. His footfalls were nearly silent on the sand. Without realizing it, the closer he got, the deeper you pushed your fingertips into the sand like you were searching for something to grip onto.

Suddenly you were cast in Hangman’s shadow as he stood directly behind you. You shut your eyes for a moment, the longest blink ever as you tried hard to bite your tongue.

“Ladies,” he said, and you didn’t have to be looking at him to know exactly what his face looked like. “Bobby.”

Natasha was squinting against the sun but she still pulled a bit of a face. “It’s a good day, Hangman,” she said with just enough warning in her tone. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He chuckled, and you could see from the movement of his shadow that he was holding his hands out. “Every day at Top Gun is a good day, Phoenix. Thought you would’ve known that already.”

You were hoping that it was just going to be a quick thing, an in-passing comment that he made because he simply couldn’t bring himself to walk by your little trio without saying anything. But of course it wasn’t. Somehow the shift went from Natasha making extremely thinly veiled comments to the effect that Jake should hit the goddamn bricks, to him plopping down on the ground right there with you. He wedged himself right there between you and Bob like he had been there the whole time.

It didn’t take very long after that for Natasha to find a reason to leave. And wherever Natasha went, Bob was only ever a few steps behind. That left it with just you and Jake and the ocean that was slowly beginning to calm in front of you. It was a scene that could’ve been a peaceful one if the man sitting next to you had any interest in that.

Legs bent and pulled up towards you, you draped your arms across your knees. You were staring out at the receding waves as you asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Seresin?”

You could feel him staring at you and you made a point to not return the gesture. “Where’d you say you were from?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t. Also don’t think you’ve actually asked me a question directly the entire time we’ve been here.” You cast him a glance. “Too busy giving Rooster a hard time.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly at you like he was studying you, but there was still a smirk on his face. The more time you spent around him, the more you wondered if that was just what his face defaulted to these days. He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Wasn’t until I heard Phoenix call you by your last name earlier that I realized—”

“Wow,” you barked out with a laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You’ve been running drills and sitting in class with me for how long and it took until today for you to recognize me? No sense of déjà vu sitting two rows over from me and picking on other kids in class? Nothin’ jogged your memory even a little?”

He leaned back, brows meeting for a moment. “When did you—”

“The first night we all got here!” you said, gesturing emphatically at nothing.

The smirk instantly returned to his face. “I’m that memorable, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Fuck off.”

“What? C’mon, you can’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“No?” he asked, chuckling like he knew better than to believe you. A lot of confidence in your character for someone who only remembered who you were within the last two hours.

“No. Being mad would suggest that I’m somehow surprised that you’re still the way that you are. And I’m definitely…not.” You sighed. “You’re still Jake Seresin. Only difference now is—”

“My rank? The number of confirmed kills I have?” he tried to fill in the blanks, cocky as he’d ever been.

You looked at him. “Only difference is now you’re old enough to know better.” You saw the way he rolled his eyes at you and couldn’t help but to say, “I don't get you, Jake.”

The look on his face let you know that it had been a long time since someone referred to him by just his first name, not his last or his callsign. There was something intimate about it in a way. You wouldn't have given it any thought if he hadn't flinched at it.

He recovered as quickly as he could, that air of nonchalance reappearing around him. “I'm no Mystery Man.” He held his hands out in a brief gesture, like an invitation to scan him over. “What you see is what you get.”

It wasn't untrue. Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who lived a double life. Who he was around you was exactly who he was around everyone else. Maybe when it was just him, when there was no one else in the room looking to him or expecting anything from him, he was a different person. Not that it mattered—the world was never going to know. Reaching as far back as you could in your brain for memories of him, he'd always been some version of the man sitting in the sand next to you. He was just looking a little more refined these days.

You had just been hoping, when you'd seen him again, that maybe he would've changed by now. Nothing would be different if he wasn't different, but it would've been nice if it could be. The longer you looked at him, the more you tried to un-blur all of the memories that you hadn't bothered to tap into in a long time.

“How's your brother these days?” you asked, diverting course just slightly.

The question was immediately met with an eye-roll. “Fine.”

You had to let out a quiet laugh at that. “Yeah? That good, huh?”

He shrugged. “You want the play-by-play or something?” He shook his head, looking out at the ocean instead of at you. “He's fine.”

“You two not get along anymore or something? I thought you were both—”

“I see him on holidays. We text on birthdays. He is off doing…whatever he does.”

You hadn't expected the tension. From what you remembered, the two of them had gotten along well enough. His brother was a few years ahead of both of you, in his senior year of high school when the two of you were freshman. But he'd always been nice, nicer than Jake had been anyway. But they ran in a lot of the same circles, played a lot of the same sports, and they seemed to have a relatively good time doing it. Judging by the way that Jake was avoiding looking in your direction, you were now wondering if you were misremembering it all.

“We're grown-ups now, you know,” you offered up finally. “If you don't want to talk about him you can just say that.”

He flipped it right back on you. “We're grown-ups now, I can answer questions about Tommy if you have them.”

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “I can see that. The answers you've given so far have been so thorough and paint such a clear picture.” It got him to laugh even though you could tell that he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. After a moment you cleared your throat. “You guys just seemed to get along back then, is all.”

Now he was looking at you again. “Yeah, Tommy got along with everyone back then—still does.”

You hummed in amusement. “Guess that trait isn't a genetic one, then.”

He cracked a small grin as he swatted sand at you. “Funny.” There was a pause, and you were waiting for him to pick something else to talk about, or for him to just get up and leave. Instead, he gave himself a moment and then said, “Tommy graduated with a full ride, but even when he was gone somehow I was still…” he trailed off. “Navy was the first place I wasn't a legacy kid. No footsteps to follow. Just me.”

“Hmm,” you nodded, not sure what you really wanted to say in response to that.

He caught your uncertainty. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…you wanna say that your brother, your family, your whoever was why you were like that back then. Fine, I get that, kind of. But then why,” you curled your fingers into the sand, “are you still up to all the same shit?”

“I'm not—”

“You are.” The laugh you let out was dry. “I'm one of the only people here that you can't lie to about that. I knew you back then, and I know you now, and from what I've seen? Not much has changed.”

The pinch of his brows let you know that what you were saying was getting to him, whether he admitted to it or not. He tried to hide it, and was semi-successful at it—it probably would've fooled someone else. “If it ain't broke—”

You didn't let him get to the end of the sentence. “There's always room for improvement.”

You were used to laughing at your own little one-liners, but Jake laughing at them too was new, especially when they were at his expense. Whatever the two of you were doing in that moment, it was the closest to being friends that you'd ever been. It was still a stretch but it was something.

“I don't know, you stack my resumé up against anyone else's here and I'd say I'm about as improved as it gets.”

“I think the one thing that could definitely still do with some improving is your humility,” you rebutted with a laugh. You geared up to hear some comment about how there was no need to be humble if he could back up everything that he was saying. When he didn’t, you said, “And, if you feel like taking suggestions—”

“You got another one for me?” he joked.

You laughed. “Yeah, of course.” You cleared your throat. “You said it yourself that this is the one place where none of that other stuff matters, like it never happened. So maybe, when you get a chance, you should get around to dropping all the bitterness that goes along with the brotherhood rivalry.” You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Cocky doesn't pair well with the sad, ‘He made me who I am,’ shtick.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he laughed. “You're meaner than I remember.”

“Yeah, that's because you don't remember me,” you said, the lift at the ends of your lips taking the sting out of your words.

The look of surprise didn’t fade from his face, neither did the amusement. “Damn.”

You still had a smile on your face as you stood back up. Brushing the sand off the backs of your legs, you looked at him. It was a strange feeling, caught between remembering how things were back then and knowing how they were now. A lot of things hadn't changed, clearly, but the circumstances certainly had. You wanted more of it to be different, but there was no saying it so plainly.

“You heading back?” you asked, standing completely upright.

He looked up at you from where he was sitting. Shaking his head, he replied, “Not yet.”

You cocked your head to the side, folding your arms over your chest. “Going to sit out here with your thoughts?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Well, you did give me a lot to think about.”

“Don't think too hard,” you joked as you started to walk away, “otherwise smoke’ll start coming out of your ears.”

“Your concern is touching!” he called after you, laughing as he spoke.

Turning around to face him, you continued walking away. “Guess I'm just too sentimental for my own good!” you replied, throwing your hands up in apparent exasperation with yourself.

You could still see the grin on his face as you turned back around. Even with your back to him, you still found yourself smiling too. You knew better than to get your hopes up for much, but there was still part of you that was thinking that maybe there was still a chance for things to start changing before all was said and done.

There was still the very large possibility that things would continue to be the same as they ever were. You knew that. But, the same way you'd been wanting things to be different the first night you turned up at The Hard Deck, you still wanted things to be different now. It felt a little more attainable now than it had then. And, if nothing else, at least you knew that this time everything was going to be a bit more memorable.

(divider by @inklore 🩶)

TGM Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @cositapreciosa @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Four)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Summary: More sessions pass and while you learn more about the Joker, the pull you feel towards him grows stronger. Yet this time, it feels like everything is starting to change...

Previous part: Part 3

Notes: We back, and things are really picking up this time. Hope this distracts everyone who might be going through a tough time right now. <3 Things really pick up in this one, and I'm already excited to drop the next part lol. Have fun with this one!

With every session your infatuation for the Joker only grows.

At first, you tell yourself it comes from your want (well, need) for him to progress, both for the sake of actually seeing him healed and for the sake of your survival. Then eventually, you think it comes from the fact that his mind truly is incomprehensible, and you want to know what’s going on inside of it, want to crack open his skull and see every gear. But now, you’re not even sure what it is exactly that keeps you feeling empty anytime you’re not in a session with the Joker. You don’t know what you’re chasing anymore. Everything is just one big mind fuck.

Slowly, the Joker becomes more and more human to you. Where others still see some kind of raving, homicidal madman, you see a person. 

As your sessions carry on, you tell him more things about you, and you learn more things about him. He likes junk food. He is skilled with almost every gun known to man. He owns over thirty blades. His sleep schedule is so all over the place that he doesn’t even know what day it is ever. He prefers nights over mornings. He drinks his coffee with lots of creamer. Every fact you’ve tucked away in your mind and you’re not sure for what.

You like it when he tells you something personal about himself, but he likes when you do it even more. “I was a gymnast for a long time,” you told him once, much to his surprise. Even you hadn’t expected to get into that part of your life. “I had to stop once I started going to school, just got too busy, but I was real good at it.”

“Gymnastics, huh?” He said, grinning, and you figured he must be imagining you, usually so rigid, flying through the air. It sounded like a joke. You were surprised he wasn’t laughing. “So, you’re pretty, ah, light on your feet?”

You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the memories. It had felt so nice to throw yourself into all that hard work. When you were flipping in the air, you felt free. “Guess you could say that. Certainly hasn’t come in handy though, in my line of work.”

“It may come in handy with mine. You’d probably make a good fighter, Doctor l/n.”

The thought of you fighting anyone made you laugh out loud. Have you thought about fighting people before? Of course. All your life people have hurt you and you wanted to hurt them back. But in the end, you had decided that wouldn’t do any good. Now, however, as you kept imagining it, the Joker appeared at your side, and you were winning this fight, him laughing maniacally beside you. It sent a sort of thrill through you. You didn’t like it. “Luckily, I’m not in your line of work.”

He had winked. “You can always change your mind.”

Alongside learning bits of things about him, he also taught you a few new skills, probably antsy to test them out considering he’s strapped to a bed most of the time. He (as best as he could still cuffed to a table) tried to teach you to pick a lock, how to get a perfect shot with a gun, how to rig up TNT. It was nothing you needed to know, nor anything you thought he should be thinking about, but you went along anyway because it was best he knew you were there to support his interests. As dark as they were…. You’d work on that. 

After your last session, you decided to bring something up to Mr. Dale.

“Doctor y/n, your progress has been very minimal,” he had commented as you walked up to him, before you could even open your mouth.

You frowned. “It’s the Joker, sir. It’s not going to move very fast-“

“Well, I am tired of waiting. The longer he sits in that cell I fear the worse he’ll get, and then what? He snaps and tries to kill us all?” He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. You wanted to smack him. “Is there any way you could hurry up the process?”

Don’t rush me, was what you wanted to scream, but that wasn’t going to get you anywhere but kicked to the curb. “I do think I have an idea,” you said, trying to direct him to why you came up to him in the first place. “You need to let me bring in his makeup.”

Mr. Dale’s eyebrows shot up. And, of course, he began to laugh. If it weren’t for growing used to the Joker doing it so often, it would really piss you off. “You want to turn him back into a clown? Miss l/n, I fear that would only encourage him.”

“First off, it’s Doctor l/n,” you point out sternly. You’ve had enough of him treating you like less. If there’s another thing the Joker has taught you, it’s to not take shit from others. “And second, I want him to embrace himself. If he can be this clown persona he sees him as, we can take this persona and shape it so that it’s less… violent. Then, the makeup will no longer be something he associates with villainy. Please, Mr. Dale, I know what I’m talking about.”

You smiled wide as Mr. Dale’s face fell, absolutely shattered by your words. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Alright, Doctor l/n, I will allow it however if it ends badly-“

“It wont.” 

“You’re getting too comfortable. It’s his fault, I’m sure. I was right, he breaks people.”

You wish you could grab him by the collar and pull him close, but instead you settle on a deadly glare, looking him right in the eye. “I’m not broken. J isn’t broken.”

“Well, you’ve changed.”

You scoffed and turned away. “See you later, Mr. Dale.”

You have changed. You’re not sure if it’s for the better or not.

—————————

For your session, you walk in with a gentle smile, the tubes of makeup in your bag clinking together. You’re going to keep it a surprise, for later in the season. You’re not really sure why you feel giddy, but you do. It sort of outweighs your exhaustion, you’d run to the store late that night to pick up the same paints the Joker was said to have used. And when the guards finally let you in through the door, your smile grows even wider at the sight of the Joker, who is already smiling back at you. Not just because of the scars, it’s an actual smile. At first, his smiles had been menacing, but now you feel they’re actually kind of… nice. “Well, hello, doll face. So lovely to see you again.”

“Hiya, Mr. J,” you respond, taking your seat. “How are you doing today?”

“You know me, Doctor l/n, your presence puts me in a much better mood.” He props his chin up on his fist. “You look beautiful today.”

The past few sessions, Joker has certainly grown more flirty. It’s not something you’re a stranger to, the other patients have tried their hand at it, usually to try and get on your good side, but it’s different coming from Joker. You know he likes to rile you up, but you can’t help but feel the words are mostly genuine. “I look like this everyday,” you point out, not wanting to show him how his words affect you. 

“And you are, ah, beautiful everyday, doll.”

“Mr. J, refrain from flattery, please.”

He bows his head, pretending to be upset like a kicked puppy. “Oh, you’re no fun sometimes, Dr. l/n. You know I like to tease ya.”

“Some of the guards told me you’re allowed to roam around your cell now,” you say, trying to switch the subject before he can completely throw you off course. He’s good at that. “How are you liking that?”

“Hmmmm, well, I, ah, went from being stuck permanently standing in a small cell and now I can walk around the cell. Once you’ve walked it once you’ve, ah, seen it all.” He looks to one side of the room. “A wall there.” His head swerves to the other. “Oh, and one there too! What a surprise!” He chuckles to himself. Nothing makes Joker laugh more than his own nonsense. 

“So, not much better?”

Joker shakes his head. “Nah ah ah, not one bit. Can barely even make a ruckus too, the doors conceal all my banging and kicking and laughing. The guards can’t even get annoyed with me.”

You bite your cheek. “You really like being a nuisance, huh?”

“I do like to make people tick.” He wets his lips. “Especially pretty psychiatrists with sharp minds.”

Already, you can feel your cheeks warming. Embarrassment, that’s all it is. You, once again, try and take the conversation back to what you actually need to be in there for. “How about we get started, huh?”

Joker nods, smacking his lips together. Despite how much he licks them, they’re always chapped, the skin cracking. “What am I in for today? I feel we’ve talked about everything we possibly can.”

“And yet you’re no closer to getting out of here, are you?” You smirk at him as you bring out your clipboard. “I feel like I’ve been keeping it too light these past few sessions. I’ve learned a lot about you but you still won’t let me reach past the barrier.”

“What barrier?”

“The barrier between you and whoever you were before you became the Joker.”

His lips twist into a frown. Again, his past touches a nerve. “Dolly,” he warns, “I’ve told you, whatever came before doesn’t matter. I’ve always been the Joker. You won’t find anything past that.”

Once again, Joker is being a stubborn ass. As much as you enjoy talking with him, he also drives you nuts. “You’re saying your life started once Batman came to the scene?”

“He gave me purpose. What’s a joke without the punchline? Batman is the punchline.” 

“You were a child once, Joker.”

“Like most people, yes.”

“And how was your childhood?”

He ignores your question, grumbling as he stares at his cuffed wrists, rotating them as you sit there expectantly. You realize he’s not going to answer you and groan. So, he doesn’t want to dive into the past. You’re not going to force him. Prying was never the best way to go about things. You’d leave it alone again… for now. “Okay, sorry, Mr. J, we can move on. Is there anything that you’d like to talk about?”

Joker raises an eyebrow, not confused but suspicious. “You’re just gonna turn it into some kind of analysis moment, aren’t you?”

He knows me too well. “Well, that is my job. But no. Just, talk to me.” You hold your hands together, resting your chin on them. “About anything.”

“Hmmmm.” He looks like he’s having trouble thinking of something. “I’ve been thinking about Batman.”

“B-Man.” Of course. “What have you been thinking about him?”

“Those last moments I saw him, his expression. He looked so shattered.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, and you’re sure your face betrays this but he goes on anyway. “Oh, I’d live for a moment like that again. Seeing Batman react to my schemes, it’s so pleasing.”

“Do you consider your vendetta against Batman more for yourself or on behalf of the people of Gotham?”

He points at you. “There’s the analysis question. You can calm down there, Doc.” Joker coughs. “Behalf makes me sound like mister tall, dark, and dorky,” he snorts. “I’m trying to pull back everyone’s mask, but especially the Bat’s. I mean I, ah, already broke down Harvey Dent.”

That makes you go still. You hadn’t thought much on Harvey Dent, or how what Joker did may have affected him. You’re not sure if broken is the right word. Maybe scarred. Figures.  “The explosion. Right.”

“Poor, poor Harvey Dent. Gotham’s White Knight broke right in half. All because of me!”

You frown. “Harvey Dent died a noble man, Joker. Batman killed him all because Harvey was trying to do good.”

Joker’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harvey Dent is dead? And Batsy killed him?”

Oh, fuck. You clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head. You weren’t supposed to say anything. It was an accident, you hadn’t meant to let it slip. “I… no, I mean, yes but-“ you stumble to try and cover it up but there’s no going back. Joker knows. And, honestly, who cares? He was going to figure it all out eventually. You take a deep breath. “Yes. Harvey Dent is dead. Batman killed him and five other people. And then Batman… he disappeared.”

Joker shoots up from his chair, and it takes you aback, causing you to squeal. You instinctively push your back into the chair while Joker looms over you. You’re not sure what he’s feeling, his mouth a thin line, his nostrils fuming. “Doll, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he hisses.

“I… my bosses didn’t want me to. They were scared of what you’d do. That this would inspire you…”

You wait for him to yell, to react violently, but instead he laughs. This time though, it isn’t a creepy giggle or a small chuckle, it’s a full body laugh, the kind that contorts his body. It sounds like it hurts. “Batsy killing people?” he chokes out. “I don’t believe it. No, I don’t believe it-tah one bit.” He clutches his stomach. “Batman is a very hard person to break, believe me.”

“You… you don’t think he killed all those people?”

