#and then they get righteously pissed about it. so there's that to consider too

[talentforlying]

ok constantine would sooner strangle me than be compared to roderick usher, but "the gates are always open but that doesn't mean you answer the phone" feels very close to how he operates with his friends and allies. you can always come to him for help, but it won't necessarily be the help you wanted. eventually people learn to just stop calling, because the silence is better than the disappointment.

[illwynd]

Eternally confused by assertions that Thor and Loki don't like each other.

They love each other, obviously. And sometimes they fuckin hate each other (well, Loki sometimes hates Thor. And Thor is sometimes at least very goddamn righteously pissed off at Loki, whether he'd call it "hate" or not.)

But they do also like each other.

Thor clearly likes Loki. Enjoys and appreciates his company and admires many things about him, despite their many conflicts. And although that's a comics reference, consider Thor's "well of course I want to have my brother come with me on an adventure!" attitude when he's trying to convince his friends to go to Jotunheim with him at the beginning of Thor 2011, and it seems like it's pretty applicable to the MCU as well, at least before TR's moronic retcons.

Is it mutual, though?

... is that a real question?

Loki idolizes him, wishes he could measure up to him, thinks the sun goddamn rises and sets on Thor. "Loki felt no rancor [...] -- his stepbrother was perfect: beautiful, powerful, golden. He adored him. And if Thor repaid that adoration with little slights and humiliations, it was a price Loki was only too willing to pay for his company" (R. Rodi, Loki: Blood Brothers). Yes, another comics reference, but doesn't that also jibe with the movie depiction of Loki who clearly has a less than ideal relationship with the rest of Thor's crew but hangs out with them nonetheless because that's the only way to spend time with Thor?

Genuinely, I can't think of a better metric for liking someone than wanting to hang out with them even when the circumstances make that less than fun for other reasons. Seeing their company as satisfying even if you're both just sitting there doing something that would otherwise suck. And they both seem to have each other as first choice for that, with everyone else a very distant second if they rank at all.

So I just don't get how anyone can try to slot them into some cliche of "siblings who love each other i guess but also can't stand each other at all." These dumb bastards would spend their lives in each other's pockets if they could. They probably had their own secret language as kids, like figured out a way to get around the Allspeak to invent one no one else could understand. Anyone else that either of them dates had better be ready to have the other brother as a constant topic of conversation, because the moment you express annoyance at that they're going to be shoving breadsticks into their bag and making excuses to gtfo. "they don't like each other" what the fuck are y'all talking about.

[queer-muslim-culture-is]

does anyone relate to me as a queer muslim?

Just wanted to put a disclaimer that I personally am not acting on it but I did find a way to reconcile my queer identity and religion <3

I grew up mostly thinking I was straight but in my teens I didn't label with heterosexuality anymore. I was never really passionate about queer activism but I recall being uncomfortable with homophobia at masjid and gatherings but I never thought about it too much until may 2022

That is May 27 2022 to be specific, the stranger things release date. Im not going off topic lol I promise. So basically I converted from being a mileven shipper to a byler shipper after watching. This was when my queer religious crisis started. I loved Mike and Wills relationship and I thought it was so beautiful from the way they treat each other. I was reading fanfics, watching edits, reading analysis 24/7. How could it be wrong

I knew that the logic with ''Sinful'' actions is that even though you desire benefits coming from it, and you intend good things to come out of it, the reason why its a sin is because unseen harmful effects come out of it even though that's not what we intend. ''But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not.'' I could deal with the fact that queer actions were forbidden cause that meant you don't hate the sinner or the ''Sin'' but only the fact that your action has ''harmful unseen/unknown affect'' that you just have to trust in God that its there and that he would only make harmful things forbidden. For example: Promiscuity is a sinful behavior in islam, and God considers it disgusting because it is harmful, but in Jannah all the harmful effects of your desires are removed, this explains why alcohol and hoor al ayn, music etc exist in Jannah. So can I act on my queer desires in Jannah? I made the horrible mistake of going to cishet people with this question and obviously they said NO. I was so fucking pissed and mad and I felt guilty for being mad because it felt like I was questioning Allah. But mostly I was hurt because God is not who I thought he was and I felt ignored, betrayed, neglected, and I took the queerphobia as my image of God. It just made me even more pissed off when people said '' you will get something better'' why can't I get what i asked for and be treated normally like everyone else with their forbidden desires? After suffering an entire lifetime of homophobia and abstinence, God wants to brush this issue under the rug and ignore it even though it becomes a part of who a person is, where is the justice?? At that point I felt like if I couldn't get queer liberation in the next life for myself I would want it for someone else and I would fight for it. I had mercy in my heart for queer people. So this does not make sense cuz GOD IS THE MOST MERCIFUL, more merciful that any lgbtq+ activist on this earth, so God surely must out mercy me

I went through a religious crisis period for 6 months just constantly soaking up all the queerphobic media online from muslims. I felt sick reading all of it and I felt my heart drop. Why do muslims deny that queerness is not a choice. Why do these scholars have rights to speak on issues they've never experienced. How can a person tell another person how they feel. How can you deny centuries of queer people and why do some muslims make fun of queer people, hate us, think were disgusting etc. I really never felt any righteousness or respect from these people yet they say ''respect not support'' tf? I started getting depressed, failing in school because I took these people and modeled my image of Allah based on them. Why wont I get what I want in this life or the next? So my love was considered ''disgusting'' for no reason.

Then months later, everything changed. I started talking to God everyday and treated him like my therapist and I vented out all the pain of queerphobia. I did scientific research on queerness and found out that is generally innate/unchangeable and internalized homophobia turned into anger towards queerphobic people. I was just crying out to Allah wishing that Queer Love could be honored and respected one day and that slowly, naturally it turned into me making dua to Allah that queer people could act on it in Jannah. I for some reason thought it would be more acceptable to ask for queer relations without the sexual aspect lmfao my puritarian era. So anyways I slowly started making Dua to Allah often and asked all the time for queer liberation in the next life and for people I knew in real life, online, my moots, queer muslims who passed away etc. I turned the anger of queerphobia into calling out to Allah to ask for liberation for the queer ummah. I eventually also asked for the sexual aspects as well lmfao. I remember one day I prayed tahajjud and asked Allah for queer people to be with their lovers in the next life and to be themselves (gender identity) and I asked for a sign. I even talked to Allah about my love for byler lmfao dont judge me ok I was crying my ass off at the van scene where Will confessed to Mike. So anyways the ''Sign'' as I saw one day I was cleaning my room and read a book that said that Allah would never guide a person to make a dua if he didn't want to answer it. I was shook and long story short I learned that God is what you make of him and you must trust God when you make dua to him. Another Sign I saw was that I was a video literally explaining this concept in a tik tok another time after I made tahajjud and asked for the same thing again.

My perception of God has fundamentally changed and I am so grateful. Byler endgame 2024 <3

im just gonna quickly note that this blog *does* support acting on your queer attraction and i, as the mod, have multiple partners. i choose to interpret the stories that supposedly ban queerness otherwise (some of these interpretations are or will be shared in #resources) and that any harm that comes from it can either be mitigated (safe sex practices) or is the result of bigotry

but thank you for sharing your experience anon. genuinely happy that you managed to reconcile both with yourself and Allah :]

and hey, i get what you mean abt the fanfiction part skdfjh ! some of my earliest experiences w queerness were reading queer fics on ao3 and feeling,,, something. something i couldnt quite identify till years later. fics exposed me to queer romance, helped me come to terms with my allosexuality, and even helped me experiment with my gender in a way. i owe a lot to fic writers

[cherrydrop-rambles]

Everytime I listen to "Ruthlessness" from Epic The Musical, it always reminds me of a scenario in Minus One where "Hey, what if Tachibana did NOT forgive/help Shikishima and continued to hold that grudge against him?"

Therefore, I am compelled to bring you...

My TED talk of why I think this song is basically the scenario of Tachibana if he never forgave Shikishima;

Disclaimer: I will not take from the musical itself, only the lyrics I see on screen

Blue ; Lyrics

Normal coloured text ; Analysis

Also HUGE Godzilla Minus One Spoilers and I am totally 100% sane making this

---

(I'm not counting the multiple "Poseidon"s at the start because you can't really analyse that </3)

" In all my years of living, it isn't very often that I get pissed off,

I try to chill with the waves, but damn you've crossed the line. "

The mention of the waves - I see as a direct reference to the fact that Shikishima is a minesweeper - sailing the waves on his boat. (This is assuming this is all being said to Shikishima after he becomes a minesweeper)

" I've been so gracious, but yet you hurt this son of mine "

Instead of the 'yet you hurt this son of mine' line making an accusation of hurting his son, I'd say Tachibana would instead make a direct reference to Shikishima letting his friends get injured(killed)

" That's right, the cyclops you made blind is mine. "

" No, "

[ N/A - Dont have analysis for these lines ]

" I'm left without a choice, and without a doubt

Guess the pack of wolves is swimming with the sharks now

I gotta make you bleed, I need to see you drown,

But before you go, I need to make you learn how "

Okay, so, for the first two lines, I took this as two meanings. My first idea is that the whole "sharks" mention is another little reference to Shikishima working on the ocean. But then, the pack of wolves swimming with the sharks could be a direct signal to the large group of corpses (Tachibana's allies) on Odo Island being washed into the sea after the Godzilla attack. And clearly the third line of harming Shikishima is Tachibana wanting to practically kill him due to him blaming Shikishima for his crew being gone.

" Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves "

First of all, such a banger line in general. Second, I think this would be Tachibana saying that you need to kill to be 'Ruthless' and execute certain actions sometimes to save those around you, which in a way saves ourselves because if he saved everyone around him, he wouldn't have to feel that guilt. He considers Shikishima to have had a choice when aiming at Godzilla, and Shikishima "actively" never took that choice. If he did kill Godzilla - In which perhaps the powerful guns could have in Tachibana's eyes - then he would have mercy on himself because he wouldn't live with the added guilt of being responsible for all those deaths caused by the lizard he "refused" to kill.

A Greek who reeks of false righteousness, that's what I hate!

" You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great.

'Cause you fight to save lives but won't kill and don't get the job done,

I mean, you probably could have avoided all this had you just killed my son,

But no "

Alright so, the first two lines I feel like this is Tachibana criticising Shikishima for taking the role that's known for saving their people and being heroic (hence the false righteousness) but failing to protect those on the island because he couldn't do "one simple thing" per se, and pull the trigger on the guns aiming at Godzilla. And of course the worst kind of good not being great ties into what I talked about him seemingly taking up this role and not being able to save those Tachibana cares about.

The third line sort of ties into what I've just explained about with Shikishima being a pilot in WW2 but failing to kill Godzilla, and the last part is pretty self explanatory, replacing the 'my son' part with him talking about his crew again.

This whole verse could perhaps refer to him being a Kamikaze pilot too and taking a dig at him surviving the war, even if it does kind of make Tachibana a hypocrite by then.

" You are far too nice, mercy has a price

It's the final crack, we're bound to break the ice now

You reveal your name, then you let him live

Unlike you, I've got no mercy left to give 'cause "

I feel like the "you are far too nice" could perhaps be a hint of sarcasm, followed by mercy being mentioned, which solidifies the idea of Tachibana thinking it was Shikishima's choice not to kill Godzilla rather than the truth of his hands freezing up. I feel like he's too clouded by his frustration and anger of losing those he cared about to consider that Shikishima didn't choose this. Or maybe he's too filled with anger/hatred to care in this case. The more he thinks of such a thing, the angrier he gets, so he tends to push it out of his mind until this scene.

" And now it is finally time to say goodbye, today you die

Unless, of course, you apologize

For my son's pain and all his cries

Poseidon, we meant no harm

We only hurt him to disarm him

We took no pleasure in his pain

We only wanted to escape "

[ N/A - No analysis other than what I've already spoken about. Perhaps the part about him only wanting to escape but thats about it ]

" The line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible

So close your heart, the world is dark and

Ruthlessness is mercy

Die. "

With the thought of Tachibana still thinking that Shikishima had a choice, the first line possibly could refer to it's niave to inflict mercy on ruthless creatures such as Godzilla, because it won't get him anywhere. The hope that Godzilla will take any mercy is naive. And of course, the second one is enforcing the first line, telling Shikishima that the world is a dark place that doesn't take kindly to mercy. I feel like in terms of the last line of "Die," Tachibana would actually want to kill Shikishima in that moment to avenge his friends. I mean, we see in that scene where he gives over the letter, and his anger surfaces how he attacks Shikishima. We also know how far people can go when placed in a stressful setting whilst filled with anger and hatred for a certain person who has wronged you as much.

What have you done?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

43 left under your command

When does man become a monster?

I am your darkest moment

The monster that always draws near

Any last words? "

Last but not least, the final verse I am going to analyse. (Yippee!!!)

Now I see a ripple becoming a tidal wave as Godzilla surviving Odo Island and then causing distruction another few times. One event which went wrong turned into a bunch of them occurring. Last but not least, I feel like for the 'when does a man become a monster?' Up to 'The monster that always draws near' instead of Tachibana saying these lines, it's Shikishima's survivor's guilt surfacing as he reflects on what he's done and how he believes he's handles everything. It makes him beg the question of does he even deserve to live at this point? Is he part of the problem and the true monster who has been a catalyst for these events, no matter how much he's tried to stop it - seeing as it follows HIM around?

Finally I feel like the final part is him getting ready to take his revenge.

For the last few lines thats left of the song, honestly doesnt fit in my humble opinion so I shall not include them :3

Extra;

Setting/Time: I think in my mind, this argument with Tachibana arguing with Shikishima during the scene when Shikishima finds Tachibana and Tachibana has seen the letters and is visibly furious about this. It would explain his anger filled explanation and his desire to just get rid of "the root of his problem". Plus he was intentions angering Shikishima in order for Shikishima to actually find him, which would fuel his rage even more!

A quite note that I am taking this from the perspective of Godzilla being a real, tangible creature. I know in the movie he's meant to represent survivor's guilt but I feel like this whole analysis above would make a tiny bit more sense if he really was a real creature. I dunno,

That's all for now! I'm just cramming my thoughts into this one post X3 They don't call it Cherrydrop rambles for nothing!! I've honestly had this concept in my head for a while now and as much as Id love to make this into an animatic, I dont have the time nor motivation for it. However, hope you've enjoyed reading through this chaotic post, and gold star if you did! :3

[sneezemonster15]

Okay I hate bringing this up but I just couldn't help but giggle at anti SNS Sasuke stans for thinking that stanning SNS is 'western'. Lol. The entire fandom's collective worldview is plain "western".

And they obviously consider themselves the representatives of this hallowed ground which is 'not western'.

By which I imagine they are implying that they aren't western. I know some of them are Asian.

Okay. But. See.

I see and recognise the tempting opportunity to indulge in stereotypes. I have done it myself in the past. On the other hand, it can also get too reductive, which it very often is.

But for the sake of the argument, I want to indulge you. Even if I believed the bifurcation you operate on, ie, western vs non western, well, I still don't know where you stand in the middle of all this. I am really stumped. Because your takes are neither Western nor Asian. Your extent of relevant knowledge of both Western and Asian elements is piss poor and embarrassingly ignorant. I don't know which continent it is from. Where do you even live? Lol. Is there a nation for delusions?

Loads and loads of Asian and specifically Japanese people see and recognise SNS. Where have you been? Lol.

I mean, what a weird flex. Lol.

Oh yeah, I am surely going to trust the judgment of someone who thinks homosexuality doesn't exist in Japan.

Call me elitist but okay, my fault for thinking one would at least skim google search before they righteously STATE something factually incorrect, entirely stupid and embarrasingly wrong about something as important as 'a country's centuries' worth of socio cultural sexual history' on a global platform where they are in a virtual debate of sorts with another person on the internet, who can prove them wrong with the littlest effort.

I find it a little funny that they so superbly fail to realize that there are other people on the internet. And a lot of them DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT, operate on such truth nuggets such as Kishimoto, an ace storyteller and artist, draws so much sexually risqué art with Sasuke and Naruto to show that they are brothers. Lol. Or that it would be crazyyy to think that someone from Kishi's generation would know about a man loving another man because homosexuality was apparently invented in the nineties.

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x reader)

Words: 4381 (chapter 1)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case.

Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that?

