#so it makes absolutely no sense that communication wouldn’t be incredibly easy and fast and prevalent

[why-bless-your-heart]

Throwing a temper tantrum because it makes sense for cellphone equivalents to exist in sci-fi but I hate them.

[pot-of-terv]

Disclaimer: This starts soft but very quickly goes to a place I did NOT expect it to go so, just, be prepared. I guess there were some things my muse just couldn’t leave untouched :_D There’s also an additional drawing in there somewhere among the text. The ending is kind of a cliffhanger (dun dun duuun... part three is coming!!) but it’s happy (hurt/comfort y’all, MY BRAND)!

Also I have to say- oh my goodness this ended up having over 2,000 words and I’ve never written a fic this long! This feels pretty amazing but also, very scary, because as you know I’m a Finn so English is not my first language and this far I’ve stuck to just writing itty bitty things. Writing a story with multiple parts is also new to me, so wow, actually, thank you PuzzleJune for making me challenge myself in fresh and exciting ways 🥺

tw: breakdown

PuzzleJune2021, Week Two: Space (Quiet)

It is mesmerising. Intoxicating, even, Atem muses as he reaches up to rub his own sleep-soft face, eyes never leaving the still sleeping figure beside him. He shifts to lay on his side, slowly, with deliberate movements, trying to not disturb the quiet of the early morning.

Watching him sleep like this... I can feel the bed move when he moves and his warmth whenever he's close enough. I never had that before, he thinks and his heart clenches. I have it now.

Yuugi snorts in his sleep and Atem can't help but smile. That boy... no, that young man, has been through so much, too much, and yet he still sleeps so soundly. It's nothing short of incredible and the pharaoh wonders if he's ever met anyone more deserving of respect and admiration. Their journey thus far has only lasted for a couple of years and during that short time, the former spirit of the Millenium Puzzle has had the first-row seat to witnessing Yuugi's strength, his growth - how he slowly but surely had begun to trust himself.

Atem turns his gaze away from Yuugi and mulls over that thought. It hurts him somewhere deep in his core to remember how little worth Yuugi had seen in himself during those first months after Atem's consciousness awakened. He touches his chest where his heart is and leaves his hand there, feeling the slow rhythm beating under his palm.

That feeling of self-doubt could as well be his own, for he did think he was Yuugi for a while back then. It's a troubling realisation and he frowns at the ceiling. Despite not having any memories, how many of those insecurities had been Atem's own that he subconsciously reflected towards Yuugi's heart and by doing so unknowingly meddled with Yuugi's self-image as a whole? Objectively he knows that his emergence helped Yuugi gain confidence even though he didn't remember those first few times Atem took his place, but subjectively...? Atem's brows knit tighter together and he balls the hand that rests on his chest into a fist.

To call these thoughts troubling is an understatement. Suddenly Atem feels uncomfortably restless, he can't keep still, he needs space, he has to move. But moving would mean leaving the warm blankets and the even warmer form next to him and risk waking him in the process.

His chest feels so tight and it aches in a way Atem hasn't felt in millennia and he squeezes his eyes shut, holds his breath and with one swift movement pushes the blankets off of himself, sits up and rolls to the side to plant his feet onto the floor. The wood is cool under the bare soles of his feet and that sudden feeling makes him pause for a moment. He releases the breath he was holding.

It's almost funny how he already feels better. He glances over his shoulder to see if he had woken Yuugi up but the other youth seems undisturbed, still fast asleep. Relieved, Atem stands up... and doesn't know what to do. It's still practically night time and the house is silent. Mama Mutou and Grandpa will be getting up in one to two hours and Yuugi much later than that if his previous findings are to be trusted. Normally he would happily snooze the morning away with Yuugi but he doesn't want to go back to bed, the restlessness still buzzing under his skin even though that unpleasant tightness in his chest has ebbed and is now just a nuisance instead of actual, painful anxiety.

He turns around to face the bed so he can take another look at Yuugi, properly. A glance wasn't enough. Will never be enough, he realises all of a sudden. I want to be looking at Yuugi, and only Yuugi, forever. How can his heart feel so big and full but so small at the same time?

Atem is overwhelmed, not yet used to the absolute link between his feelings and his physical senses, and he lifts his hand once more to his chest, almost desperately grasping his shirt and pressing his fist against his heart, to feel the beat of it, and the warmth of his body.

He has this body now and he should be so, so thankful for it, but at this moment he can only feel guilt. He loves Yuugi but has still put him through so much and he knows, oh how he knows, that the trip to Egypt broke him. Atem had felt Yuugi mourn him weeks beforehand, felt his grief he so valiantly tried to conceal - too bad their bond at that point was the strongest it had ever been and Atem knew. It took everything in him to keep on going, to keep on telling himself that this was the right thing to do, this was how he could repay Yuugi's kindness and let him go on with his life, let him be free. He had heard the modern phrase “if you love them let them go”, and wouldn't that have been so grand? To prove his love in such a poetic, profound way?

All that in spite of Yuugi's feelings screaming at him that to be separated was the last thing he wanted.

Atem chuckles, a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite having shared such an extraordinary bond, communication had never been their strongest point, duels usually excluded, and talking about their feelings was not an exception. Still isn’t. They both had just kept on doing what they thought was the best for the other and in the process ended up wounding each other in ways that Atem isn't sure he can ever truly understand. Yesterday he had come down to the kitchen to find Yuugi folding laundry, eyes puffy and red, yet when he talked he sounded so happy. Atem had left it at that because there's nothing he could do when confronted by that smile that can put even the Sun in shade.

Slowly he realises that he's been staring at his partner for such a long time that it must be bordering on creepy. How did he get here from that warmth he first woke up to, from that love he so deeply feels for Yuugi? Why hasn’t he thought about these things before? It's like all he has in his head are questions with no answers to calm his mind. It's only been a week since... since it all should've ended, but didn't, all because of Atem's selfishness. Selfishness... and love. His own heart had broken when his life points counted down to zero and he saw the utter hopelessness he felt surface in his heart reflected right back at him on Yuugi's face. The memory of it is still so strong that he has to grit his teeth together to keep his jaw from trembling.

He hadn’t been able to stand that expression, to stand the knowledge that he was the cause of it. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough. The pride he had felt toward Yuugi's skill was completely overshadowed by the grief that hit him in waves, his legs feeling like lead as he slowly walked to Yuugi, his own voice distant to his ears as he offered words of consolation and praise. Empty words, they were, he knew it then and he knows it now. How could he ever leave this person who had gone through so much for him, because of him, who had loved him so fully, who had risked it all to be there for him in his quest to regain his memories even when knowing that the price for that would be too steep to consider if Yuugi ever stopped to do that?

Atem had never wanted to leave. He had learned to live again, to have friends, and grow as a person, no matter how minuscule that growth might have been. Yuugi had been him and then Yuugi had become his world. There's no other way to explain it. As much as Atem had longed for his memories, for those people he loved and lost all those thousands of years ago, he couldn't bear the thought of losing another family. Even when the prize would be to regain his first one. 

But he had to. He had thought he had to.

Yet when he was just about to take the last step, he had faltered. Had wondered - does it have to be this way? What if there's another choice he could make?

And the gods had answered him. He didn't have to beg, he didn't have to fight, he just had to ask.

Just ask.

It had been so simple, in the end, so effortless. Of course, Atem asked for that third choice - or didn't really even ask, he didn't dare, he wished for it, his heart on the verge of breaking a second time. He had been painfully aware of his friends behind him, holding their breaths, waiting for the end. Atem felt their feelings wrap around him like a cloak and he bore the weight of it, accepted it, as he couldn't quite believe that it would be that easy to stay. So he had wished.

And that wish had been granted.

And now he is here.

Standing in the middle of the floor in Yuugi's room while Yuugi sleeps, hands closed into fists, both grasping his shirt now, holding back tears that threaten to spill forth. Wondering why did he even put Yuugi through all that, when in the end, it was for nothing? Oh, he thinks, oh, how it hurts. His own shortcomings, his own pain, the pain that he had caused others. Especially the pain that he had caused Yuugi. He hadn’t deserved it, he never deserved something so cruel and insincere as Atem's decision to leave had been.

A sob wrangles itself up and out of his mouth, he's not able to stop it in time and that breaks his resolve. He sways on his feet as tears force their way out and streak his cheeks, fall into his shirt and seep into the fabric as he hiccups and tries half-heartedly to stop it. He shouldn't be crying, not after everything he’s done. He doesn’t deserve to feel so sorry for himself - he should be the one to take responsibility, to carry that burden without a hitch. But, the thing is… at this moment, he’s no longer the prince-then-pharaoh from 3000 years ago. He’s no longer the amnesiac spirit occupying the Puzzle. He’s not the King of Games.

At this moment, he’s just a 16-year-old boy who is desperately trying to deal with every responsibility he’s imagined are only his to bear and failing spectacularly. So he cries, and cries, and he can no longer see with how blurry his eyes have gone. He prays Yuugi won't wake up to it, he just has to suffer through it and he'll be fine. Crying is fine, actually. He would laugh at himself if he could - aren't tears an actual luxury, after all? He wasn't able to cry his own tears with his own body before, but now he can.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Atem's heart drops into his stomach - oh no, now he's woken up - then another on the other side, then a tug, and Atem follows blindly. He's guided back to the bed and coaxed to sit down where a warm body presses against him and he's enveloped in an embrace.

Atem finds that he can't talk, he tries to draw breath to get the words out but sobs are the only thing he can produce and finally, he hears a voice call his name. It's so soft and warm and loving that Atem somehow feels worse and buries his head into Yuugi’s shoulder, his chest heaving and he almost wails from the struggle of it.

“Shh, other me. Cry it out. It helps. I know.”

He listens to Yuugi and does just that. It’s not easy to give up the reins but with Yuugi by his side, he finds the will to allow himself to succumb. He clutches his partner's shirt, holds him and is held in return, and lets himself cry. Lets his tears come like he's never done before and faced with the force of them, he feels like there's no end to it.

But there is an end. After a period of time that feels like an eternity, his sobs subside, his tears slow down, and he feels like he can finally loosen his hold of Yuugi's shirt to let blood flow into his fingers again. His nose feels snotty and he's sure there's no dry spot left on his partner's clothes and somehow that thought makes him laugh.

“See? All better now,” Yuugi murmurs against his temple and presses his lips there. That sign of affection almost makes Atem's eyes well up but he squeezes them shut, refusing to start crying all over again. He feels drained and empty and he's pretty sure he should be ashamed. He had woken Yuugi up and made him comfort him without asking but all he can feel is gratitude. Gratitude and love and endless adoration.

“Aibou,” he sniffles, voice congested and raw. He means to thank him but his throat closes up, yet Yuugi seems to catch his meaning.

“No need,” the shorter of the two says and Atem can feel his smile against his skin, “it's okay. You're okay, we're okay, everything's okay.”

Atem wants to argue but finds no energy for it. And - as he thinks about it, he realises that Yuugi is right.

They're okay.

He wraps his arms properly around Yuugi and squeezes, sighing softly. His mind is comfortably quiet now and he presses his ear against Yuugi's chest, listening to the beat of his heart (his heart's heart?) and feeling his own fall smoothly into the same rhythm. It's natural, it's right.

“I think,” he manages to croak out, “that we need to talk.”

Yuugi holds him closer and nods before pressing his face into Atem’s hair.

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding relieved, “we sure do, other me.”