“Ha! Absolutely not. He would’ve killed me too, he had me in the perfect place to do it, multiple times. No no no, something’s wrong about this…”

Slowly, you loosen your posture, moving back closer to the table. You’ve never even thought that any of that mess could have been something made up. “I’m confused,” you admit. 

“Doll, do you know how hard I tried to get Batman to kill me? He won’t do it! He just won’t. He’s got his, ah, one rule, his precious little moral code. He had me in the perfect position to kill me so many times yet he didn’t take any of those chances. Yet now he says he’s killed off five people including Gotham’s little savior? Puh-lease. There’s more to this story than they’re letting up.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way at all. Well, probably because you had no reason to. Joker knew more about Batman than any Gothamite did. You didn’t know much about him other than his attempts at stopping crime. Who were you to know Batman supposedly didn’t kill? You admit, it was strange that he had a streak of getting rid of criminals in ways that didn’t involve killing, then suddenly turned and killed a few people? “Are you sure you didn’t… break him?”

“No, if I did I’d know it. I’d feel it. The Bat is about as stubborn as me, doll. And now he’s in hiding?” He sniggers, a hand gently touching his lips. “Sounds like some kind of, ah, twisted joke. The Bat is hiding something.”

“I’m sure he’s hiding lots of things.”

“Whatever this is though I’m curious about it.”

Of course. You just ignited a flame in him. Idiot. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing they got nine lives.” 

The more you think about it, the more intrigued you are. Batman has always been shrouded in mystery for you. Was he good? Was he bad? And now it turns out his story is all over the place, that it doesn’t make sense? You kind of wanted to know now too. “Do you think it has to do with Harvey?”

“Only one way to, ah, find out.”

“Which is?”

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Drive the Bat out of hiding, of course.”

There it is. Mr. Dale was right. You shouldn’t have told him. He was going to find out eventually but now was not the time. Shit. “J, you can’t-“

He cuts you off. “You don’t like the Bat, do you?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Then don’t you wanna know what his little secret is? It must be somethin’ real special if he’s, ah, abandoned Gotham. Doesn’t sound very heroic to me. Sounds rather dull.” 

You know Joker’s dead set on getting back Batman for his own amusement, but what of you? What reason would you want to go find him for other than to expose him? He locked up Joker and left him here to rot. He killed five people plus Harvey Dent. He gets to hide away while people still root for him, safe from consequences. Everyone else suffers. Maybe Joker has a point. “I’m just a psychiatrist working Arkham asylum, Mr. J, trying to seek out the Batman is far above my pay grade,” you finally say, snorting, trying to get the idea out of your head. “B-Man can’t hide forever.”

“You’re right. Because we’ll drive him out.”

“We?”

“Well, you like to do good, don’t you? Little miss Mother Teresa, over here. You’ve already offered me friendship. So come on, help me, help Gotham, help us all!” He shows you his yellowing teeth. “Or, are you not as good as you think you are?” He reaches out with his hands suddenly, moving towards you. They only reach about halfway across the table, stopped by his cuffs, but you still jump. “What’s behind that mask, dear? Tell me what you really want. Let. It. Slip. Every dirty detail.” 

You’re trembling now. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I… I’m not sure I’m following.”

“You’re not as good as you think you are, dolly. I can see it! I, ah, can sense the darkness looking beneath your white coat.”

What the hell was Joker going on about? That you were as rotten as he was? You weren’t. You had dark thoughts sometimes, yes, but you weren’t crazy. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You weren’t bad you- “I don’t know what you want from me,” you whisper.

As your voice gets quieter, Joker gets louder. “Is that it? You feel all fine and dandy in this shitty life of yours, locked up with me in this madhouse? The people out there don’t care about you, they don’t care about any of us. But you’re fine with it, huh? Like a little pet pooch nipping at their heels. You’re just being optimistic!”

“Joker-“

“Tell me,” he demands, “what you really want! I want to break Batman! I want to strip all of Gotham down to its rotting core! And you want to keep yourself beneath their boots? Dolly, please, you’re much much more than that.”

Heart thumping, you can’t take his words anymore. You stand up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table. “Fine! You wanna know what I want? I want to hurt every single person around here who has done me wrong! Every single person who ignored me or disregarded me, everyday I wish I could just rip them apart. I- I hate everyone. I hate this stupid fucking place because everyone treats me like shit and at first I was only trying so hard at this because I can harldy survive and they told me that if your sanity improved then I’d get a raise!” What is with you today? You clap your hands over your mouth, hands shaking. Fuck, Joker was going to be pissed. Oh, goddammit. “J… I- I didn’t…” You struggle to find the words, trying to keep looking him in the eyes. They give nothing away. He is silent. “Mr. J-“

Then, out of nowhere, he cackles. He throws his head back, neck exposed, and laughs into the air, the howls of his laughter echoing throughout the room. Immediately, you’re caught off guard. You can’t tell if he’s laughing because it amuses him or because he’s angry. Even when he calms down enough to look at you and smile, you still can’t tell, and you continue to shake. “Doll,” he begins through his laughs, “that’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He doubles over with howling laughter again and you’re not sure if you should be scared or confused. “This whole time you just wanted a raise! So you took on little old me?”

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow it down. “I didn’t have much of a choice but yes… it was that or be fired. But I did really want to help you, Mr. J. Are- are you mad?”

“Mad? No! I am, ah, lovin’ this side of you. It’s so cruel.”

That certainly took a weight off your shoulders, and you finally took a long breath in. Fucking hell, Joker was confusing. Guilt still gnawed at you. “You’re right, I’m just as selfish as you say people are,” you mumble.

“Exactly,” he hisses. “But it takes guts to admit it, especially to someone who, ah, doesn’t exactly handle things very nicely.”

“I’m so sorry, J.”

“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Then I don’t know what to do now. You’re set on getting Batman out of hiding, I’m going fucking crazy right now, everything feels so weird.”

Joker seems to find the utmost pleasure in your unraveling. “Doll, what’s in the bag?”

The question takes you off guard. “What?”

“When you came in, you were all giddy, and I could hear something moving in your bag I haven’t heard before. What is it?”

Ever so perceptive. “Oh… uh,” you fumble through your bag, bringing out the three tins of paint. “Your paint. They… they let me bring it for you.”

Joker’s smile falters a bit, yet he doesn’t look upset, just surprised. “My paint… You really brought it for me?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

His voice dips low. “Put it on me then.”

Now that takes you by surprise. More than anything else that’s happened to you today.

The Joker is so guarded off, yet he’s inviting you in, allowing you to not just touch his face but apply his makeup. It feels sacred. This is a part of him that makes him not just recognizable, but feared. And here you are, being asked to put it on him. It’s so wrong it feels… right? It scares you.

“Are you sure you-?”

“Put it on me, y/n.”

If this is a test, you’re not exactly sure how to pass. But his look is unnerving and so you stand up, pulling yourself onto the table between you, a lump in your throat. You feel frazzled as you move close to him, bending your legs to the side of you as you settle on your thighs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can see every line of his scars, every wrinkle and crease on his face. “Okay,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You grab the white paint to the side of you, screwing off the lid and taking a large glob of the substance.

You loom close to him, your fingers wet with white paint, waiting for a sign that he’s okay with this. You don’t dare breathe, scared that any movement, any sound, will shut him down. But to your surprise, he doesn’t back away, he nods. Keep going. Your fingers finally land on his cheek, right beneath his eye, and you gasp at how warm his skin is. Joker shows nothing on his face to reveal how he feels except for the way his eye twitches slightly at your touch, his cheek twitching along with it. As you start to paint around his face, everywhere but his scars and lips, you wonder if his reaction stems from a disdain of being touched or from not having been touched so gently in so long. 

“Mr. J,” you whisper, and you can feel your hands start to shake again but you quickly steady them. Once his face is fully white, you dig into the black paint. He notices this and closes his eyes, letting you rub the dark paint in circles until each of his eyes look like they’ve settled into two, painted voids. When he opens his eyes again, they’re still trained right on you. “What am I doing?” you ask to no one in particular.

Joker doesn’t answer your question. He doesn’t have one for you anyways other than the obvious. “The red now, doll.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Quickly, you grab the red paint and stick your fingers in, moving them towards Joker’s lips but stopping. Putting the makeup on his face had been intimate enough but… his scars? That was a whole different kind of territory. “J…”

“Do it,” he murmurs, and it’s so quick you still wait, your hand just in front of his mouth shaking. This had to be a test. Some kind of sick joke. “Doll, can you, ah, hear me? I said ‘do it’.” 

You want to protest, but for what? He made it clear what he wants. So, you begin to smear the red across his lips, moving first to the scar on his right, your entire body shuddering as your fingers touch the sunken in skin where the carvings were made, the mangled flesh around it, every bump and curve. You don’t understand why anyone would ever find these scars ugly. To you, the way they healed, the way they are a part of him, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it.

Godammit, J is beautiful.

As you continue to smear the red paint, he looms closer. “Do you wanna know,” he whispers, “how I got these scars?”

“I…” Of course you do. Everyday since you’ve met him, you go home and you can’t help but see his smile. See those scars. And you can’t help but wonder how they got there. You imagine a blade ripping across his mouth, drawing so much blood it drips down his chin. You’ve imagined him screaming in pain. You’ve imagined him uttering not a peep as the blade pierces his skin. So many possibilities. This was the barrier you’d been hoping to jump. “Yes,” you finally rasp.

“I can, ah, never get the story straight. It’s like a black hole, doll. A black hole in my mind. There’s so many ways I could’ve gottem, so many ways I think I gottem. What’s real? What’s not? Who the fuck cares?” Even with a furious growl in his voice, he laughs. “I can’t remember what it really was that did it. There was a horrible father. A wife who I tried so hard for. There was war, and violence, the mob, and so much pain. I’ve seen a lot. Maybe they’re all real memories, maybe they’re not, doesn’t matter! I hated the scars at first, I really did, but now? I embrace them because there is just so much to smile for. I’ve got so much left to do in this city. So much fun left to have. But there’s something I’ve been missing.”

You rub your thumb over his right scar, drawing in a shaky breath. “What is that?”

“I have all these plans, all these ideas and feelings over what I do and yet I’ve never thought anyone good enough to share them with. People, ah, will only be good to you for a while before runnin’ off with your secrets, it’s just human nature. I didn’t feel a kinship to anyone until you came along, Doctor l/n.” When he smiles, you feel the movement beneath your finger. “Look at you. So lonely. Letting everyone spit on you. Yet here you are, being so kind to me. I’m sure you imagined I could’ve killed you for keeping me along for a stupid paycheck, but you admitted it to me anyways. You are pulling back your own mask, right in front of me. You know you couldn’t fix me, right?”

You can feel tears welling in your eyes at his words, guilt gnawing at you. “I wanted to try at first. But now… I- I don’t want to fix you. I like what you are.”

“That,” he growls, “is exactly why I’m so drawn to you. I know, doll, that you crave something more than what you have now, this world kicking you down over and over and over again. I know the feeling. You’ve got nothing and everything to lose. Yet you manage to smile amidst the darkness. You smile in the face of pure chaos.”

“I don’t understand,” you mumble. 

“I want what’s best for both of us, doll face. You were right. I do need someone by my side. As I was saying, what I’ve been missing this whole time, was you.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Me?”

He nods. “You stuck with me this long. Even for a paycheck, that’s somethin’ no one else would do. And yet the big Arkham bosses are out there now, laughing at the both of us. Ain’t that unfair?”

“Yes.”

“Doll, stick by my side, and we’ll let them all know just how corrupt they truly are.”

Your arms break out in goosebumps. Every word the Joker utters is dripping with venom, an edge to each syllable. You’ve tried to ignore him, the way he crawls into your rib cage, into your mind, finding your weaknesses, your dark desires and whims you push away. Yet here he is, getting you to reveal them, and trying to get you to go along with him. It’s working. “Let’s show them, then.”

You look down at your fingers, covered in red, and it almost looks like blood. 

He grins. “That’s the spirit.” With a curl of his finger, he gestures for you to move closer. You do, and he cranes his neck towards your ear. “If you really wanna help me,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, “then tomorrow is the day you get me out of this place.” Every t is pronounced as sharp as a blade. “You’re smart, doll, I know you can think of something.”

Breaking Joker. Out of Arkham. A few weeks ago, you might have grabbed your remote and hit the red button but now? You think you might just take him up on that. You move back to look him in the eye. “You won’t help me think of something?”

“I’m sure you’ve got something in that, ah, pretty mind of yours.”

You huff. “J, I’m serious. This is Arkham. It’s constantly guarded and protected. And I’m just me.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You’re you, sweets. No one’s gonna suspect you.”

Oh fuck. He’s right. No one gave a shit about you. You’d fly right under the radar. That part was easy. But everything else? This wasn’t exactly your forte. You didn’t know what to do. “I’ll try my best,” was all you could offer.

He reaches his hand out, and at first you think he’s trying to grab you, but instead he goes after one of the paint tins. The red paint. Agonizingly slow, he removes the cap, getting his fingers wet with paint. “Doll, you and I are gonna make something special. I always knew you had it in ya. C’mere.” You tilt your face towards him, and Joker smears the red across your lips, a mirror of his own striking smile. “Don’t forget to smile,” he says.

“Never.”

_______________

Later in the night, Joker stares at himself in the reflection of the small, grimy window of his cell door. His face is painted exactly the way he likes it, maybe just a bit different, but he could care less. This, this person he’s looking at, is the person he is, the person you have given back to him. He touches his face and he can still feel your phantom touch, the way you had run your finger over his face, his eyelids, his scars. You hadn’t backed off, or avoided them, you had touched them so softly. Soft. You were soft. 

You made Joker feel soft and he hated it.

Yet, he couldn’t fathom getting rid of you. It would be easy, definitely. If things actually went well tomorrow and you managed to get him out of Arkham, he could easily kill you off. No one would look for you. And even if they did, helping him break out of Arkham would mark you a criminal, and Gotham would curse your name forever. But Joker doesn’t want to do that. Even the thought of your death makes him angry. He is used to wanting to hurt people, yet when he comes across you now, he feels… protective. He knows how the world hates him, yet somehow you showed him sympathy. No, even better, you were showing him loyalty by offering to help break him out. And if you really went and did it? God, he almost breaks into chills.

When he looks at you, he notices his body reacting strangely. His heart speeds up, his hands feel sweatier, his mind feels like it’s going to split right in half. This isn’t the kind of insanity Joker usually basks in, this is something worse. He doesn’t want to put a name to it. You were so good, and yet when you let your mask slip, Joker couldn’t help but feel pulled in even more. What lies beneath you is dark and spiteful, and Joker wants to see all of it.

You won’t let him down tomorrow, Joker is sure of it. 

A voice on the intercom comes through the crack under the door, crackling through the speakers placed along the hall outside. “Shutting lights off. Everybody get to bed.”

Joker grunts, moving to plant himself down on his metal “bed”. He’s not going to sleep though, how could he? Chaos was coming, and you were bringing it straight towards him.

________________________________________________

When you get home, you stumble into the bathroom, quickly turning on the sink faucet and drenching your face in water. You let the ice cold water drip down your face, crying out as you try and get a grip on things. Your fingers are still covered in Joker’s face paint, the water hardly washing any of it off. It’s like he’s on you forever.

Why, for fucks sake, do you almost want it to never wash off?

You look at yourself in the mirror now, the makeup that Joker spread smeared down your chin. This is you now. Mr. Dale was right, you have changed. But fuck it, it was for the best. This change, this thing radiating beneath your skin, it’s something dangerous yet powerful. It moves you. You’re not crazy, you’re insane. 

You can’t tell what this feeling is towards Joker. It almost feels like… love.

Love for the Joker.

The Joker. The Joker. The Joker-

He was right. He was always right. People were going to walk over you all your life. You were tired of it. Nothing was going to change if you didn’t change it first. You couldn’t stand around and watch these people, with their pockets fat and their reputations swell, walk around with such pride when you knew they were all phonies. This city, your city, you’re going to unveil it. No longer will it crush you. You’re going to crush it. 

You were going to be Joker’s partner in crime. And you loved it.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[tomorrowxtogether]

SOOBIN: “I thought I should just try to shine as I am.”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview

2024.11.11

He once strived to become a lush, towering forest. But he realized that people will love him for exactly what he is—a deep, rolling ocean. And so, he decided to remain as whom he always has been: an ocean named SOOBIN.

You took a trip to Vietnam earlier this year with BEOMGYU. I heard you planned the whole thing. SOOBIN: I’m usually the kind of person who just goes around without a real plan, but since we don’t get much vacation time, I figured we’d better go all out and do everything we could in one go, so I tried planning it all out. (laughs) BEOMGYU just wanted to go with the flow, but there was a ton of stuff I wanted to do.

I’m sure it’s not easy taking a trip or spending your off time with the same people you spend all your time with. SOOBIN: I hang out a lot with the rest of the group on my own time too, though. Three of us were all hanging out together just yesterday. To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t feel like anything special since we’re always together 365 days a year, but I’m also most comfortable around them for the same reason.

Sometimes people start bickering with each other when they get too comfortable with one another, but you’re always so kind—like how you gifted BEOMGYU with a nap in that “The Perfect Way to Rest” video when you remembered he was feeling tired. SOOBIN: I think I’m good at picking up on things. I don’t know if I can do it with everyone, but at least with the other members of the group, I’m pretty good at telling how they’re feeling or if they’re not feeling well. As soon as I see one of them, I can tell, Oh, he looks a little rough today, or, He’s sure in a good mood today. (laughs) If they seem down, I go over to them to find out what’s wrong and talk it over.

Your kindness also comes across when you’re with animals, like in the “OUR TOMORROW” video, where you took care of one dog who was so nervous that it didn’t get a chance to eat any treats. Have you always been drawn to people and creatures that are small and left out? SOOBIN: So, so much. In fact, I was really shy and struggled to fit in when I was a trainee. I was really lonely at first. So when time passed and I finally got accustomed to things, if I saw another trainee who was shy and couldn’t adjust, I felt like looking out for them. Kai was among them. (laughs) That’s how I ended up becoming really close with him.

You talked about the cat your sister adopted recently, explaining how it used to be shy because it had a hard life in the past but that it finally opened up this year. SOOBIN: I went to see the cat when my sister first got it, but I couldn’t even see it that first time—it just hid under the couch. It was so shy that I thought I’d never get to pet it, but the last time I saw it, it came right up to me and started purring, wanting to be petted. It was able to overcome its painful past and open up to my family thanks to all the love they show looking after it. Love really does have the power to change anything. (laughs)

You also said on weverse LIVE recently that you made a new friend who you can talk about dramas, movies, and books with. SOOBIN: For me, dramas and movies don’t end with watching them—after you’re done watching, that’s when things are just getting started. I always look up reviews and analyses online. People can watch the same thing and they’ll all have their own thoughts on it, so I’m curious about all those different views, and now I have someone to talk about that with. They know a lot more about books and movies than I do, so I end up learning a lot when we’re sharing our thoughts together. Just having a friend to share my interests with is really fun.

You mentioned talking about Inside Out 2, and you looked at how it features a place to store things you’ve heard that you want to keep for a long time, which got you thinking about what sort of things you would want to hold onto. SOOBIN: I kept recalling things my friends say after we hang out—things like, “SOOBIN, I’m so happy we’re friends,” and, “I feel great whenever I’m with you.” Hearing things like that really touches my heart. Seriously, how often do you get to hear things like that in life? I used to find expressing things like that awkward and weird, but thanks to my friends, I’m getting used to saying I love and appreciate people. You empathized with how Anxiety works harder and feels more anxious than others because they want to be good at things. Are there things you feel you should work harder at than other people? SOOBIN: I’m actually slower at learning choreography compared to the other members. I assumed I’d get a lot better after debuting and regularly performing onstage, but progress was slower than I expected. I didn’t say anything about this before, and I even kept it a secret from the other members, but I actually got separate choreo lessons on the side when we were doing “Chasing That Feeling” and “Deja Vu.” We’d take lessons as a group, and then once I was alone I’d always spend about an hour dancing and working on the little details. I tried so hard with those two most recent songs that I even practiced on my own like that. Seeing as I’m slow, I have to work harder to keep up with the other members. If I have more time, I want to practice more for this comeback, too.