Find my other accounts on ao3 and wattpad under the same name <3  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1rSoldierSince2012

wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/1rsoldierSince2012

1. CLASH IN THE COURT

"Your Honor, objection." You shoot up from your seat, the heavy wooden chair painfully creaks against the floorboards of the courtroom. "Relevance. That has nothing to do with my client," you finish the sentence, holding your breath until the judge slowly nods once. 

Matthew Murdock, your rival of today and the two previous cases, blows an audible raspberry, which you would consider to be very unprofessional in the current situation.

"The judge just nodded. Ask about his relationship with his family better." You hear Foggy Nelson, Murdock's friend and courtroom partner, whispering to a quite pissed-off looking Murdock. You sit down and shuffle through papers for anything that might save your client's ass. And yours too. 

"May I continue my questioning, your Honor?" Murdock asks, fixing his red-tinted glasses. You eye him a little before rolling your eyes. All things that you managed to pull out about the case and your client point towards his innocence, you just can't lose this case. Murdock has beat you twice before, your pride won't simply allow the third time to happen.

"Yes, continue." The judge answers, looking quite bored about this whole thing. If it were not for the jury, you're sure he would've already made a decision. 

"Thank you, your Honor." Murdock stands up again, head tilted to your side a little. Weird, but what do you even know about blind people? Maybe that was his way of focusing on his environment or something.

"C'mon, focus," you mutter to yourself, and impatiently tap your pen on the papers, feeling how your heart beats in your chest.

"Mr Donovan, what was your relationship with your father after your parents divorced?" Murdock asks, walking away from his table, hand grasping his white cane so strong that his knuckles turn white as well. Although in a short moment you manage to see that his knuckles are clearly badly bruised. Blind lawyer got into a fist fight? Interesting. Maybe even more interesting than your own case.

"I saw him only a couple of times since then," your client began but didn't get a chance to finish as Matt interrupted -

"Interestingly enough, they divorced when you were in your 30s already, am I right? The average age of people who decide to get divorced is approximately 30, but your parents were already in their 50s. What actions might have influenced their decision?" 

"Objection hearsay, your Honor!" You shoot up from your chair again, looking at the three men in front of you with a somewhat wild expression. "That has nothing to do with the previously asked question."

"Overruled. Continue Mr Murdock."

You plop down on the chair again, tapping your pen even more aggressively than before. That bastard Murdock is just stalling. He didn't need to state this information about the age of people who divorce, and you were damn sure he just thought of the numbers. Besides, what does the fact that Donovan's parents got divorced when they were fifty-two has anything to do with what he's being accused of? You could feel how another hair on your head turned from brown to gray. It was probably a good idea to start dyeing your hair.

"Thank you, your Honor. Mr Donovan?" Murdock asks again, hinting at the fact that he is not going to repeat his question again. He moves a step closer toward stand where Donovan was sitting, desperately trying to make eye contact with his wife, who was sitting right behind you.

"I never really wanted to know the real reason behind their split, but I guess it was always clear to me that a day like this would come." Donovan answers, eyes following your opponent who was slowly pacing around the little space, sometimes coming closer to you, sometimes closer to him.

In the corner of your eye, you notice Foggy Nelson lean back in his chair and making himself comfortable. Are these two men really that confident in winning the case?

"Why? Or should I ask how? How was it visible that your parents were going to get divorced?" Matt asks, stopping for a mere second before continuing his little walk.

"Well, since I was a kid, I never saw them doing any parent activities together like other parents did. When the circumstances forced them to act like happy spouses, they did it. But I saw - there was no love between them, and it was just a matter of time until the papers were signed." Donovan answers and you clap to him. Internally, obviously.

"And it was no surprise to you when they, people at this solid age of fifty-two, announced their divorce?"

"No. " Donovan answers, not giving an explanation. Smart move. If Murdock wants an explanation, he'll have to ask for it. 

"Mr Donovan, your lawyer has stated that you were visiting the nursing home quite often in the past three months. I have information that after your parents divorced those ten years ago, you continued to be in contact with both of them for a while, until the contact with your father suddenly stopped only months before he was put in the nursing home. Your mother, however, you were visiting regularly. Is that all right?" Matt spills so quickly that your client has to take a moment to fully understand what he just said.

"Uh... Yes." Donovan answers, slightly doubting.

"Isn't that a little weird that after not seeing or speaking to your father for years, you suddenly remembered his existence three months ago, right before he died?"

"Uh..." Donovan was still thinking of an answer, when you stood up again. 

"Objection, your Honor. This is an accusation." You let out a desperate breath, unprofessionally leaning on your table.

"Overruled. Continue." Judge says with the calmest expression, the one that you would be more than glad to use right now. You sit down again. That is already a humiliation. Glancing at your opponent's table, you see a woman wiping her eyes with a little handkerchief. Most likely pretending to cry. If you had a case like this for the huge sum of money, you'd be fake-crying too. Nelson turns to look at you as well, shooting a polite smile. You do the same. Although this is a war zone, you were always polite, especially with Mr Nelson. Murdock, on the other hand, decided to choose you as his next target.

"Miss y/l/n, might I ask whether you knew anything about Mr Donovan's illegitimate child, Miss Darcy Donovan, who now might be considered as your client's step-sister?" Matt steps closer to your table, not looking at you, or the judge, but straight to the right side wall of the room.

"No, Mr Murdock, I didn't know anything about your client, who claims to be Mr Donovan's relative. As I was studying the family tree of my client, Miss Darcy has never appeared there." You answer, calmly, raising one eyebrow at the man in front of you. A shy grin appears on his lips for a moment before he puts on a serious expression again.

"So you're claiming, that your client had no idea that he had a sister somewhere out there, and that her existence was not a reason for the divorce of Mr Donovan's parents?" He asks, stilling for a moment, head tilted towards the judge.

"Yes, that is precisely what I am claiming, Mr Murdock. My client never knew the reason of his parent's divorce, let alone the existence of Miss Darcy."

"Miss, y/l/n, I'm sure there were records in hospitals and other resources that your firm uses, that Miss Darcy did exist, and in fact, shares the last name with your client." Murdock grins momentarily again, already pissing you off.

"Mr Murdock, in case you don't know, many people are sharing the same last names and in fact, are not even a bit related." You say, tightly grasping the pen in your hand, fake smile planted on your face. He's obviously playing around, repeating statements, trying to make you stumble. It worked once before.

"Objection, relevance, your Honor." Nelson stands up, looking a bit lost. You look at him surprised, usually partners were not the ones who dared to object their own case.

"Mr Murdock, get to the point." Judge answers, Nelson nods a couple of times and sits down. You steal a look at Donovan, who's intently watching Darcy. The latter pretends to flip through the pages of the case.

"Yes, your Honor. Miss y/l/n, I know that you spoke with your client's mother, did she say what was the reason of her divorce?" Matt asks, standing right in front of you, conveniently blocking your view of the judge. 

"No, Mr Murdock, she never revealed what you're calling "the real reason" of her split. She said that it was a mutual agreement - or to put it simply, the divorce was friendly. My client never questioned his parent's decision, as he respected it."

He says nothing for a moment. A moment too long. You look at Nelson, but he just shrugs at his partner's behavior.

"Mr Murdock, any more questions?" Judge asks loud enough for Murdock to snap out of whatever trance he was in.

"No, your Honor." He nods to the judge, turning to you upon the departure to his table, "Thank you, Miss y/l/n," and shoots a smile. Weird. But he didn't seem like a normal guy anyway.

"Miss y/l/n, any questions to Miss Donovan?" Judge asks. You quickly stand up, grabbing the pen for moral support, you must not fail.

"Yes, your Honor."

"Miss Donovan, please take the stand." 

A moment of shuffling and loud nose sniffling goes by as your client sits down at your table, and Darcy takes his place on judge's left. She briefly gives an oath on the Bible and gets comfortable. 

"Miss Donovan, might I ask, why did your mother give you this last name? Hers was Jones, if I'm not mistaken." You begin, watching the brown-haired woman intently. Even from the looks, the two Donovan 'siblings' couldn't be more different. 

"My mother, God rest her soul, told me that she wanted a better life for me... The one I couldn't possibly get under Jones name. When I reached adulthood, she told me that one day I'm going to meet my father, who was a good man. Good, but troubled." She sniffs quite loud again, and in the corner of your eye you notice how Murdock furrows his eyebrows.

"So from what I've heard, your mother simply gave you the last name of one of her latest flings?" You say, not wasting any time with politeness.

"Objection, your Honor, hearsay," Murdock stands up, leaning on the table.

"Overruled, continue, Miss y/l/n." Judge says, and you try to hide your grin as best as your can.

"Let me paraphrase that for you." You begin, "did your mother know for sure who was your biological father?"

"Um, no. I don't think so."

"And in the past she has had various, uh let me call them, relationships, right? Couple of them at the same time even?" You ask as politely as possible, this is your chance to catch her in a lie.

Matt stands up, but Foggy quickly brings him back to his seat by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Probably. I think so, yes." Darcy answers, looking for help at her lawyers.

"And she wasn't sure who was the father when she began to feel pregnant with you? Or was she absolutely certain that it was the late Mr Donovan?" You fix your loose tie with one hand, Matt audibly takes a deep breath.

"I'm... Not sure..."

"Miss, let me remind you that you swore an oath to tell the truth, so I think that's exactly what we all want to hear right now." You say, focused on the woman. Clearly the pressure of your words and the surprising silence from her own lawyers was doing its job, as she began playing with the hem of her dress.

"My mother told me that of all men she met throughout her life, Danny was the best one. But he was unfortunately married..." Darcy begins and you see an opportunity to strike again.

"But that didn't seem to stop her?"

Darcy furrows her eyebrows and thinks over your words for a moment. "My mother was a nice woman, and she...She made mistakes! Just like everybody else!" Darcy's face morphs into a crying grimmace and honestly, it was  a pity to watch her desperately trying to win the money.

"Objection, your Honor..." Murdock stands up again, visibly affected by the burst of emotions here, you're so close, you can practically touch the today's victory.

"Objection denied, continue Miss y/l/n." Judge calmly says, not wanting the breaking point of the case to be dropped now.

"Miss Darcy, now please answer to following statement, just by simply saying either "yes" or "no", okay?" You ask, slowly walking in front of Nelson and Murdock's table, already planning your journey in front of Darcy. Intimacy always seemed to work with opponent's clients. "Was your mother involved in a multiple relationships at the same time that were heavily based on sexual intimacy?"

Heartbeat. Another, after another, after another. Matt tilts his head to the side. Everything tunes out for a moment - Darcy's heartbeat picked up, she's either nervous, or is creating a lie.

"Yes. I believe so..." She begins, but you're quick to carry on with your next sentence.

"And when she had you, she had no idea who was the real father, yes?"

"Yes... But-"

"So she simply gave you the name of the last man who was involved in a close encounter with her before she noticed that she was expecting? And that happened to be Mr Donovan's father, right?" You ask, tightly holding the pen in your hand.

"Well...Yes." Darcy sighs, slightly lowering her head. 

"So you, not even sure that Mr Donovan is.. I'm sorry, was your father, hired a private investigator to find your father? All these years later?" You say, glancing at the stressed men on your right.

"Yes. But as you can see-" Darcy hopelessly begins.

"And when you got all the information about Mr Donovan, you found out that he was just buried, and his son, Mr Donovan, here, inherited a large sum of money and some property outside the city?"

"Yes, but I-"

"And then you decided that you want that money, that Mr Donovan rightfully inherited at any cost? Following my client to work and back to his house, creeping in the shadows but never brave enough to actually talk face to face?" You ask, feeling as if you're going to burst into million pieces at any moment. The courtroom is silent for a good moment, not even a fly dares to buzz around. The tension is thick, you glace back at your client and on your way to turning back your head to Darcy, your eyes fall upon Murdock, who seems to be deep in thought, perhaps ready to object your question at any given moment. It's a wonder that he wasn't doing that yet. "Yes or no, Miss Darcy?" you repeat your question again, hoping to get an answer now.

"Yes." She says just above the whisper and if any decibel lower, you wouldn't have heard it. Matt heard it loud and clear.

"Why?" you ask, now relaxed, the case was obviously an easy win, but you still had to work on it.

"I guess I was just nervous to approach him..."

"Well, I think couple of weeks are more than enough to collect the strength to approach your step-brother, Miss Darcy."

She says nothing, just silently cries into her handkerchief. You take a look at your client, he has an apologetic look on his face, but it's clear - he's not giving up the money.

"Your Honor, might I intervene?" Murdock asks, slowly standing up, Nelson fails to stop him this time.

"Go on, Mr Murdock." Judge says with a rather bored expression. You stay standing in front of Murdock's table.

"My client, Miss y/l/n, was, and still is in shock after she learned of her father's death. I do agree that stalking Mr Donovan was not the best idea but I think she went with the heart and-"

"Went with the heart to demand half of the inheritance?" You ask, taking a step closer to Murdock.

"I-" he begins.

"If I'm not mistaken, there's only one and only name written in Mr Donovan's will - and it's my client's, so Miss Darcy legaly has no rights for it. I'm sure you know it, Mr Murdock."

"What you don't know is that Mr Donovan had another will left, and it says that if no other heir is to appear until his death, all the money go to his son. But Miss Darcy did appear-" Murdock argues, nervously fixing his tie.

"Right after his death. Mr Donovan has spent the last moments with his father and surely, if he saw this woman in the hospital, he would've recognized her when she began stalking him."

"What exactly was your client doing there those last moments? If I'm not mistaken, after his parents split, he was close only with his mother." Matt says, taking a deep breath again.

"Mr Donovan?" You simply ask, feeling how your mouth became too dry to talk.

"I-um... My mamma called to say that paps was in hospital, something serious and he wanted to see me. I came there, we talk, a pretty heart to heart conversation actually, but he never even mentioned that he cheated on my mamma, or that he had a child somewhere. He just said that he regretted the time that he didn't spend with me. So in the last weeks, we were both fixing that mistake, I guess." Donovan says, and you notice how he tears up a little.

"Thank you" you say and turn to the judge, "That will be all."

"Thank you, Miss y/l/n, Mr Murdock." Judge says, Matt takes a seat. "I think we all should take a break, and the jury will be ready to make their decision, right?" he looks at the jury expectantly, and majority of them nod energetically. "Good. Let's return in 30 minutes."

You make your way towards the bathroom, which happens to be unisex one. Just as you step in front of a mirror to fix your hair, the door opens rather loudly, and no one other than Matt Murdock appears.

You stand up, dropping the pen on your table. "Go grab a coffee, I'm positive that everything is going to be okay for us, yeah?"

Donovan nods, getting up as well.

"Sorry, is this the bathroom?" He asks, smiling briefly.

"I'm sure you wouldn't be stepping in so confidently if it wasn't." You answer, following Murdock's path, which unfortunately leads to the neighboring sink.

"Ah, Miss y/l/n, pleasure to meet you somewhere outside the courtroom." he taps around the sink to find the source of water.

"You know, I honestly thought that I was going to run into you near the coffee machine but I guess life's a bitch." You turn on the water and wet your hands, the slowly tap the loose hair strands and for a while, they stick.

"What, not happy to see me?"

"I'd be more happy to see you lose today. We both know you have no chance of winning."

"Ah, never lost your confidence, Miss y/l/n, even after I beat you twice?" he smirks, and you feel the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

"Not exactly my style, I'm sure you should know that after two times. How's the business going? I overheard in the office that clients are paying you with food packets and uh, fruit bowls?" You ask, leaning on the sink with one hand.

Matt laughs, "I might share one if I win today."

"Oh, no, I would never use your kindness for selvish purposes, although I would gladly eat a donut right now. Any chance you carry one in your pocket?" You laugh as well, Matt grins.

"I don't think my pockets are big enough for that, but if I ever place one there, I'll be sure to give it to you, y/n." Matt dries his hands, leaning on the sink too.

"Oh, first name basis? Didn't think we were that far, Mr Murdock." You grin, shamelessly checking him out, it didn't hurt to know your opponent better, in and out.

"Never thought we were anything less." He smirks, offering you his elbow, clearly a sign for you to lead him out.

"So, you're so desperate for a case that you took this one? Is this how your business is going?" You ask nonchalantly, Matt furrows his eyebrows.

"Our business is going perfectly, thank you asking, y/l/N. How's -"

"You'd get much more if you worked at Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz." You simply say. "Good lawyers like you and Mr Nelson should not go to waste with cases like this.

"Is this a job offer or a piece of advice?" Murdock turns to the side, looking in your direction.