[summonerscenarios]

So, mc adopting at least one of each of the Child mobs, how would that go?

IT MAY BE 4AM BUT THAT'S NEVER STOPPED ME BEFORE LETS DO SOME MF HCS.

Sadly I was only able to work on two of the mob kiddos as I didn't want this to get too long but I still hope its okay~!

Also just a heads up a lot of this is a pure waffle of information based on my own interpretations of the mobs so here's hoping I did a good job with them lmao.

---------

It wouldn’t have been the first time you’d ended up inadvertently adopting someone, nor will it be the last knowing your luck. It’s not like you intentionally do anything to draw people to you, it just so happened that the things that you did and situations you got wrapped up in led to you getting to know all kinds of people in the process. And those people saw you in all kinds of ways - most saw you as friends, others saw someone else in you, more than a few made no attempts to hide their blatant flirting - and, rarely, a few would even see you as a role model,a mentor or parental figure to look up to.

You honestly have no idea why, after all, it’s not as though you go out of your way to make particularly responsible decisions (if anything, you get yourself in enough trouble that you’d imagine you’re anything but a role model) but a lot of the younger transients and students seem to flock towards your presence, looking for comfort, advice, or just someone who respects them. At first it was just the younger members of your guild that you technically took under your wing - as the Guildmaster you assumed it was only natural to look out for them, and you’d long gotten used to protecting Agyo and Kijimuna, wanting to make sure that the only thing they had to worry about was having the chance to be kids rather than getting dragged into the Guild’s app-based affairs. It’s not like responsible parental figures are easy to come by in this world of app-battles and fighting, so that’s perhaps why when you start taking a more protective, nurturing role with the younger ones that more of them begin popping up.

Surprisingly, the ghosts are some of the first mob children that you noticed began flocking towards you. Roaming spirits are unusual but certainly not rare, and it honestly breaks your heart a little to see so many young ghosts lingering around in the unexplored corners of the city, searching for one thing or another. Things feel...off, for a while before you can pin down the issue - you start feeling as though you’re being watched when you’re in the guildhouse by someone other than your teammates, and when your attempts to shake off the uneasy feeling doesn’t work, you decide to bring it up to your fellow Guild members in case it’s someone trying to spy. You want to make sure it’s not someone who can bring danger to the guild, but you don’t have much of a chance to set up a search of the building when the D-evils come tottering into your field of view, screeching up a storm and motioning towards an otherwise unassuming corner of the window.

Turns out you weren’t the only one noticing the other presence, as Shiro’s D-evils seem to have picked up on it to - and when your attention snaps over to the window to see what they’re pointing to you barely catch a glimpse of the flickering figure of a ghost child as they disappear from view. From that point on you start spotting the child more often - he’s shy or wary, always lingering someone just out of the corner of your eye but never getting any closer almost like he’s afraid. He seems to have taken an interest in you though, especially whenever the younger guild members come around to spend time at the guild, and it isn’t long before you notice that he’s intently watching the way you watch over and care for the kids of the guild - he looks almost sad in these instances, but never dares to get any closer and disappears as soon as you turn to look at him. Over time it becomes almost normal to have a resident ghost at the guild (though Agyo still shudders at the mention of ghosts despite having seen the kid plenty of times since arriving). He seems to be more at ease after a while of watching you, and things finally come to a head one day when you’re playing videogames with Hanuman and the other kids, noticing that the little ghost has wandered far closer than he’d ever done in the past, watching the small screen setup on the floor with an avid interest that seems far happier than the forlorn looks he’d had before. Taking a chance you tilt your head to look over at the ghost child, motioning him to come over and join; he disappears for a moment, startled, but right as you start to worry you may have scared the kid off he rematerializes, inching hesitantly closer and closer till he’s hovering beside the rest of your group, eyes fixed to the characters on screen with a child-like wonder.

You aren’t quite sure how this ended up with you adopting the ghost child yourself. It’s just one day you were talking about how you were pretty much adopted by the teachers at school and how you’d like to pay it forward some day, and the next you were talking about ‘son’ this, and ‘might as well take the kid under your wing’ that - you were practically acting like an impromptu parent for like a fifth of the people you knew anyway, so what was actually adopting a child? Toji had just about choked to death when you’d made the unfortunate decision to announce that fact mid-drink, and Shiro spent more than his fair share of time probing you with the legal questions surrounding a student adopting a child, ghost transient or not. Ryota seems incredibly excited by the idea however, gushing about being an uncle and wondering if your new son can eat and if so what his favorite food is - plenty of questions for a later time.

Ghost is certainly the most clingy of the children you end up adopting, and it’s clear from the get go in the sense that the poor little one is essentially glued to your side from the moment you take the venture to actually adopting him. With few things remaining in the physical world to cling onto, the familial bond is something that the little one cherishes and he absolutely refuses to budge on letting it, and by proxy, you, go. For a while he actually fears you’re going to leave him and take back what you said about protecting him and being a good parent. He of course had parents once, and their lack of presence at his side now paints a tragic picture no matter what way you look at it, so the kids got more than a few attachment issues you need to work through. Ghost doesn’t really talk too much, instead relying on gestures and interacting with things around him to talk to you and others - it takes a little bit to get used to if you’re unfamiliar with some of the gestures but it’s easy to pick up as time goes on.

Definitely one of the more well behaved children of the bunch, given that once you’ve convinced him that you’re not abandoning him he’s dead set on making you proud. He gets antsy when you’re not around, spending most of his time at the guild when you're at classes, but he takes to following Agyo around instead during these times. Agyo’s more than a little startled at first, and is a bit awkward about the whole situation as he processes it, but before long Agyo’s not only getting along with your ghostly son, but he’s also teaching him the ‘lion dog duties’ that he’s been teaching you - you’ll never quite forget walking in to Agyo giving the poor kid a detailed rundown on the upkeep of the guildhouse and all that it pertains.

It was supposed to only be the one child, you swear, but damn if you haven’t got a bleeding heart and a knack for attracting trouble. Word travels around fast about your adoption, and as more people learn about your impromptu push to parenthood people start coming to you for help - namely, kids with nowhere else to go. Maybe it’s your bleeding heart or savior complex, but before long one kid becomes two, and then two becomes three, and soon enough you’ve got four kids on your hands.

There’s no denying that things get a little bit rocky when you start taking in other children. Despite the other kids in the guild, Ghost has technically been the only child up to this point, and with your attention shifting from both him and the other children at once it’s a sudden change - one that you thankfully discussed with him first to make sure he was okay. Even with the okay though, Ghost is more than a little anxious when you bring the second child, a nether sprite, ‘home’, especially because of how loud she is by comparison. Nether sprite is an absolute ball of energy and mischievous to boot, so she more than makes for an interesting parallel to the otherwise quiet Ghost you’ve been taking care of the past few months.

She’s a handful, especially during the first few weeks that she’s settling in - it takes her a while to really start seeing the place as home, and even longer for her to even consider you a parental figure (she’s seen you as more of a babysitter till you proved you were willing to stick around and put the effort in to be a good parent). Once she does settle in however she takes to the place quickly, and, to your surprise, your two kids become thick as thieves. The Nether sprite catches on quickly to how Ghost communicates, and given his penchant to linger around those he’s close to and follow them around she’s more than happy to drag him all over the shop from one activity to another - it’s a surprising development but one you actively encourage. Unfortunately as I mentioned she’s still mischievous, though tones it down from anything too troublesome if it’ll cause you too much grief.

However that hasn’t stopped the amount of times you’ve gotten calls from someone about the kind of trouble you two little ones have wound up getting themselves into - looks like they both picked up your knack for getting intentionally and unintentionally dragged into the weirdest events (sure, it’s fun when you do it, but having your kids doing it only serves to give you grey hairs from the stress.) And things only get crazier once the other kids end up coming along, for both better and worse - but that’s a story for another time.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello there, I really liked your writing and especially the prompt with enemy forces attack and lack of oxygen! May I ask you to write it with Perceptor and Drift? (Separately, just in case). Thank you in advance!)

Got a ninja boy and a science boy here for you anon!

Got some links to the previous posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: You're Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight! Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Perceptor

·Your arrival on the ship required him to work with the medics to ensure you could survive on it, and that obviously included working with you quite frequently to gather data, which eventually evolved into you assisting directly as the upgrades were put into place. Though he was initially hesitant to admit your presence was nice and he briefly stalled on finishing the upgrades just to spend more time together, you wore him down enough that he eventually relented and confessed to wanting you around. In the short time since things have come very far, enough so that he freely requests your aid in projects, chatting idly as he makes use of your tiny size and encouraging demeanor.

·This is exactly what you're up to today, though you're in the shooting range as opposed to your usual set up in the lab. While he's more than confident in his ability to handle this experimental weapon, he needs it here for when it's finally tested, and your small hands are ideal for a final stability check. A barely observable feeling in his spark registers as excited pride for you to see the weapon in action, but he keeps that to himself... It's bad enough someone walked in on the two of you holding hands as much as your differing sizes allowed the other day, and he doesn't need any more embarrassment.

·There's still a tiny smile on his face as he takes the first few shots, and the accuracy combined with the little cheer from you makes it impossible to keep it from growing. He's about to remark that this is only the first trial of the adjustable blaster, and thus not inductive of its real potential, when he's interrupted by a garbled communication. As you watch him answer, it's hard to hold back reasurance at the hint of frustration on his face, because you know him well enough to understand he doesn't appreciate the disturbance while trying to show off to you. Perhaps one day you'd let him know how easy he was for you to read.

·Well accustomed to frantic requests for his assistance, Perceptor finds himself unexpectedly surprised when the transmission is nearly inaudible, and the message from the bridge proves to be nothing more than a few broken sentences mentioning crashes and security systems before going dead. Not certain what could possibly be causing the ship he personally inspects to suffer malfunctions but knowing it must be corrected, he immediately plans to set off and get to the bottom of things. Securing the weapon into its holster on his back, he offers his hand to transport you with him, surmising you'll be safest with him at least until they have a better idea of what's going on. Of course he already has some theories, but he never acts without evidence.

·Glad to come along, even if only to help him run through some ideas, you happily take your place in his palm. Being without a vehicular mode means he pretty much had to get accustomed to carrying you everywhere he wanted to take you, as it takes quite a few steps for you to match one of his. Now he rather likes being able to hold you in a way that enables easy conversation, especially because as he walks and looks down to you in his palm and you look up at him with those genuinely fascinated eyes... It's nice. Currently he's listing the usual suspects for spacefaring trouble; solar flares, electric storms, debris collisions, and how none of them seem the likely culprit here for various reasons. You've seen him enter this state of unparalleled focus many times, and can't help but wish the circumstances could be better, because you love seeing him in his element.

·Both of you have a rather unfortunate awakening when a series of tremors pass through the ship and nearly knock him to the floor, something he prevents with quick reflexes that momentarily turn your world dark, a phenomenon you realize in an instant was caused by both of his hands cupping protectively around you. When they part you're left peaking upwards through digits at a somewhat concerned and bashful bot. Affirming you're alright, you watch as he gets moving again in an instant, now in full crisis mode after your little tumble. You know enough to be equally concerned by this turn of events, particularly because spaceships aren't known for their tremors.