With all the touring you’ve done and the encore performances you have coming up, it must’ve been really hectic getting ready for your Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback. SOOBIN: The schedule was really tight this time around—we even had to record vocals in Japan in the middle of the tour since we were in and out of the country—but now that we’re in our sixth year, the five of us were all really fast about things. I could sense that we had grown compared to before since we were faster at recording than we could’ve expected to be in the past and it took us less time to work out the details of the choreography.

The album’s subtitle, SANCTUARY, is a word that’s appeared in TOMORROW X TOGETHER albums before. What’s been your sanctuary these days? SOOBIN: I never used to have a sanctuary, which made getting through tough times hard, but I do now: simple things like working out or reading. It feels like the things that break me away from overthinking and let me immerse myself in something else are my sanctuary.

You were complimented on your previous promotions for your improved vocals and high notes. What about on this album? SOOBIN: Actually, every other album we’ve done had a song in a genre I wasn’t confident in, but not this time. The single “Over The Moon” is really laid-back, and I felt like it was perfect timing for us to try out a song like that. What’s unfortunate is that I caught this horrendous cold during recording. We started practicing for live performances recently, and the director said, “SOOBIN’s singing better than he did when recording. He makes it sound effortless.” So I couldn’t help but think about how much better I could’ve done if only my throat had been in better shape.

You always focus a lot on lyrics. Were there any on this album that have stuck with you in particular? SOOBIN: This album isn’t so much about telling some big, sweeping story as it is about everything we’ve been through together. Now that we’ve been through all that chaos, it’s about the universal emotion of love, which everyone can relate to, and I liked that about it. There’s a line in “Higher Than Heaven” that sticks with me that goes, “I think I kinda get what forever means now.” I even once said, “I never used to believe in the word ‘forever,’ but I think I can now, thanks to our fans.” I didn’t write that part, but it’s like it was written to perfectly capture my feelings.

The other members have probably had an impact on your belief in the word “forever,” too. SOOBIN: I’m pretty sure we’re going to grow old together and that we’ll be together till the day I die. We do the same thing and basically live the same life day in and day out, so we know what makes each other cry the most during concerts, too. Whether it’s my tears of happiness or BEOMGYU’s tears of disappointment from a leg injury, having friends to understand and share those feelings with is nice. They’re all just really kind people—calm and clear, like a stream. None of us is domineering or splashing around, disturbing the peace, and nobody’s dirtying the water, so I think we’ll be able to stick together for a long, long time.

You said before that you had found being onstage tough while touring. Now that you’ve already wrapped up your third world tour, do you still find that to be the case? SOOBIN: I think I’m getting better over time. I still can’t say that I completely enjoy myself, but the worries I used to have before going onstage have gone away entirely. There used to be times where I found it hard to watch myself onstage because I didn’t like how I looked, but now I see myself up there and I think I look cool. (laughs)

The way you have a different outfit on for every sound check when you’re on tour is definitely cool. SOOBIN: For fans who come even though they’re busy, showing up hours before the concert just to wait, doing it purely out of love, I wanted to be more stylish, so I bought a lot of clothes just for sound checks. The glasses-plus-cardigan combo was something I bought in advance for summer, and the reaction from the audience was amazing! They showed me on the big screen and MOA was screaming their lungs out—like, not the usual “wow,” but, “aah!” Like shock and awe. (laughs) I was worried I went overboard with the look, but they showed they liked it, so I was happy.

There’s no way not to bring up your cover of the Choi Yu Ree song “Forest” when talking about you. You said that the people around you are like tall trees in a forest and that you thought you’re one of them, but that you figured out you’re actually more like the ocean. SOOBIN: It’s easy to find people around me who are better looking and sing and dance better than I do. I actually started thinking about that at Lollapalooza. The other members looked so happy and like they were having so much fun onstage, but I couldn’t. I felt eaten up inside seeing myself not being able to fully enjoy it because of all the pressure. Then I heard Choi Yu Ree explaining that “Forest” is about feeling like you’re not good enough and I thought, “Ah, so that’s what I’ve been going through.” I started to understand my emotions a little bit better. Everyone ends up comparing themselves to others at some point in their lives—it’s unavoidable. And they have times where all they can see are the things they hate about themselves, but it’s ridiculous. I was overflowing with negative feelings when I was working on my “Forest” cover, and I wanted to sort of deal with those feelings and express them.

The music video echoes your thoughts that someday you’ll come to shore and become one with the forest. What does the forest mean to you? SOOBIN: Just being a singer who’s good at singing and dancing, interacting with my fans, enjoying performing, and being able to do it all with complete sincerity. I think I was showing how the forest to me means being happy with the other members when they’re happy. Nothing big—just simple things I’m not always that good at.

Do you feel more like a forest now that some time has gone by? SOOBIN: Umm … I saw a ton of comments from fans after I covered “Forest.” My mindset when I was doing it was, Right now I’m like the ocean, but I’ll become a part of the forest just like you guys—so wait for me until then. But once I saw what fans were writing, I changed my mind and thought, Do I really need to become a part of the forest? I could be similar to the forest, but I don’t have to change myself to be one. My fans kept saying, “The whole reason we liked you in the first place is because you’re like the ocean, not because we hoped you’d become like a forest. If that were the case, we’d like somebody else. Why do you think it was you?” The ocean comes with its own perks, you know. You need to have some ocean near a forest to add to the scenery and have more things to do. Now I think maybe I tried too hard to fit in by trying to be like the forest. Now I feel like I can shine bright just by being myself.

That lines up with what you recently said in an interview you did in Japan when you said that your 20s, the best and most energetic time of life, are dazzling and fun thanks to knowing MOA. What do you think you’ll see when you look back on this youthful period of your 20s? SOOBIN: Joy. Every moment of our lives is packed with good times and bad times, joy and sorrow, but in the end, I think, I’m on a path towards joy. Even things that are so agonizing that you want to die—so bad you feel like the whole world is against you, and so bad you’re certain they’re weighing on you forever, eventually pass.

Doesn’t it almost feel funny sometimes, looking back after all that? (laughs) SOOBIN: Yes. It ends up feeling so trivial somehow. Things that felt massive at the time are like a speck in the distance once you get even a little space between them and yourself. Even after all the hardship I went through being a trainee, I can look back now and see there were a lot of good times. Maybe we tend to romanticize the past a bit? (laughs) Even some of the stuff I’m going through now can be tough, to be honest, but I’m never going to give up. There’s still so much I want to give. The amount of joy I derive from doing this is way higher than the amount of difficulty. I think my life’s amazing, even right now.

So amazing. (laughs) SOOBIN: I think so too! (laughs) As time goes on and I get older, when I look back on my youth, my time with TOMORROW X TOGETHER, I wonder if it’ll look that much more shiny and amazing. Maybe I’ll feel I was even cooler at this time than I feel I am now.

[my-introverted-self]

I have some conflicting feelings about Oliver Stark right now. Not regarding his portrayal of the character (he’s doing a great job) but 1) his views of said character, his journey, growth and potential, 2) the ways he chooses to express and word those views.

Disclaimer: I admit these feelings of mine may be a bit misguided/overexaggerated at the moment for obvious reasons. Just ranting about what irks me. No hatred or accusations towards Oliver.

What rubs me the wrong way about all his interviews after 8x06 is his pure excitement, joy and strong desire for Buck to explore his bisexuality in fun ways with total disregard of how it came to be and what he already experienced (yeah I’m talking about his first queer relationship). He seems to be absolutely thrilled to immediately move onto the next fun (that’s the reoccurring theme) adventures. No genuine interest, engagement, reflection, empathy or gratitude regarding bucktommy arc during or after.

Since s7 there was a lot of talk about Buck figuring himself out after discovering he’s bi and it was said repeatedly loud and clear that it’s about Buck only. I get that Buck is the main and it’s no doubt his very personal journey that doesn’t need to be diminished to or overshadowed by someone else. But why was it so important for OS to completely isolate the story from Tommy (first queer LI) in his narrative, while other characters’ significance to the story (mostly their support) was mentioned regularly? Why his speculations and wishes for exploration couldn’t be interwoven into bucktommy arc? Why Tommy was never considered as means to/guidance/support/contradiction for the desired exploration (be it self-exploration, romantic/sexual/relationship dynamics, being part of the community, experiencing struggles etc)? I’m not talking about OS influencing the script, promoting the ship, going out of his way to defend it or speak out on any issues. I’m talking about opening up to opportunities of current canon relationship in terms of its impact on character development and not disregarding the whole thing as if it didn’t exist or mattered.

I guess I’m just confused what bi exploration and development exactly OS wants for Buck? Why could it only be done with single Buck? Why didn’t we see anything like that to this point and now it’s the logical next step as if Tommy was a nuisance the whole time (wasn’t important in bi realization and didn’t allow for fun adventures to take place during the arc). Why now OS rhetoric changes from distant and indifferent to anticipating and excited? He was so “honoured and humbled” with bi arc and talked about importance and intention of handling it with care, but now it’s just a fumbled relationship with no importance to it, quick recovery time and free way for bi Buck to sex it up both ways. That’s the development? I’m upset and baffled…

! Not blaming him for the actual plot (hoping he didn’t have anything to do with how it turned out), only thrown off by his perspective (at least the way it was perceived by me).

[yellowocaballero]

i see you reblogging aa, is this a sign an ace attorney fic is on the horizon 👀

I resign myself to the fact that any reblogging spree of one work inevitably results in people in my inbox asking if I'm currently writing fanfic about it. I can't complain, because the answer is usually yes absolutely of course I am.

I will say that the Great Phoenix Wright Trilogy Playthrough Of 2024 was this summer! It was very much a tether to sanity and I'm very grateful towards @lazuliquetzal for letting me watch her play and for making the experience so much fun. A very intricate bedrock of lore/in-jokes developed. Edgeworth thinks he discovered homosexuality and younger sister figures are mandatory in a court of law. We found it extremely well-written, very funny, and really interesting in character dynamics. I also got her to play Ghost Trick, which was awesome as usual. We're currently both obsessing about different things - and my fanfic to-do list is already VERY long - so no fanfic is actually in the works right now.

Of course I've already written some, who do you take me for. I wrote this just for us, so it's unfinished and rife with our in-jokes, but somewhat shockingly it probably has the densest joke-to-word ratio that I've ever written. Sometimes I want to continue writing something, but I look at it and I'm like, 'This is too good. I can't keep up this level of good. I can't reach this high again'. The short fanfic - sourced from our recurring jokes/efforts to figure out [SPOILERS FOR ACEATT3] how blind Godot is exactly, and what I would have found the most interesting - is, believe it or not, too good to keep writing.

Zany fanfic and spoilers for Ace Attorney 3 under the cut.

           As it turned out, there was a prosecutor’s lounge.

           Like a lot of Phoenix’s least favorite facts, it was both obvious in retrospect and deeply disturbing. The defendant’s lounge had an obvious purpose: confer with your client, beg them to tell you simple facts that would determine if they were sentenced to death via electric chair, let your coworkers blow off steam by making fun of you. Gumshoe is useful at the least useful second. None of these banal and extraordinarily stressful events had anything to do with a prosecutor.

           That was why Edgeworth had always wandered into the defendant’s lounge and made vague yet affectionate threats at Phoenix. If he had his own sterile room to stand around awkwardly, he surely would have done so. This felt so obvious it ought to have gone without saying. There couldn’t, like, actually be a real lounge. That would imply a lot of things about Edgeworth’s choices. 

As a result, when Gumshoe tossed Phoenix the updated coroner’s report and asked him to run it to the prosecutor’s lounge, Phoenix’s first instinct was to contemplate suicide. His only remaining link to sanity was the knowledge that running Gumshoe’s errands to an imaginary room was better than the alternative of staying here.

           Much better. Gumshoe was looking at Maggey, Maggey was refusing to look at Gumshoe, Phoenix wanted to be nowhere near any of this, and he was taking the out. Gumshoe might as well have asked him to go check if his refrigerator was running. Call him a mechanic, because he grabbed both Maya and Pearl and high-tailed it out of there.

           He had to ask for directions three different times before he even found the place. It was a place that could be found. In real life. Phoenix better go catch his fucking refrigerator!

It was also right next door to the defendant’s lounge. Had this really been here the entire time? Could Phoenix have been wandering into Edgeworth’s lobby and making vague yet affectionate threats at him? He could have even stood in front of the door and blocked Edgeworth’s ritualistic escape from his feelings. His was a life of missed opportunities.

           “I bet they have free coffee,” Maya said grimly. “I bet they have tacos.”

           “With free avocados,” Phoenix intoned. “As much as they want. Maybe caviar.”

           Pearl blasted her large and doleful eyes up at Nick. “Why don’t you put avocados on the tacos you make for us? I love them…”

           Poverty, but he couldn’t tell her that. Nick settled for patting her on the head. “Avocados are as immoral as the prosecutors themselves, Pearly. It’s a matter of ethics.”

           “Ethics are so overrated,” Maya said mournfully, kicking the doors open. “Let’s go evil, Nick. For the sake of the children.”

           The cops inside did not appreciate Maya’s dynamic entry, but nobody ever did. Disappointingly, the prosecutor’s lounge was identical to the defendant’s one – down to the cops, cheap sofa, and ugly-ass art. The only difference was – son of a bitch, they did have coffee!

           Entirely possible that Godot refused to step foot inside the courthouse unless they installed a coffee machine. But it was the principle of the thing, goddamn it! Nobody ever cared about Phoenix’s hunger strikes!

           Potentially entirely due to coffee, Godot was sitting on the scratchy sofa with his head tilted back and one earbud in his ear. Its cord snaked onto the cushions of the couch, attacked to some small black media player. Was he awake? Was he asleep? Was he dead? If they were really quiet, would he sleep through the trial and leave Phoenix to win by default –

           “They have a chartreuse board!” Maya screeched. “Those rat bastards!”

           Pearl gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Is that sushi? Free sushi!? I love sushi!”

           “Get my purse, Pearl-chan! Grab much as you can!”

           “So it’s hereditary,” Godot growled. Phoenix winced, instinctively checking for coffee cups in his vicinity. The familiar cheap coffee table seemingly only had one, but on closer look Nick could tell that they were carefully stacked into each other. How tidy! “How did you even know this place existed, Trite?”

           One of these days Phoenix was going to start pronouncing his name “guh-dot”. That would show him. He hadn’t mustered the courage yet, but one of these days! “How could I not know it existed?” Poker face, Phoenix. Look condescending. Evoke Edgeworth. Show him what’s what. Literally nobody else you know is scared of him, therefore you are not scared of him, we are manifesting absolute zen in the face of the tallest man Phoenix had ever met in his life. He was sitting down. This shouldn’t be hard. “It’s right next to the defendant’s lounge, how could we miss it?”

           “Is that so?” Godot slowly leaned forward, like a great beast awakening from a mighty slumber. His movements were stiff and disjointed, like a fat bear waking from hibernation. “The spotlight of truth must be like a floodlight to the most enlightened defense lawyers. Illuminating all. Hiding nothing. But shadows cling to the undersides of society, and true darkness lurking underneath the charcuterie board –“

           “I have the updated coroner’s report,” Phoenix said, flapping the envelope loosely. “Gumshoe wanted you to have the other copy.”

           “Yeah, give it here.”

           “If the charcuterie board is evil don’t tell me.” Maya was plowing through a hunk of goat cheese like a rabid coyote. “I don’t wanna know. None of my business. Put the wasabi in my coin purse, Pearl-chan.”

           There was something inherently evil about having a cheeseboard at the workplace, but the legal system couldn’t get much worse. Godot didn’t stand up from the couch – he just thrust out a hand, making shockingly childish little grabby hands, forcing Phoenix to cross the entire room and put it in his hands. Pearl ran up to Phoenix and helpfully smeared wasabi on his hand.

           Godot took the coroner’s report and dropped it on the table. He leaned back, reaffixing his earbud in his ear. “Charmed. Clean us out of the nori, girls, it’s Payne’s favorite and I want him to experience suffering.”

           Pearl helpfully tugged at Phoenix’s sleeve, dying it a light green. If he lost this case because the judge thought he smelled bad… “Can you pour me the last of the coffee, Mr. Nick? I wanna be a big girl and do it for me but the big jug is too heavy.”

           “Are you kidding? You’re way too young for coffee.” The last thing they needed was a nine year old bouncing off the walls. In a courtroom. During a murder case. Phoenix turned to Godot, who was biting his tongue and barely restraining himself from cursing out a nine year old. Was that blood? “You’ll want to take a look at that, Mr. Godot. There’s a new piece of evidence that could change everything.”

           “Save the dramatics for the courtroom.” Godot leaned back again, waving his hand absently. Yeah, that was definitely blood on his yellowed teeth. Phoenix had to admire the restraint. “What’s this new tidbit that’s so important, then?”

           Was he everyone’s errand boy? “The report’s right there, read it yourself.”

           “Seems like I was correct in pegging you as the lazy type, Trite. Look at you refusing to do a simple task.”

           Pearl made an ‘ooo’ing noise behind her hands. Maya broke a cracker in half, giving her the smaller piece. “Don’t say that world, Pearl-chan.”

           “What wo –“

           “You can’t insult me into doing the most basic aspect of your job. You read it.”

           “I’m a busy man. I’m hard at work actually making justice.” But he was sleeping?! “Defense attorneys clearly have nothing better to do than eat our precious cheeses. Show me that you can do the most basic element of the job.”

           Talk about a turnabout! This man had cranked the hostility meter up towards eleven and broke the knob off. Francizka had spent most of a year almost gnawing his face off, but she had never made Phoenix feel so specially hated. “Sorry, Godot, I’m not falling for it. But you’ll definitely want to read the report yourself. It has essential information for the trial in literally five minutes.”

           “If it’s so important than why did we give it to him at all?” Maya garbled, spewing pita chips everywhere. “We could have hid it and won this case!”

           “Because that’s unethical –“

           “You never let anything go! You and your silly ethics –“

           “Silly?!”

           Godot leaned forward and swept his hand over the table with incredibly unnecessary drama. He swept the folder into his hands, yanking the crumpled police report out. He ostentatiously snapped the paper and held it up to his visor, reading it closely. He nodded several times. He even hummed once.

           Finally, Godot straightened and tossed the report on the table. “Boring! So much for crucial evidence. You’re looking at the shadows in the cave and calling them innocent of heinous crimes, Mr. Trite. Turn away from illusions and overcome your cowardice by entering the deepest depths of Plato’s cave, facing your inner demons and reckoning with the truth of –“

           “Boring?” Phoenix cried. “The window for the potential time of the murder is completely different than we thought? And I’m the one living in a fantasy land?”

           Godot stared at him. “Really?” Phoenix made a garbled noise of outrage. Godot ignored him. “What’s the new window, then?”

           “Read it yourself!”

           “Hm.” Godot angled his head to the side, facing away from Phoenix. “Hey, little girl. I bet you can’t read.”

           Going for the throat?! Pearl clearly didn’t know whether or not to puff herself up in indignation or start crying. “I am such a good reader!!!!”

           “Really? Prove it.” Godot picked up the crumpled page and wave it at her. “Or are you a liar?”

           “Being a liar is for bad girls! I am a very good girl!” Pearl reached up on her tip-toes and nabbed the paper out of Godot’s hands. She scanned the page seriously, eyebrows furrowed. “Here! Right here! The new time of death is –“

           “Are you making a nine year old read a coroner’s report?!”