"Little bit of both, perhaps. Well," you tap his arm once, "we've reached the coffee machine. My treat? I believe you need to save money, considering today's loss."

"Miss y/l/n, aren't you too confident today? It's up to jury to decide, or have you already charmed one of them?" he leans on his cane, you put the money in machine and push the coffee button, discreetly taking a look at his knuckles, that are definitely bruised.

"The only charmer in the courtroom is you, Mr Murdock, I believe chances that you have already charmed that lady on the left are way higher." You smile, watching how the cup is filling up with hot drink.

"You think of me as a charmer?" Matt smirks.

"I think of you as a worthy opponent. Nothing more." You take the cup and hand it to Matt.

He takes the cup and smells it. "I'm forever in your debt now, y/l/n."

"Yeah, you and your partner." You click the button again, buying coffee for Nelson.

"My partner? Wait, so you, are buying drinks for me and Foggy?" Matt's smile is as big as his courtroom ego today.

"Well, I'm not a monster, you know." You roll your eyes.

"Didn't think of you as one." He says mysteriously and you feel the blush creeping on your cheeks. Not everyday you receive a compliment, especially with that attitude of yours.

"Here, I hope it's no trouble to hold another cup, or is Mr Nelson somewhere out there?" You crane your neck and look around the crowd of people, but Matt shakes his head.

"He's not here, I'll hold it." You put the cup in his hand, which is surprisingly warm.

"Friendship sixth sense?" You ask, but he just laughs the sentence away. "Well," you finally say after a moment, watching the coffee pour into the cup, "I'm good. Where to, Mr Murdock?"

"A place that is crowded? I assume you don't want anyone to see us together, as you know, as opponents, we're supposed to despise each other." He whispers devilishly.

"I like your thinking. Surely it would raise suspicions to anyone who knows us, they would probably think of us as best friends." You fake shudder and cross your hand with Matt's, taking Foggy's cup from him. His palm, that is touching your bare arm feels incredibly warm and heavy, and at this moment, you're just glad that the walk to the bench is not a long one.

"Coffee's nice." Matt finally says after a minute.

"Coffee's shit. Plus, we don't really need to talk, I don't want to lose the mood." You take another sip of the drink and lean on the bench.

Matt crosses his legs and turns to you, "What mood?"

"The mood of beating you." You simply say, downing the drink and tapping your pocket impatiently. You really needed a smoke but that would create even more distractions.

"We shall see about that beating. Maybe you were wrong all along."

"Listen, there's no way for Darcy to win. The will clearly states that Donovan gets everything-"

"If Darcy doesn't show up before his death." Matt argues, putting the cup on the bench, ready to wave his hands.

"But she showed up the day after he died." You press.

"Yes, after her father mysteriously died, and I believe that your client has something to do with it."

"What are you saying? Are you accusing Donovan of his father's death?" You say a little too loud. Couple of nearest people turn to look at the two of you, and Matt puts his hand on your arm again, leaning closer to you.

"Will you just keep your voice down? What I'm saying is that Donovan didn't even visit his father in years but suddenly shows up couple of weeks before his death? Right around the time when Darcy hired a PI? I know he's your client but doesn't that raise any suspicions?" Matt says lowly, almost whispering, his coffee breath hits your face.

"Murdock, I don't even know how to call what you're doing right now." You blow a raspberry but he squeezes your wrist a little.

"I'm not here to play sides, or to do you dirty, although I would really love it the other day, but I'm here to bring justice, and this whole thing smells shady as hell." He says and you lean forward, elbows on your knees, deep in thought.

"So if Donovan really had something to do with his father's death, although it's not possible. He died of a heart attack. Then what you're saying is that he did it on purpose when he found out of Darcy's existence?" You ask, raking your brain for any missing points, needing a smoke now more than ever.

"Yes, listen, I know it sounds crazy but it could be possible." Matt leans closer to you again.

"How would we know it? How did Donovan find out about Darcy if his mother didn't even know about the affair? And he claims to have never seen the will before his father's death. Also, that second will you brought up, doesn't make any sense. I've asked for the documents in the archive and never received it." You glance at the clock and stand up. "Whatever. It's up to jury now. They're gonna say their decision soon."

Matt stays silent, visibly lost in thought.

"You need help or can you manage through the crowd alone, Murdock?" You ask and he stands up, taking Foggy's cup and placing his palm on your elbow.

"Help would be nice, Miss y/l/n."

[teenagemutantninjaskrtels]

Hello! i saw your book blog asks bottom aren't showing :( was going to ask for tips on how to write eris or any gray character without accidentaly excusing them like sjm does to rhysand (I admit i havent read many books like this and i am well insecure about my writting)

I've closed it for a little while. I'm not an expert, but I would suggest with any writing, the more you read, the more you come across great pieces and also not so great pieces that help shape your own style.

With a morally grey character, I would first work out why they are morally grey. What is their motive/history? Is there a goal they want to achieve and will stop at nothing to achieve it? Or is it simply their character doesn't know the difference between right and wrong and feels little guilt with what they do. Don't just make them morally grey because it's sexy (which it is most the time lmao). I'd say most morally grey characters have a complex history that makes them that way. If you grow up surrounded by goodness and righteousness, there's little need to go into the darkness. Usually there is something traumatic that feeds into their personality.

My favourite morally grey characters are ones who get a little squeamish when they do the right thing.

Take Kaz Brekker from Six of Crows. Innocent boy thrust into a big city, trusts somebody, loses all his money, brother dies, goes through a massively traumatic incident that has impacted his every waking moment since - and is then hell-bent on revenge. Does he do a lot of bad stuff? Yes. Does he feel guilt over it? No. Why? Because he is determined on that path and seems unshakeable to remove himself from it. However, he is not completely bad. He doesn't seek to hurt just anybody he comes across; he always has his target in mind. But sure, if somebody became an obstacle, he'd have no issue in removing it. Take the way he behaves with Inej; calls her his investment, knows that hurts her to consider her as little more than a lavish spend, but does it to protect himself because he doesn't want to admit that he has feelings for Inej and she is more than an investment. (Close your eyes for spoilers - but by the end of the series, he's shifted that and even if he won't admit it, he's bought her a ship and brought her parents to Ketterdam because he knows it will bring her joy - and that doesn't benefit him in the slightest to lose her)

There are many book boyfriends who are "morally grey" - Wrath from Kingdom of the Wicked, Slade from the Plated Prisoner, Casteel from From Blood and Ash, people will say Rhys too. But it seems to me they just hurt people who dare speak against their love interest. Cardan Greenbriar from the Folk of the Air is one of my favourites because he falls into the trap of "crap, I have feelings so I'll disguise them with nastiness". He's cruel to Jude but if he acted on his feelings for her, it goes against the grain of what's expected of faeries. However, I don't feel like these are actually morally grey because they are only good to a select few and just tend to be bad as much as they can otherwise. In my opinion, the Darkling is not morally grey either. He wants power and doesn't care who he steps on. There's no goodness in him. His damn name is the Darkling.

If we take love out of it, for me, a morally grey character is somebody like Lorcan from Throne of Glass who knows he's probably not doing the right thing when he's hunting for Aelin, knows it will piss of Rowan, but he is duty bound to do it and that is the more important thing to him. That desire to fulfil his goal and please Maeve supersedes everything else.

If your morally grey character is motivated by achieving a goal then they hurt people in the process and don't apologise because their goal is what drives them. Or, if they do apologise, would likely do it again. However, it might be that internally, they do feel guilty, they do feel shame for hurting someone but their goal just matters that little bit more. I would amp up the internal conflict within them. The desire to do what's right vs what you want. (If you've watched Squid Game then I'm thinking Sang-Woo).

Morally grey characters:

use others to achieve their goal - this could be a way to generate that conflict "you used me!" yeah i told you i would, what's the issue

Lie so that others never know if they're being honest with them - and that feeds into the distrust

have flaws - Kaz is so dogged with his revenge that it rules him sometimes

believe what they do is right with little regret (azriel beating the crap out of eris in the high lord's meeting which in turn spooks mor but to azriel, he was doing the right thing defending her)

get their hands dirty even if it puts off other characters

get their hands dirty to benefit the people they care about e.g. wrath ripping out a tongue because they spoke against emilia

This might be controversial but I kind of wish sjm kept some of the things that rhys did UtM, including the winter court children because he was forced into that situation and had to keep up appearances for the sake of Velaris and the mask he was wearing. Would it be an absolutely horrendous thing to do? Yes. Do I think he would do it to protect the people he loves? Yes. Would he feel guilt? Absolutely. Which would make for a much more interesting character and change how his family perceive him. But then it got retconned away.

Morally grey characters are supposed to make you squirm. They have to do the morally bad things to be grey. Just hurting bad people is being the hero. There does need to be darkness. It's a spectrum; sometimes they're a little bit closer to the light. There needs to be moments when you think "no way have they done that".

There seems to be very few morally grey female characters that I can think of. Maybe Vanja from Little Thieves who commits crimes for revenge, hurts friends to meet her goals because otherwise it's her neck on the chopping board. Or maybe Sera from A Shadow in the Ember who is told she must kill Nyktos who she is slowly seducing whilst also falling for him too.

This was a very long ramble. Sorry.

Here's some links!

[thefanficmonster]

Angel With A Shotgun

Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE, Death, Blood and Gore, Swearing

Summary: Being Christopher Smith’s best friend since the early days of army training camps Y/N is more than honored to be going on a mission with him. Little does she know, there are more secrets at play than she could ever imagine. Good thing the girl’s always prepared.

Requested by no one, I’m just PISSED!!! The writers did us dirty AS FUCK and I’m not gonna stay quiet about it so please enjoy this fic and let’s pretend it’s canon. Cool? Cool.

“Careful up there, ok?“ That’s the last thing he said to me before we went our separate ways, following the plan we had conjured up earlier. I knew he wasn’t referring to the bombs I was supposed to plant or the ‘always watch your back, even around allies’ rule. He meant it genuinely. And he meant it for me. That sentence coupled with the look in his eyes when they met mine was enough for me to read between the words and grasp the true message.

And all I could do was offer him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

A smile he vaguely returned before turning and walking off with Cleo and Grieves. And that’s how I remembered him, wishing for that picture to be the one I remember of him in case I die.

In case I die.  I never considered the other possibility.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m gonna do something bad. Something really horrible. But it’s the right thing to do. I must do it. You know I only do things I must, right? You know me.“ He pleaded with me, eyes begging me to trust him as he basically told me he was derailing from the plan we had constructed down to the tiniest detail. 

My hands shook as I adjusted the bomb to the wall, my eyes widening and any words I wanted to tell him dying in my throat, leaving me speechless before him. As if automatically, my head moved on its own, nodding. It’s the only thing I’ve known I guess. Chris says something and I automatically agree cause I trust him limitlessly. Isn’t that how it always is with best friends after all? Can anyone blame me really?

But can anyone also blame me for my gut screaming not to let it go so easily?

There’s no real friends in the field, Y/N. He’s got a mission, you’ve got one of your own. You shouldn’t even be here, goddamn it! Go! GO, right this instant!

Gut feelings, the closest thing to being psychic. And boy does Flag owe my gut feeling his life.

But heroism always comes at a price, doesn’t it? There’s always a reward and a price that you never saw coming in the first place.

The reward is easy to guess, but the price can vary so drastically it can never be measured or foreseen.

That’s what happened to me when I decided to follow Chris.

The task I gave myself upon boarding the aircraft was simple, and the biggest price in my eyes was losing my life but I was already prepared for that when Waller recruited me on the very first mission.

Little did I know the price of saving Rick would be the look of utter betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, looking at me with the same intensity as a hundred voices screaming ‘TRAITOR’ at me.

“I’m sorry, Chris.“ I managed to say, my hands gripping the shotgun with all my might just so I don’t drop it. “You were sent here to cover up Waller’s dirty laundry, and I came here to protect Flag.” I cock my gun upwards, praying Chris doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. “So keep your hands off him!“

He shakes his head, “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Y/N! Him over me?! Some fucking nobody over someone who’s been by your side for a whole fucking decade?!“

I gulp, my resolve only strengthening as a result of his guilt tripping. “You heard me. Friends or family, you don’t get a second chance for being a traitor.”

“Me?! I’M the traitor here?! He just threatened to send our country into chaos because of his righteousness!“ He roared, his gun clutched just as tightly. It may be the tension suggesting it but eventually, I know it’ll come down to who’ll pull the trigger first.

And that realization has cold sweat running down my body.

“Fake peace built atop lies is worse than a war!“ I snap, now aiming my gun at him, determined to be the first to send a bullet flying across the room. Not cause I want to survive for myself. But for Rick. If I die, so will he. Chris doesn’t play fair. Rick is knocked out and Chris won’t even think before turning his body into a bag of bullets. 

I won’t let that happen.

A gun’s pointed at me now too, sending my heart beating louder.

“Then you’ve picked the wrong side.“ He mutters with despise, “If you see me as no friend, I have no reason to hold back either.“

And that’s the last push I needed to send those three bullets I had with his name on them straight into his chest, at least one undoubtedly hitting his heart.

Did it hurt with all the memories we have made together in mind? Of course it fucking did. I may be a soldier/criminal but I’m not made out of stone, damn it.

But did it feel relieving knowing what he was seconds away from doing? Pains me to admit but yes.

With a heavy sigh I sling my shotgun over my shoulder and carefully walk over to Rick’s still unconscious form laying on the tiled floor.

“Colonel?“ I whisper, ducking down to give his shoulder a slight shake, “Flag, please don’t do me like this, wake up. Please wake up, Rick.“ I jump, almost losing my balance when I hear what sounds to be Harley screaming for a brief second before a loud crash echoes above.

I can’t stay here with whatever hell my teammates are going through going on above my head, threatening to wipe them all out and them Rick and me too. So, I make a quick and a rather stupid decision. Slinging one of Rick’s arms over my shoulders I wrap an arm around his waist and somehow manage to hoist him up, bringing him weakly to his feet and earning a small groan from him as if reaching me from the other side of a wall of fog.

“There you are, Colonel. Let’s go, the team’s counting on us.“ I say, desperately trying to push forward with the weight of my shotgun and Rick pushing my already exhausted and weak body down.

“Y/N...that you?“ He asks, his voice groggy, “Or am I dead? Are you an angel? Where am I?“ 

Damn Chris must’ve knocked his head pretty hard, I think to myself.

Just as I’m about to answer, Rick lifts up his hand to run it over his face to help himself wake up fully but he accidentally hits the handle of my shotgun, causing him to let out a chuckle. “Angel with a shotgun, I see. Then it must be you, Y/N.”

“Bet on it, Flag.“ I reply with a chuckle, almost sighing with relief when he manages to hold some of his weight up by himself, “Not gonna lie, you gave me quite the scare.“

“Never gonna happen again. That’s a promise, doll.“ He drawls, his head resting against my shoulder more as an endearing gesture than need for support.

“Better keep it. Not looking forward to finding you actually dead one day.“

“No worries, angel. No such thing will happen.“

“Good.“

He knows better than to disobey an angel with a shotgun. Smart man.

[normaltothemax]

It wasn’t that Jason thought Dean would be happy about his explanation, or anything, he just hadn’t expected him to be that angry. He hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction, the amount of venom in his voice when he spoke. Dean had gone entirely still, muscles taut as he gripped the counter (and was it just Jason’s imagination, or could he actually hear the counter creaking in the man’s hands?)—Dean was pissed, and Jason didn’t bother to hide his surprise.

He blinked, stunned silent for a long moment. Was Dean really that upset on his behalf? Why? What had Jason done to warrant that? Sure, they hung out sometimes. Jason would even go so far as to call them friends. But the only people he’d ever seen get that righteously angry on his behalf, he’d considered family at the time (he tried not to think too hard about that now). Were they really that close?

Close enough that Jason had shown him his face and told him his name, he supposed.

There was also this part of him—a small part, one that he didn’t really like to acknowledge—that had thought that maybe, just maybe, Jason had been overreacting to the entire situation. After all, it wasn’t actually all that surprising that Bruce had saved the clown, given his no killing code, was is? And it wasn’t like Bruce had even tried to kill Jason, or anything. He was too skilled with the batarangs for that to have ever even been a real possibility.

But seeing Dean react like that…it made Jason think that maybe he was right to be as upset as he was. Maybe he wasn’t just letting his emotions get the better of him, like the little voice that sounded like Talia so often told him. Seeing Dean so angry was…pretty damn validating, actually.