·Talking as he walks, he has every one of his sharp senses on full alert for the trouble he knows will be coming, including his sense of touch to keep tabs on your small body in his hands. Being aware of every single potential problem means he knows quite well you could be in danger already. It worries him, to a level of concern he's not accustomed to feeling after experiencing so much combat. You can see the anxiety he's trying so hard to work through. There's a crackle in his spark that bots only have when very on edge, and you're close enough to hear it through his armored chest, spurring you to reach out and lay a hand against the warm metal. For a moment his optics meet your eyes, and at your reassuring smile he seems to regain some measure of calm control. His mind quickly uses that to put together a plan.

·While that tremor very likely came from an anchoring weapon on an enemy vessel, none of that explains the system shutdowns precluding it, and he needs to know the full extent of the threat before he can launch a counterattack. Most bots would need a well established access point to get diagnostics for the whole ship, but thankfully he's a bit more skilled than that. Explaining that he merely needs a workstation with any kind of physical connection to the main network, he begins what he is certain will be a quick search, and while you're delighted by the boost he obviously feels thanks to feeling in control you're a bit too tired to celebrate. Not wanting him to know the stress of the situation is wearing you down, your smile remains steadfast to give him the strength he needs.

·As he predicted, finding something suitable for his needs is a breeze, and he's so distracted by the impending answers he doesn't notice you growing drowsy in his palms. Though the small room is little more than a relay station for routine power inspection, it's perfect for what he has planned, and he places you on a nearby table as he gets to work. Even if your head were clear the flurry of activity he follows with wouldn't make sense. Somehow a motley collection of dust covered components becomes rewired into a humming piece of... something in what feels like minutes, and you absolutely beam with pride to see your partner pulling up the information he needs on a monitor, heavy eyelids lifted by your desire to watch him work more wonders.

·Data starts flowing through his makeshift diagnostic scanner in moments, and Perceptor watches intently as the ship's systems flash their readouts in order, though even he can't keep his expression calm as he all too rapidly puts together the horrifying pieces. They haven't just been boarded; they've been sabotaged. Most of the damage is meant to neuter their defenses and hinder any attempt at an organized counterattack, but one key readout tells him that you in particular are in the most dire need of assistance. The atmospheric generators and oxygen stabilizers he personally optimized for your benefit are going haywire, and the air you need to survive is rapidly being drained from the ship. The sheer size of the vessel, and the ability of its crew to keep the attackers at bay for this long, is the only reason you're still alive. In an instant he's on the move.

·You're cupped in oversized palms just as you realize you were laying down for a nap you didn't know had snuck up on you. Bleary in your head as well as your eyes, you hear him speak in the flat, rapid manner that he only uses when something critical is on the line. While his inflection is clear enough for you to catch his basic meaning, for the life of you it's just not possible to panic as much as you should, and his explanation of a plan doesn't register in the slightest. You know it should, and you feel awful for being so calm while he needs you, but the strength for you to be what he needs just isn't there. There is enough clarity for you to register one thing though, namely how closely he's cradling you to his chest. Such an open display of caring and concern is usually not something you see from him. A part of you rather likes it.

·Cold fear that he's come quite unaccustomed to creeps through him as he takes off through the ship. The medical bay is his ideal destination, as he helped create the human catered medical equipment already there, but he knows that time being of the essence means he has to plan for every possible situation, including those far from ideal. What matters is getting you oxygen, fast. The data on human biology made it impossibly clear; every minute without adequate oxygen is critical. Horrifying possibilities run through his mind, the diagrams of cell death he memorized almost taunting him as you appear to grow weaker with every passing breath. Feelings he'd long since forgotten, powerlessness and grief, eat away at him as he internally bemoans his lack of an altmode.

·You feel incredibly guilty as he grows more panicked, but sleep beckons far too strongly for you to resist it long. There's a part of you that knows his incredibly brilliant mind struggles when he doesn't feel in control, to the point he breaks reality at times to regain that handle on the world around him. So seeing you like this and being unable to do much in the moment... no doubt it's tearing him apart. Words don't come easy at the moment, and in fact you realize there's no way to form them at all, but still you try to reassure him. There's so much panic in the spark he holds you beside, and you do everything you can to convey that none of this is his fault. Gently splaying your fingers over the warm metal, you feel the world around you become little more than a blur.

·For a moment the path before him is filled with enemies. He nearly barrels into them rounding a corner, but not a moment is wasted once he has a full count of their number. One hand cradling you protectively, his other grabs the weapon he'd been testing with you before, and the still recovering alien soldiers become nothing more than an impromptu accuracy test. Even for him the precise carnage that follows is unimaginable. A series of heads jerk backwards before hulking bodies go limp, and in mere moments the threat is little more than a pile of confused looking corpses, but there's no time to celebrate. He's off with the weapon in hand for any future attacks.

·You hear him speaking to you as the last vestiges of your strength finally give way. He's trying to sound calm as he urges you to retain consciousness, but for once it's a losing effort, as you can hear the crack in his performance. It makes you sadder than anything else thus far. Particularly because you simply can't stay awake a moment longer. There's just too much weight in your limbs, and the warm darkness promises you a break, so you simply have to give in. All you can hope is that he'll understand neither one of you is to blame, and that you'll be able to wake up and tell him that yourself, but you're not especially worried about the latter half.

·He feels you go completely limp just as the medical bay and laboratory signs come into view. Now in a blind desperation, he makes a split second decision to head for his lab, reasoning that the medical bay will certainly be crowded due to current circumstances. Everything he'll need can be found in his various tools, and he can't waste a moment waiting on anyone else, even the medics. He can recall so clearly the human texts now, how the phenomenon of suffocation was described, and the resulting smothering of irreplaceable cells... Your tiny body is still breathing, but how much damage has already been inflicted? What parts of you has he failed to save? Not knowing is tearing him apart.

·Brainstorm is the only one in the lab, and he looks momentarily relieved to see Perceptor enter, saying something about restoring communication before catching sight of the little body in his hands. A frantic recommendation to bring them to the medical bay is met with curt dismissal as he lays you on an open work slab. There's no time to entrust this to anyone else, and in his mind the supplies he needs are already listed clear as day, including where to find them and what order he needs them in to maximize efficiency. Conscious thought is almost nonexistent as he works with record speed. The only times he stops are when his traitorous optics glance to your tiny body, and each glimpse is like an icy dagger to his spark. This isn't it. It can't be it. He won't lose the one he cares about more than anything.

·The tank of oxygen and the human sized ventilation system are hooked up to your frightfully still face with the care of a diamondsetter. He's able to get the readings of your improvement quickly, as the oxygen levels in the ship were apparently not yet low enough to do real damage, but he feels no comfort. All of his mind is still in chaos from the helplessness he can't yet shake. The fog is so deep that he barely notices Brainstorm return with a glowering Ratchet, and he only replies in curt affirmations or negations when the medic begins questioning your condition, doing so somewhat gruffly due to the inconvenience of having to move you later. With only a confirmation from the other mech you'll be in his care, he heads back out into the ship, weapon in hand and optics cold as he sets about securing Autobot victory one shot at a time.

·By the time you awaken the battle is over and the Lost Light is back to near total functionality. A calm voice instructs you to keep your oxygen mask on just a little longer to be safe, and you see Perceptor sitting beside you in the small recovery room. Having the basic pieces of everything more or less clear in your head, your immediate concern is him, which is only made worse by the scratches and scuffs on his usually well maintained armor. Barely able to stay where you are, the questions begin to pour forth as you reach a hand out to him. There's an uncharacteristically exhausted smile on his face as he reaches out a servo for you to hold. The expression is an obvious mask, made only more strained by the fake flatness of his assurance that he's fine, and that he only endured minor damage while cleaning out the last of the enemy. You know he's lying about that and more.

·Despite your ability to read him, you're still surprised when he cracks in a heartbreaking moment. His shoulders shake, his helm falls forward, and he leans heavily against the berth as your gentle prompt forces it all to the surface. By his standards he's a wreck, though his sobs are barely audible and could easily be mistaken for rough ventilations, and he makes it clear he's aware of how pathetic he looks. But how can he be okay? You needed him, and it was his own system that had failed you, with a second rate cyber attack no less. He should have seen that coming from the onset! He should have prepared! He can't seem to find the ground beneath him as he shakes, and in that instant you find strength far beyond your tiny body, and you use it to claw your way towards him. Seeing this makes him panic, and when he tries to gently stop your efforts you grab him tight, looking deep into those optics as you remind him he doesn't have to know everything. There will be times he's up against the unknown and unexpected, but his determination and strength have always driven him forward, and that's what you fell in love with. As you speak he seems to regain himself, and you hold him as tight as you can while emphasizing that even if everything feels out of control, you'll always be here to figure it out beside him. There's a sigh of relief he doesn't bother to hide as his world stabilizes, and once again you and he are right where you belong, hand in hand at the center.

Drift

·Having spent time on earth made him rather familiar with humans, and that combined with his first hand experience being an outsider in a group made him determined to ensure you were welcome on the ship. Needless to say, his efforts were more than a little successful. Now he's trying to teach you self defense in your shared quarters, which requires some creative thinking to ensure your safety. He's still got you using lightweight staffs in the place of anything sharp, and being a beginner, you can't complain too much. Though it's hard not to laugh when something occasionally gets bonked, yourself included, and even he chuckles despite all attempts to appear the dedicated teacher. Even with these distractions you learn a lot, but it's hard not to just enjoy how gentle he is when adjusting your stance, his proportionally massive hands holding you as if you might shatter in an instant.

·Thankfully he has full control of his reactions when the ship unexpectedly spasms, and his cupped palm prevents you from tumbling to the floor as the tremors settle back to absolute stillness, allowing you to look up at Drift just as he opens his communication line to Rodimus. The captain is able to give a brief rant about an ambush and systems crashing all over before the line begins to break, and you see your steadfast partner visibly distress as he loses contact with his friend, getting only a few garbled bits of information before the line goes entirely silent. An attempt by you to establish contact on your own communicator finds no success either. For all of his usual calm, the mech still supporting you looks ready to fight as he acknowledges trouble is inbound.

·To your surprise, he lifts you clear off the floor in a single move, talking fast as he secures his weapons and prepares for what he says will be a run for the most secure parts of the ship. Even if he's one of the key bots for defense in the event of something just like this, he has to get you to safety, or at least somewhere relatively well protected. There's a few key locations he can think of; the headquarters for security, the laboratories, the medical bay, and a few others he's memorized for... well, this exact purpose. The moment a tiny human changed his world he had drafted countless protective measures to ensure their safety, because he knew the dangers they would face all too well. Unfortunately he's having a hard time keeping them all in track now, especially with creeping fear tainting his reason and ability to plan ahead.

·Catching the worry he never admits to having, and admittedly plenty afraid yourself, you help him focus by calmly asking for the closest place he knows of that's secure. Mask of calm returning in an instant, he smiles and decides to go for the main laboratory. Perceptor is likely there, getting whatever experimental defense apparatus he's currently testing up and running to expel incoming threats. There likely won't be a safer place in the universe once he's prepared. Drift keeps to himself that there's an unspoken understanding between them regarding you, namely that the reserved scientist will protect you with the same level of veracity he would his former battle partner. Unfortunately that vow may be getting tested very shortly... Yet he keeps smiling, refusing to let his fear dampen your energy as he decides it's time to make his move. Somehow you feel just as heavy in his hand as the sword on his back as he makes sure you're secure.