           Maya slurped slivers of ginger with pitying eyes. “She channels the dead, Nick.”

           “And that’s the time,” Pearl finished smugly. Phoenix hadn’t even heard her say it. She held out the papers to Godot again, who ignored her. “Now you know the time, because I am such a good reader.”

           “You’re a diamond in the rough, kid,” Godot told her seriously. “Never let these dullards dull your shine.”

           “My name’s not Diamond,” Pearl informed him, equally seriously. “It is Pearl Fey. Don’t feel bad. It’s a very common mistake.”

           “I don’t make mistakes, kid. I’m just one step ahead of reality. Count on it.”

           “You don’t have to be prideful, Mr. Godot.” Pearl smiled brightly and encouragingly at him, as if she was trying to connive a pit bull into a doing a trick. “It’s okay if you aren’t a good reader. Or if you aren’t a good speller. I’m a bad speller but that doesn’t make me a bad reader. Being a bad speller has nothing to do with being a good reader. I am a piece of decisive evidence about that.”

           Maya looked grimly at Phoenix, who was contemplating suicide again. “We’re ruined her vocabulary.”

           “We let her sit in during murder cases, Maya.”

           “And it’s ruined her vocabulary.”

           “What’s ruined your brain?”

           “Do you need me to read more things for you?” Pearl asked sweetly. “I like practicing my reading. I’m always practicing with Mr. Nick’s court records. They’re lots of fun and very educational. I can read ‘five counts of manslaughter’ very well. Do you want to see me spell it?”

           Godot looked at Maya. He looked at the coffee table, where the papers were not. He looked contemplative, maybe. Finally, he said, “How are you at serving coffee?”

           “If the jug is medium sized I can be very good at it!”

           “You’re hired.”

           Alright, that was enough. Phoenix had a lot of responsibilities, but his responsibility to Maya and Pearl came before every single one. That conviction had been put to test during that awful Engarde case. Phoenix almost sacrificed his integrity as a lawyer for Maya’s sake - he was not going to lose it now!

           “Absolutely not,” Phoenix said. It didn’t matter how insanely tall this guy was. Phoenix was taking a stand - right here, right now. Granted, the stand would go to his shoulder, but it was the conviction that counted! “Child labor is against the law, and her legal guardian does not give consent for this.” Phoenix made dangerous eyes at a cowed Maya, just to reaffirm that her legal guardian was not giving consent. “Don’t you have your own co-counsel? Make them do your chores, and stop stealing mine!”

           “I wasn’t planning on paying her,” Godot said affably. “That’s a violation of child labor laws, you know.”

           Maya appeared to be seriously considering his proposal. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but please refer back to the legal guardian wrinkle in this case. “I don’t know, Nick. Don’t you think it’s time Pearl flew out from underneath your shadow? It’s not exactly as if you pay me either.”

           “You’ll get paid when you do something helpful that gets me paid,” Phoenix said instantly. Maya glumly accepted this reality. “There’s no paycheck in moral support, Maya. Godot can use his own co-counsel –“

           “I don’t have a co-counsel,” Godot said. “Do I look like I’ve received an ounce of moral support in the last four years? Of kindness? Hell has no comradeship.”

           Phoenix flapped a hand. “Yeah, whatever. Your plucky imouto, co-counsel, whatever. Just get her to do it.”

           For the first time, Godot actually gave him a baffled look. Maybe. It was insanely hard to tell. “What would I do with a – younger sister, is it?”

           Everybody froze. You could have heard a penny drop. Maya and Pearl’s eyes practically goggled out of their heads.

           Godot just stood there, ignoring Pearl and Maya but clearly unsettled by the silence. “Cream and sugar undercuts the delectable bitterness of the black coffee. A life without siblings is a satisfyingly dark roast.”

           Slowly, Phoenix said, “I’m sorry. You’re a lawyer with no plucky female sidekick?”

           “I’ve had kouhai,” Godot said defensively. “I have a certain talent for mentorship –“

           “Mentorship? What makes you think you’re qualified to give any sort of mentorship? You’re a rookie!” Phoenix said the word ‘rookie’ like how Edgeworth said ‘polyester’, which was deeply satisfying. “And haven’t you lost every case you’ve ever taken?”

           Maya looked close to tears. “No wonder he’s such an awful lawyer…he doesn’t have a single imouto.”

           “Is that the ‘hell’ Mr. Godot talks about?” Pearl asked, voice wavering. “A world with no women?”

           “You’re projecting,” Godot snapped. “Just because you’re surrounded by teenage girls all day doesn’t mean any other lawyer is obligated to do the same.”

           “Any good lawyer. Why do you think Edgeworth has an imouto.” The thought of Edgeworth with no Franciska to hone his…edge…how sad. “And Franciska has Edgeworth as an imouto. This is law one-oh-one, Godot.” Phoenix propped his hands on his hips, grinning. “Hah! No wonder you can’t beat me! You don’t know the first thing about law, do you?”

           “And he can’t read,” Maya said sadly. “Maybe Mr. Godot isn’t exaggerating when he tells us how sad and pathetic he is…”

           “You thought he was exaggerating?”

           The tragic sight of the thoroughly baffled man clearly tugged at Pearl’s heartstrings, but she quickly found her resolve too. She rolled up her sleeves, as if they were at the office and she was ready to attack Phoenix’s toilet with a scrub brush. Once she had almost fallen in. “That does it! If Mr. Godot doesn’t have an imouto, then I’ll - ”

           “Nope. His problem, not ours.” Frankly, Phoenix was just trash talking a little. If you pretended Edgeworth and Franciska didn’t exist – impossible for Phoenix, but he could stretch his imagination – then Godot was a pretty good lawyer. To be a pretty good lawyer without the massive handicap of no young girl…Phoenix better stop giving the competition a hand like this. “Come on, the security guard’s started glaring at us again. It’s definitely time to start the trial.”

           “Your face will freeze like that, you know,” Pearl seriously told the security guard. He didn’t visibly react to her words at all. Maybe Pearl was onto something… “Mr. Nick, I have a duty to my fellow man -”

           “You can practice your reading with picture books, like a normal kid.” Pearl indignantly opened her mouth, doubtlessly about to launch into a meandering and breathless rant about her favorite Newberry Award winning children’s book author. “In English, not Japanese. Reading in English is your problem. At this rate you’re going to know how to read legalese and nothing else.” Phoenix yanked open the door, shepherding both girls out. Maya quickly stuffed more California rolls in her sleeve. “Bad enough Maya’s neglecting – Jesus Christ!”

           “You can’t give me a hard time about that,” Maya said reproachfully. “I’m Shinto.”

           Obviously, goddamn Gumshoe was at the door, one fist raised and clearly about to knock. His fist fell at the exact moment that Phoenix opened the door, and Phoenix only barely avoided a royal smack on the head by via Gumshoe’s meaty fist. He really couldn’t afford another concussion at this rate! CTE was a very serious brain disorder!

           “Mr. Wright! Hey, I thought I’d find you here! Right underneath my fist too! How’s that for some detective work, huh!” Gumshoe laughed uproariously, as if his crush wasn’t about to board her kayak and start doing the death row. And as if he hadn’t told Phoenix to go here. “Well, enough playing around! It’s time to get back to it! There’s no excuse for slacking off when Maggey’s life is on the line, you know!”

           “You’re the one who sent me on an errand!” Phoenix snapped. He shut the door tightly behind him. The last thing he needed was Godot adding his two cents. Or, knowing his wordiness, his two dollars. And change. “Did you forget telling me to give Godot the coroner’s report? It was five minutes ago!”

           “What? Why would I do that?” Gumshoe paused a second, creaky and rusty gears churning in his brain. Maya made demonstrative kissy noises. “Oh, yeah! Did you read it out to him?”

           Phoenix was going to have a fucking aneurysm. “Is there some reason why Prosecutor Godot is incapable of doing his own work? I’m already doing half the prosecutor’s job in the courtroom anyway!”

           “Some reason? Uh, yeah.” Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly as if he can read the thing, you know.”

           “Oh my god,” Maya whispered, “he really can’t read.”

           Pearl’s eyes were brimming with tears. “A lawyer who can’t read…he’s so brave!”

           “Brave is one word for it,” Phoenix said flatly. How could he have ever been scared of this guy? No imouto, no literacy…the only thing impressive about him was how he’d even gotten this far. “It’s not my problem if Godot dropped out of fourth grade. He’s giving me enough problems, tell him to solve his own.”

           For some reason, Gumshoe outright glared at Phoenix. Phoenix was getting used to his misplaced ire over Xirneohp, but what did Maggey have to do with this? If anything, he should be thanking Phoenix for refusing to help the competition. “That’s out of line, pal! Haven’t you heard of basic human decency?”

           “In a courtroom? No.”

           “He’s got you there,” Maya said wisely. “When Nick’s putting the ‘Nick’ in ‘panicked’, then he can do some pretty sketchy stuff –“

           “And you call me the narc?!”

           “The courtroom doesn’t matter.” Gumshoe was still scowling at Phoenix. Of course it’s only Phoenix who gets treated like this. Edgeworth insults Gumshoe all day and he’s still his biggest fan. “I told you specifically to read out the autopsy report so Prosecutor Godot could record it into his PDA. Then he always labels it with that funny little label maker of his. You gotta get your ears cleaned out, pal.”

           Phoenix turned to Maya and Pearl, silently pleading for backup. Gumshoe was making Phoenix doubt his own sanity. Normally he just made Phoenix think he was losing it.

           But Maya just looked tragically disappointed in him. “Nick…you didn’t even let Godot label it with his funny little label maker?”

           Desperately, Phoenix rounded on Pearl. He was ready to fake tears. But Pearl just looked ready to whale on him with her little fists. “How could you, Mr. Nick? I didn’t get to see Mr. Godot’s cassette recorder! I’ve always wanted to touch one!”

           “Ah, Prosecutor Godot’s things are always super fun to touch!” At least Gumshoe looked sufficiently cheered up. “His bumpy labels make no sense to me, but I think they’re super cool. Like a secret code or something. But Prosecutor Godot always dumps coffee on my head when I mess around with them…makes me put ‘em back in order, then he says I’m doing it wrong, and…I won’t say I miss the whip, but prosecutors can be so rough sometimes.”

           Wait. Hold on a minute. Several different small pieces clicked into place, and Phoenix’s familiar trusty intuition began to churn its gears. Phoenix raised one finger, and Gumshoe instinctively ducked. “Detective…that label maker wouldn’t happen to be a Braille label maker, would it?”

           Gumshoe brightened, nodding voraciously. Then he apparently remembered he was angry at Phoenix, and started scowling instead. “Yeah, that’s what he called it! And I’ve just caught ya in a contradiction, pal! You said I didn’t tell you about the bumpy label maker. But you obviously knew what it was, didn’t you? You really were lacking human decency on purpose, weren’t you!”

           Cool. Phoenix wished he was dead.

  Both girls looked at Phoenix immediately, correctly deducing the return of his consistent suicidality but uncertain of the cause. Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Braille is an alphabet for the blind. You read it by feeling little bumps with your fingers. Apparently Prosecutor Godot is some level of blind. And apparently nobody saw fit to tell us this.”

“Did we gotta?” Gumshoe asked blankly. “Mr. Godot doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Yes, you gotta! Now I look like some kind of - you know!”

Sure enough, Maya was giving him the most judgmental look he’d ever seen. Her face when full-ass adult Maximillian admitted that he had asked a sixteen year old to marry him was nothing in comparison. “You were bullying the blind, Nick? I can’t believe you!”

What was it, bully Phoenix for something that was not his fault week? “It’s his fault for not saying anything -”

“Victim blaming?!”

“I thought he was just being an as - jerk again! It’s not exactly out of character!”

“Ableism,” Maya denounced. Phoenix drooped. “I can’t believe it. I expected better from you, Nick.”

“I’m literally ADHD, don’t give me this -”

“Who isn’t autistic?” Maya said frankly. “That doesn’t count.”

“Plenty of people in this world are neurotypical, Maya.” 

He’d had to explain this multiple times. Sometimes she even made him doubt himself. It wasn’t as if he knew neurotypical people. The people in Phoenix’s life either knew they were neurodivergent or thought that normal people were the freak. Most fell into the later category. Unfortunately. Lana wasn’t winning sister of the year, but Ema’s diagnosis and Ritalin prescription was probably his sole link to sanity during that case. Phoenix had a conspiracy theory that Gumshoe plus Ritalin would produce a shockingly competent person. Like everybody else on the prosecutor’s side, he had no idea.

There was no way Edgeworth knew he was autistic, but Phoenix was softening him up for the revelation. He had to take it slow. Couldn’t afford for him to run off to the Philippines to find himself and then come home acting as if he invented autism. Again. Like he did with homosexuality. Shut up about the German discotheques, Edgeworth!

“Mr. Godot is blind?” Pearl gasped. Horrifically, Phoenix was relieved that she knew what blind people were. “Is that why he couldn’t read? And you made fun of him! That’s bullying, Mr. Nick!”

This was a thousand times worse coming from Pearl. “I wouldn’t say I made fun of him,” Phoenix said evasively. “If anything, I really think he’s been bullying me.” This did not impress Maya and Pearl, who somehow only looked more disappointed in him. Phoenix began to sweat. “I got nothing against the disabled, guys. They’re - like, they’re fine! Some of my best friends are -”

“Autism doesn’t count,” Maya said frostily. “You’ll never get your Disability Awareness and Inclusion Girl Scout badge at this rate, Nick.”

“I - am I a nine year old girl now? Seriously?”

Pearl straightened, eyes widening. “I’m a nine year old girl!” Phoenix gestured towards her, emphasizing the handful of differences between them. Gumshoe nodded vigorously. “Can I get a disability aware badge? I’m aware of disabled people!” Left unsaid: unlike Phoenix, apparently. Yet another difference between him and nine year old girls.

“You aren’t a Girl Scout,” Phoenix said, exhausted. “If that’s something you’re interested in, we can sign you up -”

“Girl Scouts! That’s a great idea. I was a Girl Scout way back when. It was awfully rewarding.” Gumshoe gave Pearl a big thumbs up, as if he hadn’t casually dropped the most insane bomb of all time and promptly moved on. “You’re probably overqualified for the Legal Expert and Fortune Teller badges. You could really make it!”

That was it. They had lost her. Pearl rolled her sleeves up, puffing out her chest with pride, and before Phoenix could react she had already turned around and pushed the lobby doors open. They swung open with a theatrical flair, revealing -

Godot, just on the other side of the doors. Judging by his somewhat harried look and unbalanced stance, he had also just barely managed to avoid door-to-face impact. Or, more likely, door-to-visor impact. 

Pearl either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She jabbed a finger at Godot, who still seemed dazed from the unintentional assault. “I’m taking your case, Mr. Godot! I’ll be your co-counsel! I’ll find you innocent of all charges - um, not that!”

“I lost all innocence a long time ago,” Godot said darkly. He pushed past them, flagrantly brushing off everybody. “If you wish to scout for something, scout for that. It ought to distract you from standing around and wasting time with meaningless gossip.”

Phoenix winced. He didn’t seem very happy. But he never really did - cheerful and amused, frequently, but almost never actually happy. “Uh, hey, man. I’m really sorry about - in my defense, you were actively hiding it -”

“Classic defense attorney,” Maya announced. “Always defending himself!”

“Mr. Edgeworth says that the attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client,” Pearl said helpfully, blissfully unaware of that one time Phoenix had to defend himself against a murder charge. Edgeworth had known. Obviously. 

“Save your pity, Trite. Save it for the courtroom. So you can pity yourself.” Godot held up one hand, not even bothering to aim it in Phoenix’s direction. “Out of all of your victims, of course you would pity yourself the most.”

“Dude,” Phoenix said, “did I, like, ghost you the morning after or something? I’m sorry about it, but becoming a lawyer because I didn’t text you back is a little weird.”

“A little weird?” Gumshoe said, baffled. “That’s a crazy accusation, Wright. Who would become a whole lawyer because of a guy?” Phoenix looked at the ceiling. Godot coughed. “I don’t like the sound of that cough, pal.”

“For whom does the bell toll, Detective?” Godot said. Maya looked actively distressed as she attempted and failed to decipher what the fuck he meant by that. “I’ll see you all in court. Prepare yourselves. I don’t intend on losing to the likes of you.”

He turned on his heel, striding down the hallway and escaping them all as quickly as possible. Pearl gasped, and she immediately let go of Maya’s hand so she could set off barrelling down the hallway. “Hold on! Wait for me, Mr. Godot!”

Godot didn’t look back. But he did slow until Pearl caught up, and when she shoved her little hand in his large one he didn’t pull away. 

Gumshoe scratched his chin. Maya squinted at the departing duo, obviously wondering how Godot knew where to take a left turn at the hallway. Phoenix made a mental note of it too. For a blind guy, he was really familiar with the courthouse…which meant that Phoenix’s mistake was perfectly reasonable! Anybody would make it! “Just double checkin’. You two are actually cool with sending off a little girl with the sketchiest grown man ever? Completely unsupervised and stuff?”

What, seriously? Phoenix and Maya glanced at each other before shrugging. “If you can’t trust your coworkers,” Maya intoned seriously, “you can’t trust anybody. Nobody’s more trustworthy than a real lawyer.”

“And Edgeworth recommended him,” Phoenix pointed out. “Good enough for me. The state of California would never have certified him as a defense attorney if he wasn’t trustworthy.”

“That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about the law to dispute it,” Gumshoe said cheerfully, displaying a chain of logic that had proven extremely convenient for Phoenix over the years. Maya had once tricked Gumshoe into letting them into a crime scene by pretending that there was a legal holiday once a year where every law and police procedure was inverted. “Don’t we got a trial to hit, anyway?”

“Shit!”

Pearl’s inaugural performance as the prosecution’s co-counsel/imouto went off without a hitch. Phoenix couldn’t be prouder of her efforts. She played her part perfectly: from the well-timed timed motivational encouragements to tension-relieving funny quips, she was a natural. Her only experience co-counseling with Phoenix had been very stressful for her, so Phoenix was happy to see her shine with confidence. Pearl Fey was truly suited for villainy.

She even went above and beyond into the role of personal assistant imouto. She carefully managed the presented evidence, holding up the right photograph or blood-stained object for the purview of the court. Pearl read out any written reports, described the evidence that Phoenix presented, and reported on any notable body language. Phoenix wasn’t sure if Godot knowing that ‘the Defense looks like you ate the last onigiri he was saving for lunch…’ was remotely helpful, but it was cute. Godot better realize how lucky he was to have such a top-quality imouto at his side today. It confused the judge, but what didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” the judge said, as Pearl carefully withdrew a generic white coffee mug from a large box underneath the table. Seemingly…filled with more mugs.  “Doesn’t that little girl belong to the Defense?”

“The Defense is loaning her out today,” Phoenix said seriously. Pearl began wrangling a coffee pot the size of her head. “Don’t worry, it’s not a conflict of interest.”

“I see!” Pearl carefully tipped the large pot into the white mug. It spilled everywhere, but coffee was poured. “And what is a ‘conflict of interest’?”

“Obscure old legal term. Don’t worry about it.” Pearl reached over the table and attempted to slide the mug towards Godot, as the unlucky draftee from the audience always did. He just pointed at a random pot in the crowd and told somebody that they were in charge of his coffee today. Terribly unorganized way to do things. 

“Watch it, you senile old man. The Defense is distracting you with outdated legal concepts. Focus on the most important aspect of this case!” Why was only the prosecution allowed to insult the judge! Why were they the only ones allowed to get away with that! Seriously unfair! As if Phoenix didn’t want to strangle the judge with his own two hands too?!

The mug scooted forward a little, but barely moved. Pearl scowled and tried again, sliding the mug forward a few inches and sloshing coffee over the side again. Pearl huffed in frustration before carefully cupping her hand around the mug and pushing it forward as she walked down the table. 