He tried to ignore the warmth that flared up in his chest.

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t like you on principle.” A bit of a joke, halfhearted at best—Dean had dedicated his entire life to killing, Bruce would hate him—but the exhaustion was starting to weigh on him, and he was really sick of being emotional tonight.

Jason stayed where he was, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the sandwich, for a long few moments. Being difficult just for the sake of it. Standing his ground on the “I’m not hungry” stance he’d taken up.

Eventually, though, he relented and sat back down with the sandwich and his stupid Pepsi. “Yeah, whatever.” He lifted up the top piece of bread, inspecting what Dean had put in it. When he didn’t seem to find anything offensive about the ingredients, he placed the bread back down and stared at it again, before finally, grudgingly, taking a bite.

---dean expected it. without a doubt, he knew what he said was going to piss jason off. he wasn't lying when he said he could have been him in another life, but that was why dean knew it would get under his skin. he could have almost timed that 'fuck you' down to the second. then came the scraping of the chair legs against the worn wooden floor. it was like he wrote the playbook himself. dean could take all the heat jason threw at him. he knew the anger in his words wasn't even really directed at him. it was just a defense mechanism. no mask to cover up with tonight so instead angry words would have to do.

he didn't even turn to look at jason while he got it all out. dean just kept working on his sandwich. it was a good thing though, because the hunter didn't think he could have totally schooled his expression while jason yelled out the details of what happened to him. as it was, the butter knife in his hand was certainty not as straight as it was when he first started using it.

dean had done his best to keep his distance from jason. (not that it had really worked.) it was for the best. people that came into his life had a habit of exiting his life in a body bag and he didn't want that for this kid, but that didn't mean he still didn't know some details. he knew about the bat family, how could he not? he knew about the joker and he knew about the details of jason's death. (they had that in common. it wasn't often you shared digging yourself out of your own grave with someone.) so as jason explained just how the gash across his throat had got there that night dean could feel a white hot curl of rage slowly building in his gut.

dean and jason shared a lot already and now apparently they had one more thing in common. a really shitty father.

a million things swirled through the hunter's mind at once. it would be so easy to cruise into gotham, cause some problems, get the bat to show up. dean knew he was just a man. it didn't matter if he was some genius detective. that didn't stop buckshot to the face or calling heaven's wrath down upon you. (not that he could do that personally, but he was pretty sure he could call in some favors.) that didn't stop an angel blade or death's scythe.

but deep down dean knew that one on one chances were he wouldn't survive an encounter with batman himself. no matter how much he wanted to go toe to toe with him right about now. and jason didn't need that added onto his plate.

dean gripped the counter to steady himself. the tension was written all over him. how dare someone put a monster like that before their own damn kid? maybe he was a little triggered. maybe it reminded him too much of his own childhood, but he was pissed. (john had put the mission before his own boys many a time.) it was a long moment before he finally spoke. "your dad is a piece of shit and his code can go to fuckin' hell. he better hope we never meet. 'cause he really ain't gonna like me."

there was a lot more dean could have said on the subject. dean was not like the bats. he was a kill 'em dead type of hunter and he really didn't get the whole idea behind putting the same killers back in arkham over and over again. wasn't that basically insanity in its own right? but he was trying to be a little civil for jason's sake. even if dean did think he was a piece of shit, it was his dad.

after a few more moments the hunter seemed to uncoil and he finished putting together the sandwich. the butter knife was bent beyond all fixing and dean chucked it in the trash. the sandwich was casually set before jason like he hadn't just lost his cool a little there. "hope you like turkey and cheddar." he wasn't buying the whole 'not hungry' bit anyway.

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Electric Love | Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Reader, Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Sawamura Daichi, Tanaka Ryuunosuke

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing (and by that I mean, like, 1 swear)

Word Count: 927

Summary: Tsukishima Kei hated you. You loved that. Not him. Although the powers the be don't always work on your favour, and you're certainly shocked when you find your soulmate.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago. It's kinda cute, albeit a little cringy too, but ya know. we vibe

--------

Tsukishima Kei hated you.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so much of a hate, more of a mutual dislike that you somehow found yourself looking forward to.

There were no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it; in fact, you relished in this arrangement you had.

The moment you had laid eyes on the smug blond, you knew you were destined to get under each other's skins. You’d toss back and forth snarky remarks and insults as if there were never going to be an end - something his team seemed to enjoy considering all his idiotic brainwaves were focused on you.

Of course, you just had to find your way deeper under his skin by applying to be a manager. Oh how much pride you felt when his face dropped at the sight of you. You were at each other’s throats, not literally, but you didn’t miss the flash in his eyes as he snickering about nearly hitting you with the ball.

Today was no different. You were doing your job, gathering up balls that scattered around the gym. Hinata and Kageyama were still practising, much to your dismay, but you had to give it to them, their energy was endearing.

It wasn’t until a ball flew past you that you realised how zoned out you’d been. “Watch it!” You yelled, tossing a ball at Kageyama who didn’t have a chance to dodge it.

“Tsukki!” Hinata cried with joy, pointing at you with worried eyes.

“What do you want me to do about it?” The blocker asked, pushing up his glasses and shifting his bag. That wasn’t the first time he’d called you ‘it’, it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“I don’t know! Just stop her before she hurts me, too.” Hinata was joking, you knew that, Kageyama didn’t even look bothered by the fact you’d thrown the ball at him, a little pissed, but he wouldn’t yell.

Tsukishima turned to you, smirking down as you tightly gripped a ball.

“What got you all worked up? You miss me that bad.” Self-righteousness dripped from his tongue.

“As if,” you growled, tossing the balls back into their container, “I was finally starting to feel happy until you showed your ugly snout, pig.”

“At least I’m not a feral dog.”

“At least people like dog’s.”

“Is that your half-assed way of confessing to me?” You rolled your eyes. “Sorry, not sorry, but I’m going to have to say no.”

“Good, because I wasn’t confessing.”

“Then why are you blushing so much?” He leaned in closer and you actually had to think, am I blushing? A soft glare pulled at your features and sighed.

“You wish I was.”

“You look stupid when you’re concentrating.”

“At least I don’t need glasses to pretend I’m smart.”

“Short-stack.”

“Four-eyes.”

“Did you really run out of insults that quickly?”

“I hate you.”

“Same, now we have something in common.”

“I’m going to punch you now.” At least you had warned him. You expected him to move, but he didn’t, just smiled as you threw a punch at him with all your might.

The moment your fist hit him it felt like a lightning shock had gone through your arm, you both stumbled back, hissing in pain. What was- your mind went through the memories of your mother explaining how she’d met her soulmate, ‘it was like lightning, but he was there to comfort me, so nothing else mattered.’

Kageyama and Hinata ran to both of your sides, trying to figure out what had happened, whether you had actually managed to punch him that hard; you looked up, eyes meeting with Tsukishima who had his face twisted in anger.

“What the fuck was that?” Daichi ran into the gym to see the two of you staring at each other, the dynamic duo freaking out.

“Absolutely not.” You growled.

“That did not just happen.” Tsukishima hissed.

“Of all people, why did it have to be you?”

“I know, like, I’m so amazing and you…” He motioned to you, as if it should have been obvious.

Your hand was shaking. Was that really the first time we’ve ever touched? Every other time you’d tried to punch him, he’d dodged you, or you fell over from the impact. Of course the first time he lets you touch him, you find out you’re soulmates.

“I hate you so much.”

“I guess you don’t have a choice now,” he snickered.

“Stop smiling, you look like a tree.”

“Better than being a stump.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You just tried to!”

“Can somebody explain what’s going on.” Daichi had his hands firmly on his hips, eyes darting between you and Tsukishima.

“Go on, soulmate,” Tsukishima nudged you. You could have punched him again but the captain just stared at you both with wide eyes.

His mouth dropped open, slowly pulling out his phone from his pocket and calling someone, this is not going to be good. “Hey, Tanaka, who had money on them being soulmates again?”

“You were betting on it!” You and Tsukishima yelled at the same time, turning to glare at each other. “Stop doing that!” The other three burst out into laughter.

----

It was true; Tsukishima Kei hated you. Though that was a thing long in the past. He never thought his heart would flutter at the sight of you in a white dress, sneering at his blush that danced on his cheeks.

“You really look stupid right now,” you giggled when you reached his side.

“White doesn’t look good on you.”

“You love it.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

--------

General Taglist:

@pies-writes-and-more​ @satan-ruler-of-hells @dekuspet @samkysnks @tobi-momo @kaleidoscopekai @elektrosonix @realcube @darkvadeeer

If you want to b added to the taglist, send m a DM or an ask :)

If your name is in bold, I can't tag you!

[my-unmanageable-mischief]

Valentine’s Day

For the Anon who requested : hi lovey in time for valentines could you write a harry fic about it?? (-: maybe something that starts angsty and then ends in fluff

Not too too angsty in the beginning, I’m bad at writing angst, but I hope you enjoy it! 

Harry Potter x Reader

“Where’s Y/N?” Hermione asked, sitting beside Harry, who was sulking on the sofa. He shrugged slightly, playing with one of the pages of his 6th year potions book.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered drily, not looking at his friend. “I haven’t seen her.” 

“Is everything alright?” She prodded gently. Harry didn’t answer for a moment, still not looking at her. He didn’t partially want to talk about you at the moment. 

“We had a disagreement,” He finally admitted. He didn’t tell Hermione why or what it was about. He didn’t need her to confirm that it was his fault, he knew that already. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Hermione sighed, “It’ll be alright, I’m sure you two will work it out.” Harry frowned, setting the book aside, taking his glasses off to rub his face. 

“I’m not so sure this time,” He whispered, “She’s pissed, rightfully so.” Hermione nodded her head, patting his arm gently. 

“What happened?” Harry sighed again. He’d been a rotten boyfriend all year, and you had so much patience with him. He barely spoke to you, caught up in his own head- his own problems, he couldn’t even see you were struggling as well. He took your love and time for granted, and you had told him so, and even then he didn’t see how hurt you were. He had argued with you when you came to him, asking for him to consider your feelings and he felt like an idiot now. 

“She was upset, I reacted badly.” Harry admitted finally. All you wanted was for him to consider you. But he was so caught up in himself he couldn’t. Your last words before you stormed off still rang in his ear. ‘You spend all your time, every waking moment thinking about the bloody half-blood-prince, maybe he should be your girlfriend.’ and Harry knew you were right. But for some reason he simply couldn’t stop himself. 

“Harry, have you tried apologizing?” Hermione asked and he huffed. Of course he had. Sorta. Not really. He should have. But in the moment of your fight he couldn’t let go of his own righteousness to see the bigger issue. He should have told he was sorry, and that he loved you, and that he would try and spend some time being your boyfriend again. You were right. You used to study together, eat your meals together, even sometimes just wander the halls together, but so far, this year, every time you had asked that of him Harry had some excuse. Mostly that he was busy. 

“We just argued, then she stormed off, I didn’t get the chance.” He shrugged, waiting for Hermione’s I told you so. She patted his arm again, making him look at her. 

“I’m sure that’s all she wants.” Perhaps, but you deserve more than just words. “She loves you, Harry, one little fight hasn’t changed that.” Harry hoped she was right. He couldn’t lose you over something so stupid. Just then you entered the common room flanked by a few of your friends who you’d been spending more and more time with. Harry looked over at you, standing from the sofa. He needed to apologize. 

“YN!” He called, you glanced over at him, “Can we talk?” 

“I’m busy right now.” You answered simply as you kept walking with your friends, past him, and right up the girls staircase. Harry fell back into the sofa, covering his face with his hands as he groaned. 

“I’m screwed.” Hermione frowned, glancing at the stairs then to her friend. 

“I’m sorry, she needs time. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, why don’t you try and do something nice for her?” Hermione offered helpfully. Valentines Day, Harry had almost forgotten, that would have really added fuel to the fire. He nodded, gears in his head beginning to turn as he tried to think of something worthy of you to give. 

“That’s a good idea,” He nodded again, getting up from the sofa, he grabbed his potions book and Hermione glanced at it from the corner of her eye. “Thanks Hermione!” And with that he turned, disappearing up the boys stairs in the same way you had a moment before. Harry was gonna make it up to you. 

  You woke up to a vase of flowers with a note on your nightstand, smiling slightly to yourself. You sat up, touching one of the flowers gently before grabbing the note to read it. 

/Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N. I love you, and I have another surprise for you later tonight if you’re willing to see me. Meet me in the common room at midnight. 

Love, Harry/ 

You smiled gently at the note, placing it beside the flowers. You glanced at Hermione, knowing she probably placed them there for him, she made eye contact with you and you mouthed a small ‘thanks’ to which she nodded. You got out of bed, going to the loo to shower for the day. 

You got dressed in something cozy to combat the rainy weather outside and went down to the common room. Harry was sitting on the sofa in his Quidditch gear, Ron across from him in an armchair, when he saw you he stood up, his hands held nervously in front of him. 

“Y/N,” He greeted you, you smiled softly, coming to him. You reached him and stopped, hesitating for a moment before leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thank you for the flowers.” You murmured, Harry relaxed and pulled you into a hug, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. 

“Of course, Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry.” You smiled into his chest before pulling back, “Do you have Quidditch practice?” You asked, playing with the front of his uniform. 

“I do, it won’t be for long, promise. We can study for a bit afterwards, can you help me with charms?” He offered up and you smiled, looking down. You patted his chest and nodded your head. 

“Of course, that sounds nice. And at midnight?” You asked, glancing up at him, Harry grinned, pulling you into another hug. 

“That’s a surprise you’re going to have to wait for.” He spoke gently, glad to have you back in his arms- he couldn’t stand it when you were upset with him. You chuckled and pulled away from him. 

“I’m meeting some of the girls in the library, have fun at practice, I’ll see you later.” He held onto your hand a moment longer, squeezing it tightly. 

“Alright, have fun.” 

  Harry was true to his word, you spent the rest of the day, once he was done practicing, just sitting in the common room doing assignments together. It was nice to finally spend some time with him, you had missed him. When it was time for dinner you ate together alone, which you appreciated. Usually you just sat with him and Hermione and Ron, which you didn’t mind, but it was nice to get some well needed alone time with him. 

You ate, alternating between talking about your week and Harry making jokes so you’d smile. He missed your smile, more than he liked to admit. He took your hand in his as you sat and you smiled up at him. You could never stay mad at him for long. And it was obvious he was making an effort just for you. 

Later that night in the common room you sat with him and his friends, his arms around your shoulder. At around ten you said your goodnight, planning on spending some time getting ready before your surprise at midnight. Harry planted a small kiss on your lips before you went and Ron blessed you with an ‘ewww’. Everything felt like it was going back to normal. You were grateful. 

At midnight you snuck from your room and down to the common room, where it was empty. You looked around for a moment and suddenly Harry appeared, taking his cloak from him, you gasped, placing a hand over your chest. 

“Merlin don’t do that!” You whispered, and Harry grinned cheekily at you. He came over to you, throwing the cloak over you as well, “Where are we going?” You asked hopefully. 

“I don’t you, you can’t know yet.” You whined as Harry guided you from the common room. He placed his arm around your shoulder as you walked and you leaned into him, smiling. You reached a statue and Harry reached his arm out from under the invisibility cloak to touch it, when he did it moved. 

“Are we leaving the castle?” You questioned him and he shushed you as he helped you into the secret passage. Once the Statue moved back, you were plunged into darkness. 

“No, not quite,” He assured you, removing the cloak and lighting the end of his wand, you took his free hand, gripping it tightly. “Scared?” He teased and you shook your head. 

“No, it’s just... spooky.” You admitted softly, and Harry pulled you closer. “Are you just trying to make me scared so we can cuddle?” You asked, “You don’t need to take me to some dark and dingy corridor for that, you could have just asked. Harry laughed and shook his head as you walked along. 

“No that’s not my motive, I just wanted to bring you somewhere we could be alone.” You grumbled as you continued to walk, trying not to trip over rocks as you went. 

“Coulda be alone and warm in the common room,” Harry shook his head, nudging you. 

“It’s an adventure, Y/N.” You laughed at that. 

“Everything is an adventure with you, Harry.” You informed him and he shrugged innocently. In the distance you saw the soft glow of some light and you stopped walking, tugging on Harry. “Someone is there!” He kept walking, tugging you with him. 