·Accustomed to being carried by him in a number of ways, you notice his grip is different the instant he steps into the hallway, his digits curled in a way that screams protection just as much as his narrowed optics radiate apprehension despite trying to appear calm. You know he's protective by nature, but this is different. Every part of him is working in unison to move with as little noise as possible, his senses alert and scanning for threats as he hurries through the ship far more silently than you would have ever expected for a bot his size. In all your time together he's never been so outwardly on edge. Through his shameful confessions you know of his past, and you know of his skill in eliminating threats, so to see him nervous is actually a touch alarming in itself.

·There's a quick whisper from him that he believes enemies may be unavoidable no matter what path he takes. Should there be combat, he warns, he wants you to remain hidden or at least in cover until he's eliminated the threat. Should they overpower him however, your goal will be escape through whatever means necessary. The idea of dying to protect his partner doesn't give him any pause. Instead, his only focus is on ensuring you know every tool at your disposal to get to safety. Thoughts of sending you through the vents give him little comfort, but his feelings are hardly a priority, as nothing matters beyond you. You who saw past his sins, who'd given him a home in your boundless heart, and who had brought nothing but joy and light into his life. If he could guarantee anything by sheer force of will, it was your survival.

·You want to remind him that you're not the only one who matters here. Though you don't have any of his great strength or speed, you're certainly not going to let him be taken from you, as surviving without him would hardly be a victory. But holding on to that conversation is all you can do for now. The danger is real if you draw unwanted attention through speech, and so you keep the thoughts to yourself, saving them for the time you both would have to talk when this was over. Stress is oddly nonexistent as the air crackles around you from tension, perhaps signaling you've become so anxious it's all come full circle and turned you calm. Still, you keep a firm hold on him from your position of cover. Spectralism has encouraged him to be incredibly sensitive to the world around him, so you hope your tiny self focusing on calm will help give him some comfort.

·Unfortunately your efforts are given no time to pay off. Without making so much as a sound, he pushes himself flat against a wall and shushez you as he does so, allowing you to catch the faintest hint of what alarmed him; the sound of very alien movement. Trained audials lock in on the most likely direction of the source, which gives him the information he needs to come to an important decision; there's no getting around this particular group. As time to wait them out simply doesn't exist, he's left to confirm that fighting is his only choice, and with that lays you down on the floor beside a vent opening. Having known this might happen does nothing to quell your panic when you realize you're being left on the sidelines. This mech leaves you no time to argue before silently slipping around the corner to end things quickly.

·There's a team of Cybertronian sized lifeforms so surprised by his arrival they only have time to clumsily draw their weapons before the first one is neatly cut to pieces. Double blades make short work of the next few, and the mess of alien blood barely registers as he moves in a kind of trance, unwilling to let himself waste a moment of time unleashing the frustration and anger he so desperately wants to take out on these intruders. There's no doubt in his mind they'd hurt you if given the chance, but his logic keeps him in check to ensure he doesn't lose himself to the rage such a thought tempts him with. Cold precision is what he needs to most effectively end this quickly, and the method is proven effective when the last enemy falls in pieces, all without a single mark on his own armor. Save for the few spatters of alien blood, but he hardly notices such a minor detail.

·You're a little more concerned when he returns dripping with the mess of battle, but a quick reasurance and a noting of the lack of energon's distinctive pink glow puts most of your worries to rest. Still, you cling tightly to him as he picks you back up, whispering your thanks despite the loud clamor of the recent battle. It's a small victory when your gratitude makes him smile once again. Reminding you that he took a vow to protect you, he holds you close again and sets back off, assuming the same strategy of silent travel as before. It's oddly less tense this time, as if seeing what he's up against gave him the confidence to overcome his own worries for your sake. Whatever the case, you gladly take the result, already worn out from all the excitement of his recent battle.

·A brief burst of communication gives him pause, and you're equally baffled by the sudden transmission until he takes cover and answers. The commanding bots make something clear for the short message they've been able to transmit; Drift needs to get you to the medical bay. A rapid explanation of how the shipwide errors includes the atmospheric generators puts it all together in horrifying detail. Oxygen levels are dropping on all the sensors, they explain before the line cuts out, and while it's happening slowly there's still precious little time. He doesn't need any further instructions when silence descends over you both once more. You, however, can barely grasp the full extent of what you've just been told. After all, you feel fine! Well... mostly fine, perhaps things are a bit more wobbly than they should be.

·You're embraced as his expression briefly cracks into full worry. There's a whispered promise to get you to safety before he's once again on the move, all the on edge energy from before filling his coiled body as it hurries through the ship at impressive speeds. Strategy doesn't come easily as you try to think of the best way to save your breath. Keeping calm is hardly an option with everything going on, but you give it your best shot. You just need to stay awake and as relaxed as possible until he reaches the medical bay. It's harder than it should be already, but you persevere, lying down in his hand to keep the world from spinning all around you. Being close to him helps just a little bit. It helps you believe that the two of you will be fine, that he'll get to where he needs to be without trouble, and that everything is going to be smooth sailing from here.

·But of course, his luck allows for no such fortune. In the next moment he's being forced to tuck you away without a word of warning, the sound of an even more aggressive group of attackers forcing him to act before you can be hurt. He tries to dominate the battle like he did the last one, using his anger for fuel but never allowing it to take control, and his blades respond well to the strategy at first. However, this group is larger than the last, and thus his ambush simply doesn't buy him enough time to defeat them all. Soon blaster shots are flying and counterattacks are being hurled in his direction. All he can think about is you lying just out of sight, and how little time he has for this, and that these beings are all perfectly fine ending your life with such a cowardly tactic... It's an emotional powder keg, and the spark is finally lit when a not so lucky alien manages to cut a shallow gash across his side. The harsh burn of the injury sets him off just as you manage to glance down the hallway.

·Calm and calculated combat becomes a brutal beat down of anything he can get his swords through. A snarl reveals his shamefully concealed canines as he turns his blades into instruments of revenge instead of mere tools to victory. Even as your vision spins you can see him carving the increasingly fewer number of enemies without any of his usual grace, his expression one of blind fury as he eviscerates his enemies and something like a smile pulling up on his lips through their snarl. Some part of him is enjoying this, you realize. Even though he doesn't linger or draw out his moves, you can see he's going for absolute brutality in his kills. He wants these aliens to hurt for what they've done, and while you can't feel any pity for them, you know he's going to agonize over this later. He's often confided a fear of his own mind, citing moments like these where he just wants the enemy to hurt, and you know he firmly believes goodness is beyond him because of this.

·There's a thrill as he clears the last enemy, despite a few additional injuries of his own to show for it. No one was going to harm his beloved human and keep their limbs intact. He's still flashing the artificially sharpened canines that usually bring him such shame when he turns to see you watching. Pride vaporizes to horror in an instant, both from the realization that he gave in to temptation and that you saw him partake in such senseless brutality, and only the continued need to move lets him approach and lift you once more. Apologies pour out of his voicebox as he returns to running, begging your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself and failing to control them at your most vulnerable. Guilt tears him apart as he sees you've begun to lose clarity in the growing absence of oxygen.

·Unconsciousness pulls at you despite your resistance, and you force yourself to stay alert enough to keep him reassured. Had you the words your emphasis would have been on comforting him in the wake of his loss of control, particularly in regards to how you weren't afraid and never would be, as that piece was just a small part of the actual him you knew. Did he reject you for your failings? No, you wished you could say, and that you would never leave him for the same reason. As it was, you could only suck in deep breaths and hope he might read the conviction in your eyes. You want so badly for him to see you're not even upset with him, but your more coherent thoughts on the subject are starting to fade as well. Assurances that you will always support him fade into the fog overtaking your mind.

·He feels you slip into unconsciousness and it's like another stab to his already aching spark. Time is running out, and he can certainly take some of the blame for that, can't he? How many precious seconds could have been saved if he just stayed in control and finished the battle without savoring the violence? It's enough guilt that he becomes blind to anything else, charging forward on the most direct path and straight into an ongoing battle between bots and the still invading forces. You're held to his spark with a level of protection a bot would usually reserve for the Matrix, your safety being the only one that matters as he quite literally cuts a path through the enemies, focusing only on getting to the other side as he does so. Without any kind of defense he's quickly suffering a number of injuries, but he either doesn't notice or care as he keeps you free of the danger. The desire for retribution burning in his spark is smothered by a cold refusal to indulge unless he loses what's most worth fighting for.

·Only a lack of operability in his leg slows him down, and by then he's thankfully surrounded more by Autobots than enemies. His heroic charge is credited with turning the fight, but he's heedless to praise and concern as he finds support to stand from an unexpected arrival; Ratchet. Stopping the medic before his own wounds can be addressed, he holds you out wordlessly as his sword clatters to the floor from his other hand. Energon loss he only just now notices makes him wobble, but he insists on waiting until you've been helped, refusing to be treated until he knows you're going to be okay. The medics sort of compromise by tending to him whilst setting you up on the prepared medical slab, and as his considerable injuries are patched up he feels relief plagued by uncertainty. Will you remember what you saw? Will the firsthand experience with his inner demons drive you away? It eats at him in ways no medic can make feel better.

·When you awaken he's also on mandatory rest, and he's moved your tiny self onto a medical slab beside him to keep you close, making his familiar colors the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. You can't bring yourself to care about the oxygen mask on your face when the recently welded scars on his armor shock you into a mild panic. Seeing you awake, he gently shushes your concerns and encourages you to be still, and his position on his side thankfully makes conversing quite simple. At a single, anxious prompt about your memory the moments leading up to your loss of consciousness become clear. Drift quickly assures you that everything is fine, but you catch his look of worry when you confirm your recollection, and a gentle request for more information strikes him hard.

·His apologies are as helpless as they are hopeless. The disgust with himself is nearly tangible as he begs your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself, and it takes far longer than usual to get him to listen to you, perhaps due to the mask muffling your voice. Reiterating that you already accepted his past, you recall the way he held you in the heat of everything just today, and emphasise the sheer volume of injuries he endured to save you. That's the bot you've chosen to love, at the peak of his strength and selflessness and determination... That's who he is, and who he will always be to you. Your reminder soothes the pain in his body and spark. Moving as close as he can on the berth, he takes the moment to appreciate being together once again, his faith in himself given new strength thanks to your boundless love.

[koalatydm]

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

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

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

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

—————

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

DEVON: Hi!

IAIN: Hi, this is Iain…

DEVON: Hi, I’m Devon… (laughs)

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

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

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

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

IAIN: Really smelly.

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

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

DEVON: No it was just the—

KUNO: Oh, yeah.

IAIN: Woo!

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

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

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

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

IAIN: You wanna go?

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

IAIN: Apparently I passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEVON: Mmm (skeptically)

IAIN: It’s perfect.

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

KUNO: Aw.

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

IAIN: I’m the funny one.

DEVON: (laughs) It’s true.

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

HAILEY: The whole season basically (laughs).

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

HAILEY: Yeah sooo.

KUNO: Before we get to the elves.

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

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

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

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

HAILEY: Wow.

KUNO: I’m joking.

IAIN: Two dragons.

DEVON: The Dragon 2 Prince.

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

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

DEVON: Hopefully we have some self-control but—

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

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

KUNO: Yeah, absolutely.

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

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

IAIN: Yup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IAIN: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

IAIN: With a cooler name than that.

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

IAIN: Ghost vote?

DEVON: The canon is “ghost vote” now.

IAIN: Okay.

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

IAIN: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEVON: I think everybody have to agree?

KUNO: And how is it broken?

DEVON: I don’t think you can opt out?