Godot cupped his hand on the table and let Pearl push the cup into his hand. Then he slammed the table, throwing his head back and chugging the entire mug of steaming hot coffee in one go. He slammed the mug back on the table. Pearl carefully retrieved it. 

“The fact that the old man and this fake Frenchman saw the accused put poison in the cup!” Godot announced. “That’s one fact that can’t be denied! Not by a reliable witness!”

Pearl clapped. Godot patted her on the head. Phoenix groaned.

Phoenix got his way - as usual - by the skin of his teeth - as usual. He was going to have a heart attack before he was thirty at this rate. Phoenix and Maya waited in the courtroom lobby for almost fifteen minutes before Pearl finally came running up to them. She was beaming, cheeks flushed red with pride. 

“Great job out there today, Pearl!” Maya cheered, clapping her hands. Yeah - a little too good. Godot’s performance in court was way smoother than last time. Maybe he was just getting his sea legs, but Phoenix never underestimated the power of young girls pursuing merit badges. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Nuh-uh! Mr. Godot said he’s gonna take me out for ice cream!” Pearl thrust her hand out, shining the biggest, wettest gaze directly into his eyes. “Can I have money for ice cream, Nick? Please?”

“Typically speaking, when you take people out for food, you’re the one paying,” Phoenix said flatly. “Mr. Godot’s on a prosecutor’s salary and I’m representing a waitress. He can pay.” 

“Mr. Godot doesn’t get paid,” Pearl said frankly. “He said he does it for the love of the game.”

This was somehow the most surprising thing he’d heard all day and completely predictable. 

Maya frowned, tilting her head. It was a gesture he’d seen in Mia a thousand times. Even after all this time, Maya still hurt him in those little ways. “Prosecutors get paid by the government. How do you legally work for the government and not get paid?”

“Maybe he’s a volunteer?” Phoenix suggested. “People volunteer at places, right? Like…in zoos?”

“That makes sense!” Maya said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Zoos, a court of law…what’s the difference, right?”

“After we’re done with it, not much.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t meet the parrot,” Pearl said, crushed by the immovable weight of the world’s injustices. “I wanted to make friends. We have so much in common.”

Maya sympathetically patted Pearl’s back. “You do! You’re both so good at imitating voices! Maybe one day Phoenix can cross-examine you too, huh?”

Nope. No. No way! “Not happening. I’ve accused every imouto I’ve ever had of murder on the stand. Pearl’s merciless enough, we can’t take that chance. She wouldn’t make it a day in prison.” 

“Sounds like a you problem,” Maya said, unimpressed. “Godot would never accuse an imouto of murder. He’s a bro like that.”

“He’s a prosecutor, it’s not his job -”

“Apparently being a prosecutor isn’t his job either.”

“You’d make an unemployed man pay for my ice cream?” Pearl demanded. “For shame, Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

Phoenix sighed and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t know why he wasted time pretending this wasn’t going to happen. Pity he wasn’t in the habit of accepting the inevitable. His life would be a lot easier.

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Moshang Fic - Part 1

half of something else

JRaylin441

Summary: Tianlang-Jun comes to visit the Northern Desert Palace. Tianlang-Jun is very bored. Tianlang-Jun finds a way to entertain himself.

Written for: Gotcha for Gaza prompt "on behalf of gusufan please tag them! I would like a post-canon Moshang get together fic. sfw or nsfw doesn't matter :)" from boomfanfic

Content Warnings: None for this chapter (that I know of), but it will be explicit in future

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Tianlang-Jun arrives at the Northern Palace on a beautiful and perfect summer day, which is funny, because he's about to ruin Shang Qinghua's whole life.

Shang Qinghua has an Overarching To Do List that is ever-evolving and extensive. There are arrangements to be made, banquets to organize, appropriate guest rooms to appoint. There is color-coding. There are sublists on sublists, organized by immediacy and location within the Demon Realm or Cultivation Sects and a thousand other subheadings that only Shang Qinghua is able to fully track.

When someone like Tianlang-Jun arrives, it has to jump to the top of the priority list. This is the father of Luo Binghe, one of the only full-blooded Heavenly Demons left alive, and initially created to be the only person capable of challenging Shang Qinghua's son in a fight, at his full power. Bing-ge is fairly easy to deal with, these days, now that Cucumber-bro has come along and turned him into an eager little tradwife. There isn't really a need for him to have some arch-nemesis/father in the world.

Which leaves Tianlang-Jun, local chaotic neutral god-level demon, just wandering around without a purpose or plot hook. He can do things like arrive, unannounced, in a Demon king's court and expect to be welcomed. Maybe he will be kind and perfectly accepting of the fact that he has to wait for several minutes for things to go his way. Maybe he will kill every demon in the palace out of boredom, like a toddler with a tantrum.

It was fun to write characters like this when it was just in a book! They keep things interesting! They're helpful when he needs something to happen and can't figure out how to motivate his characters to do it! They're way less fun to deal with when Shang Qinghua has somehow become the person in charge of managing the logistics and fallout of those interactions, in both the human and demon realms. Because, apparently, no one else is masochistic enough to want a job like that.

This is not the kind of masochism he enjoys! If he thought it would make any difference, he would be taking a baseball bat to the System's smug little screen right now!

"This King welcomes Tianlang-Jun to the Northern Desert Palace and hopes that he will stay as a welcome guest for as long as he wishes."

"This humble one is honored to accept your hospitality."

Shang Qinghua skids into the throne room with what feels like a cartoon dust cloud behind him. Mobei-Jun is only now wrapping up the grandiose and official greeting of Tianlang-Jun before the whole court, because he is a very good boy who has been trained well by his closest advisor and knows how to stall for time when Shang Qinghua tells him to.

They are engaging in shallow salutes toward each other, since it's a little unclear exactly what Tianlang-Jun's ranking is now, as someone who could wipe the floor with Mobei-Jun, someone who had a long-standing alliance with the Mobei clan before he was imprisoned under a mountain for two and a half decades, someone who no longer has any official titles.

Shang Qinghua, of course, ranks leagues below either of them, and drops into a low salute as soon as his feet have found purchase in their place to the side of Mobei-Jun's throne. He can feel dark red eyes (why did he think that was a good color for a protagonist's eyes? Why did he need to give that eye color to the badass big bad demon??? They're terrifying!) lingering on him for a moment, evaluating him before easily moving on, just as every other powerful person in this world tends to do when confronted with his trembling mousiness. It is often very convenient to be overlooked, and Shang Qinghua never (really, never ever) feels bitter about the fact that, in a world where literally everyone around him is a badass (he knows they are, he wrote them that way), he gets stuck in this body.

"My servants have prepared our finest rooms for you." Bold of Mobei-Jun to go ahead and make that claim when Tianlang-Jun arrived not a quarter shichen ago. Sure, yeah, just assume that Shang Qinghua has it all together and handled. Everyone else does. "Please do not hesitate to reach out to my advisor, Shang Qinghua, should Tianlang-Jun find himself in need of anything." Shang Qinghua taught him that customer-service line, back when Mobei-Jun was more wont to stare in stony silence at any visitor to his court. He has no right to be this irritated about all the work still being foisted off onto him now. He sowed these seeds. He's reaping now. He reminds himself of this and does not allow his hands to clench into fists. Not in public like this. There is a ticking knot in the muscle behind his shoulder blade, instead, that is winching ever tighter and more painful. This has been true for many years.

Tianlang-Jun's eyes pass over him again, another assessment, now that Shang Qinghua has been shown to hold such a high rank. This is normal too. Shang Qinghua likes that they underestimate him. It makes his job easier.

"If Tianlang-Jun would honor this lowly one by following him, this Shang Qinghua will show him to his rooms."

"Of course," Tianlang-Jun replies, jovially, as if he has run into an old friend on a walk rather than arrived unannounced to another demon lord's court. Shang Qinghua feels himself cringing at the blatant character trope of it all, the lackadaisical OP demon lord. Fuck you, past version of Shang Qinghua. There is no excuse in not knowing that your actions would have consequences.

He cringes and he grovels and he guides Tianlang-Jun to the rooms that he and every member of Mobei-Jun's staff that wasn't already in court for the greeting just dropped everything to put together. They look spotless and prepared in the same way they would if this had been a pre-planned dignitary visit, because Shang Qinghua is fucking good at his job, not that anyone notices.

"Before you go, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun calls, already calling him in a way that is far too familiar with nothing to be done about it. "Are there any human novels in this palace? I have fallen out of the practice of reading with my imprisonment, but would not mind a chance to rediscover an old hobby."

"Of course, Tianlang-Jun," Shang Qinghua murmurs, bowing low enough that his nose could almost scrape the ground. "This one will obey."

He backs out of the room without rising from his bow, feeling the panic of this new task settle in the shaking of his bones, into the knot in his shoulder, alongside all the rest of his endless Overarching To Do List. Sure. Yeah, he'll get right on that. Because of course this is the best use of his time. The smile on his face is a rictus of customer service.

As soon as Shang Qinghua is out in the hallway and away from the range of heavenly demonic hearing, he grabs the first demon that respects any of his orders by their collar and sends them to start arranging a greeting banquet for that night. He grabs another and sends them along to rearrange the schedule for court the next day, since they were actually planning to receive some dignitaries tomorrow and will need to shift them to later in the day so as to not disrespect their new guest. He doesn't pick a demon to go and update his tracking of Tianlang-Jun's location, since no one else in this palace is supposed to know about that. He doesn't pick a demon to go and get the novels either, because he doesn't trust a single demon in this realm to know what the best options for human literature are and, unfortunately, he knows exactly the sort of thing that Tianlang-Jun would enjoy.

Because he wrote him.

*~*~*

Mobei-Jun does not enjoy banquets. It is easier, now that he is king and has no further aspirations for promotion, because he no longer has to spend his time doing something Qinghua calls "net-working" and can generally sit in stoic silence. Even so, he would prefer to dine in his own quarters, with Qinghua nervously chattering at length about all he has done and still has to do that day.

The food is prepared in the traditional demonic way. Qinghua does not like the raw meat, or the carnivorous diet of many in the court. Mobei-Jun spent an hour in the kitchens prior to this preparing hand-pulled noodles for him, so that he will have something to eat as well. He had captured and killed the beast used for the meat in the noodle dish the day before, also for Qinghua. He had not shown much of a reaction, when the prize was presented to him. Merely gestured for Mobei-Jun to hand it off to a servant to be butchered.

When the banquet begins, he gestures to one of the servants to bring the noodle dish from the kitchen out to Qinghua. No one dares to disobey when it comes to Qinghua's happiness. They know better.

When the steaming noodle dish is placed before him, Qinghua looks down at it in surprise before taking a darting glance in Mobei-Jun's direction. It is good, that he knows so immediately who is taking the time to cook for him. All things are as they should be.

"The honorable Mobei-Jun had no need to go through such trouble for me." Ah. All things are as they should be, except for the lounging heavenly demon seated to his side. Mobei-Jun hates when he must entertain guests, particularly ones that are powerful enough to defeat him in combat. When Junshang is visiting, it is not so bad, because he has known Mobei-Jun long enough to not be surprised by his silence. Also, he is usually so preoccupied with his human consort that there is no need to entertain him either way.

"You are a guest." This is what is expected, when an important guest arrives. It would not be happening, otherwise.

"This lord cannot help but notice that the human in your court seems to be well integrated." Tianlang-Jun is tilting his head in Qinghua's direction, as if there could be any other human he is referring to.

"Yes." Mobei-Jun responds, even though he does not want to talk to this demon about Qinghua, because Qinghua will be upset if he offends their guest this early into his visit.

"I cannot help but notice that someone has been cooking for him. Is there a demon in your court attempting to lay claim, then?"

Damn it all, actually. Mobei-Jun no longer cares about whether he might upset the guest. He curls his upper lip into a snarl before Tianlang-Jun allows any thought of that variety to linger in his head. There is a sudden shift in Tianlang-Jun's body language. One of his eyebrows flies up, and he suddenly seems much more interested in the conversation. Over at his table, Qinghua shoots a sharp and reproving glance in Mobei-Jun's direction, like he does every time he thinks Mobei-Jun might be making more work for him.

"Oh? It could not be that the Mobei-Jun, heir of the family that so publicly opposed my very interest in the human realm, has gone and started to court a human."

"Qinghua is none of your concern," Mobei-Jun grits out stiffly. Because Qinghua will be sad if he causes a political incident and he is holding on to his temper by nature of that fact alone. "This king would recommend that Tianlang-Jun decide on some other topic of conversation."

"Of course, Mobei-Jun. How can this guest do anything but comply?" But Mobei-Jun knows the glint of interest that he is still seeing in those dark eyes. He made a mistake, somewhere in that conversation. He doesn't know where. But he has drawn Tianlang-Jun's attention to Qinghua. This cannot stand.

"Qinghua is my advisor and a member of my court." The longer he is talking, the more smugly entertained this infuriating demon looks. "Tianlang-Jun has no reason for Qinghua to cross his mind."

A smile like a young child coming across an undefended table of sweets and delicacies. "I thought Mobei-Jun instructed me to direct any of my concerns or requests toward his advisor."

"No need. Tell a servant instead. They will tell Qinghua."

"That seems rather inefficient." Tianlang-Jun takes a slow and mocking drink of his wine, eyes laughing at Mobei-Jun over the rim. "Surely your advisor would prefer a more direct approach?"

The goblet in Mobei-Jun's hand groans under the pressure of his grip. "If Tianlang-Jun needs something, he should simply come to me and ask." The words are hissed out between teeth that will barely part to let them pass.

"Ah. An elegant solution. Truly, the king of the Northern Desert is peerless in his wisdom."

Mobei-Jun is being laughed at. He knows this feeling. He would grab Tianlang-Jun by the throat and throw him across the room if it wouldn't lead to him making a fool of himself in front of Qinghua. So, instead, he throws back the drink and studiously ignores any other attempts at conversation from the guest at his side. Let Qinghua be angry with him for not being the perfect diplomatic host. It is better than anything else he might have done.

*~*~*

Shang Qinghua is tired in the body-tired type of way, but not in the brain-tired type of way. The banquet ended hours ago, and the rest of the court has retreated to their beds for now, whether to fall asleep or to hook up with whoever they want. Good for them, good for them. The vigor of demonic youth.

That is not what is keeping him awake, however. Fuck no. It's been years since he's had a chance to bump uglies (as they say) with anyone. Shang Qinghua has an enormous and ever-growing Overarching To Do List. This is known. He also has his daily to do list that he draws from the points on the Overarching To Do List. He was doing an okay job getting through it before that deadbeat dad on a world tour had to show up and throw everything off, so now he's up hours past when everyone else went to sleep, like some kind of gamer bro, scrambling to check this month's inventory for Cang Qiong Mountain Peak against last months, to make sure there aren't any far less clever people skimming off the top. So far, it looks like a few of the Zui Xian disciples have been taking more than they said they would, but that's typical for them and not beyond the normal amounts, so he's not particularly worried.

Shang Qinghua is just setting those documents aside, moving into his next task (updating the map that he keeps of the movements of important figures based on the reports of this person and that person), when he hears the door to his office open.

No knock. No nothing. Is he some teenager still living at his parents' house? What's this entitlement and complete lack of privacy?

"I have always found it quaint, all the busy papers and documents that make up a human's day." Fuck. Tianlang-Jun. Not the sort of person that Shang Qinghua can order to leave.

"My lord Tianlang-Jun," he greets, shakily, standing for a quick salute and dropping the inventory paper over his map. The motherfucker. As if he didn't just ask Shang Qinghua for human books when he arrived. Papers and books aren't, actually, a unique human thing.

Much of demonic writing happens with an elaborate system of knots tied into thread, since there is so much variation in demonic hand structure, and tying knots is more accessible than holding a writing utensil. Learning how to write with a brush and paper had been a sign of status, because it meant that you might be interacting with the human realm. He'd thought it was a clever world-building detail. And it's not that humans spend more time than demons on their record keeping. More that, when Tianlang-Jun was emperor, he had been absent more often than not and had actively thwarted the efforts of his court to keep strategic records and reports. It had been part of what led to his downfall, leaving him to fight back entirely alone against so many sects. It had left his lands in chaos and disorganization, the easier for Shang Qinghua's son to sweep through and conquer.

Also, well, Shang Qinghua had never found too much pleasure in balancing all the little moving parts of writing political intrigue. Better to just have a good reason such structure was lacking and stop worrying about it.

"Forgive this humble human the wanderings of his mind." Shang Qinghua shuffles the map that he was making adjustments to further out of sight, even as he watches Tianlang-Jun's sharp eyes pick up on the movement. "How can this one be of service to the great Tianlang-Jun?"

"I couldn't help but appreciate the wonderful selection of novels provided to my rooms." Tianlang-Jun's movements are slinking and feline, as he maneuvers his way just a little too closely into Shang Qinghua's space. "I thought it might be worth my while to meet the human capable of selecting such things. Perhaps we may have some things in common." Tianlang-Jun has a tell when he's lying. There's a little twitch right at the corner of his smile, for just a second. No one ever noticed it. Even if they had, no one would have ever pointed it out to him or told someone else, because no one would ever dare. Shang Qinghua knows that he is lying right now, because he knows the tell, because he wrote this character. This was supposed to be his Big Bad, before the computer crashed and the outline fell to pieces and everything else went to shit.

"Perhaps Tianlang-Jun would like a recommendation for a companion more fitting to his status, who may also enjoy to discuss such things with him?" Shang Qinghua needs this man to leave. He has to get up in just a few hours to help prepare for court again, and he still has several things on today's list. Please, please, please just take the hint and leave.

"Oh?" Head tilted to the side. A fox, rather than a cat. "Is Shang Qinghua spoken for, then? This Tianlang-Jun had hoped to befriend him, but it seems as though some other demon has laid a claim."

"What?" Shang Qinghua sputters, because there are about seventeen things about that one small sentence that he needs to question and it's knocking some of the fear and hesitance right out of him. "Surely Tianlang-Jun has others he would find more suitable to befriend." Befriend??? This is the Big Bad! What is he even doing in here?

Tianlang-Jun seems quite aware of Shang Qinghua's panic and distress, and yet utterly unmoved. He makes his way over to the desk that Shang Qinghua was using and sits down on the surface, right atop the papers, patting against his own thighs and smiling with all the guile of a newborn baby.

"I think that you will find that I have quite a history of befriending people that others may not see as suitable." Tianlang-Jun reaches over, swipes up the cup of tea that Shang Qinghua poured himself several hours ago and immediately forgot about. The previous emperor of the Southern demon tribes takes one delicate sip, wrinkles his nose in disgust, and then sets it back down. "Entertain me, Qinghua. I want to hear all about this life that a human built among demons. At the throne of Mobei-Jun, no less."

Oh. That makes more sense, then. The scandalized, gossiping note in his voice, when he talks about Mobei-Jun. The sudden and more-intense-than-it-should-be interest. Shang Qinghua can never escape the time honored tradition of a queer-coded villain, apparently. It happens when he's writing, even if he doesn't mean to do it. And this would make sense, as a power grab without having to do any of the actual work, which is the part that Tianlang-Jun always hated anyway. Marrying Mobei-Jun would be a pretty little solution.

"This one is hardly as important as all that." As if Shang Qinghua is ever going to allow this man to end up with Mobei-Jun. It would be a terrible match, neither one of them making the other happy. And, well, Mobei-Jun has always his favorite. He deserves something better than a miserable marriage. "This lowly one would be happy to tell Tianlang-Jun anything he is curious about, but it would hardly be anything worth hearing. This one is rarely granted the honor of speaking with Mobei-Jun." Tianlang-Jun is too powerful and unpredictable to piss off, so he can't exactly say no, but he's certainly not going to make it easy.