“No they’re not, that’s your surprise.” He assured, but you were still worried as you walked towards the bend in the corridor. When you turned you stopped, gasping. 

“Oh Harry!” You gushed, looking at the scene, “When did you do this?” There was a blanket sitting on the floor and a million candles charmed to float around the area, basking it in a warm glow. There was a box of Honeydukes chocolates and a small wrapped present sitting on the blanket. Harry put his wand out and tugged you forward again, sitting and pulling you with him. 

“After you went upstairs, I came and set everything up.” He admitted and you smiled, leaning against him and looking around at all the candles. 

“It’s romantic, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me,” You assured him but he shook his head. 

“You deserve to know I love you, and I haven’t been doing a good job at it recently, I needed to show you how worth it you are.” You took his hand in yours and smiled softly at him, and he placed a small kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry I’ve been a shite boyfriend.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry, I may have overreacted.” 

“You didn’t,” He assured you seriously, “You were right to call me out, I got defense that’s why we fought. Not because of anything you did. Because I was a git.” You brushed some of his wild curls from his face and smirked. 

“Yes but you’re my git.” You promised him, and he leaned in for another kiss which you happily returned. When he pulled back he grabbed the box of chocolates, handing them to you. You happily opened them, grinning ear to ear. 

“They’re my favorite, thank you, love.” He nodded his head watching as you popped one in your mouth before offering to feed him one as well. He opened his mouth and you placed the chocolate there smirking as you chewed. 

“Delicious,” He laughed with his mouth full and you giggled, cuddling into his side again. When he swallowed he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. “I really am sorry.” He reminded you, and you smiled again, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I forgive you,” You promised him, “I just missed you. I was worried you didn’t.. Want to be around me anymore.” You admitted softly. Harry kissed your temple, shaking his head. 

“Of course not, I love you.” You smiled up at him.

“I love you too,” Harry reached past you and grabbed the small wrapped parcel before handing it to you. 

“I got you something.” 

“I didn’t get you anything,” You admitted sadly, “Who's the bad girlfriend now?” Harry shushed you, shaking his head. 

“Not you, just open it.” You sat up slightly, gently unwrapping the box, then you opened the box revealing a soft maroon colored material. You pulled the item from the box and unraveled it, it was a lovely silk scarf in Gryffindor red. 

“I love it!” You grinned, wrapping it around yourself. Harry grinned back, gently touching the material that was now around you. 

“I hoped you would. Hermione helped me pick it out last Hogsmeade trip.” He admitted, “You know I’m bad at gifts.” You chuckled, grabbing his face and kissing him deeply. 

“I love it,” You repeated. “I love you,” 

“I love you too, Happy Valentine’s Day, my girl.” You continued to grin happily, looking at the scarf then to your boyfriend. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” Harry flushed slightly and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I ask myself the same question every day.”

[weighty-ghosts]

‘Blame it on the Firewhisky’ (wolfstar)

Blame it on the Firewhisky, by weightyghosts

“Sirius makes a drunken mistake at a Hufflepuff party and has to find a way to convince Remus that he’s still completely devoted to him. Unfortunately, Sirius is also still very drunk and really just wants to go to sleep.

Aka Remus’ patience is stretched beyond its reasonable limits.

Aka Sirius is a bad doggie.”

Rating: teen

Word Count: 5408 (2 chapters)

Pairing: Remus x Sirius

Published on: February 22, 2021

Warnings: swearing, intoxication, alcohol consumption, infidelity, dub/con (I promise the two people kissing at the beginning of this fic are equally drunk and no one is being taken advantage of, it’s just a misunderstanding- however, if consent and alcohol makes you uncomfy, please skip from “at some point” to “er, I actually have a-”)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596605/chapters/72748656

    Sirius Black loved snogging. It was rather one of his favourite pastimes (just above tormenting Snivellus), and up until recently, four months and three weeks ago to be exact, he’d thought that snogging was as good as it could get. If he was involved in the snogging, it was bound to be brilliant because he was brilliant at snogging. Ask anyone.

What occurred four months and three weeks ago, was that Sirius discovered there was a way to make kissing even better, to make it a mind-blowing, body-shaking experience. All he had to do was kiss Remus Lupin. And Merlin, did Sirius fucking love kissing Remus Lupin. It quickly became his preferred way to spend his time.

Last week, during a thoroughly delicious snogging session, Sirius briefly considered placing one of his infamous Permanent Sticking Charms on their lips so they never had to part. But that would have impeded his other hobby: consuming firewhisky. (Also occasionally eating and shouting obscenities at his brother, but he could’ve sorted something out.)

The party this evening seemed to have an abundance of both Remus-kisses and firewhisky, and both in excess. It was a raucous affair, in celebration of Hufflepuff’s defeat of Ravenclaw in Quidditch, and boy do those Hufflepuffs know how to throw a party.

He couldn’t be sure how much firewhisky he’d ingested, but seeing as he could hardly stand up straight at the moment, it was safe to assume it had been a lot. There might have also been a butterbeer or two at some point. Or maybe Remus had drunk the butterbeer. Sirius could certainly taste it on his lips now.

His mind swam back into consciousness and he realized there was something hard and uncomfortable pushing into his back. There was also something hard pushing against his front, but it was more soft and pleasant.

His tongue was definitely in action, and he should probably do something with his hands (Remus did enjoy a good bum squeeze during times like these), but it was entirely too much effort to move his arms from their resting place on his boyfriend’s shoulders.

Remus didn’t seem to mind though, judging by the throaty noise he’d just made. It wasn’t a noise Sirius had heard before, but that’s alright. He also seemed to be producing more saliva than usual, but that’s alright too. There was a hand slipping under his shirt, and Sirius sighed happily, making Remus’s shoulders shake with giggles. Remus didn’t often giggle, but that’s alright.

He found a way for his brain to send signals to his limbs again, and slid his hands down Remus’ chest and abdomen, and around to his cute little bum.

“Bloody hell,” Remus whispered, though it didn’t sound like Remus, but that’s al-

Wait. That didn’t sound like Remus?

Sirius sluggishly opened his eyes (not a small feat), and looked up into the bleary, blinking brown eyes of someone that was definitely not his boyfriend. “Agh!” He exclaimed, pushing the person away from him, “The bloody hell’re you doing!”

The person, a bloke, a student, a Ravenclaw by the looks of him, stumbled backwards, tripped over a chair, and fell in what seemed like slow motion, landing on his bottom.

“Whaz’tha for, Black?” The Ravenclaw boy asked indignantly, though his outrage was severely undermined by how much he was slurring his words.

“You were kissing me!”

“You asked m’too!”

“I- what?” Asked him to? Sirius would never ask anyone to kiss him that wasn’t a honey-haired werewolf with a repressed biting kink.

“You dragged m’in here!” The boy said as he slowly stood up. He swayed heavily on his feet before stumbling sideways into a desk, which he managed to keep himself upright with. “Ow. I mean, I think y’did. Someone did the dragging in the...here.”

Ah, good. At least they were both completely shit-faced.

“Well y’shouldn’t snog dunk-drunk people,” Sirius declared, quite righteously, though he had a sneaking suspicion his outrage was also being undermined.

“Neither should you!” The other boy pointed out.

Sirius thought about this for a second, then decided he would rather be doing anything other than thinking. “Fair enough,” he replied pleasantly.

He straightened himself up, taking a deep breath to steady the alcohol he could feel dancing through his veins, and took a step away from the door he’d been leaning against (and the large brass doorknob that had been digging into his back). He walked towards the Ravenclaw, almost tripping over his own feet, and stuck his hand out to shake the boy’s, but missed wildly and jabbed him somewhere south of his ribs. “Whoopsy, sorry, mate.”

The boy waved him off and pushed away from the desk, moving quickly towards the door.

“Hey! I’m going tha’way!” Sirius yelled.

“’S’only one exit, Black.”

Sirius was fairly certain there were two, but he could have been seeing double and therefore didn’t trust his eyes. He nudged the other boy out of the way and opened the door, walking through and blinking into the sudden brightness of the torch-lit hall.

“Where the sweet Circe am I?” He mumbled to himself, not able to remember what part of the castle he was in or how he’d gotten there. Damn Hogwarts for having so many wings and hallways and walls that all look alike.

“Did y’know your hair smells like- like candy floss?” the Ravenclaw slurred, coming up from behind Sirius and leaning in to his side.

“Huh,” Sirius replied distractedly. He had no idea why that would be, and didn’t really care at the moment. Where even were his so-called best friends?

“Y’know what?” The boy asked.

“Mmh?” He tried to focus his eyes on any portraits or landmarks so he could figure out where he was. There seemed to be a fair number of students in the hall; it must not be past curfew yet. How pathetic. Blackout drunk before curfew.

He felt warm puffs of breath on his neck. Was that the painting of the fruit near the kitchens? Were they near the Hufflepuff common room? That rang a bell, didn’t it?

“We should do this again when we’re sober,” the boy said directly into Sirius’ right ear.

“Er, I actually have a- Moony!” Sirius called excitedly when he spotted his boyfriend, relief flooding through him at the sight. Moony will be able to tell him where he is.

Remus was standing very still after just emerging from a hidden door with a few other people Sirius didn’t bother looking at. Remus didn’t look very happy for some reason.

“A what?” The Ravenclaw mumbled questioningly into Sirius’ neck.

A muscle in Remus’ jaw twitched and it was like a switch had been flicked: he stormed over to Sirius, fists clenched, with an absolutely murderous look on his face. Sirius couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was when he wanted to kill someone, his eyes bright and deadly.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sirius?”

“Aw, why’re you grumpy, Moony?” Sirius pouted at his beautiful angry boyfriend.

“Ohh, ’s’this Moony?” The boy asked, lifting his head and circling a heavy arm around Sirius’ shoulders, “I thought y’said, ‘moon me,’ which I thought was a bit, y’know, aggressive since it was our first time snogging.”

Sirius giggled. He was definitely going to ask Remus to moon him later. He was about to tell Remus so, when he noticed the hurt look flash across his face, followed by stone cold fury.

“Snogging?” Remus asked in a deep, dangerous voice.

Sirius frowned at him, then turned to the Ravenclaw boy, having to lean back so their faces weren’t too close. He’d forgotten they’d been accidentally kissing. He looked back at Remus for an explanation for this strange turn of events. Remus was always able to explain things so very well with his smart words.  

“I see,” Remus said, and Sirius swore he saw the wolf lurk behind his amber eyes; not the playful wolf who liked to romp around with Padfoot, but the wolf that would tear a human to shreds if given the chance. “Guess you don’t need me around, do you, Sirius?”

“Moony!” Sirius whined, attempting to push the other boy off of him. “It’s not like that! ’S’just a mistake!”

He wished he wasn’t so pissed so he could properly explain to Remus what had happened; he was sure Remus would laugh about it when he knew all the facts. He managed to prop the boy against the door of the classroom, and finally got a good look at him in the warm light. A small laugh escaped his lips.

“Look, Moony, Moons, look, you’re practically twins.”

This wasn’t strictly true. But the boy was tall and lanky, with similarly-coloured hair to Remus’. He whipped his head back to Remus with a grin on his face, the bun on top of his head wobbling carelessly, certain that Remus was about to start laughing with him. He did not.

“Sirius,” he said in that same low voice, “When have you ever known me to wear a fucking Ravenclaw Quidditch jersey?”

Sirius’ eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he looked back at the not-Remus-bloke. Sure enough, he was wearing a blue and bronze Quidditch jersey, an eagle prominently displayed.

“When’d you put tha’ on?” He demanded, suddenly very annoyed with this person he only now hazily recognized from one of his classes. Herbology maybe.

Remus huffed. “Don’t worry, Sirius, I’m sure you can offer to take it off for him. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Noo, Moony! I don’t want to take anything off, it’s-”

But Remus shoved Sirius aside and kept walking down the hall, not noticing, or not caring, that Sirius had tipped over and fallen into a statue of a badger. It gave Sirius a dirty stare for disturbing it, before returning to its regal position upon a boulder.

“Y’r boyfriend doesn’t seem very happy,” the boy stated, helping Sirius stand up, then helping him again when they both fell back over.

“No, I don’t s'ppose he is,” Sirius murmured, brushing off the boy and starting to walk away in the direction Remus went. At least, he was pretty sure it was this way. He called over his shoulder as he went, “Bye, Ravenclaw.”

“M’name’s Benjy!”

“Yeah, yeah, bye, Benny,” Sirius said, waving vaguely behind him and pushing through a group of Hufflepuff girls. His mind was whirling like the first time he tried to apparate, but he managed to focus on one thing: Moony. Moony thinks he cheated on him. His Moony thinks he cheated on him. His Moony is upset.

He has to find his Moony.

*

Read chapter 2 here!

[blasphemous-tiefling]

I think part of the reason why there’s so much discord in the MCU fandom has something to do with the varying directors for TFA, The Avengers, Winter Soldier, AOU, Civil War, Infinity War, and Endgame. And really, the backbone of the issue is how the different directors and how the audience interprets Steve’s character. Strap in. Because this is a long rant on a topic that normal people really don’t care about.

Joe Johnston created a Steve Rogers that was eager, begging to go to war. I absolutely adored the line in AOU when Steve says, “What kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country?” Because I feel that sums up Steve in TFA pretty well. He’s anti-bully. He wants to fight. But his whole life he’s been put down, stomped on. Steve repeatedly enlisting is both selfish and selfless. His conversation with Bucky in TFA is a great example of this. Steve says, “There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” And Bucky says, “Right. Because you’ve got nothing to prove.” And that’s it. Yes, Steve wants to fight because he’s always been bullied and doesn’t want anyone else to feel that way. Yes, Steve wants to fight because he wants to defend his country. But also Steve wants to fight because no one has ever given him a chance. Steve wants to fight because he wants his life to mean something. Steve wants to die in battle because he thinks it’s honorable. He wants to prove himself. Steve wants it so desperately for both selfless and selfish reasons, which is why he was so willing to take the serum despite the fact that Erskine told him about past failures. There’s even a certain selfishness to his sacrifice at the end of TFA. Many stories that involve sacrifice ride the line of selfishness and selflessness. By sacrificing himself, you could argue Steve is taking “the easy way out.” He’s distraught over Bucky’s death. He’s won the battle he’s been fighting since getting the super soldier serum. By sacrificing himself, Steve can effectively end the troubles caused by the Tesseract and leave without dealing with the consequences of his sacrifice. This point is a bit of a stretch, and not something that I personally agree with, but the thought it there.

Joss Whedon takes that selflessness and turns it into irrefutable righteousness, and it’s disgusting. Steve has a few goofy lines in The Avengers and AOU that I’ll laugh at, but ultimately, everything he does seems so out of character for him. His constant nagging and arguing with Tony is so unnecessary and doesn’t build friendship. His desire to do everything S.H.I.E.L.D. tells him to do is completely incorrect because Steve went against the military and broke the 107th out of the Hydra facility without permission and repeatedly did whatever he wanted without asking. His incessant need to have all the Avengers do as he says is totalitarian and unbearable to watch. Truthfully, this is where I think people misunderstand Steve the most because not everyone watches every solo movie. The Avengers movies are the biggies that most people won’t miss. So general audiences only see this righteous, dictator Steve Rogers and that really pisses me off.

This is one of the only times you’ll hear me praise the Russos, so get ready- Thank goodness Winter Soldier and Civil War follow Joe Johnston’s characterization of Steve. They even dig into his selfishness and rebellious streak, which I adore. Steve isn’t one to just blindly follow orders. Hello? Does “not a perfect solider but a good man” ring any bells? Perfect soldiers follow orders. Good men fight for what’s right even when the world is telling them not to. That’s who Steve Rogers is. What I adore about Winter Soldier so much is that we see Steve attempting to be this perfect soldier, but it’s just not sitting well with him. Something is fishy and weird. He talks to Peggy about her life. She says her only regret is that Steve didn’t get to live his. Steve talks to Sam about possibly getting out of government work. Sam is that representation for Steve- having a hard time finding out why he’s really in it to begin with. The entire film is about Steve going against the government, military, and S.H.I.E.L.D. with both selfish and selfless desires. He knows he needs to do something because Hydra is growing in S.H.I.E.L.D. but he also doesn’t want anything to do with it anyway, so why not tear it all down? Once Bucky is revealed as the Winter Soldier, Steve puts his life on the line to try to get him back. It’s selfish really. When Steve takes off his helmet and drops his shield, he made the decision to die because he wasn’t gonna continue to live without Bucky. Despite the fact that Steve made friends with Natasha and Sam, he didn’t care. All that mattered to him in that moment was James Bucky Barnes. This is very reminiscent of TFA when Steve breaks Bucky out of the Hydra lab. As the world’s only successful super soldier, Steve could’ve been very valuable to the American government and military. He was even doing mild good by helping sell bonds. But that didn’t matter. His country and his military was no longer priority number one. When it comes to Steve Rogers, nothing and no one means more to him than Bucky. Steve and Sam’s conversation that I previously mentioned also parallels this. After Sam lost Riley, he didn’t want to be in the military anymore. He said he felt like he was up there just to watch, nothing he could do. This is a direct parallel to how Steve feels about Bucky.