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

KUNO: Yeah? How would you do it?

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

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

IAIN: Whoo.

DEVON: Sad.

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

DEVON: I love sadness.

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

DEVON: Oh god.

IAIN: That’d be great.

DEVON: Thanks Callum.

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

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

KUNO: Yeah.

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

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

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

DEVON: Oh yeah, absolutely.

KUNO: In a way—their duty to—

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

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

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

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

IAIN: Yeah.

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

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

KUNO: Yeah, I love that.

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

KUNO: Tzipporah.

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

KUNO: Yeah.

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

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

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

DEVON: Oh man.

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

IAIN: Devon is deep in thought (laughs).

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

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

KUNO: I was gonna say that.

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

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

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

DEVON: It’s over.

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

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

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

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

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

DEVON: Aww.

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

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

IAIN: Go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEVON: Oh my god (laughs).

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

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

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

DEVON: I mean, I think like—

KUNO: Yeah, mm-hm.

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

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

DEVON: Oh I do. I—I mean—

IAIN: Oh you do?

DEVON: It sucks.

IAIN: Oh it sucks?

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

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

KUNO: Oh my god.

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

DEVON: Ohhh, please leave.

KUNO: Oh my god.

DEVON: Get out, oof, ouch.

IAIN: Finger guns.

DEVON: I do think like that sort of complex—

KUNO: It sounds—

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

KUNO: Messy.

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

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

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

KUNO: I will (DEVON laughs).

IAIN: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

DEVON: I do—

KUNO: Yeah.

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

IAIN: Yeah, I think it’s a weird—

KUNO: Aww.

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

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

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

[sweeethinny]

Reputation - So It Goes... (Chapter 6)

sorry for the delay, it is always complicated to write these chapters

for this chapter, a special thanks to @theroomofreq who helped me and didn’t let me give up and delete everything, thank you honey <3

AO3

TW: for depressive feelings and suicidal thoughts

See you in the dark All eyes on you, my magician

GINNY WEASLEY

It had been almost two months since the battle was over, since Voldemort was destroyed, and all those people died. It had been almost two months since Ginny and Harry had returned.

It had all been so fast that she didn't even remember it; 

Two nights after that May day the Burrow felt like the worst place to stay, Ginny was so suffocated that even though she breathed normally, it felt like her lungs were getting dry at all. It was so difficult to accept, so complicated to deal with all that ... but she was not alone.

Harry looked the same, even if in different ways. He dodged conversations, disappeared for hours, and always seemed to be prepared to wake up and fight again.

They were both so destroyed, it didn't even seem to be real.

Then, on the third day, when Ginny jumped into the lake in the middle of the night even though it was light rain and cold wind just to feel something, being submerged by who knows how long, Harry was there, jumping together and going after her with a wit that for a moment Ginny thought she had jumped into the ocean.

''Oh, Merlin!'' He grabbed her shoulders, lifting her with all his strength, looking scared to hell. ''Ginny, fuck!'' Harry hugged her, cold and trembling, crushing her against him, his heart pounding as fast as a parade of 100 hippogriffs. ''I thought… heavens, I thought you were drowned'' She felt so fragile it felt like sugar in his arms

''I'm fine'' She whispered, like a secret in his ear ''I'm here'' Her nails dug into his cold skin, her breath coming out in sobs

She didn't remember how long the two of them stayed there, or when they started kissing, or even how they ended up together in the living room, hugging each other in front of the fireplace, in silence. And for the first time in those three days, or in the whole year, she wasn't sure, Ginny breathed easily, feeling safe. Feeling something.

After this episode, the two returned in secret, thinking that it was not necessary to communicate to anyone at the beginning, and that they deserved to have something just for themselves. It was a relieving peace when there was no need to explain every detail to anyone.

But it was pretty tricky when the fucking Wizarding World Savior was secretly dating, because Harry captured all eyes on himself, even though he tried to camouflage himself anyway

All eyes on us You make everyone disappear, and

''I wanted to be alone with you'' he whispered in the midst of all the confusion in that Hall, pretending to fix his tie.

It was another tiring Ministry event where everyone would be assessing Harry's every move, commenting on his clothes and the way he had cut his hair, or the scars that appeared on his arms, and Ginny was even happy with the burns that still persisted in the his skin, because she had marked him on the neck last night and was still barely visible.

"That witch keeps looking at us," Ginny whispered too. She smiled at the woman who seemed a little curious about Ginny's proximity to him. "Maybe she wants an autograph from me."

Harry laughed, disguising himself with a cough before turning to talk to whoever wanted his attention, leaving her alone in the middle of everyone.

He looked very handsome, with the elegant black suit and the cut hair - but still messy - his weight was starting to come back now that he ate nutritious and healthy food, and, Ginny thought, he looked more and more like that boy she dated in her fifth year. Even though many things had changed, many things, that burning in her chest and the tightness in stomach every time he approached and whispered in her ear, or blinked boldly when no one was looking, were still present.

And as much as they were in a room with 500 other wizards, and her entire family was nearby, it was as if when the two stood side by side, only they existed.

Cut me into pieces Gold cage, hostage to my feelings

''Harry looks very happy'' Hermione approached, speaking as if it were a secret that no one but them was allowed to know ''I wonder what has changed''

''What?'' Ginny replied, not wanting to report that she was following him with her eyes, looking for the best way to escape to a bathroom or some dark, empty room.

''I said that Harry looks very happy. Reminds me of sixth year...'' Hermione said, looking at Ginny with all that knowingness that only Hermione had, smiling restrained while raising a brown eyebrow.

''I don't know, maybe it's because there is no more war, and his name is no longer marked to die'' The redhead shrugged, while speaking very naturally ''Teddy has done a good job of leaving him good mood too''

"I don't think it's just him," Hermione insisted, before leaving and walking towards Ron.

Ginny looked for her boyfriend, his head protruding from some around him, not looking so excited to talk to anyone around him, nodding as usual and barely opening his mouth, scratching the back of his neck and ruffling his hair as usual . When the green eyes went up and looked for her too, she thought his visions sparkled, a light pink color rising on his cheeks as he secretly winked at her, before turning his full attention back to the man in front of him.

She can barely contain the feelings that ripped through her chest, her lungs filling with air and relieving all the tension that it was to be in those events, where everyone always insisted on remembering Fred's death.

Ginny knew she was hooked up to the neck by that noble idiot.

Since that kiss after the game against Ravenclaw, the sunny days clinging to the gardens and any dark alley that existed, Bill and Fleur's wedding day when he left, leaving her with no promise of return, alone in that absolute terror it was Hogwarts, even today, when they sneak into the lake, or into each other's room - Harry was in Percy's old room...

And she couldn't see a future where Harry wasn't there.

 Back against the wall Trippin', trip-trippin' when you're gone

''They're going to drive you crazy'' Ginny said as soon as she managed to approach him without generating suspicion, grabbing a glass of wine and wetting her lips - she would be 17 in a few weeks, but who really cared? She had lost a brother, had the right to drink a glass or two.

''They always leave me'' Harry replied. Ron and Bill approached, including them in a banal conversation clearly in order to free him from all that tension, which did not make sense, because many people also wanted to talk to Ron, who was sometimes more tense and nervous than Harry.

''Gin, are you following our wizard everywhere?'' Ron commented, looking slightly loud, Bill laughed, but looked closely at the two, who were keeping a safe distance.

''No, we just crashed around here. I came to get wine'' she said, raising her glass ''I was talking to Hermione, and then to another witch too old to wear a dress as colorful as that'' She lied, just because she knew that no one would confront her about the truth. Hermione had spoken to her, and there were many witches in very colorful dresses for an event like that.

The conversation continued, without many interesting things and complex subjects, just a chat that you would easily hear in a banal meeting of friends. Her brothers eventually pulled away, and as much as everyone still looked at the remaining Weasley next to Potter, Ginny continued with her performance, tasting the wine and biting her cheek to keep from smiling when she saw Harry's eyes on her lips.

''If you keep looking at me like that, everyone will know'' And this time, after saying that, she left, leaving him alone for anyone who wanted to disturb his peace.

Nothing was still so easy, in fact, just those moments where the two teased each other and hid giggles were so simple, the rest of the hours, it was still tense and difficult to endure, and eventually, Ginny broke down completely with the reality that hit .

There were nightmares too, that chased her almost every night, just as they chased Harry, which had made them start sleeping  together, hugging each other whenever one woke up flushed, sweaty and trembling with fear, ensuring they could find that spot of balance that only seemed right when they were side by side.

And these events were definitely the worst, not just by all eyes on them, but the feeling that nobody could talk about anything other than the War, the deaths, the losses ... Everyone knew that Fred was incredible and everyone those attributes that they make a point of talking about after the person dies (even if they used to speak ill of him before), Ginny didn't need to be remembered every two minutes.

''Corridor to the right, fourth room'' Harry whispered as he passed, the voices around him muffling slightly, but nothing that Ginny couldn't hear. Their ears were trained to recognize his noises from impressive distances.

Ginny smiled, feeling the excitement burn her body, happy that almost everyone around her was paying attention to the story that Shacklebolt was telling, to the point that they didn't notice when the Savior of the Wizarding World disappeared with the youngest of the Weasleys.

'Cause we breakdown a little But when you get me alone, it's so simple

Nor was there time between her entering the room and being able to look around before she was grabbed and her lips were attacked, crushed against Harry's, which, like her own, tasted like wine. She could easily get drunk, and she wouldn't be complaining.

''I hate to like being so provoked with every move you make'' Harry spoke against her mouth, pushing her further against the protected door of everyone outside.

''But I wasn't even teasing you'' Ginny said.

Not in the last few minutes at least, she thought, laughing.

"And licking your lips and drinking the wine very slowly, is it natural now?" Harry snapped, looking quite affected, attacking her neck skin with delicious hunger.

''It's hard to take without smudging my lipstick'' She said while throwing her head back, giving him more space for his endless fun ''They'll notice our absence''

"No, I acted like a poor sad boy just now, and they'll think I just ran away somewhere in search of peace," he said. The two met again, nose touching, Ginny's feet floating as Harry held her in the air so that they were at the same height, increasing the pressure and pressing her against the door even more. For a second, she thought they would end up breaking the wood and falling on the other side, like two stooges. ''Well, I technically ran away in search of peace ... ''

"Don't say those romantic things" she said, blushing like a tomato, even though it was idiot. Harry always said these stupidly cute things at random times, which made her feel embarrassed like a little girl. "And what is the excuse for me to be gone?"

''I don't know ... colic? Menstruation? Do any of those things women have to use to escape from places?'' Harry commented laughing, winking at her before kissing again, with all that ferocity from before ''I just need time with you '' Ginny  melted, sighing with the kisses and letting go of all that sentimentality that burned in her chest.

She knew what Harry meant, she also needed a time away from everything, a time where nothing else mattered but him, where they didn't need to wear masks or armor to deal with situations. That moment when the two understood each other perfectly, getting naked even if they were dressed, without shame in exposing their minds to each other. That moment that was theirs and no one could steal.

'Cause baby, I know what you know We can feel it

Then no other words were heard in there, at some point Harry laid them on a couch in the room and stood over Ginny, kissing any part he could reach without having to move much.

She took off his suit, leaving only the white shirt, playing with the buttons while sighing with the kisses he gave in her skin. It was all so needy, that the two looked like hungry animals, marking each other as if to claim them for themselves.