"Oh, this lowly one, huh?" Tianlang-Jun clicks his tongue in a chiding, condescending manner. Bitch. "No need to stand on such formalities. We're friends now, Qinghua. Come, sit with me. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about all the ways that human literature has advanced in the past few decades."

And, well, that's a direct order. For all that Shang Qinghua lectures Mobei-Jun about being a good diplomat, he can hardly do anything but obey. For all that Shang Qinghua shit talks people in his head or in his interactions with Cucumber-Bro, he is and will forever be a coward. He walks over to the small sitting area in the corner of the room, where he has covered all four of the chairs with some mishmash of maps and paperwork and empty bowls of noodles. The servants likely would have cleaned it up if they weren't forbidden from moving anything in the room.

Tianlang-Jun follows him, gleeful as a child and with the power of a nuclear bomb behind him. He stands off the to side, entirely unhelpful, as Shang Qinghua shoves several piles of detritus to the floor and beats furiously at the seat cushions to try and remove some of the dust. When one is clear, Tianlang-Jun slinks over and perches upon it like a throne.

"Now, isn't that better?" Tianlang-Jun seems to have brought the cold cup of Shang Qinghua's tea with him, and is continuing to sip from it, despite the level to which it is clearly grossing him out. "Tell me about books, if you're so reluctant to speak about your king."

They talk. It should be terrifying, speaking with a Heavenly Demon like this, someone so unpredictable. And it is, in a way. Shang Qinghua is shitting himself, and he can feel the way all of his limbs have locked up in trembling panic. Tianlang-Jun, though, was written to be a charming and charismatic villain, the kind of character that you can't help but like, even when he's clearly committing all sorts of atrocities. And so, somehow, despite it all, Shang Qinghua kind of likes him. Tianlang-Jun is quick and clever and very invested in learning about the terrible plots of terrible romance books that are starting to really pick up steam in this world after The Resentment of Chunshan.

"See? We're friends now. Tell me about my friend, Qinghua. How did a human come to be such an integral member of Mobei-Jun's court? An advisor, at that?"

Shang Qinghua talks him in circles, barely talking about Mobei-Jun at all, because he can make a new friend while still sticking to the original goal. Every time it drifts close to talk of Shang Qinghua's king, he can see the light in Tianlang-Jun's eyes, the leaning forward in sudden rapt interest, and it's not hard to remember to change the subject.

It would be easier, however, if his entire life didn't seem to revolve around Mobei-Jun, at this point. There's really very little that Shang Qinghua can talk about that doesn't tie back to him in some way. This is not because of his pathetic little crush, either. It's simply because he has made himself into an essential member of the court and because he lives at his place of work. Obviously, his life would revolve around his boss, in a situation like that. The pathetic-crush-maybe-love is entirely separate from that.

As the night wears on into the wee small hours of the morning, Shang Qinghua is furious to realize that he could actually see himself becoming friends with Tianlang-Jun. It's lucky, though, because the dropping formality and increased comfort eventually reaches a point where Shang Qinghua is finally comfortable pushing a new novel into Tianlang-Jun's hands and shoving him out the door to his quarters. Shang Qinghua can cross off the one or two essential things left on his list for today, and move all the other still-important-but-less-immediately-pressing tasks to the list for tomorrow.

He crashes into a few snatched hours of sleep, reeling from all the details that will be waiting for him when he wakes up.

*~*~*

"I see why you like him so much."

Mobei-Jun does not respond. That voice could be talking to anyone. He refuses to acknowledge it until it has made it impossible to do otherwise. Qinghua should be grovelling at his feet in thanks, at the effort he is putting into diplomacy.

"Your little human pet. We had such a lovely talk late last night. He has such taste in literature, don't you think?" Mobei-Jun is not looking at Tianlang-Jun, even as he lounges beside him as an honored guest at court. He is not looking because it's impossible to know if Tianlang-Jun is even talking to him. He will not look, because if he looks then he will lunge at Tianlang-Jun teeth-first, and he is behaving himself. "And such a fire in him! I will admit, Mobei-Jun, I didn't see it at first. He seems so nervous and jittery all the time. But there really is a brilliant mind in there, isn't there? And he's got a spine, if you push him far enough."

The doors to the court open, and Tianlang-Jun falls silent, thank the gods. Mobei-Jun is one of the only creatures on this earth that has the opportunity to know those truths about Qinghua, past the mask that so many others see. Perhaps Tianlang-Jun is only taunting him but, if so, then it is a very lucky guess.

Mobei-Jun rules for the next petitioner to be sentenced to death. He doesn't even know what they came in for.

As the court watches the crying demon be dragged from the room, Mobei-Jun sees the accursed image of Tianlang-Jun, lounging in his seat with a smirk, in his peripheral vision.

"Someone like that is truly worth knowing, wouldn't you say? Worth keeping on your side. I think I may take up a friendship with Qinghua. He seems like the sort of man who would enjoy exchanging letters."

And that is the last straw.

There is no warning, when Mobei-Jun lunges. He slips into the shadow of his throne and appears, teeth and claws first, behind where Tianlang-Jun has the nerve to lounge. Speaking of writing letters to Qinghua. Calling him by that name. Mobei-Jun is going to kill him where he stands.

Tianlang-Jun isn't surprised. He meets him blow for blow, even as Mobei-Jun tackles him down off the dais and they begin to duel in the center of the court. The demon nobles stand in quiet observation, not interfering for either side. They are nothing. Mobei-Jun draws the sword at his side, lunging forward with the speed and strength he has developed over years of sparring with Luo Binghe, on top of a lifetime in a family that wanted him dead. Tianlang-Jun dances gracefully out of the way. He laughs as he does. It sends icy fury hurtling through Mobei-Jun's bloodstream.

The fight is brief and brutal. For every blow that Mobei-Jun lands, Tianlang-Jun lands three. He is faster, and stronger, and older. What does it matter, that Mobei-Jun will lose? That is not the point. How could he respond in any way but this, when Tianlang-Jun has so blatantly flaunted his claim to the man he is courting?

A blow to the side of the head, and Mobei-Jun sees his blood on the ground. A blow to Tianlang-Jun's arm, and his blood forms into a wickedly sharp blade that he wields more effectively than claws and teeth.

Mobei-Jun is losing. He is losing, and Tianlang-Jun does not do him the dignity of making his next charade subtle. Perhaps, to the nobles, already losing interest in the fight, it is difficult to see. Here, in the midst of the fight, it is glaringly obvious when Tianlang-Jun allows several of Mobei-Jun's hits to land in a row. Even more obvious when he winks and then drops to a knee, bowing his head before Mobei-Jun's strike, fully confident that he will not allow it to land.

Mobei-Jun does not allow it to land. Because Qinghua would be upset.

"This Tianlang-Jun apologizes for any offense he may have caused his host, the venerable Mobei-Jun. Please, accept this one's deepest regret and honest surrender to the martial prowess of one such as Mobei-Jun."

He is laying it on thick. He is smirking throughout the entire declaration. Mobei-Jun does not dignify it with a response. He grunts in some vague acknowledgement and strides out of the greeting hall before he does something like throw away his entire kingdom for the chance to tear out Tianlang-Jun's throat.

Let him try to take Qinghua. A man like this is not at all to Qinghua's taste, and has none of the sort of shared history that he has with Mobei-Jun. Tianlang-Jun can throw himself against the brick wall of Qinghua's regard all that he desires. It will make no difference. He will not find a way into Qinghua's heart.

Mobei-Jun hasn't, and he has been trying for years.

*~*~*

By the time Shang Qinghua makes it back to his office for the evening, he is about ready to hunt his king down and throttle him. Sure, go right ahead, pick a fight with the most powerful demon in the court in the middle of the court where everyone can see and then leave court early. Surely someone else can take care of all the day's petitioners. Surely someone else can greet the dignitaries from the Fox Clan.

Of course. Shang Qinghua will just shift around his daily to do list, again, and make that happen. Who cares if it means that he needs to send the head servant to oversee the preparation of the greeting banquet for tomorrow, and fuck if that imbecile will do any of it right. He'll make it too garish or, even worse, make it grander than the welcome banquet they held yesterday, and cause a diplomatic incident that way. Most likely, Shang Qinghua is going to have to head over there tomorrow morning and undo everything the head servant did, which means another item on his to do list.

When he returns to his office, there is a pile of mail waiting for him, because there's a fucking spawn point above his desk and new tasks arrive every time he dares to step away. This is always the first part of his routine in the evening: going through all the mail in order of oldest to newest and checking to see which part of the Overarching To Do List it needs to be added to.

There are, thank fucking god, very few unexpected things in this pile of mail. Shang Qinghua moves a few tracking symbols around on his map of VIPs, and takes the time to jot a few points down on his to do lists for various regions. There are some items to add into next months budget for the Northern Desert and a few requests for night hunt services that will need to be passed on. Nothing too unusual, until he gets to the two most recent pieces of mail.

Qinghua,

I so enjoyed our conversation last night. Your insight into the motivations of the characters inBreathless Wishwere truly correct on every point. A mind like yours is one that I am eager to befriend.

Here's to many more nighttime conversations.

Tianlang-Jun :)

Shang Qinghua stares at the smiley face at the end for too long. This is what he gets. This is what he gets for watching too much shonen anime right before starting to outline this part of his story. He has no one to blame but himself, for this chaotic cool-guy stalker vibe that Tianlang-Jun is bringing to the villain role.

Shang Qinghua does not know what to do with this letter, but there is nothing about it that needs to be added to the Overarching To Do List. He sets it to the side so he can start to forget about it (after taking out the color-coded cheat sheet for the tracking map of VIPs and adding a new colored dot next to Tianlang-Jun's name).

The next letter is even more confusing.

Truly, Shang Qinghua stares down at the envelope for almost a full minute before moving.

It is folded on impressive, expensive cream paper. His name is written across the front, in a handwriting that would be impossible not to recognize, after all the time he has spent managing documentation for its owner.

Qinghua, it reads.

Tianlang-Jun provoked the fight today. There will likely be people who are unhappy.

I don't like him here. Make him leave.

There is no signature line. Shang Qinghua is going to kill him. He is going to go back in time and not save his life, back when they first met. That would have made every other part of his life so much easier. Fucking hindsight.

Fucking. Sure. He'll just go ahead and kick the most powerful demon they know out of the palace, then. Him, Shang Qinhua, the only human here. A cultivator too! Don't forget that part! A cultivator, you know, like the cultivators that imprisoned him under a mountain for decades and killed the woman he was in love with? Surely, there couldn't possibly be any flaws in this plan.

"Is that all he wrote? That's pathetic." The voice is from right over Shang Qinghua's shoulder, and he screams and whirls around, throwing the letter with all his might, only for it to flop harmlessly against Tianlang-Jun's chest and fall to the floor. "Hello Qinghua. I need to teach your king how to write sweet nothings as well, apparently."

Right. This asshole. Trying to seduce Mobei-Jun by doing ridiculous things like, apparently, starting a fight with him in front of the entire court and then reading letters to try and figure out how his actions were received.

"Tianlang-Jun." Shang Qinghua dips into a low salute, because he needs a second to get his fucking face together and also because he doesn't want to fucking die. "How can this humble one be of service?"

"None of that, I thought we already talked about this. No need for the formalities." Tianlang-Jun reaches past Shang Qinghua and steals his tea again before sauntering over to the sitting area where they spent their time yesterday. "I was just bored and wanted to talk to my friend. You're not busy, are you?" He's standing in front of the chair he sat in last night, because it's already accumulated new clutter and apparently his arms are still going to fucking fall off or something if he deigns to do any kind of physical labor.

"Of course I have time." Shang Qinghua gives one last, longing glance toward The Overarching To Do List and makes his way over to clear off the fucking chair. Make way, everyone. Shang Qinghua, the only fucking person capable of doing any work around here is finally here. What else can he do for you?

Tianlang-Jun drapes himself across the chair like an expensive throw and takes a languorous sip of Shang Qinghua's tea. When he tastes it, and the liquor Shang Qinghua had treated himself to spiking it with, his bros shoot up and a delighted smile spreads across his face.

"Ah, Qinghua, I had no idea you enjoyed this sort of thing. You must really be telling the truth when you said that you were planning to relax tonight." Shang Qinghua had not said anything even close to that. He would never say something like that. He added the shot or two because all he has to do tonight is a bunch of simple copying over of figures from all the various documents into one larger tracking sheet. It's mindless work and not the sort of thing that is disrupted by a little alcohol greasing the way.

"This king of yours is not very good at the whole romance thing, is he?" As if Shang Qinghua is going to allow slander like that to stand.

"He has never been interested in that sort of thing, so there would be no way to know one way or the other."

"Oh? What makes you so sure of that? I thought you were rarely granted the honor of speaking to Mobei-Jun?" Tianlang-Jun has the kind of smile that makes you feel like he's always playing a prank on you, or telling a joke at your expense. As the person who created him, Shang Qinghua knows that that feeling is often correct. The question is simply whether or not it is correct at this exact moment.

"I have known him for many years and seen him grow from a youth into the king that he is today. I would know if he had expressed interest in another."

"Qinghua sounds so sure. Perhaps this Lord should take his word for it." A fucking wrestling match in front of the entire court. Conversation with multiple words from Mobei-Jun over the course of a banquet. Maybe this is the joke. These behaviors could be seen as romantic, sometimes even flirting, in demon customs.

"Tianlang-Jun returned so quickly to formalities, after announcing that they were not necessary. Is he attempting to take his leave, then?" Shang Qinghua is trembling from the audacity of prompting Tianlang-Junto leave, but he's not sure he won't do something even worse if he continues to talk to him. The lesser of two evils.

"Hm, not just yet." Tianlang-Jun spreads his legs wide, leans forward to rest his chin on his hand and stare with half-lidded eyes. "Have you fucked each other?"

Shang Qinghua feels the impact of the question as it hits his chest, and then the shockwaves out that lock down each of his muscles as they pass. Fight or flight or fucking freeze, and he is a prey animal in the hungry gaze of a predator. Not even in a hot way that it sometimes feels with Mobei-Jun, just in the terrifying, if-I-don't-say-the-right-answer-he'll-kill-me way.

Thankfully, or tragically, or pathetically, Shang Qinghua doesn't have to lie about this. Who knows how a man as single-minded and obsessive as Tianlang-Jun would react to having to share his love interest with the tiny cultivator before him.

"No! What the fuck? No, of course he hasn't fucked me."

"He hasn't fucked you? Oh, Qinghua, you poor thing. That is not the question I asked."

"I don't see why any of this is relevant to anything at all."

"I told you. I'm bored! A poor, retired heavenly demon, traveling the world without a friend or a title to his name, grieving the loss of his most reliable subordinate. There is nothing at all to do out there. And there's something so very interesting happening here at this court. How long have you been wanting him?"

Shang Qinghua cannot tell him to leave, because he would be dead before the words could even leave his mouth. Also because this should all be just fine. He shouldn't feel the need to shut this down. Shang Qinghua doesn't mind when people make pitying assumptions about him. It's useful. If it weren't for the pathetic, desperate obsession he's been nursing for his king since long before he even came to this world, it would be funny. Instead, he's holding onto the shreds of his composure and humiliation and anger with the tips of his fingernails.

"Tianlang-Jun," he forces out. "Is there some sort of book you are looking to borrow tonight, or another way that I could be of service to you?"

"My friend Qinghua must be a prodigious reader indeed, if he believes me capable of reading all the books he sent over in the past day alone." There is a breath of peace, where Shang Qinghua is idiotic enough to let his guard down, thinking his blatant efforts to change the subject were accepted. "If you're not going to fuck him, you should at least go through the trouble of cooking for him. After all the cooking he's done for you."

Is this some weird mind game? Probably! Luo Binghe has to get it from somewhere! Is Tianlang-Jun trying to mark his claim on Mobei-Jun by trying to offend and order around anyone who might be a love rival? That feels more like the moves of the Little Palace Mistress than a Heavenly Demon lord. But then, why tell him to cook for his king? Where does that fit into the plan?

It's all gone so strange.

"Sure, yeah, I'll do that." Shang Qinghua agrees because there's nothing else for him to do and he doesn't know what the game is, here. He certainly can't go and tell Tianlang-Jun to fuck off, to leave him alone, to leave this entire fucking palace and go make his trouble somewhere else. What can he do but agree? He has no power here, beyond his intricate and extensive knowledge of all the ways that Tianlang-Jun could fuck him up without even expending any effort. Easier than sneezing.

"I'll hold you to that, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun says, drinking deeply from the spiked cold tea that he stole. "As my friend, I have to trust that you will keep your word to me, no?" He smiles at that, as if they are two old childhood friends passing the time over jokes and nostalgic stories.

"Of course, of course," Shang Qinghua murmurs, feeling like an old grandfather appeasing a toddler. He could hope that this would be the end of their conversation, but Tianlang-Jun stays again, this night, even later than the night before. Shang Qinghua has nothing he can do about it, but he's going to have to start penciling naps into the daily to do list, if this shit keeps up.

*~*~*

"I have to say, that letter you wrote to your darling love really left something to be desired." Tianlang-Jun does not wait to be announced or engage in any small talk. He simply arrives and begins speaking about the thing he wants to say. This is normally the sort of behavior that Mobei-Jun appreciates.

Normally.

He is reading over the speech that Qinghua has written for him, greeting the dignitaries from the Fox Clan after their arrival yesterday. It is short and succinct, but covers the points that would be necessary for whatever sort of behind-the-scenes things Qinghua is trying to accomplish. Mobei-Jun no longer asks for specifics. He just goes where he is told and says what he's supposed to say. In return, Qinghua makes the words at least somewhat bearable to say. It works for them.

They have a rapport. An understanding. Mobei-Jun is not going to forget this and allow himself to lash out again, like yesterday. Qinghua had not been happy. He hadn't said anything, too busy with other things, but he had scowled up at him over dinner, and that was enough to make it clear. Most likely it will come up again after Mobei-Jun has angered him several more times, and he decides to let it all out at once.

All this to say: Mobei-Jun does not respond to Tianlang-Jun's words. Merely grunts in acknowledgment, so he does not feel as though he has to say them again.

"Have you ever written a love letter before?" Tianlang-Jun slumps into a chair across from Mobei-Jun and props his feet up on the table, letting them fall atop the parchment holding the written out speech. "Because, if so, then I'm pretty sure he had no idea that it was a love letter. Is that how you talk to him all the time? I don't like him here, Qinghua. Make him leave, Qinghua. Bring me my blanket, Qinghua. Someone reading your letters would think he was your parent."

Mobei-Jun focuses on the words beneath Tianlang-Jun's shoes, even as he can feel his lips raising in a snarl. Those were the words he wrote. So Tianlang-Jun really did read the letter. This was not just a lucky guess that Mobei-Jun had fallen for his taunting. He knows the exact words.

Does that mean that Qinghua showed him the letter? Or that he broke in to the office to see it? One would be Qinghua's choice. Mobei-Jun could go and shout at him for it, but that would just make him do it more, most likely. The other option would mean that Mobei-Jun would have no choice but to challenge him to another duel. Another that he will lose.

It wasn't a love letter. That's why it didn't sound like one. Mobei-Jun has never written a love letter and never will.

"I think he was sad about it. If that's the kind of courting you're doing, no wonder he hasn't taken up your offer."

"Is there something Tianlang-Jun needs?" Mobei-Jun grits out between his teeth. He is speaking like this more and more frequently recently.

"I simply desire the chance to teach someone younger than me the proper way to woo a human, considering I'm one of the few demons who has ever managed it." That gives Mobei-Jun pause. Tianlang-Jun notices. "Considering the only models you may have for this kind of relationship would be myself and that son of mine, I had assumed you may want help. Unless, of course, you would prefer a relationship more like the one my son has built with his teacher."

"You have successfully courted a human."