Civil War, while a trash movie, sticks with Steve’s selfish yet selfless motivations. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us?” Not wanting to surrender his right to choose is Steve Rogers. He just put down S.H.I.E.L.D.- an organization that was giving him demands. Why would he sign his life away to the American government again? Corporations can be run by greed and corruption- something Steve doesn’t want the world to be full of but also something he doesn’t want his world to be ruled by. When Bucky is framed for killing King T’Chaka, Steve knows the Accords will bring Bucky in and possibly execute him. He can’t let that happen. And he asks Natasha not to get in his way because he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. He knows how dangerous Bucky can be, but he doesn’t want Bucky or anyone else getting hurt or in trouble due to this sticky Accords situation. Both selfish and selfless. I don’t even want to get into later in the film, but I guess I will. Guys, there’s no world, no universe, no place in time that Steve wouldn’t try to stop Zemo. Tony never even gave him the chance to explain himself. It was either, “Come with us or we fight.” Steve gathered that team together- not to fight Tony but to fight Zemo. It was never his intention to fight with Tony. He was just trying to stop Zemo. Now, when Tony learns about his parents’ death, anger is a valid emotion. Physically fighting and attacking Steve and Bucky to the point of death? Not valid or even remotely reasonable. It makes no sense as to why Tony would be that angry at Bucky- someone who was tortured and brainwashed to do what he did. Steve had his reasons for not telling Tony considering that when it comes to Steve Rogers, nothing and no one means more to him than Bucky. Of course, Steve was going to hide the truth from Tony in an effort to protect Tony, Bucky, and himself. Selfish yet selfless.

Infinity War gives us the glorious lines of “I’m not looking for forgiveness. And I’m way past asking permission. Earth just lost her best defender. So we’re here to fight. And if you wanna stand in our way, we’ll fight you too.” and “We don’t trade lives.” These lines beautifully sum up Steve’s rebelliousness and need to fight while also not risking others’ lives. He’ll always risk himself first. There’s not much to say about this film considering it’s mostly action and Steve shares the screen with just about every other superhero, so we’re not given a lot of time. But overall, the Russos kept that same Steve Rogers.

And then Endgame does a complete 180 and decides to serve us Joss Whedon’s Steve with a conservative, pro-military, unbelievably illogical twist. Steve’s obsession with Peggy in this film is so out of place. She would’ve died seven years prior in the MCU. Steve’s been living in the present with Natasha, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and T’Challa. That was his family. He lost Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and T’Challa in the Infinity War. It only makes sense that he would be fighting for them in Endgame. Yet he’s not. We’re beat over the head about how much he misses Peggy and it’s so unbelievably weird. Steve is never allowed to mourn Sam and Bucky specifically despite the fact that they were his number one companions. He never mentions them. Never has a touching reunion with Bucky. Barely has any reaction to Natasha’s death. It’s disgusting honestly. This is not “I will fight to my death for the people I love” Steve Rogers. And the ending is the most pathetic of all. There’s no world, no universe, no place in time that Steve would willingly go almost a hundred years away from Bucky and Sam, somewhere he wouldn’t fight for others. “Pretending you could live without a war.” I mean, come on. He’s Steven Grant Rogers. It’s disgusting to paint him as this man who would throw away his friendships and a world that is being bullied all for some girl he kissed once and barely knew. No. No, no. Not my Steve Rogers.

I give the directors a little too much crap. I’m fully aware that a whole team of people make these movies, but you can’t deny that Steve changes from movie to movie depending on the director. Endgame is the exception in which the directors were the same, yet they diverged completely from their original interpretation of the character. I’ve heard people say that it had to be an anti-gay agenda- that ending Steve’s story with Bucky would’ve been too gay even if they weren’t romantically involved, but I still think that’s pathetic. Honestly, I would’ve rather seen Steve die than have his character trashed and pooped on like this. From a narrative perspective, what happened in Endgame is not okay. Marvel Studios’ treatment towards “sideline” characters like Natasha, Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky- particularly in Infinity War and Endgame- is not okay. Yeah, I’m aware I get too heated over this fictional universe. But the characters are the only reason I stick around. The stories are lackluster for me. I’ve never been one to watch movies for action sequences. But I’ve always been in love with Steve Rogers as a character- complicatedly riding the line of selflessness and selfishness, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to a cause and to the people he loves. When in the end that character was completely scrapped and shredded in the garbage disposal like crust on bread or the skin of an apple, I’m gonna be angry for a long time.

[secret-engima]

For want a son, what various reveal AU you can imagine Axis get caught on (in which thing are less angst-y for instance) that lead Clarus to realize why all his friends pissed off at him?

Hmmmm well I haven’t picked what the reveal is gonna be, but I can throw out a few potentials-

-The first reveal would be ... probably Titus’s fault? By accident? I’m seeing like- Titus getting into a tiff with one of the Glaive doctors and it leads to said doctor walking, so they need to borrow one of the other Citadel doctors for checkups, and THAT doctor for whatever reason is running like- a background check of all glaives to see if they have relatives (maybe he’s looking into their medical history for potential genetic illnesses? Since most of Galahd’s medical records went poof) and the doc finds that Axis is a match for Clarus and immediately goes running to Titus.

-Who is kinda-sorta MONSTROUSLY protective of his glaive in this AU, so when he puts together Axis’s constant anxiety and the king always monopolizing him and Clarus in general acting like a jerk around Axis- Titus maybe sorta loses his temper.

-And by loses his temper I mean slugs Clarus in the jaw in front of Regis and Cor and says, “That’s for treating your son like *&^^*” which of course ENRAGES Clarus because EXCUSE YOU HE LOVES GLADIOLUS HOW DARE YOU.

-And Titus sneers and doesn’t see Regis frantically shaking his head in the background or Cor trying to say “DON’T” and snarls, “I’m talking about your OTHER son. One of MY glaives.”

-And Clarus freezes. At first in disbelief and then in growing horror as pieces get put together and Regis just sighs miserably in the background. Titus notices the misery of the king a minute too late and Regis says, “We were going to wait for Axis to bring it up.” And that’s when Titus realizes that CLARUS DIDN’T KNOW. He thought Clarus KNEW and that’s why he acted weird around Axis.

-Which means he just blew one of his glaives’ biggest secrets out of the water.

-Titus gives a very quiet “oh no”.

.

-Another reveal idea would be like-

-Clarus finally gets a talking to by Regis, not with the Secret but just how he needs to lighten up on the glaives in general, and then some Assassination Shenanigans happen and are thwarted by Axis and Clarus working in tandem and Clarus eases up on the glaring. And over the course of a LOOONNNNG time (like- a couple years) Clarus and Axis go from a functional work relationship to a awkward sort of friendship to “let’s share drinks over the IDIOT we have to guard because GUESS WHAT HE DID TODAY” and it’s ... it’s more than Axis ever expected, or dreamed of, and Clarus isn’t really what he expected at all.

-And maybe he gets braver, maybe he just ... lets his guard down. But one of the times they having a drink together, Axis blurts that he had a father in Insomnia that doesn’t know he exists. And Clarus perks up, because Dadding Instincts and Friend Sympathy, and while Axis chickens out a moment later he does grudgingly admit that the father is an Insomnian noble and Axis has always been afraid of what he’d do if he found out about Axis.

-Clarus is Righteously Angry at this Unknown Father and firmly tells Axis that any father should consider it an honor to have Axis as a son, because he’s dedicated and smart and hardworking and loyal and TURNS IN HIS PAPERWORK ON TIME which is a miracle in and of itself and Axis ... blushes and hides his face and Clarus kinda works himself up a bit, to the point of telling Axis that if his father ever DOES find out about him and starts causing trouble to come to Clarus so he can sort everything out.

-Axis is quietly dying inside as he nods, and after that drinking night, Clarus brings it up to Regis and Cor one time because HOW DARE this unknown father be a threat to Axis and then he blinks when Regis literally facedesks and Cor starts laughing hysterically.

-”What’s wrong with both of you?”

-Regis sighs but doesn’t lift his head from the desk, “I can’t tell you my friend. I made a promise.”

-And Clarus thinks about that.

-Really hard.

-A lightbulb comes on.

-“Oh,” Clarus wheezes weakly as he sits down hard. “Oh.”

.

-The third one off the top of my head is more ... cracky. It would be sorta like the second one, only Axis never breathes a word about his parentage even obliquely, but his KIDS know about it through overheard convos between mom and dad and they decide, in all their seven year old glory, to DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. Because family is family right? Dad is just being silly. Grandpa is already his friend without knowing they’re family, being family will just make it BETTER. Besides they want a grandpa.

-Cue three adorable tiny Arra ghosting into the Citadel to talk to Clarus and finding Cor instead, and while they loudly explain to Uncle Cor what they’re doing here and Cor tells them that no, they can’t, telling Clarus is AXIS’S choice and his alone, none of them notice Clarus just outside the doorway slowly losing his mind.

-Then one of the kids spots Clarus in the door and is like “uhhhhh oops?” And Cor is a Die.

-Clarus needs to sit down.

-The moment he does the triplets (Axis’s kids, his son’s kids, he HAS GRANDKIDS????) swarm him in concern and Clarus.exe officially crashes while Cor sighs and calls Regis for backup.

[spaceskam]

pollute my body

Summary: Xue Yang learns what Xiao Xingchen likes and, through that, learns some things about himself.

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, mild blood, biting, xue yang’s violent thoughts

ao3

In every way, Xue Yang could honestly say there was no one like Xiao Xingchen.

The man was irritatingly kind, blindly giving, foolishly trusting. It was almost too easy. No, it was too easy. It was too easy to make him smile, to make him laugh, to make him feel safe enough to kiss Xue Yang after a night hunt without knowing his damn name. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so fucking infuriating.

Xiao Xingchen, in all of his stupidity, didn’t stop smiling as he pulled Xue Yang along and into the small room he slept in. There was no bed, nothing but a mat on the floor. It was difficult for Xue Yang as he kissed him to not just gut him right then. As Xiao Xingchen’s nimble fingers touched his jaw, as his tongue parted his lips, as he led every action because Xue Yang had never done anything like this in his life and he knew it but he didn’t mind‒Xue Yang wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t,” Xue Yang said as those hands went to where his robes were held together with all intent to remove them. He grabbed Xiao Xingchen’s wrists to stop him and got what could only be described as a shy smile in response.

“Sorry,” he said, voice soft, “I won’t.”

“Won’t what?” he asked. Why the fuck was he asking?

“Touch you,” Xiao Xingchen offered, “If that isn’t what you want. I’m sure there are many cultivators who aren’t fond of it, especially when there was a war that scarred thousands.”

Xue Yang stared at him, his hands still gripping his wrists, and considered what it would feel like to snap them. Would that stop that growing feeling in his stomach, the one that felt like it was going to choke him from the inside if he didn’t do something? He hated that feeling. It always went away when someone else got hurt.

“But you do want to be touched, Daozhang?” Xue Yang said, “How impure of you.”

Xiao Xingchen had the audacity to turn a shade of red at that, looking to the side as if he still had eyes to avert. Xue Yang felt his jaw clench tighter as his grip on Xiao Xingchen’s wrist did the same. He didn’t say it hurt as much as he moved a bit closer, finally looking back at Xue Yang.

“Perhaps,” he said, warm and low, “I won’t touch you beneath your robes, but you are welcome to touch beneath mine. If you so wish. If not, I can take care of it myself.”

Take care of it myself.

And why was that more infuriating than everything leading up to it?

Xue Yang didn’t have any words to say to him other than calling him impure or selfish or something that maybe he could come up with if he had more time, but that feeling in his stomach hadn’t faded and he needed to do something. Something before he exploded and did something to himself when he should be doing something to others. They deserved it.

He released Xiao Xingchen’s hands in favor of grabbing his hips with the same amount of pressure. Xue Yang kissed him again as he kept a hold on his hips, pushing into him so far that his back arched. That tight feeling in his stomach nearly suffocated him as the man laughed. Laughed, for fuck’s sake.

“Did I say a fucking joke?” Xue Yang asked. Maybe he’d never kissed before, but it surely wasn’t a laughable offense. Gods, if Xiao Xingchen knew who he was, he wouldn’t be laughing at him as if he was‒

“No, no, that feels nice. I’m happy,” Xiao Xingchen told him‒quiet as if it would stop if he said it too loudly. Xue Yang stared at him. Happy.

There were an infinite amount of things Xue Yang could say to that, an infinite amount of ways to take that happiness and burn it. Imagine it, Daozhang, your greatest enemy making you happy. But he didn’t do any of it. It would be sweeter if he waited until after, wouldn’t it?

“Can I touch you here?” Xiao Xingchen asked, reaching up to touch his jaw once more. Xue Yang grabbed his waistband and all but tore it off, throwing it to the ground as an answer. “So yes?”

Xiao Xingchen was a pillar of righteousness and self-sacrificing to a fault. It was disgusting. And that made it all the more frustrating when Xue Yang pushed him against the wall and he smiled. Xue Yang thought about pushing harder, about pressing and pressing until the wall cracked and accepted this body as a new part of the structure.

He didn’t.

Xue Yang’s lack of experience in this had nothing to do with lack of opportunity. People had been interested and he had always been more interested in threatening them. Kissing and touching had always seemed tedious and boring, but it being Xiao Xingchen made it worth it. If he knew who he was allowing to do this to him, he’d hate it. It would make it so much better when he found out.

His hands pushed away the top layer of Xiao Xingchen’s robes, leaving him in nothing but a similarly pristine white shirt and pants. He dipped into the overlap of the shirt, his fingers grazing his chest. That feeling in Xue Yang’s stomach twisted impossibly and he let out a tense breath of frustration.

“My friend,” Xiao Xingchen said, catching his breath as he pulled away, “Come.”

It was surprisingly easy for Xiao Xingchen to move from the wall‒hadn’t Xue Yang been putting more pressure than that? He took his hand and led him to the mat in the middle of the room. Xiao Xingchen was too aware of his surroundings and too obscene looking in nothing but a loose shirt and pants for Xue Yang to make sense of it. That need to break him still hadn’t faded, even as he sat on the mat and ushered Xue Yang to sit with him. They sat cross-legged, knees touching.

“So, what are you trying to make me do?” Xue Yang asked. Xiao Xingchen smiled politely.

“I don’t want to make you do anything,” he said. Xue Yang’s eyes followed his hands as he moved his hair off his shoulders and then carefully reached up to remove his hairpiece. His hair fell in a genuinely unrealistic fashion. Then he moved to brush his shirt off his shoulder, exposing a wide expanse of flawless skin. How was he so flawless? Where were his scars? “But I would like it if you kissed me here.”

Xue Yang’s nails dug into his knees beneath his robes as he stared at his skin. So he was being invited to make it less flawless. Never had he been asked to do that. Well, he’d definitely been asked to do destruction, but never like this.

Xiao Xingchen’s hand slid to the back of his head as Xue Yang leaned forward to kiss him where he asked. The knot of tension Xue Yang's stomach got impossibly tight which made him feel unnecessarily frustrated and angry. He didn't know why. Xiao Xingchen was bent to his will, completely ignorant of what he was welcoming Xue Yang to do to him.

Then again, maybe that's what pissed him off.

But that anger overwhelmed him and he had only a handful of ways to get it out. Instinct overrode him and he sunk his teeth into Xiao Xingchen's shoulder, hard enough that he felt the small pop of punctured skin. His stomach got a little less tense, but Xiao Xingchen didn't even flinch.

"My friend," he said softly. Not out of fear or pain or even pleasure, it was simply a way to get his attention. His voice was warm and familiar and he wasn't angry. The tension that Xue Yang just got rid of came back in full force.