Ginny thanked her for listening to Fleur and putting on a skirt, as her boyfriend's hand reached her panties much more easily than it would have if she had put on her jeans. ''Shit'' She moaned, biting her cheek and losing consciousness.

Harry lifted his head from the curvature of her breasts, smiling all proudly, his lips and cheeks all smeared with red lipstick, which made her wonder, how was she at that moment.

But it didn't matter, nothing mattered in there, not when Harry was making her lose her head like that, and when he sighed and moaned in her ear saying nice words, that if it was another time she would make some joke that he was so romantic when was excited. There was nothing but them, raw and open to each other.

And all our pieces fall Right into place Getting caught up in a moment Lipstick on your face So it goes

"Presentable to go back there?" Harry said, turning to her and adjusting his tie, before running his hand through his hair in an attempt to lessen the mess.

''Yes'' She replied, barely looking at him through the mirror she carried in her bag, going over her lipstick and wiping off any smudges that still lingered on her face ''You go first, I'll stay awhile and I can use the excuse of being just breathing'' He nodded, kissing her cheek before leaving the room.

After a few minutes, a check again on her look, and more makeup to cover the marks on the skin of her neck, Ginny came out, looking as good as she could get, walking among people and following where her mother was, getting relieved that no one cared much about knowing where she was.

Harry, who was a few steps away, was red as a tomato, wiping his face awkwardly, seeming to control himself not to look at Ginny, who wanted to laugh the moment she saw the blood red spot on his lips and cheek.

"Harry, what the fuck?" George, who hadn't laughed in a while, said, holding up a laugh

''I didn't know you liked makeup, Harry'' Ginny commented, approaching her with brown eyes shining with amusement ''The color looks pretty on you'' The lipstick wasn't coming off completely, just smudging with every hand he took gave, which made it even more comical

''Dude, if you wanted to have some time for touch-ups, it was just talking, we wouldn't judge you'' Lee said ''But I think you'd look better with a darker color'' Everyone around him laughed, even Harry who managed to clean his face

"Ginny, maybe you can lend me your kit next time" Harry said

''Of course, a bright shadow and a good illuminator would make you look better in the pictures'' She blinked, all playful and provocative, biting her own blood-red lip slightly, and happy to have slightly ignorant siblings for not noticing these small details.

When George and everyone else started talking about any trivial matter, Ginny got close enough to Harry to reach his suit pocket, sliding the fabric from her hands to the other location, then removing her hand and smiling at her boyfriend, who frowned and looked curiously at his pocket, now slightly heavier.

The redhead withdrew, walking slowly away from them and barely managing to smile when she heard Harry's exasperated sigh, not restraining herself and looking over her shoulder, only to see him with his eyes closed and his cheeks turning red, but this time, it didn't look ashamed. As if he knew he was being stared at, he opened his green eyes, much darker and brighter than usual, which made Ginny smile victoriously, continuing her parade through the hall - this time, without panties.

I'm yours to keep And I'm yours to lose You know I'm not a bad girl, but I Do bad things with you So it goes

HARRY POTTER

Still - very much - affected by the black lace in his pocket, Harry sat in the bar table, happily already out of the Ministry event, feeling much freer from all the looks in him and all those questions that never seemed to end or a good answer.

It was a muggle bar, where the only people who recognized him were those who were accompanying him, and the bartender, who was an abortion, but who didn't seem to care much about Harry being there.

''Everyone is looking at you'' He whispered to Ginny beside him, filling her glass with the water she had asked for, and then, doing the same with his own glass, buying time so they could have those close moments without anyone suspecting it.

"It's not true," she replied.

But Harry could point out at least five guys who couldn't take their eyes off her, looking almost like clouds with Gin's every move. And he didn't blame them, it was really hard to take his eyes off her that night - like all the others, that he needed to force himself not to be staring at every part of it.

Met you in a bar All eyes on me, your illusionist

Harry was happy, for the first time in almost a year, he had managed to spend more than a month happy, as when he was in the sixth year and lived those sunny weeks with Ginny by his side. But this time, it was weeks turning into months.

She had scared him to hell by jumping into that lake, and as much as he thought she should have a little rest, it was terrifying just to imagine that Ginny could be trying to take her life or anything. Those few seconds - which seemed like hours - that her body did not appear in the middle of the dark water that shone at night, Harry almost went crazy, barely able to reason properly. He would hardly be able to survive if she died.

There were already so many deaths to endure, that if Ginny was gone too ... no, Harry thought, he probably would have died together.

''I think they might be looking at you too'' She replied, in that cheeky tone that only Ginny could do ''The guy on the left, looks really impressed with you'' Harry laughed, amused by the man a few years older, winking at him

''I'm interested in making only one person look at me'' He spoke softly, enjoying the mess on the table while Ron, Lee, George and Percy discussed their orders

Ginny did not answer, Hermione - who was looking at them suspiciously - started a banal conversation, leaving Harry to rest his head on the cushioned wall of the booth, looking at everyone at the table.

It was good that George had made a joke or two again, and that Ron managed to drag Lee with them again, even Percy, seemed convinced to make everyone feel ... more relieved.

Everyone was doing a good job, however, none of them managed to do one percent of what Ginny did, even if they didn't even realize it. And Harry might sound like a corny romantic she always said he was when he was aroused, but there was no doubt that she was the main cause of him being able to breathe again - and he was not aroused now.

All eyes on us I make all your gray days clear, and

"So, Harry, whose lipstick was it?" George asked, looking a lot less tense than hours ago

''Was it that blonde who was talking to you? Because if it is, bud, you were lucky man'' Lee teased, raising his eyebrows and winking maliciously, making Harry laugh.

Ginny's nails hit the table at a calm and controlled pace, but Harry would bet his fortune that she was giving everything she could to be as serious as possible, even though her brown eyes were burning like embers.

"It wasn't hers" he said. They had dealt with keeping it a secret, and apart from the part he couldn't grab her at any time, it wasn't too bad. Doing things without having to explain and having to deal with millions of questions and opinions was a relief, but Harry hardly ever knew what to do when someone talked to him about another woman.

''So, who? Or did you really start wearing makeup now?'' Ron said, smiling at the waiter who placed the orders in front of each other, taking a little longer when he placed the chicken salad for Ginny. Harry had to wrinkle his napkin to keep from rolling his eyes and laughing.

He didn't blame them for thinking she was beautiful, but it was quite intrusive how they looked at her breasts or how they made her look like a piece of meat and nothing else.

''Yeah Harry, who?'' Ginny said, filling her mouth with her colorful salad and pieces of chicken, looking at him curiously, proving to him that her eyes were burning like embers. And he knew it was not excitement, because he had seen another moment like that when they were in the Leaky Cauldron and a witch flirted with him. Ginny looked like an angry cat at his side.

But it also had that spark of amusement, because unlike the Leaky Cauldron day, now he would have to explain himself.

''Just ... '' He started, trying to think of something correct to say, biting his cheeks to keep from laughing ''I was just trying on lipsticks ... what can I say? These events make me do things to stay away for a while'' He shrugged

''Mate, as much as I understand you, I'm crazy there too, but you could have told us'' Ron said.

''Yes, that blonde was really hot, and I think she was quite willing to make you have an empty mind'' And this time, after Lee's comment, Ginny's nails sank into Harry's thigh, which he swallowed fright and tried his best not to express any reaction or to laugh.

I wear you like a necklace I'm so chill but you make me jealous

The conversation continued between everyone, Ginny's nails eased but her hand remained there, a little territorial, but nothing that Harry would ever complain about. Everyone was entertained with mundane things and maybe it was the least stressful time they had in the whole day, which was great and soothing.

Hermione would occasionally look at Ginny's interactions with him, but the two were great actors and made things seem just friendly, and simple, even though her panties were still in his pocket - now that he had dropped his suit , it was in his pants pocket - and the redhead's bold hand occasionally fell on his thigh and went up far more than the respectable among friends. Ginny also made her charm, throwing her hair over her shoulder and laughing out loud, lifting her chin and showing her creamy neck. It seemed normal and natural to anyone, but Harry always had to look away when that little show started, not wanting any part of his body to wake up.

''What are you going to do now?'' George asked, drinking what should be, his fourth muggle beer, looking at the younger ones

''Harry and I are going to do auror training'' Ron said, and Harry nodded ''Shacklebolt offered and ... I don't know, we just accepted ''

''But you didn't do the NIEM'' Hermione replied

'' I think saving the Wizarding world is proof enough, Mione, but thanks for your concern'' Harry said, laughing weakly and taking a sip of Gin's soda, which was clearly a mistake, as everyone looked at the scene

"Do you share drinks now?" George said, faster than Hermione who narrowed her eyes

''Er .. I ... '' Harry was barely able to formulate the rest of the sentence, blaming the beers for that for that.

"Potter, if you wanted a soda, just tell me and I would ask you. I know the waiter was beautiful and all that, but you don't have to be ashamed'' Ginny joked, smiling all mischievously ''Stay for you, I'll get another one'' And then she got up, as normal as possible

''Harry, are you surprising us today, one hour putting on lipstick, the next time embarrassed by the waiter? Mate, I don't recognize you anymore'' Ron said, seeming to have even more fun ''And look, we spent almost a year living together in a small space''

''Does anyone else want anything?'' Ginny said, her smile never leaving her blood red lips ''If you want, I can try to make him say the name to you'' She looked at Harry, looking as amused as ever

"Thank you, but I'll let this one go" Harry replied, winking and lifting her can of soda.

After Ginny left, wiggling and fussing with her hair with a widespread knowledge that it was making him have to clench his teeth and close his eyes, Harry sighed, barely paying attention to the stupid jokes the boys were making, or that even Hermione was laughing and playing with his face too.

"But now tell the truth, is there no one who is the Chosen One?" Lee said, eating George's fries

Putting his hand in his pants pocket just to feel the fabric against his fingers, Harry felt his heart racing, remembering each day of those past months that he had been with Ginny, each secret he shared with her, and each banal moment they had together. Like when she was embarrassed that he saw her wake up, or when they talked about the Dursleys and she was - without him noticing - terrified by the news that they wouldn't let him eat and that Harry slept under the cupboard.

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging. "Who knows?"

But I got your heart Skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone

[...]

"So, did anyone suspect?" Ginny asked, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck and standing on tiptoe to kiss him, pushing him to find her bed so the two of them would fall right there

''No, I think everyone bought the idea that I was just a little crazy today'' Harry replied, squeezing her waist so he could lift her on his lap, sitting on his girlfriend's childhood bed and kissing her back

''You look good in black'' she whispered in the middle of the kiss, running her hands all over his suit before starting her quest to get him out of the way.

Soon Harry's shirt fell to the floor, as did Ginny's, the lacy bra was clearly premeditated by her, but he didn't care, he loved to think she wanted him as much as he did her, planning the attack. He turned them over, laying her in the middle of the pillows and kissing her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, until he reached the middle, still hidden by the black fabric of the skirt, but naked underneath, shiny as a silver piece. Harry salivated.

"You look perfect in black too," he said.

Come here, dressed in black now So, so, so it goes

It was not long before Gin's loud moans tested the silencing spell that Harry cast, his shoulders burned with her nails against his skin, and every time she pulled his hair, it was as if Harry might have his head split in half if he dared to walk away.