"Famously, I'd say. Or infamously, I suppose, depending on who you're asking. But it certainly did happen. You can look to the emperor of our realm, if you have any doubt."

Mobei-Jun does not respond immediately.

There are two sides of him at war. He has been courting Qinghua for years with no discernible reciprocation. This Tianlang-Jun is one of the few people who may actually be able to help.

The other side of him is furious that this thought has even crossed his mind. This demon lord has intruded into his home uninvited and dares to comment on his relationship. As if he could ever know Qinghua the way that Mobei-Jun does. Mobei-Jun does not ask for help. He is the ruler of his Northern Desert. The second-in-command to Junshang.

Also, Tianlang-Jun is clearly waiting for him to ask for help. Sitting there, smug as can be, in patient silence. Mobei-Jun would rather rip his own throat out with his claws than ask for help from someone so clearly expecting him to.

Would he rather tear out his own throat or lose Qinghua, though?

If he accepts Tianlang-Jun's offer, it will not be as simple as agreeing. There will be strings attached. Mobei-Jun grew up in a family like this, too. Constantly trading information behind each other's back and holding things over each other.

Qinghua will not leave. He promised. They have time.

He lets the silence grow thicker in the room. Goes back to reading through the speech. If he ignores Tianlang-Jun long enough, he will likely go away.

It takes a good while. That is likely what happens when you try to wait out someone who spent the last few decades trapped under a mountain. Eventually, Tianlang-Jun allows the feet of the chair to scrape across the floor as he stands up and laughs.

"Well, good luck, then. I'll give you this one for free: your Qinghua is a man of words. Maybe try to do something about that, rather than begging for him to come clean up your messes." Tianlang-Jun raps his knuckles once against the surface of the table before sauntering out. It's good that he leaves so quickly, because Mobei-Jun is going to kill him if he has to look at him for another second.

*~*~*

It's kind of fucking frustrating, all the shit that's been going on recently. Shang Qinghua is always the person sent to deal with everyone else's bullshit, sure. Usually, though, there's a little bit of free time here and there. He can use it to sleep. He usually uses it to check in with his king and make sure that they are thinking along the same lines in the plans they're pursuing. Or to make sure he's doing all the things that Shang Qinghua trained him to do so that all the careful planning doesn't fall to pieces. Or to just get a chance to stare at him and be the perverted old man that he is. It's usually a fun mix of all of that. It's been happening more often that Mobei-Jun orders him to eat dinner together anyway, this past year or so. Sometimes it's those same hand-pulled noodles, and he's starting to get better at making them edible too.

There's been so much, with Tianlang-Jun's unexpected visit and the complications it brought to the Fox Clan's expected visit, and all the other everyday minutiae that comes from being the only person capable of running the demon realm or the human realm.

He misses it, though. The things that he gets to do when there isn't so much happening all the time. Evenings with his King, his favorite. Casual conversation with him, which really ends up looking more like Shang Qinghua rambling on and on about this or that while Mobei-Jun sits quietly and occasionally makes grunting or vaguely affirming noises to indicate that he has noticed that Shang Qinghua is still talking. Okay, so maybe the only thing that's really missing right now is his time with his king, but maybe that's the only thing worth missing anyway.

He makes his way over to the desk, flips over the stack of letters, starts going through them and adding information to The Overarching To Do List, shifting things in their priority rankings, moving figures across the VIP map and tweaking the color coding. There at the bottom of the stack is another one of those letters, same as the last time. Expensive, heavy cream paper with his name across the front in familiar handwriting.

Qinghua,

I have not seen you as frequently these past few days. There are many banquets. Eat lunch with me tomorrow.

Stop spending so much time with Tianlang-Jun.

Once again, there is no signature line. Once again, there is no need for a signature. It could not more clearly be from Mobei-Jun. It's him at his most neglected, entitled, and pouty. It reminds Shang Qinghua of the way he used to act when he was a teenager, actually, still coming into his power and unsure of his ranking within the family.

"See, I was thinking that was really more of a horizontal movement, but the ridiculous grin on your face makes me think I'm missing something and it was actually better." Shang Qinghua still jumps at Tianlang-Jun's voice, but he doesn't throw anything this time, because thought he might be stopping by again tonight. He just jumps whenever there's an unexpected noise. Sometimes also when there is an expected noise. "Any chance you'll be sharing with the class?"

"Tianlang-Jun," Shang Qinghua greets, bowing into a salute even though he's getting really fucking sick of this happening and would like to know how Tianlang-Jun so easily broke past the lock and talisman he had left on the door to his office. "In what way can this humble one be of service tonight?"

"See, you're so submissive and acquiescent when we're talking like this, Qinghua." Tianlang-Jun reaches out to lift Shang Qinghua out of his salute. There's an eager, boyish smile on his face and nothing behind his eyes. "Which is funny, because it doesn't seem like you follow through on the things we talk about." The smile grows wider, showing off just how sharp a full-blooded Heavenly Demon's teeth can be. "So eager to agree here, and then your actions go and betray all the trust of our friendship."

There is a fine tremor starting up in all of Shang Qinghua's limbs, something he's never quite figured out how to prevent when he's scared. His voice, when it comes out, is a high squeak. "Betrayed? If Tianlang-Jun would be so kind as to explain what he means."

"Qinghua," the word is chiding. "You told me you would be cooking food for your Mobei-Jun. And, yet, I saw nothing of the sort at dinner."

"There was a banquet!" Shang Qinghua yelps, because this is ridiculous. "We were welcoming the Fox Clan and he was giving a speech! I can't cook for him at a time like that!"

Again, Tianlang-Jun turns foxlike in the way he tilts his head to the side. More foxlike even than the Fox Clan that is visiting and that Shang Qinghua invented in a clear effort to pander to the furry demographic.

"Did he not cook for you?"

"He. Well. That's different! He knows I can't eat all that rotting stuff that demons like to eat!"

"Sounds like you could have cooked for him too."

"What do you want?" Shang Qinghua despairs. He made his bad guy too aloof and mysterious and now there's no way for him to even understand the points that he's trying to make. "I'll do whatever you want, just please stop with this whole intimidation game. I don't know what you're trying to do!"

"Qinghua, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun saunters behind the place where Shang Qinghua was sitting and is now halfway to kowtowing. He's headed for the fucking tea again, not spiked, and Shang Qinghua has resigned himself to that. If that's what it takes for his chaotic-neutral villain to finally monologue and let everyone else in on what the fuck is going through his head, that's a small price to pay.

This is the part where he fucks it up.

Because he's so resigned to doing whatever needs to be done to make the person so much stronger than him leave him alone that he's not even watching him that closely, the way a spy master really should be. He sees Tianlang-Jun's hand reach out, and he doesn't do anything about it, because he thinks he's going for the fucking tea.

And then Tianlang-Jun is holding The Overarching To Do List. And it's too late to do anything.

Shang Qinghua still tries. He lunges up off the ground because there's nothing else to do when someone is holding your child hostage in front of you. At his first movement toward Tianlang-Jun, the motherfucker holds out his free hand and sets it alight with demonic fire, moving it slowly toward the stack of papers.

Shang Qinghua freezes. He doesn't move a fucking muscle, aside from the tremor wracking through every single one of them. He doesn't even allow himself to babble. He already asked the questions. Tianlang-Jun knows what he wants to know.

This is not a world where everything can be backed up to the cloud. This would be infinitely worse than losing his outline. That list is everything holding both realms together. There aren't copies.

"Ah, so this is what it takes to gain the full attention of one so important as the advisor to the king, Shang Qinghua. It's good to know something like that, when you're someone like me. A poor, homeless demon with no power of his own beyond what is granted by his blood. You understand why something like this might be necessary." He's monologuing, thank god, but he still isn't saying anything helpful, anything that will give any kind of fucking insight into what he could be thinking. Shang Qinghua has let him exist as a rogue entity for too long. It's not safe to have someone like this wandering. He needs more information.

"What do you want." Shang Qinghua does not ask, because there's too much space between each word for it to have that kind of inflection. He doesn't want to speak too quickly, because he does not know what sort of behavior will cause Tianlang-Jun to bring that flame closer to his Overarching To Do List.

"It seems that my good friend Qinghua is so busy with his lists that he had no time to follow through on our agreement." Interesting, that he's back to calling Shang Qinghua a friend, as if he hadn't just implied it was a threat. As if he isn't holding Shang Qinghua's most precious item hostage before his very eyes. "Surely, he will have more time to cook a dinner for his king if there are not so many other tasks cluttering up his time."

And

What?

What could possibly be the point of this? Shang Qinghua thought he was onto something, thinking that Tianlang-Jun was interested in Mobei-Jun, but this makes no fucking sense. How did they get here? He is going to scream. No more chaotic neutral villains ever, ever, ever again. No more characters that chase their whims from scene to scene. Every character from now on is going to have a clear and established set of values, consistent motivation, driving force.

No time for any of this. Whatever the motivation is, there is nothing for Shang Qinghua to do beyond hug those overpowered thighs and pray that he doesn't take it any further than this.

"Tianlang-Jun will return the list, after I do this?"

"Of course, Qinghua. I, after all, am a demon of my word. Your precious papers will be returned to you, as soon as you take the time to care for your king in the ways that he has taken care of you." Shang Qinghua would laugh at that, the idea that their relationship is unbalanced in Shang Qinghua's favor, but again. The fire.

"This one will do as you say, then."

"Good boy." Tianlang-Jun pats Shang Qinghua's head on his way out the door. Like a dog. He takes the list with him, but extinguishes the flame.

Shang Qinghua is left standing in the middle of his office.

He should do something.

There are hours before he usually goes to bed.

He can't just go to sleep.

There are so many things to do.

He has a whole list of all the things that he needs to be doing right now.

The problem, though, is that there's so much shit to keep track of every single fucking day. There's not enough space in his head to keep track of that, and every time he tries he just drives himself up the wall with no clue how he got there or what he needs to do to get back down.

So. The Overarching To Do List. He figures out what needs to be done, writes it down on the correct region of the list, and then erases it from his brain. He doesn't need to remember any of it. It's on the list. He'll find it again when he makes his daily to do list and when it's necessary for it to come back up.

It's a living document. There are no copies, because it changes seventeen times a day and is always shifting. He writes it in a horrible mixture of English and simplified Chinese characters, so that even if someone else in this world got ahold of the list that controls life across both realms, they would never know what it says or how to interpret it. Only Cucumber-Bro would ever have the context to read the information, and that's never going to happen, because he's far too content to live in his isolated little cottage while his husband waits on him hand and foot. And he'd never want to betray Shang Qinghua, because he's the one making sure Cucumber-Bro can relax and have a life like that.

No Overarching To Do List. No memory of what is even on that list. Nothing to do for the few hours where he usually sits down and makes significant amounts of headway into the neverending list.

There is nothing to do.

He could go to sleep, but there's no chance that he'll fall asleep right now. He's conditioned his body over the past several decades to spend this time awake.

He could go and cook a meal for Mobei-Jun right now. Would that count? Would that get him his list back right now? Tianlang-Jun had saiddinner, specifically. They've already eaten dinner. And Tianlang-Jun specifically pointed out that Mobei-Jun had cooked a meal for Shang Qinghua to eat when he was in front of everyone else. He had said that he would return the list when Shang Qinghua showed the same level of consideration for his king that his king has shown for him. Cooking something right now would almost definitely not meet those requirements, and would just add more tasks onto the pile.

Well. He was complaining earlier, wasn't he? About the lack of time he's been able to spend with Mobei-Jun recently. He might already be asleep, but there's nothing else to do. Maybe he'll go for a walk over toward his quarters and see if he's still awake now too.

Tianlang-Jun may be mad at him for this. His motivation is still so unclear, Shang Qinghua doesn't know what's going to set him off or what would make him happy. But he hasn't said not to spend time with Mobei-Jun, has encouraged it in some specific ways, so he's going to assume this is okay.

The halls of the Northern Palace are long and wandering. With so many different animal features integrated into the demon realm (again, many thanks to the deep and generous pockets of the furry community), there's never a moment where all the members of a demonic court are asleep. Shang Qinghua slips down the hallways, nodding at various nobles and servants as they go past. Everyone else is dressed casually, but Shang Qinghua needs to pull on several layers of draping robes and fur cloaks whenever he ventures outside of his personal chambers, especially at night. He feels like a huge, lumbering marshmallow as he walks down the hallway, all of his movements and sensations buffered by layers on layers on layers.

It's a long walk to his king's quarters. He had offered, after the whole incident with Shang Qinghua running away, to move his office and rooms closer, but Shang Qinghua hadn't seen much of a point. They rarely spend much time together in each other's rooms, and he's already put all his time and effort in finding the right combination of talismans and interior design and heating elements to make the temperature bearable. It would be so much work to design a new space like that.

The crowds thin out as he approaches the king's chambers. Mobei-Jun is not known for his friendly and welcoming demeanor. Someone looking to curry favor, gain his insight, lobby for policy would know better than to try and trouble him late at night. It would have the opposite effect.

Perhaps Shang Qinghua shouldn't be here at all, actually, when you think about it in that context. Maybe this is a dumb idea and he's about to see his king, mussed up from being awoken and furious, telling Shang Qinghua to leave him alone. Shang Qinghua tries to ignore the depraved part of him that feels excited at that image. It's one thing to be a masochist in a fun, sexy, pre-negotiated way. It's another thing to have your boss who has hit you before and could very easily kill you feature in those fantasies.

He tells himself this approximately five or more times a day. It hasn't worked yet, but he's holding out hope.

Besides. Mobei-Jun promised that he would never hit him again. Shang Qinghua has to trust that, because his entire life is built around trusting that right now. So, he pushes down any hesitation and knocks hard on the door. The wood is so thick and dense that it requires that kind of knock for anyone to hear.

It takes a minute and several more knocks before the door flies angrily open.

Mobei-Jun is standing in the doorway. His long, straight hair is caught and tangled on itself in several places. He's wearing loose-fitting, soft pants and a draping robe left open. That is all he is wearing. The endless expanse of his pale, muscled flesh on display has Shang Qinghua's mouth going dry. It could not be more clear that he had been in bed, got up when he heard the knocking, and threw a robe on as he walked over to the door. He was likely asleep, if the grouchy, squinty expression on his face is anything to go by.

What would he do, if Shang Qinghua dropped to his knees right now and blew him, just in the middle of the night in the middle of the hallway outside his chambers?

Maybe he'd let him. A mouth is a mouth. Maybe he'd punt Shang Qinghua across the floor and never talk about it again. Maybe he'd kick him out of the palace and find a different spymaster and advisor.

Shang Qinghua doesn't do it, just like he hasn't in the years that he's known him.

"Qinghua?" The grouchy, squinty face doesn't go away, but it softens a little bit. Likley relieved that it's not some politician here to try and talk about business.

"Ah, My King, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Something is wrong." The way this man never asks questions, just states what he thinks is true.

"No, no, nothing like that. Just here to-" To what? Just here to do what??? Why is he here? Just because he lost his to do list and has nothing to do? How does he explain that to him at all? "Ah, never mind. Never mind. Go back to sleep."

Shang Qinghua turns away from all that glorious skin and makes it only two steps away before he feels a hand clamp down on the neck of several layers of his robes and cloaks. He yelps as he is scooped up like a scruffed kitten. Mobei-Jun drags him back, slowly, spinning him back around to meet his eyes. Shang Qinghua reminds himself again (again again again again again) that he should not be turned on by his boss manhandling him.

"Qinghua does not often come to see me at this time." Again, not a fucking question, but he's still got Shang Qinghua held still. He's not going to let go without him saying something to explain himself.

"Ah, ha ha, My King. This one does not wish to disturb your sleep." Mobei-Jun flexes his arm in a way that makes Shang Qinghua brace to be shaken, but it doesn't come. He watches the intentional pause and forcible relaxation of that muscle, the same sort of thing he's seen several times since he and Mobei-Jun talked about the whole hitting thing. Still, the relentless, unblinking contact from his ice-blue eyes is cutting into Shang Qinghua, who has never been very good at staying quiet anyway. "It's just that I wasn't sleeping and I thought maybe you wouldn't be sleeping anyway and wanted to see if...ha ha, I guess just wanted to know if you needed something, or anything."

The squinty, grumpy expression has almost entirely disappeared into the usual smooth, blank lines of indescipherable emotion. Shang Qinghua does not know if that is a good sign or a bad sign.

"Qinghua usually uses this time to complete tasks and paperwork."

Huh. Shang Qinghua hadn't realized that Mobei-Jun kept that kind of track of what he's up to.

"Ah, yeah, I guess that's true."

"Qinghua is here instead." There is a tick at the corner of Mobei-Jun's eye. A usual tell that he is getting angry.

"Ha ha, yeah, Tianlang-Jun-" The hand in his collars tightens. There is no pain from it (all fabric, and that's good, it's good that Mobei-Jun is not moving him around by a firm grip on his neck), but the obvious reaction to the name still shakes him a little. "Tianlang-Jun came and took my list."

"The Overarching To Do List."

"Oh, uh, yeah. That."

Mobei-Jun drops the collars and goes to storm off down the hallway in the direction of the guest rooms. Shang Qinghua yelps again and starts to scramble after him.

"Wait, wait, My King, where are you going?"

"He is a guest in my palace. He cannot interfere with the work of my advisor."

"So, what, you're going to fight him?" At the skepticism in his voice, Mobei-Jun whirls around, the same hurt pout that he's had since he was a teenager.

"Is that not why Qinghua is here?"

"No!" Shang Qinghua wails. "I just thought that, if I wasn't doing anything and if you weren't doing anything, well, I guess." The pout has dissappeared off of Mobei-Jun's face, and he is no longer pulling away from Shang Qinghua to head toward the guest quarters. "Never mind. I'm going to just, I don't know, go to bed or something. My King should go back to sleep too. This one apologizes for waking you."

"You came here to spend time together."

Shang Qinghua sputters to a stop at those words, shocked and appauled that Mobei-jun would be so bold as to just go ahead and say something like that out loud, when they never do things like that. He can feel the heat of a blush flooding his cheeks, but Mobei-Jun just nods his head and grabs again at the scruff of his cloaks, before he can find a way to gather all of his words together. Without ceremony, he is dragged back through the doorway and finds himself in the king's private chambers.

In all the time that he has lived in the palace, he has not ever been in his king's bedroom.

The rooms are cold and yawning. The ceilings arc high and elegant above them, carved from a beautiful natural marble deposit and shot through with silver shaped to look like ice filigrie on all the support beams and molding. There is a fireplace in the corner, with a sumptuous fur from a Six-Headed Ice Cavern Leopard spread before it, but no fire in the fireplace. Mobei-Jun has never been the type to pursue any sort of heat, when left to his own devices. In a room this large, where an ice demon has spent the last few hours and the walls and ceiling are carved from stone, there is a kind of ringing freezing cold that cuts right to the core of Shang Qinghua's bones. He feels a shiver wrack through him almost immediately.

In the corner of the room, there is an enormous bed, covered in furs and blankets and pillows. They seem to have been constructed into some kind of nest, so that Mobei-jun can lay on top without having to bundle up in any way. Shang Qinghua hates that he knows this now. His mouth is dry just looking at it, knowing that it might still be cold from when he was laying in it just before Shang Qinghua knocked on the door. The blankets are rumpled and scattered. He could probably figure out a way to keep warm, if he bundled up in there enough. If he were going to sleep there.

Which he isn't going to do. Because they don't do that and never have and there is no reason to think that they ever will.

"Ah, My King, this really isn't necessary." The shivering is mostly from the cold, but Shang Qinghua would probably be shaking either way, with the way that it's basically automatic as a response whenever Mobei-Jun manhandles him like this. Yes, it is objectively fucking hot. This is the demon that was meant to kill him and that knocked him around before and from whom he has begged for his life. He should not be turned on right now. He can't help it.