"What?" Xue Yang asked, snapping just a little bit. Xiao Xingchen's hand, that stupidly agile and nimble hand that had no business being on a cultivator, dragged up Xue Yang's arm slowly. It crossed over his shoulder and went to his chin.

One hand on the back of his head, one hand on his chin. It was too much contact. Xue Yang again thought about snapping his wrist, but the hand on the back of his head dropped before he could. It was almost too much to consider that maybe he could tell he didn’t like that.

Xiao Xingchen tilted his head just a bit to the side nonetheless and leaned forward. Xue Yang focused on the blood that he'd drawn on his shoulder as Xiao Xingchen kissed his neck softly. Then his teeth grazed his skin with a little bit of pressure, but not nearly the way Xue Yang had done it. Yet, somehow, it was much more of a mindfuck. His eyes slipped closed as Xiao Xingchen's warm tongue pressed against Xue Yang's neck, soothing away pain that'd never come. He felt like he was going to choke.

"Like that, please," Xiao Xingchen requested.

"What, you don't like it rough?" Xue Yang asked, trying to keep firmly in control. Xiao Xingchen gave that little smile though and moved until they were nose to nose.

“Not quite,” he said. Xue Yang rolled his shoulders back and let his eyes go back to the blood on his shoulder. He hadn’t even flinched. Where was the satisfaction in any of this? “But I can show you how I like it.”

“Aren’t you meant to disregard your own desires and needs for everyone else’s?” Xue Yang asked, his tone not nearly as venomous as he intended, “Is that not a part of your cultivation methods, Daozhang? Purity and selflessness?”

Xiao Xingchen took a deep breath and his thumb moved from Xue Yang’s chin to his bottom lip. His other hand stayed firmly in his lap, politely not touching Xue Yang more than he was okay with. How fucking cute.

“My friend,” Xiao Xingchen said again, “May I be selfish with you?”

“What?”

Xiao Xingchen adjusted himself so he was kneeling and he tilted his head, kissing him on his lips with his thumb remaining a barrier. Xue Yang dug his nails into his knees even tighter.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, “But there are always things that one would like to be selfish with. And I would like to be selfish with you.”

“What the fuck would that mean?” Xue Yang asked. His own voice was quieter than normal, less bite, a little dizzy at the grounding feeling of pressure on his bottom lip.

“It would mean,” Xiao Xingchen said slowly, his thumb moving just enough to graze over his lips entirely, “I want to feel these again when they’re swollen.”

Xue Yang grabbed his wrist and pulled away, surging up to kiss him again. Xiao Xingchen smiled and, when Xue Yang moved his hands to his knees to push him onto his back, he laughed. He moved down to his neck, dragging his teeth along the way until he got the bite mark on his shoulder. Xue Yang’s tongue cleaned the blood off his skin and Xiao Xingchen let out a shaky breath.

The taste on his tongue was something that made sense, something that let that feeling in his gut know he wasn’t going to die if he didn’t kill him. He could wait. He could. He had the self-control for that.

With self-control on one hand, it meant exploration on the other. Xue Yang didn’t like being touched in the way Xiao Xingchen very clearly did and that was something he wasn’t quite sure how to approach. He kissed his neck and again let his hand slide beneath fabric onto smooth skin. A bite to his neck, a thumb grazing his nipple, a leg between his thighs.

Xiao Xingchen moaned.

Xue Yang had to pause for a moment at the sound, his head trying to rewire to the new noise. Experimentally, he moved his thigh up a bit more intentionally between his legs and got another noise like the first one. Xiao Xingchen’s thighs tightened around Xue Yang’s and his hand moved to the back of his neck. He chased that noise, grinding his thigh harder between his legs and his tongue gliding from his collarbone to his jaw.

“Please,” Xiao Xingchen said. Please.

Many times in his life Xue Yang had had people moaning and pleading at his hand. Begging for him to let them go, moaning as the life slipped out of them, groaning as his blade cut through them. There were all sounds that his body tied to that release of tension, to that feeling of actually doing something to fix all the wrongs done to him first.

Never had he heard it quite like this.

Hearing Xiao Xingchen pleads beneath him because he wanted him there was something new. Hearing him moan because he was doing something good was also very new. It was exhilarating in a way he’d never experienced in his life. Each sound tore at the tension in his gut, leaving him with nothing but a desire to hear more. Hearing him was more pleasurable than any sort of touching could ever be, Xue Yang decided.

Xue Yang moved down to get more of a reaction, his mouth replacing his hand and his hand replacing his leg. He’d torn open his shirt at this point which gave him access to kiss and suck and bite whenever he wanted, finding the most success when he grazed his teeth over his nipple.

When he cupped his hand over Xiao Xingchen’s cock over his pants, however, he got an even louder moan. Xue Yang had to lift his head for a moment, watching his head tilt back and his chest rise and fall as he touched him. He was completely unskilled and hadn’t even got his hands on his bare cock, and yet he still reacted this way. That felt like more control than he’d ever felt in his life.

Xue Yang moved down a bit more, eyes still cast up to watch him as he dipped his hand beneath the fabric and grabbed him. Xiao Xingchen’s head tilted back and his mouth parted wide, a strangled moan exiting him in a similar way to the people Xue Yang had actually strangled. It was mesmerizing.

He moved his hand slowly, watching and basking in each little whimper and needy noise he got. A sea of yes and please decorated the noises. For a moment Xue Yang wondered if it would be even better if he said his name amongst them.

When Xue Yang really looked down for the first time, he noticed Xiao Xingchen had pinned his other hand behind his back while the main one continued to hold the back of his neck beneath his hair. He stared at it for a moment too long. Was it there for a reason? To keep him from touching himself? To keep himself from touching Xue Yang?

He tightened his grip on Xiao Xingchen’s cock as he thought about what the answer might be, but his mind was cleared again when he responded with a loud gasp. He made so much noise. Xue Yang found it was the most anything had ever made sense in his life.

It took no effort to go back to kiss his lips as he kept moving his hand a bit faster and faster with each desperate noise, feeling his way around the proper way to do it by listening and the way his hand felt on his neck. There was another reward in feeling Xiao Xingchen desperately trying to kiss back and struggling to do so. Because he felt good. Interesting.

Even more interesting when Xiao Xingchen gripped the back of his neck tighter than before and his body went entirely too tense. Xue Yang pulled back just enough to see his eyebrows knit closer together and his jaw drop as he came, a low moan of pure release exiting him without shame. He breathed heavily as Xue Yang started to slow down.

There was an unusual calmness in Xue Yang as he pulled his hand out of his pants and inspected it. This was another new change to an old familiar feeling‒bodily fluids on his hand. Like he did when it was blood, he licked it clean.

“Like candy?” Xiao Xingchen asked, smirking. Xue Yang found himself smiling, riding the easy and quiet feeling in his mind. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t two steps away from either ripping out someone’s stomach or ripping out his own.

“You wish,” he said. Xiao Xingchen shifted a bit and the hand that had been pinned beneath him carefully grazed Xue Yang’s arm.

“Did you want me to do the same for you?”

“No.”

Xiao Xingchen touched his cheek instead. “Aren’t you‒”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Xue Yang, for what it was worth, searched for any trace of judgment that he could lash out at and found none. He didn’t swat Xiao Xingchen’s hand away either despite both of them being on his skin. It felt less overwhelming this time.

“Well, are you alright?” Xiao Xingchen asked, his thumb pressing into Xue Yang’s bottom lip.

Admittedly, he was a little hard and he felt warm, but he had no interest in being touched that way. The noises Xiao Xingchen had made because of him were more than satisfactory.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Daozhang,” Xue Yang told him, “If you knew what I’ve done in my life, you’d never ask those words.”

“Yes, I would,” Xiao Xingchen said. There was a pause as he pulled Xue Yang down for another kiss, adding another stretch of time onto how long his mind would be so hazy. “So are you alright?”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Xue Yang asked, “I just listened to all the sounds you made and you expect me to have something to complain about? I mean, the floor is hard as shit. And I’m definitely not washing your clothes. And I’m sure your precious A-Qing is going to show up and be annoying any moment now, so I’ll complain then. Will that satisfy you, Daozhang?”

Xiao Xingchen’s smile had slowly grown with each word he said until he was laughing softly. Clearly, he got his answer.

“Yes, I’m very satisfied,” he said, “Lay with me for a moment, will you?”

Xue Yang blinked twice before he slowly laid his head down. Xiao Xingchen never stopped touching him.

And maybe that was okay.

[septiembrre]

22 👀

Prompt: kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Oh my god, Alex! I had so much fun writing this! It was a wild 5k ride these past 24 hours but here it is. I had never written hurt!comfort before, so this is my take on the classic Rio comes to Beth’s room late at night, bruised and bloody. 

I’m posting it here but it’s mad long. Feel free to check it out instead on AO3. 

I’ll Treat You Better (Than I Did Before)

It’s pitch dark in her bedroom and it takes Beth a minute to realize she’s awake. There’s a foggy, semi-intelligible lecture to Kenny swirling stubbornly in her thoughts. Was it even Kenny? Or maybe it was a pre-teen Annie of years ago...  It clings, insisting she pick up and finish the end of her rant if only to give her enough peace of mind to go back to sleep.

Earlier that day -- or Beth supposes it must be after midnight by now and the overly-rambunctious evening had all officially transpired in the past of the day before -- Kenny had come leaping down off a tree branch in the backyard. It was his latest attempt to “scare the bejeezus” out of his little sisters. He must have been up there for quite some time lying in wait for them to play below him. He had rappelled down like some sort of nightmarish, gangly monkey. Emma’s shriek had carried across the backyard to Beth as she sorted laundry in the mudroom, alerting her that there was mischief afoot. She could picture it in her mind’s eye, Emma levitating a foot off the ground. 

Meanwhile, her youngest, Jane, had sprung forward in instinctive defense of her more mild-mannered older sister, and tackled her pest of an older brother. Janey must have put all of her weight into it, too (and God, she would be great at football, if only there was a team that would take her) because she launched Kenny backward through the air to plop straight into a row of her beautiful, thorn-filled bushes.  

Beth had found herself sprinting barefoot across the yard, helicoptering in to extricate her thirteen-year-old son from his painful perch. After some careful maneuvering, her attempts had ended in a sniffling Kenny with blood dripping down his right arm from dozens of long, thin scratches. Luckily for Kenny (and Beth’s sanity), his mother kept her Neosporin stocked up in spades. Beth ended up sitting with him for the better part of the evening patching him up. 

At the cusp of his teenage years, Kenny is the spitting image of Dean, but damn, if he didn’t remind her of Annie at that age. Ballsy, sharp, plotting, and with little regard for self-preservation, teenage Kenny has really started to push her buttons. The same arguments come bubbling up from the years of yore, the same old patterns. Too quickly, she felt tears bead hotly at the corner of her eyes as she scolded Kenny to be sensical, to watch out for his siblings, to be safe. 

Then, when she was done, she had rounded on Jane. 

Beth’s thoughts continue mulling the evening over as she shifts under her covers. She comes further into consciousness, summoned by the underlying anxiety about the family history she worries could repeat, is repeating, in her children's lives. Beth considers the sheltered home-life she had carefully manufactured for her kids and wonders where she went wrong. Was this uptick in reckless behavior a product of the divorce?

She considers a quick Internet search — just to peek, get some reassurance. But, it’s just as likely she’ll come across something that will stress her out. Then she’ll really wake up and what she should do is go back to sleep, and leave the family pathologizing for the morning. 

Distantly, wrapped in the dark cocoon of her bed, Beth registers a robust rumble and the sound of rain— thunder? How long has it been raining? 

A bright flash of light peels through the curtains of the French doors and the windows of her bedroom, illuminating the ceiling above her. The answering thunder cracks loudly a few seconds later, and Beth, a grown adult, startles in her bed. 

Kenny and Jane certainly had too much of their aunt’s recklessness in them, but perhaps Beth and Emma (and sometimes Danny) were also too similar -- another thing to worry about. She wonders if her eldest daughter, her mini-me, is fated to a lifetime of boredom and self-effacement for the comfort of other people? Could this be the legacy Beth is passing on to her daughter? Oh my god. 

Beth squeezes her eyes shut, trying to shut out this unhelpful, midnight whorl of thoughts, and rolls over to check her phone. Three.

It’s too late, early, obscene for this particular spiral. But these are the kind of thoughts that take root in her mind, and come out in the middle of the night to make her second guess if she’s doing anything right in her life.

Beth takes a deep breath. She lets it out. Then, she burrows deeper in the covers, tries to settle back in her skin, and listens to the rain. 

It might have worked, too, except suddenly the French doors are jostled insistently from the outside. The handles smack sharply as they snap back into place, and Beth all but jumps a foot into the air. 

She’s suddenly awake, too awake, and pissed off. 

Beth has exactly one guess of who is out there. Who else could it be? 

Adrenaline pulses through her veins, as Beth leaps up to stalk to the double doors. She pulls back the gauze curtain and glowers at the shadowy figure outside. 

Lightning flashes again illuminating Rio’s glare that meets hers from the other side. He cants his jaw, raising a hand to rap impertinently at the glass. There’s blood on his face and his knuckles leave a red smear where he knocked on the window. 

Immediately, Beth unlocks the doors and steps back to let him in. The smell of wet earth floods her room, and abruptly, she and Rio are two shadowy figures in the darkness of her room. 

“You change the locks on me, ma?” Rio asks, playing wounded -- emotionally, that is. 

What a fucking night. 

“Yes.” Beth snips. She strides ahead of him to the ensuite and flicks on the lights to the bathroom. Her eyes squint as she adjusts to the brightness. “I didn’t want any more surprises.” Beth spins to face him. 

Rio has paused behind her, leaning against the frame of the bathroom. He brings up a palm to clutch the area of his chest over his heart. His knuckles are caked in blood, some of them still actively bleeding. Beth scans his face and registers the purple bruise blooming along one of his too-sharp, too-handsome cheekbones and there’s a dab of blood at his temple. His hoodie and pants are soaked from the rain and are dripping a puddle onto the bathroom tile floor. Her eyes drop down the length of him, and she notes that it’s the first time she’s seen his sneakers muddy. He must have tracked dirt all through her carpet. 

Worry coils knots between her shoulder blades. 

He looks like shit. 

But, still -- he finds the gall to drag his eyes suggestively down her body and she wonders what on earth he’s looking at. It’s the middle of the night, she’s not wearing any makeup, and her hair probably lies straight and limp from her pillow. Quickly her eyes flick sideways to the mirror to check that she doesn’t have drool flaking on her cheek. She doesn’t, but then her eyes catch on her frayed pajamas that in sleep have been pulled in an unflattering stretch across her body. She wonders if she could tug the fabric back into place without being too obvious, and her gaze rises to look at Rio surreptitiously in the mirror. In the seconds she’s looked away, his eyes have zeroed in on her chest and Beth is suddenly very aware that she is not wearing a bra. 

Quickly, the self-righteousness flares again. Once upon a time, she had thought it sexy-- okay, maybe a kernel of hers still thinks it’s a little sexy. But, now, after what happened between them, she never wants him to shed a drop of blood again. Beth wants to smack him, shake him… and draw him in, and warm him up, and kiss at the blood on his knuckles. The impulse beats warm, warm, warm in her chest. A clap of thunder sounds again, and like a flash she pictures his fingers illuminated in the dark of her bedroom, bloody and vibrant against the paleness of her skin. 

Somewhere low, her body throbs. 

Rio licks his lips. 

Beth swears at herself and tries to shake it off. “Get in here.” 

Blessedly, Rio doesn’t make any moves to touch her. Instead, they do a graceful pivot around each other, as he moves into her bathroom. She swears the air quivers with some spell of gravity or attraction manifesting itself between their bodies. Why-- Why is it like this? 

Beth bites her lower lip, exhausted, worried, and a little nervy. Rio tracks the movement of her teeth at her lip. 

Then, he shivers. 

It nudges her back to her senses. 

Beth lofts her nose in the air, prim. “Luckily for you, the Neosporin is already out.” She sighs, rolling her shoulders back. “It’s been a day.”

Rio nods along with her, his lips pressing together with the effort of suppressing a wry grin. “You’re tellin’ me.” 

She nods back at him. “I’m going to go get it.” 

“‘Kay.” 

Rio shivers again, and he looks disdainfully down at his wet clothes. 