Those moments were always intoxicating, with her being overwhelming and loud, moaning his name as if it were the only prayer that could save her, squeezing him between her thighs and arching almost to heaven. Harry could stay there for hours, days, centuries, just tasting and smelling, and listening to the noises that echoed in his mind whenever they were unable to spend time together.

In those moments, when he couldn't just grab her hand and get it out of everyone's eyes, Harry regretted being secretly dating, but then Ginny would tease him and play with his mind until Harry could barely formulate a complete sentence. - without even touching him - and he was enjoying all that secret again, having fun with his goddess who would clearly lead him to his death.

''Up'' Ginny groaned, clenching her nails even further and pulling him by the shoulders ''I need you here'' And with that, Harry almost came in his pants.

They had already done this, a few weeks ago when Ginny came into his room saying that she had had a nightmare and just wanted to sleep with him. Harry knew it hadn't been premeditated, but it had been so good, so perfect, that even though it had been a few days, it still seemed unreal.

The rest of the clothes disappeared in the next instant, and a tangle of mouth, hand and sighs made them fall back on the bed, Ginny hugging him with her legs around his waist, while he disappeared inside her, in the same movement that took him from paradise to hell in milliseconds, feeling her nails dig into his back again and watching her arch with much more intensity.

Scratches down your back now So, so, so it goes

The pace was not as frantic as two nights ago that the two were angry and close to exploding with lust, but it was also not calm and peaceful as the first time, it was just right and perfect, making them touch in the right places that caused louder moans, as Harry's mouth wandered wherever he reached, while he felt her hands mapping him with the usual curiosity.

He didn't even care about the scars or any other marks because it was so ... natural, to be naked in front of her, in every way. It was as if all barriers fell and there was only the two of them again, as if no one could interrupt them in that paradise they had created for themselves.

Ginny managed to heal him far more than any healing potion or spell.

You did a number on me But, honestly, baby, who's counting? I did a number on you But, honestly, baby, who's counting?

''Fuck'' Harry moaned as she pressed herself against him, her thighs encircling him even more as she turned them over, standing on top like an incredible goddess she was, precariously tying her hair and biting her red-stained lip

''I've been thinking about it a lot of the time'' she said, adjusting herself on top of him and resting her hands on his chest, before starting to ride him as if she were after the biggest reward somebody could offer to her. Harry was barely able to contain his own moans every time she touched him again, feeling the pressure build more and more at the base of spine, his vision starting to blur, getting lost in the sea of ​​freckles that ran from her lap to breasts for Ginny's belly.

He felt bewitched.

His hands tightened on her hips, increasing the pressure and speed, aware that he would possibly mark her, but so lost in the sensations that perhaps if he loosened his grip, he would pass out. His toes curled, holding on as tightly as possible, even though he felt her getting hotter and tighter around him.

''Harry'' Ginny moaned, throwing her head back.

He just needed to wait a little longer. Once again she fell again, putting him fully inside.

Twice, and Harry thought he was capable of dying.

Three, he found himself in paradise.

There was no fourth time.

You did a number on me But, honestly, baby, who's counting? Who's counting? One, two, three

Ginny screamed, falling flat on his sweaty chest, looking as soft as gelatin, not that Harry was far from it, feeling like he was floating as his balls softened, just like Ginny around him.

The feeling of peace that hit him was so great that Harry could barely contain the tremors in his thighs, hugging his girlfriend's small body to steady himself on the ground, breathing in the floral scent mixed with sweat and seeing stars behind his eyes.

''I love you'' He was the one who spoke first, after his soft cock slid out of her, causing him to shiver.

''I love you too'' Ginny replied, hugging him too and resting her head on top of his heart, listening to the beat at the same pace as her, fast and almost breaking his chest. Harry was alive, as alive as she was, and he was there, with her. She was his.

The man squeezed her even more, returning to the earth and feeling all that explosion of feelings that always happened when he was beside her, above, or below her. Happy to hell to be there.

Ginny was alive, curled up in him like a tame cat, with him. He was, fucking until the last seconds of his life, hers.

So it goes..

[nighttmaire-writing]

FAHC: Sweet Sauce

This is my first time writing for the FAHC. I haven’t really ever written anything like this before, but after reading some of the stories on Tumblr and watching a GTA I had missed from months ago, I was inspired to cover a duo that I haven’t seen on here. Hope you enjoy!

Axial never really goes in the field. Not because he doesn’t want to, nor because he’d be incredibly less effective than any of the others. He tends to hang back to work on the comms and hacking for the team because he knows he’s the best at it. No one else could co-ordinate the communication between the chaos within The Fakes, it takes someone with a will of steel like him to ignore all of the snark and push back with both authority and advice. He also knew that, without specific instructions, no one else in the gang could hack into any targeted building like he could. He also is one of the best at on-the-fly adapting when shit goes south and a plan needs to change. When it comes to field duty, however, he makes exceptions on special occasions. In particular, he will go into the field if requested. 

As it turns out, Matt’s actually pretty adept in at more than just communications, planning and hacking. He’s a stellar driver. This fact wasn’t well known to The Fakes until he trounced them in another Mario Kart tournament, to which a drunk and furious Mogar loudly proclaimed that he could outrace Axial in real life any day of the week. Once everyone was sober, Michael doubled down – and got beaten by Axial. It was a close race, since Michael was brilliant at driving, but Axial had something he didn’t. Knowledge. The hacker knew the city like the back of his hand due to his life on the streets, and once he was told the destination he knew every turn and how to safely make them. Everyone was stunned, as Michael shook Matt's hand with a smirk, calling him a piece of shit. 

Matt only drove for the crew on missions when requested personally, leaving his communications job to The Boss while he would hack remotely from the car. He’s only ever done so for three people, up until this point. Once for Rimmy Tim, since he knew it would be fun. Once for The Golden Boy, because he knew he’d get a good laugh out of it. And once for The Sauce. Almost everything in The Fakes was an unofficial competition. Who got the most kills on a job, who could escape the cops the quickest, even who could piss off The Vagabond first. And there was no one more competitive in the group than Alfredo. Even though these contests meant little-to-nothing, they meant everything to him. He had to win.  And, most of the time, he would. So, when he was told the next job involved multiple hits at different locations, utilising teams of one gunman and one driver, he knew exactly who was going to drive him. 

Convincing Matt wasn’t as hard as The Sauce had thought. Deep down, he had a competitive streak that was just shy of Alfredo’s. All it took was the promise of victory over Gavin, Jeremy and even The Vagabond to convince him. It was getting everyone else on board with having one of their least experienced members in the field to leave the penthouse, to go on a mission with just one other person, that was harder. They knew he could handle the driving job, but they also figured there must be a reason he locked himself in his room during a Heist. The pressure could get to him, and that could get one or both of them hurt. Besides, he’d only ever driven before and this particular job required the use of covering fire from the driver to assist in the gunman’s run inside. As far as The Fakes knew, Axial had no training with a gun. 

With a face that reminded the others of the calm before a storm, Matt pulled out a pistol no one had ever seen on him and cleanly shot three of The Kingpins most expensive vases on the other side of the room in as many shots. As he put his gun away without a word, everyone was quick to agree – Axial was on the mission. 

The robbery teams were; Axial and The Sauce, or 'Sweet Sauce’; Supernova and The Golden Boy, or 'Chungə'; and Rimmy Tim and The Vagabond, or 'The Battle Buddies'. Each team would be simultaneously hitting a different building. Each building was the home of one of the many idiotic celebrities living in Los Santos, those with lots of money and little security. The plan was to steal as much expensive looking gear and/or cash as possible and leave. This was, in turn, a distraction for the main job. With the simultaneous big-name robberies, the police would be spread incredibly thin, allowing Mogar and the Pilot, or 'The Betting Buddies', to 'covertly' enter LSPD headquarters to locate and take information the cops have compiled on The Fakes. Or, as covertly as one could do a job like this with Michael. 

Once Alfredo had recruited Matt to his team, he began to really play up the sense of rivalry they all had. He made sure they all knew the newly christened ‘Sweet Sauce’ were planning on doing everything the best. Fastest to the house, fastest in, most cash grabbed, fastest back to HQ. He enthused with the utmost confidence how they were going to destroy everyone – with a silent grinning Axial standing behind him. The others eventually got riled up enough that they laid down a bet. The team who did each aspect of the job the best would win $1000. Everyone involved in the job, even The Boss and The Wildcard who would both be staying at the penthouse as comms and backup respectively, put in cash to make a prize pool of $3000. Due to the constant feed that would be going to The Boss, he was going to be in charge of timing each team’s work. Michael and Jack then began a betting pool to see who would win the most cash, for those who weren’t participating to have some fun too. In the end, only The Kingpin placed a bet on Sweet Sauce. Everyone thought Matt too inexperienced and Alfredo too cocky. But, for some reason, Geoff saw something different. 

The job was simple, and it went off without a hitch. Each team did their job even better than they normally would, since they had a lot riding on it. Chungə tried to focus on just getting one part as fast as possible. As such, they broke every speed limit and ran every red light to get to their house the fastest. And they succeeded, beating both Sweet Sauce and The Battle Buddies to their destination, both earning $500.  

The Battle Buddies, however, wanted to humble Alfredo, and figured with Matt on the job it would be fairly easy. Even so, not wanting to take the risk, they tried their hardest at getting each aspect as quick as possible, with Rimmy behind the wheel and The Vagabond storming the woefully unprepared home to rob it of as much as he could, before they raced home at record pace. 

They were shocked to see Sweet Sauce had arrived in the garage just seconds before them, with two full duffel bags of loot. Axial and The Sauce had worked incredibly well together, even more so under pressure. It was Matt’s idea for them to take a gamble and both storm the house. If it worked, they’d clear it quicker and they could steal double the gear. The risk was potentially losing their car, which was one of The Sauce’s personal vehicles. Shockingly, he didn’t bat an eye at the idea. Even if, at most, he was only going to make $1500 on this bet and would be losing a far more expensive car the victory itself would be absolutely worth it. And so, they executed their plan to perfection. Axial found the most simplistic and expedient route to their target, they both entered the premises with guns blazing, loaded up their bags and left in complete unison with Alfredo behind the wheel, Axial giving him directions from the passenger seat. Even though he was famously not as good at driving, the two of them wanted to rub in their victory. Matt and Alfredo had just gotten $1000 richer. 

Their victory in two of the three categories had pipped Geoff as the biggest victor in the betting pool, winning a cool $400. After returning from the successful police headquarters heist, Michael was thrilled to learn he won $200 by betting on Chungə. Everyone else don’t make any winnings by betting on ‘the sure bet’ of The Battle Buddies, much to Jack’s dismay. 

This was not the first time that Axial would work out in the field with The Sauce. Doing this job was one of the many reasons that the resident computer expert had decided to be out in the field. It didn’t hurt when The Vagabond tried desperately to earn his winnings back, and The Sauce requested his assistance again. They wouldn’t always work together, but whenever they did it was damn near impossible to top them. 

Hope you guys liked it! I don't know how much FAHC I will be writing, but this was a fun thing I liked in my head. I might try to write more dialogue next time. This sort of recount style fit this story but I want to try my hand at figuring out these characters a little more. If I do more, I think I'll probably focus on Axial/Matt. No surprise, but the boys my favourite.