Mobei-Jun does not seem to be listening. He pulls Shang Qinghua over to the chairs near the fireplace and sets him down in one before sitting silently in the chair across from him. They sit in silence for a second, staring at each other, while Shang Qinghua shakes with shivers, even through all his layers. After a bit of this, Mobei-Jun jerks back into motion and goes to light a fire.

"Wait, My King, you don't need to, that really isn't necessary." Shang Qinghua starts with a loud protest, but it strangles itself to a whisper when Mobei-Jun shoots him a scathing glare. Fine. Fine. He's the king here. If he wants to light a fire in his room then that's his problem. Shang Qinghua certainly isn't going to stop him, especially when the first wave of heat begins to emenate from the fireplace and he feels as his muscles unclench.

When he glances back over at Mobei-Jun, his face has gone well and truly soft, and there's something new and stunning about the way firelight plays off his cheekbones and the planes of his face. Something about this new light, the crackling of the flames, flips the moment from terrifying and cold to something warm and peaceful. Shang Qinghua settles back in the seat, snuggling down a little deeper into all the cloaks, feeling almost as though he should have some kind of warm drink as well.

And, suddenly, it's not so bad at all. He's not panicking anymore, becuase his king dragged him here. His king lit a fire. His king will throw him out when he is done speaking with him. All that he can do it wait to be told when his king's patience runs out.

"Well, My King, should I ask how your day went? It doesn't seem like there's much point, since I was there for most of it and had my people reporting back to me about everything I wasn't there for." Mobei-Jun snorts a delicate laugh, with all the effortless elegance of someone written as wish-fulfillment by a man with a competence kink. "I know you did well with the speech for the Fox Clan, even if I was busy prepping for the banquet instead."

"The Fox Clan," Mobei-Jun says, but there's a nuance to his flat tone that makes the words absolutely scathing. Shang Qinghua leans forward, grabbing onto the arms of his chair, and it's probably a good thing after all, that he's not holding a hot drink right now.

"Did they do something? Why didn't I know that you don't like the Fox Clan? It impacts our plans, and the rooms we give them, and the things we serve at the banquet. If you're going to cut them off as allies, you need to let me know yesterday, so that I can start getting everything in order for something like that. You have to tell me these things, My King, if I'm supposed to be your advisor and spymaster."

"Qinghua can know whatever he likes, regardless of reason."

"Oh," Shang Qinghua feels a blush rising on his cheeks, but they were already red from the cold, so it's probably unnoticable. What the fuck is going on in this place right here? "Well, great, appreciate that, but also I do need to know for my job. And also so that, when I write speeches, I can make them things you're actually willing to say."

"They are...overfamiliar." Shang Qinghua cannot help the way that he laughs nervously at that. It's unusual to hear his king express this kind of targeted hatred rather than a general dislike for everyone. It's funny, to hear him complaining. Also, that is not nearly enough information.

"My King, tell me more. What happened? I was only gone for a shichen. Surely nothing too horrible could have gone wrong in that time."

"One of their delegation has expressed interest in courting Qinghua."

And. Oh. Huh. Well, that's not at all what he was expecting this conversation to be about. It's also still really unclear why that would make Mobei-Jun not like them, unless-

"Ah, they really shouldn't be troubling the king with such things as that. And during your speech as well, no wonder My King no longer likes them. It shows a true lack of understanding for courtly manners. Which one of their party was it? This advisor will do what he can to remedy this situation."

There is a pause, enough to draw Shang Qinghua out of his ramblings and notice the way that the irritation has left Mobei-Jun's face, even as his eyes still rest heavy on Shang Qinghua.

"It was the younger general, with the long black hair and silver ears." If Mobei-Jun is looking for recognition in Shang Qinghua's expression, he finds it, because that's one of the Fox Clan that has been relentlessly seeking conversation with Shang Qinghua over the course of the visit, especially when he has seven other things that he really needs to be attending to. He is handsome enough, almost everyone in this world is, unless they're written to be some low-grade villain. It would be nice, if it were at all possible for Shang Qinghua to find himself interested in anyone over the screaming noise of his pathetic love for his king.

"General River Mud! Yes, I remember him. I wouldn't have expected him to interrupt official procedings in such a way. I'll have to make sure to update my notes on him." Shang Qinghua reaches for the brush he usually keeps just behind his ear, but it's not there, because he was settling in for the night in his office. Without asking, he makes his way over to Mobei-Jun's desk, taking one of his brushes and the thick, half-dried ink still in the dish. He's almost done scrawling the reminder onto his hand when he hears Mobei-Jun speak up again.

"It was not an interruption." Shang Qinghua glances back over at him, his sleeve caught between his teeth to better hold it out of the way while he writes, inconvenitently also blocking him from asking any clarifying questions. "General River Mud of the Fox Clan petitioned appropriately for royal permission to court Shang Qinghua, the king's advisor."

The sleeve falls from Shang Qinghua's open mouth.

"Oh shit." Mobei-Jun is just watching watching watching, waiting for Shang Qinghu to react. "Oh shit, okay, wait, that's not at all what I thought you were going to say. So, wait, okay, is he like officially courting me now? My King, if you blessed the courting, then you know that it would be a great offense to both himandyou if I didn't allow it to happen. So, wait, are you trying to marry me off to another clan?" His breathing is speeding up, and he can feel it. Mobei-Jun must be able to tell as well, because he rises to his feet and begins walking toward Shang Qinghua. "You can't send me away, My King, this place would fall to pieces without me running it and you know that. I can't go to the Fox Clan. I don't even have fur and what-"

Mobei-Jun sets his hand over Shang Qinghua's mouth. It is cold and large enough to cover from one hinge of his jaw to the other. He wants to lick it.

"I denied his request and sent him away." The words are so close. Mobei-Jun is so close. He's so much bigger than Shang Qinghua and his voice is so deep that it shakes the air between them when he speaks. Shang Qinghua needs to take a moment to remember what they're even talking about.

"Wait," he tries to say, but it comes out more like mphg until he is able to wrap his hands around Mobei-Jun's and push it away from covering his mouth. "Wait, but sending him away like that could be terrible for the relationship between us and the Fox Clan. My King, you can't just send away every person that annoys you. Why would you even do that?"

This is the kind of question that does not ever get an answer. Mobei-Jun acts based on his feelings and never takes the time to explain. His advisor must learn to take it all in stride and fix whatever mess was just made. Mobei-Jun is a man of action rather than words.

They're still standing so close, with Shang Qinghua holding his mostly-limp hands in the air between them, from when he pushed him away. There's something sparking in the air between them. In the firelight that flickers, dim this far away. Shang Qinghua is suddenly once again very aware of the bed in the room, large and comfortable behind him. They're so close that he can see the resolve settle over Mobei-Jun, a sure sign that there will be no response, before a thought clearly strikes him anew and he tilts his head, focused on Shang Qinghua's expression.

"Because Qinghua cannot go to the Fox Clan. Because this palace would not survive that loss." Oh shit, oh fuck. Somethings happening. Something is fucking different right now, and there is one long, unending scream echoing in Shang Qinghua's brain. One of those large hands lifts from his grasp to brush almost inperceptibly along the edge of one cheekbone, into his temple. There is a wry, soft smile at the corner of Mobei-Jun's mouth, if you are lookingveryclosely. "Because Qinghua does not have fur."

Shang Qinghua is a mouse in a trap. Pinned, wide-eyed, staring up into the eyes of a predator. Mobei-Jun's hand is resting along the side of his head, elegant fingers pressed into his hair, along the shell of his ear, against his temple.

He's waiting for something to happen. For Mobei-Jun to lean down and claim his mouth like it's his right. For him to laugh in his face and declare it all a terrible joke. Something, something, something but Mobei-Jun is carved from ice. He does not shift or react, simply holds them in that moment. He's watching Shang Qinghua like he's waiting for the same sort of thing, and this is too much. This is a dream. This is a trick. This isn't happening.

Shang Qinghua bursts into awkward and uncomfortable laughter, shuffles his way to the side until he's no longer pressed into that small bubble of space between his king and the desk. The moment shatters on the ground after him. He can practically hear the crack. It's fine. It's better than whatever might have happened if he hadn't done anything.

"Ah, My King, so kind, so kind. Of course this advisor would not leave. Come back to the fire. I have my notes now." He pats at the chairs they were sitting in earlier, awkward, awkward. Mobei-Jun stands with his back to him and the fire for one more breath before he turns and follows the directions, lounging in the chair like a throne. Good boy.

"No need for all that, then. My King told the general no, sent him away. This advisor will manage the fallout. Quick, let's talk about something else." Mobei-Jun does not look angry, but there is something of that pout back on his face, and Shang Qinghua can't look at it for too long or he is going to lose his mind. Anything else. "Oh! This one was wondering what My King's favorite food might be."

A pause, as Mobei-Jun clearly decides whether or not he is going to allow Shang Qinghua to get away with such a blatant effort to avoid any conversation about their most recent interaction. A deep sigh.

"This king does not care much for eating. He will eat what is provided for the occasion."

Right, see, Shang Qinghua knew that. That's why he doesn't already know what his king's favorite food is. Before today, he probably would have just answered that question by saying that he does not have one, that food has never been a source of particular joy for his king.

"Okay, and I know that, but surely My King must have some food that he prefers over others? Or some kind of cuisine he has been curious to try?"

"...Zha jiang mian," Mobei-Jun mutters. There are hints of a blue flush along his ears, and Shang Qinghua cannot figure out why. Where would his king have even had the chance to learn of the existence of zha jiang mian? The demons in his palace tend to eat meat raw or dried, with some rare fruits in the summer.

"Ah, good choice, My King."

"And Qinghua?"

"Huh?"

"Qinghua's favorite meal." Oh. That makes sense. That's how conversations tend to work.

"Hand-pulled noodles, My King." At that, Mobei-Jun dips his head in a firm nod of acknowledgement. This whole conversation is so strange. Everything about this night has been so strange. He has no idea what else they should talk about, and the conversation lapses into silence, the fire crackling between them. When Shang Qinghua cannot stand the quiet any longer, cannot stand the memory of the strange interaction over by the writing desk, cannot stand the looming presence of the bed in the corner, he lets out another awkward laugh, stumbles to his feet, brushes his sweaty palms off against his thighs.

"Well, this one has troubled you for long enough." He feels woozy, like the floor underneath him is rocking with each step. "I will take my leave and let you get back to sleep. See you tomorrow, My King."

"Not a trouble." Mobei-Jun does not stand to follow him or look particularly bereft, but the words ring through Shang Qinghua all the same. This is not how they speak to each other. He remembers the grumpy, sleepy look on Mobei-Jun's face when he opened the door. Interrupting his sleep like that is not a small offense. For him to say that it is not a trouble, now.

Well.

He doen't think on it any further. Better to just let that lie before his mind can get a proper hold on it.

Shang Qinghua extends his hand in a terrible little wave before he slinks back down the hallways, as if he were a criminal escaping the scene of a crime, except he literally was just talking to someone.

Back to the safety and warmth of his own quarters. Tianlang-Jun is not hiding anywhere in the corners. He checked. After that, there is little to do beyond curl up under the heavy blankets of his own bed and allow exhaustion to drag him under.

It's hours before he falls asleep.

[aerodaltonimperial]

(a little birdie told me it was @blizzardsuplex's birthday, so here's a little treat. happy birthday, mel!)

The devil mask sits on the table, face up, towards the ceiling; looking up, just like they always are. The way they aim, the direction they strive for. They will make it up to the top, and soon, but for now, the mask will sit in that place for them, peering up at the goal.

He traces the outline of it with his index finger. Somehow, he assumed it'd be sharp, but it isn't. It's smooth, and maybe that, too, is just another nugget he ought to tuck down between his ribs. What they're doing is right. What they're doing is good. What they're doing is what Maxwell would do to them, to Adam, if he got the chance—so they have to take the chance first.

"Nervous?" Adam asks. Roddy hadn't meant to get caught, really, but somewhere, deep down, he wonders if maybe he did. This is sort of how they operate nowadays, anyway: stealing away in the shadows and whispering only in the safety of the hotel rooms, where no one can hear.

"No." It's the truth. Roddy isn't nervous, he's ready. He's been ready for this since they started this entire enterprise, and he's never been more ready than he is right now. Maxwell will lose— Joe will take care of that, lift that belt right off of him, and they can stop this charade.

Finally.

Still, he keeps his finger on the side of the mask. It ought to be cool, sitting there on the table for so long, and somehow, it holds a flicker of warmth, as though someone recently set it against their face.

He's lingered too long; Adam can sense his hesitation. Adam can always sense these things, really.

"Hey," Adam says. "This'll all be over soon. And we can just... move on from this. Maxwell will be finished, and we'll be free to be something more."

Beating people up wearing ski masks was fun the first time. By the last time, Roddy was feeling the pressure on his shoulders. "Yeah."

He keeps his finger on the side of the mask. Definitely warm— remnants from a person slipping it over their face, against their skin. Taven's never come near it, and Mike? He doesn't care. Wardlow's more interested in the future than this covert business.

"Roddy," Adam says, half a question.

"Yeah." Roddy lifts his gaze, offers a smile he hopes looks more true than it stretches. "I'm ready."

That's the thing about masks. The people who are the best at wearing them are never the people you see coming. Maxwell is about to figure this out, a necessary lesson in humility.

But Roddy? He's already learned it, ten times over.

He drops his hand back down to his side. Masks are such an easy thing to wear once you get used to them. Adam's one of the best at keeping them on, day in and day out. Most days, Roddy wishes he weren't so keenly aware of the fact.

One day, that mask will crack for them just the same as it will tonight, for Maxwell, but that's a problem for the future.

"Let's go," he says.

[daydaydayrk420]

Be my Meuse pt2

Chris Evans x male reader

⚠️handjob, nude drawing, make out ⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

______________________________________________________________

Pt1

...

..

.

Once they arrive they hurry inside. Chris sighs in relief and takes off his shoes. He looks around. "Cozy."

"Thanks." Y/n smiles. He makes his way to the kitchen. "Thirsty?"

It's been hours. They've been playing board games and getting to know each other. They also moved on from water and juice to whiskey and beer. They ran out of games. But they're clever. They figured out another way to distract themselves.

They decided to draw. Not just any drawings. Guess what I'm drawing and if you don't guess I fail. They don't know what it's actually called. But! They spiced it up.

If they fail they strip. At first it was shots but they drank even if they won so what's the point in that. But of course they had to complicate their techniques because they're both artists so the game wouldn't be fun.

Chris is only in his pants with one sock. While y/n is in his shirt and boxers.

Y/n is blindfolded as he draws on the small portable marker board. He's trying to think of what to draw. What he doesn't know though is how Chris is staring at his exposed legs.

The younger man finally thought of something and started drawing. "Okay...uh ..." He mumbles as he tries to find the center of the board. Chris? He's not paying attention. Those legs look far more interesting.

"Chris?" Y/n pipes up and looks towards the general direction of the couch. The older man snapped out of his trance and looked at the board. "Oh uh... Flamingo."

"No." Y/n chuckles and tries to add extra lines. Which obviously doesn't look like anything. Chris laughs and tilts his head in ways to try and see the vision.

"uh... Bird?" He tries again. Y/n shakes his head. "Fish?" "Yes!" The younger man beams and removes his blindfold. The drawing looks like a five year old scribble of what they think a fish looks like.

"how is that a fish?" Chris laughs and stands up to swap places. Y/n also laughs and hands him the board and blindfold.

Chris puts his blindfold on and thinks of something to draw. This time y/n is the one staring. He looks at the tattoos that are visible from his angle. The muscles flex whenever Chris moves. How his muscles aren't so outlined because he's relaxed and not full-time flexing.

His eyes trail down. He accidentally giggles. Chris smiles and looks towards the sound with a smile. "What?" He asks curiously. Y/n laughs and shakes his head. "No it's nothing... It's just that one sock is funny." They both laugh.

Chris finally thinks of something and starts drawing.

They're both in their boxers. At this point, they're just trying to get the other one naked as soon as possible, so they guess wrong on purpose until their timer runs out

And would you look at that. Chris is the first to drop his boxers. Y/n blushes and looks over Chris's bare body.

They switch places and y/n blindfolds himself and starts drawing. They both know they're both guessing wrong on purpose. But they don't want to acknowledge it.

So Chris ignores the drawing as his eyes memorise the younger man's body. He says random words as guesses.

Of course the timer runs out and it's y/n's turn to strip. He removes his blindfold and avoids Chris's eyes. He slowly drops his boxers to the floor.

Chris stands up and walks towards the younger man. He reaches out and lets his fingertips trace y/n's arms.

Y/n's breath hitches and his eyes stay glued to Chris's. They hold eye contact for what feels like eternity until Chris finally speaks up.

"Be my Meuse." He whispers. Y/n's mind spins but he nods nonetheless.

Chris grabs his sketchbook and pens while y/n laid on the couch.

Chris tells him how to pose. He puts a pillow on the coffee table and sits down.

He lets his eyes travel before he focuses on the drawing. The room is filled with the sound of pencil scratching on paper. None of them say a word.

Now, do you remember when i said there's no porn here? There is now.

Chris gets about halfway through the drawing before he drops the book on the coffee table and rushes to the couch. He kisses y/n and climbs on top of him. The younger man reacts instantly, he returns the kiss and wraps his arms around the older man's neck.

They're both drunk. And tired. They know they won't last for long so they just agree on handjobs.

Chris is the first to act. He keeps his left arm by y/n's head supporting his weight while his right arm drags down the other man's chest and stomach until his fingers wrap around y/n's weeping cock.

The younger man moans into the older man's mouth and thrusts into his hand.

Y/n frees one of his hands from Chris's hair and runs it down the mascular chest and stomach. But he doesn't wrap his fingers around Chris instantly. He just dodged the throbbing member and traced the v-shape of his abdomen and hips.

The older man groans at the teasing but doesn't say anything about it.

Y/n has to. He can't just not do it. His wandering hand moves to the back and cups America's ass. Chris pulls back from the kiss and laughs. The younger man only smiles and admires the way that the face above his scrunches by the eyes.

"No hesitation huh?" Chris teased. Y/n chuckles and shrugs. "Did you expect me to ignore this beautiful cake?" He jokes and squeezes the cheek he's holding.

Chris groans and buries his face in the younger man's neck. He returns to moving his hand around y/n's dick.

Y/n gives in and let's go of the ass to wrap his fingers around Chris's dick instead. The older man moans and his hips twitch.

As they both stroke one another Chris stars sucking and biting on y/n's neck.

The alcohol in their veins makes it harder to hold back. They can both feel how dangerously close they are.

"Please tell me you're close too and I'm not just pathetic." Y/n groans and thrusts into Chris's hand. Said man chuckles and also thrusts into the other's hand. "No I'm close too don't worry."

They have stopped moving their hands and just used them as fleshlight while they simultaneously thrust into them.

Chris is the first one to buckle. His dick twitches multiple times in a row as his white streaks cover y/n's belly. He tries his best to keep his weight up so y/n can still move and chase his climax. But he starts to tremble with how weak his arm is getting especially after the shock of electricity from cumming so much.

Y/n isn't really that far behind. He leans his head up to capture Chris's lips in a heated kiss while his own dick twitches and his cum mixes with the pool of Chris's cum on his belly.

Once they both stop Chris collapsed on y/n and buried his face in the other man's neck.

Y/n caresses the muscle in Chris's shoulders lazily. "That... Was probably the fastest handjob I've had." He said with a laugh. Chris laughs too and nods his head in agreement.

Chris yawns. "Wanna watch TV?" He mumbles. Y/n shrugs and turns the TV on.

What they put on doesn't even matter because they both fall asleep within ten minutes.

Chris feels like he'll stay around with this one and see where it'll go.