“Don’t move.” Beth insists, exasperation and worry setting more firmly in. She wonders if she will find more blood under his clothes, knows she’ll see his scars again tonight, and prays he hasn’t added anything more to the collection. Beth tries to mask her concern. “I don’t want blood in my bedroom.” 

She starts to turn away, when Rio intones sardonic and somehow still with a thread of sincerity, “Thank you, darlin’.”

Beth throws him a quick glare and then tip-toes out of her bedroom to the kitchen. She takes the opportunity to adjust the set of her pajamas and combs her fingers through her hair. Then, mindful of not making more noise that would wake the kids, she quietly gathers the first aid supplies she had used earlier to tend to Kenny. There’s a quick moment of consideration, then she shoves the handle of bourbon under her arm. She makes her way back through the semi-darkness of the house, periodic flashes from the storm outside illuminating her way. 

Beth returns to her bedroom, the light from the ensuite beckoning her forward. Inside, Rio has settled on the edge of the tub. He’s pulled the hoodie off and it lies discarded in a sodden pile behind him in the tub. He’s left wearing a damp black t-shirt and soaked black denim. 

Beth sets the supplies on the vanity and then snaps her fingers, gesturing at him insistently. “Take it all off.”

“‘Scuse me?” Rio’s eyebrows raise in disbelief and amusement.

“Take off your clothes.”

Rio’s hands go to grasp the edge of his t-shirt.  “So it’s that kind of healin’, huh?”

Beth makes a dismissive sound and gestures impatiently at him to take off his shirt. Rio peels it off and drops it with the hoodie. 

His tattoos and the scars dance before her in the bright bathroom light like a mirage. Then, Rio drops his big, bloody hands to unbutton his fly. His thumb pauses, fondling the button as his grin spreads Cheshire-like across his face. Quickly, Beth grabs her towel off the rack and pushes it at his chest. Then she turns around and stares through the doorway into the darkness of her bedroom, to give him privacy. 

The night thunderstorm continues on, noisy and beautiful when she really comes to focus on it. Beth wonders if her children might have woken up with the thunder, but she hasn’t heard their footsteps. They could never successfully sneak around Beth, her ears tuned to their movements. Her eyes drift to the doorway of her bedroom and she sends a brief plea that they sleep through the storm. She doesn’t want Janey or Emma coming down to creep into her bed, while her crime boss is bleeding in her bathroom.

There’s a loud thud of soppy denim landing in the tub, and it brings her back to exactly what Rio is doing behind her.

She can hear the smirk in his voice when he calls, “You gonna kiss it and make it better now, Elizabeth?”

Beth shuts her eyes in a surge of pique. Why does she like him again?

But, hadn’t those same thoughts already flashed through her head? Of kissing his pain away?

She tries to get herself under control. “Are you decent?”

“Mmhm.”

Beth turns and finds Rio with her towel slung low around his hips, seated again on the edge of the tub. He’s dry now -- or drier. There are little beads of water that he missed lined under an ear, along a bicep. His blood stands out dabbed across his hands and at his brow. It doesn’t look like there’s any other damage to him. 

The tattoos look stark against his skin in the light, the scars starker but her eyes still have to skip past those. She wants to lick at the wings of his neck, to pin him underneath her, and suck at them in her bed. And god, he doesn’t look his best tonight. He’s not the sure-fire and graceful version of him prowling from his stupid, luxury car, or sitting incorrectly in whatever chair is around, or taunting her with his one-upmanship and wide smiles. But, want blooms wild at the sight of so much of him at once and she has a brief thought that the thunderstorm could work to their advantage. 

Rio shifts and stretches his legs out long in front of him. Then he slants his jaw at her in a manner that can only be described as cocky, daring her to ignore him, and her towel, and his probable nakedness. His eyes dance with mirth.

Quickly, regroups by Beth clamping her eyes shut again to dispel the image, the reality in front of her.

Does she still have any of Dean’s clothes? Damn, she knows she meticulously packed them all away for him to head off any possible excuse--  A loose shirt maybe? Or perhaps a spare bedsheet they could drape around him? No. That’s dangerous territory—

What was he going to wear out of here?

Well… she could always go grab more towels from the linen closet in a bit. Throw his clothes in the dryer. That was a start. 

Beth opens her eyes, and extends him her hand, “Let me see.”

“I can handle it, ma,” Rio says affectionately, seemingly sparing her in a rare show of grace. “It’s my mess.”

Ah, yes. His creed. 

“Why are you here then?” 

“‘Cause it’s pouring out and I was nearby.” 

She stares at him, trying to connect the dots. 

“...And you thought you could show up like this and I would— what? Be your hot pack?”

Rio scoffs a short laugh. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You knocked on my bedroom door at three in the morning,” she hisses. 

Rio shrugs, not giving a quarter. 

“Is this supposed to be a—” Beth lowers her voice to an affronted whisper. “—booty call?”

He stares at her, his mouth falling open. Then he shakes his head in what Beth thinks is disbelief. “Pass me the kit.” 

Beth doesn’t move. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares down at him seated below her. “What happened?” 

Rio grits his jaw.

Their scowls meet in a stalemate. 

Thunder crashes again outside, loud as ever. Beth jumps at the sound, it loosens her stance as Rio gives another shiver from the residual chill on his skin. His gaze softens on her, and she relents -- for now.  

Beth grabs the kit, flips down the lid of the toilet and perches on the commode next to him. She holds out her palms again. “Let me see.” 

This time, Rio extends his hands. 

Beth can’t help a small grin at the victory. She cranes over his fingers, turning them around in her palms. Despite getting caught in the downpour, his hands are warm, strong as always and eclipsing hers. For the most part, the bleeding at his knuckles has stopped, and she feels her worry unknot itself. In reward for his rare compliance, she passes him the bottle of bourbon.

He wrinkles an eyebrow in surprise. “You okay with me taking a swig from the bottle?”

Beth considers it for a beat. Then she leans over and plucks the old sippy cup she keeps in the bathroom for brushing her teeth and offers it to him. He chuckles and opens the handle. He fills the sippy cup half way with bourbon and now it’s Beth’s turn to give Rio a look of surprise. He takes a drink. 

“For sharing.”  He grins at her over the rim of the cup, too charming for the middle of the night. 

Remotely, Beth can feel the tiredness pulling at her bones from the eventful evening caring to three of her four children and the subsequent interrupted sleep. But more pressingly -- the heat throbs low in her core again. 

She pulls the cup out Rio’s grasp, and takes a sip. The smell of the bourbon is sharp in her nose as it goes down her throat, settling warm in her belly. She hands back the cup and returns to her self-appointed task. 

She absolutely doesn’t think of the finally-healed bullet scars in her face. Or the expanse of brown skin exposed in front of her. Or his eyes resting warm on her face, occasionally drifting to follow the careful movement of her hands. 

Beth focuses on the cuts. 

First, she grabs the peroxide. For an eternity, or what really is just a few minutes, the only sound is the rain falling steadily outside and their soft breathing. The smell of the peroxide makes Beth's nose wrinkle and Rio gives a quiet laugh. His fingers twitch as she irrigates the wounds but otherwise he takes it well. 

For the millionth time, she wonders if Rio boxes. He must, right?

After she’s done with the hydrogen peroxide, they both take another swig of bourbon, polishing off the sippy cup. Then, Beth moves on to dabbing Rio’s knuckles with alcohol. 

Halfway through the first hand, there’s another loud clap of thunder. Beth’s hands tense and she presses too firmly into one of the cuts. Rio flinches and looks at her with a question on his face.

“You scared of thunder?”

“No.” 

He smiles at her, not seeming to believe her words. 

“I’m just tired.” --and overstimulated, and are you even wearing boxers underneath that towel?

Beth pivots. “So what happened?”

Rio’s smile wanes and he looks at her with that old guarded look-- that I’m a tough crime boss and I don’t talk easy look. She rolls her eyes and continues cleaning his knuckles. 

“I was out on business--” 

She looks up from his knuckles to search his face. 

“Not our business.” Rio clarifies, but Beth only has more questions as he continues, “And I got into a fight with some dumb motherfucker who didn’t do as he was told.”

“What was the problem?” Her mind spirals. She’s responsible for a sizable part of his wealth now but so much of his business is still elusive. But, the question comes out inelegant, too direct. 

Rio looks at her with reproach, pursing his lips. 

“Didn’t respect the pecking order.” 

Honestly, she doesn’t have enough context to be sure she knows what that means. But, she’s certainly had enough of those kinds of disputes with Rio herself. She knows it’s serious -- hence the blood -- and she decides not to press. It’s three, now three-thirty, in the morning and Beth doesn’t have the energy to work on their communication at this hour. 

She returns her focus to his hands, but the rest of him, the exposed length of him catches her eye from the periphery of her vision.

She recognizes that particular musky smell of him, of his skin, as their bodies lean close together.

She tries her previous question again. “And how did you end up here?”

Her gaze darts up to look at him through her lashes. She finds him staring solemnly back at her. 

Then, he shrugs.

“You were closer”

Beth bites her lip.

It was just two months ago that they had slept with each other at Paper Porcupine. It had been the first time since before and it just happened, late one night at a private drop between them. It had been electric, furious, and everything she had fantasized about alone in her bed. They had gone a few rounds despite the lack of comfortable surfaces. 

She tries never to think about it. But, it ends up filling all of her day-dreams. 

He had gotten on the table next to the printing press, and he had dropped to his knees and eaten her out. The look in his eyes while he had-- Afterwards, he pulled out a stack from the drop money and seemed to pretend-swat her ass with it. They had ended up spilling the bag out and they fucked on fresh stacks of cash. 

Then there was kissing, a literal bathroom break. Then, Rio, bossy, ridiculous, had led her over to a work table. He had pulled up her blouse, pulled down her bra, and bent her over the edge. His hand firm at her back, he had pushed her chest into a tin of setting pulp. God.  She had moaned around the thick fingers that he had curled into her mouth, impossibly turned on and feeling the… sluttiest she had ever felt. Rio had murmured dirty encouragement in her ear, egging her over to the edge again and again.

Not one to let him get the last word, Beth had insistently pushed off the table just before he came and pulled him out. Rio had watched in a fevered daze, groaning as she had sunk to her knees, sucking him off, tasting herself with a triumphant glint in her eye. Beth had let his come spill, joining the mess smeared across her throat and breasts.

Afterward, they laid together, sticky, sprawled out on the floor, and came back to earth. Eventually, she had tugged open the buttons of his shirt. He had let her. And Beth had cried — quietly, restrained — as she kissed the scars she had given him. Rio had eyed her steadily, carefully as Beth’s world tilted completely off its axis. 

They fucked again a week later at the hot tub store, in the water with strategic use of one of the jets. And a few days after that in his car, and then in the back of hers. Then, Paper Porcupine again and that was the last time. Beth had just managed to get him dressed and out the front door as Annie and Ruby had come through the back rallying for printing night. Beth had feigned ignorance as they had asked increasingly pointed questions about the eye-sore of a Mercedes that had just been parked outside of the store and reality came crashing down.

After that, Beth had kept her distance. And Rio… was never one to meet her more than halfway.

But, he continued to drop in on her -- more than ever. She is clearly on his schedule, penciled into the spare hours of the day. 

And still, she continues to resist it — the pull. 

She could admit they had their fun. Is that what people call the best sex they’ve ever had in their life?

But, she doesn’t know if she’s ready for something so unsteady, something that makes her feel so messy -- too alive. If she ever will be ready. But, she thinks of Rio bleeding somewhere out there and other nights where he won’t come to her, thinks of the night where she left him bleeding out, and her mouth twists in a grimace. 

Rio brings the hand she isn’t working on to squeeze reassuringly at her thigh. 

It feels really nice. 

Beth has to clear her throat and blink away a few tears. 

After she’s done with the alcohol swabs, she motions for Rio to follow her to the sink.  

As they both crowd around her vanity, Beth realizes she didn’t quite need to follow him as he rinses his knuckles out with water. But, she reminds herself, it’s the middle of the night and she’s tired. The cuts and scrapes haven’t been serious — but there’s been too much blood in the past few hours. 

She uncaps the Neosporin. It’s something for her to do with her empty, searching hands.

“Nah.” Rio shakes his head and turns off the water. “I don’t need that.”

Beth levels him with the look she gave Kenny earlier, brokering no arguments. 

“You want me to get it all over your bed?”

“Excuse me?” 

He blinks back at her. Then in affected shock, he continues, “You take my clothes, you ply me with booze and now you want me to drive across Detroit while it’s still pourin’ rain?” He tsks. “Damn, mama. That’s cold.”

Beth rolls her eyes — and she’s tired, and if he keeps his hands to himself and she keeps her hands to herself… what’s a couple of hours of shut-eye next to the lean, naked length of him? He would have to be naked. She wasn’t going to let him get into her sheets with wet boxers, even if he surprised her and they were somehow on underneath that towel.

Well, she’ll tackle it when they get there. For now, she abandons the Neosporin on the counter, passes over the bandaids and bandages she knows he won’t take, and grabs the hand towel to raise to his temple. He dodges away, playful but somewhat serious.

“I’m good. I promise.”

That’s not enough to stop Beth from zeroing in on the bruise at his cheek. She brings her fingertips up to prod at it gingerly. It’s swollen and hot. Rio winces beneath her touch, bringing his hands up to snatch hers. He lowers her hands to his lips instead, and he presses his mouth to her fingertips. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs hotly against her hand, effectively distracting her from doing anything else.

Beth gulps, as a spark kindles. Her skin burns where Rio’s mouth presses warm on her skin and shoots down her core. It coils in her belly and has her shifting in her stance. She’s still aware of where he touched her thigh just now and she craves more of his touch, the pleasure of his undivided attention.

Beth is flooded by thoughts of him, back in her bed. She thinks of him wrapped up in her sheets. She thinks of it now in the safety of darkness, with the rain still pattering down on the house. And she yearns.

She’s never felt like this before — not even when she was a teenager, young and hormonal. She had been too laden with responsibilities and a fumbling boyfriend who would become a boorish husband. Before crime, she had always accepted what had been handed to her without a complaint. But now... 

When she’s with Rio, Beth feels fire in her and it’s impossible to back away, to back down. 

She wants to chase him, be desired by him, bring him to her bed and into her life and never let him go. 

She blinks up from his mouth to look him in the eye. That look suspends between them heady, rife— 

It’s three-thirty in the morning and so what?

She licks her lips and lets herself loose. 

Beth pulls her hands away from his mouth and wraps them around his palms pulling them to her body instead. Goosebumps rise up along Rio’s arms.

She thinks, What’s one more time?

She thinks, I want to be the one who warms him up. 

She thinks, I want this. 

Beth brings his knuckles to her mouth, Rio’s hands weighty in hers. The musk of him fills her nose and it makes her light-headed, wet. She kisses them tenderly, her lips dragging against where his skin is unbroken. Her attention is trained on his hands, but she registers the wings fluttering again at his throat, as he swallows hard.

When Beth is done kissing each cut, she brings one hand to rest on her hip and the other’s fingertips to her mouth instead. She takes the tip of an index finger in her mouth and she bites firm at the pad.

When he groans, she feels deep in her cunt. 

She’s achingly empty, burning and she wants him. She can’t think of anything else.

But, Rio hovers a breath away. He’s never needed much convincing before.

And she thinks, Right. We’re here again.

Her bed.

So, she rises up onto her toes, her lips landing softly on his bruised cheek. As she lingers in what increasingly feels like their natural orbit — kissing distance — she brings Rio's hand under her shirt to squeeze at the warm, rounded weight of her breast. It’s her turn to moan as he cups her, his hand reaching up to roll her nipple between his fingers.

Rio presses his forehead to hers, panting open-mouthed against her lips. The tips of their noses brush. She feels his cock hard against her stomach, through the stupid towel.

She wants to devour him.

Beth pulls at the drawstring of her pants and pushes them down. She brings Rio’s hand that has moved to clutch her ass, to perch between her legs instead so he can feel how wet she is.

Rio groans and murmurs, “This for me, Elizabeth?”

His fingers give a perfect, exploratory swirl around her clit. Beth rocks back, scooting her butt to rest on the vanity. She spreads her legs so Rio can dip his fingertips to tease her cunt with a hint of what it’ll be like to be full.

“Always for you.”

It’s unclear who initiates the kiss. It doesn’t matter. It all devolves quickly after that.