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

For the First Time ~ Embry Call

Request: "Can you do one of Embry and his reader Imprint make love for the first time I really love your stories" from @wolfpackgirlss

A/n: I looooooveeeeeee requests!! So very glad to know yall like my stuff :)

Word Count: 2000+

MASTERLIST

Y/n was familiar with fast. Stumbling over yourself as you sped down a hill, or gripping anything you could grab as someone turned a corner too sharply while driving. She was incredibly familiar with quick kisses and giddy giggles and flushed cheeks and tight spaces and getting riled up just to run out of time, or chicken out and not end up going all the way.

She thought that would be how it was when she started dating Embry Call, too. He had the same hyperness as her. The same cheery goofiness. She was a little nervous to learn about the whole imprinting thing. She'd known about Sam and the pack long before him. She was Jared Cameron's cousin. Her parents had died a long time ago, and lived with him and his family. When he'd started acting dodgey, Y/n had pulled all the stops to figure out what was going on. Sam hadn't been too strict on the rules back then so it had been a lot easier. It had been kind of strange for the cute new wolf to give her the news in the most adorably awkward way that he had imprinted on her. But also absolutely thrilling.

Surely the energy from that first kiss would carry to everything else, too?

Despite all of that, things with Embry were moving slow.

Y/n knew how to date, but this seemed like whole new territory. Things with Embry seemed to be significantly more intimate no matter what he was doing. The way he said her name. The way he looked at her when she ranted, or how they worked together when either of them came up with an insanely mischievous plan and the other was completely gung-ho about making it happen. The way he hugged her, or kissed her cheek. All of it was wonderful and soft and warm and made them feel close.

It was overwhelming.

That was had probably kept them from having sex until now. Five months into their relationship and they hadn't even thought about it. Or, if they did, it was fleeting or not the right moment or the other wasn't in the mood, or there wasn't a good place to get down to business. It just seemed like it hadn't really lined up until that night.

But that night... Oh lord.

They were at Embry's, since he had far more family to bug them than he did. His mom was taking a night shift at her job in favor of letting her son have the house to himself to spend some quality time with his girlfriend. Things had been packed recently and they hadn't gotten much alone time.

At first, it was really chill as per usual. They made dinner and nearly got in a food fight before Embry, between his laughter, called a truce in favor of his mom not murdering him when she came home to the mess. They ate and then played a board game and then a card game, just messing around and chit chatting about whatever. Then they cuddled up on the couch as it started to get late, popping in a romance movie just to have something calm that would help them unwind.

Embry was soothingly warm and his hands kept trailing along her arms. Up and down, back and forth, in loopdy loops. Just little random patterns and paths that made no sense but made Y/n feel really nice and relaxed. She leaned back into him, humming in content every now and then.

She hadn't meant to. Her intentions hadn't been the result of her actions. She'd just shifted, looking back at her boyfriend as the cheesy climax of the movie hit and the couple kissed after arguing in the rain because that's really how romance movies be since forever. She giggled, parting her lips to make some joke about how lame they were... only to immediately get lost in Embry's eyes.

The TV reflected off of the brown color and made really cool shapes. Sensing her gaze, he looked down too. "What? Got something on my face?"

"Yeah," Y/n teased lightly, shuffling again so she was straddling him so she could actually reach his face. He was so tall, geez. "Right here-" she began by touching his cheek, then tracing his lips. "And here." Her other hand rose to gently press each thumb to his eyelids after he closed them. "Also, here." He opened his eyes as she moved her hands, her fingers brushing his jaw before wrapping around the back of his neck, her thumbs running along his cheek. "All over."

He had a sort of dreamy smile on his face. "And what exactly do I have all over my face, hm?"

She shrugged. "Makes me wanna look at it all the time though, whatever it is."

Embry laughed before pulling Y/n to him, kissing her. At first it was gentle but then suddenly it wasn't. The kiss was intense and hot and hard and deep and Y/n was running out of breath and her head was spinning but she just couldn't bring herself to pull away. Her hold on his face slipped even further back, her hands moving into his hair and gripping lightly. He gasped against her mouth and they both took the second to try and catch some air for their screaming lungs before diving back in again.

His hands were on her waits, slipping under the bottom of her shirt. His skin was hot on her stomach and back. So were his lips as she kissed him. And his neck as she rested her arms around it. He was always hot and now she felt like she was trapped in a room with no air and she leaned back, trying to get a grip on herself.

It was scary easy to get lost in him. She'd gotten overwhelmed again.

"Sorry," Embry rushed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Y/n gasped. "You're just..." She looked up at him, finally focused. His lips were a little puffy, his hair a little messy. His pupils were huge and completely focused on her. He was incredibly beautiful and she found herself kissing him again. It was a lot, but it got easier to deal with every time she did it. Every moment was wonderful with him, especially when it came to kissing.

Suddenly something hard poked against her thigh. She snorted, having to break the kiss again as she rose an eyebrow. Embry wouldn't meet her eyes. She but her lip bef-re standing up and turning the TV off. Embry watched her curiously. She stood in fromt of him, holding out her hand. "What?" He asked, unsure of what she wanted.

She sighed, leaning down to this time press her lips to his throat. "Em, I want you."

He was instantly responsive, scooping her up and taking her to his room. She giggled as he lay her down gently then crawled over her, pulling his shirt off as he moved. He was kissing her again, this time his warmth completely covering every inch of her body and overloading her senses. This time she didn't fight it.

His hands pushed her shirt up, exploring her stomach and then slowly higher and higher. Suddenly she gasped, her heart racing. It really was so much, but she was also nervous. This was usually the point that they either had sex or he left. Despite knowing how powerful and never ending Imprinting was, Y/n suddenly found herself terrified that Embry would be gone tomorrow morning. Now that they'd hit this point, it was over.

"What?" Embry cooed soothingly, keeping his hands on her stomach since that had been what seemed to have set her off. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Y/n managed. She squirmed nervously. "We haven't... I mean, you... you're a virgin, aren't you?" Embry nodded without saying a word. It had been embarrassing for him to admit. She rushed to try to explain before he thought she didn't want him because he was a virgin. "I, um, you-" she grunted. "Promise me that you won't go away tomorrow, or that our relationship will turn to sex every time we're alone. I still want movie nights and food fights and wrestling matches you always win and teasing and all the other shit too."

Embry's expression softened. "Sweetheart, of course. You're stuck with me. I loooooooooove youuuuuuu." He dragged out the last two words, tickling Y/n's sides as he nearly sung them. Y/n slapped his hands away and they both giggled. He calmed very quickly though. "I'm serious Y/n. I want everything with you. Fights and kisses and what we were doing earlier and this too. I swear." Y/n grinned before pulling him down. This kiss was just as deep and passionate as the others that had lead here, but much slower and sweeter as well. "We'll take it slow, just like we always do, okay?" Y/n nodded.

First, Embry took Y/n's shirt off. He did it slowly as promised, and asked permission before he went into any new territory. He started a the bottom of her stomach, pushing the shirt out of the way inch by inch as he kissed up and up and up until he was at her neck and the garment was gone. Next were her pants, in the same fashion. He kissed her hip then down her thigh, calf, and then ankle before her pants were gone as well. He took his own pants off more quickly, hovering over her again.

His fingers slipped under her bra strap, moving up and down along the material, the back of his hand skimming across the skin of her shoulder. He then moved to kissing her neck, shoulder, and then the top of her arm as he slipped off each strap. "I'm going to take this iff now okay?" She nodded eagerly. It had been sweet at first but now it was more teasing and Y/n was getting quite antsy.

The bra finally fell. Then finally Y/n's underwear, followed by Embry's.

He tried to keep communication going, but words were soon replaced by breathless moans and gasps. Hands were curling and pushing and pulling and the two teenagers were overcome by pure pleasure. It was just as intimate as everything else they did, but felt far more amazing.

After they both finished, they lay in bed for a while. He played with her hair and she made trails on his chest mirroring the ones he'd made on her arm when they were still in the living room.

"How was it?" He asked softly.

"Really good," she praised, grinning.

He paused and once again, Y/n felt nervousness. And anxiety that demanded her to realize he was trying to find a way to break up with her now that he;d gotten what he'd wanted. "How about we get dressed and then finish that movie? Can't imagine how my mom would react if she found us like this, but let me tell you it will be very bad." Y/n chuckled before agreeing and they both did just that. They were cuddled up on the couch when his mom came back, the credits rolling for a long time as they talked quietly about the best and worst parts of the movie and what they might wanna watch next.

"Hey guy," Mrs. Call greeted. The kids echoed her greeting. "You guys have fun?"

Embry and Y/n met eyes and tried not to laugh. "I think it was a fantastic night overall," Y/n answered. "We should do it more often." the girl reached up and booped Embry's nose. She grinned down at her.

Mrs. Call and Y/n exchanged goodnights before Embry took her home for the night. They held hands as he drove and Y/n felt her anxiety roll of her shoulders as music played on the radio and they took the familiar rode back to her house. He was still in love with her. Still her Embry.

And, most importantly, he was still there to see her and hang out in the morning.

-

Forever Tag: @bitchyseawitch @alexa-playafricabytoto @chipster-21 @captainxmikaelson @justanotherdaydreamersoul

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xix

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xix: messy hearts

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~11.2k  

Rating: Explicit; they bang it out. 

Warnings: mentions/depictions of murder-suicides(though none very graphic, only mentioned in passing and after the fact, if that changes anything). Unreliable narrators abound. I think that's all, but if there's anything I missed please let me know.

Notes: I'm going to keep these notes brief just because the chapter is quite a hefty one! We finally get some plot movement, a look into how Elliot got her mantra to Keep Going Anyway mantra, and boy howdy if you thought things were bad before just fucking wait.

I have so many people to thank and I just don't know how to express my gratitude. @shallow-gravy, you are a pure angel and I just adore you so much. Thank you for being so wonderful and for cheering my girl on always, no matter what! @lilwritingraven ilysm!!! You are so sweet and I just don't think this chapter would have happened without you.

And of course, absolutely none of this fic would be possible without @starcrier's unending love and support. The amount of MEMES, the amount of screenshots and meltdowns and in general just fuckery she puts up with nonstop is remarkable and I honestly believe that without her support we wouldn't have gotten where we are today!!!

I anticipate there is, perhaps, one or two chapters left of Ancient Names. Thank you everyone who has supported, even by a single like or kudos or comment; this community is so incredible and I am so so so grateful for every friend I have made. <3

The U.S. Marshal arrives ahead of schedule.

That is to say, nobody is ready for him. Everyone seems a little nervous. He’s familiar with the area—“Familiar enough,” Whitehorse says, and Elliot thinks she can sense a bit of disdain in his voice; people don’t take well to outsiders traipsing around like they own the place, and Cameron Burke certainly carries himself with an amount of confidence that might come off as arrogant.

“Hey,” he says, when she passes him in the hallway, “you’re the rookie, huh?”

She’s already tired of being called rookie—Rook is fine, she supposes, because she likes the way it makes her sound like the chess-piece, the bull-dozer, straightforward and brutal—but she nods, clearing her throat and holding out her hand. “Elliot.”

Burke shakes her hand. There’s a bright, easy grin on his face. “Yeah, I read about you, Honeysett,” he tells her, and for a second her stomach drops; the shame rises up in her throat like a second wave of exhaustion, but he plunges on, “you fuckin’ killed it at the Academy. Flying colors, everyone tells me.”

Relief floods her system. “Tried, anyway,” she says, unaccustomed to compliments regarding her work and more accustomed to dodging questions about why Whitehorse had to think twice about letting her on. “It was—I like the work. Of training, I mean. School. I’ve always liked school.” Fuck, she’s rambling and she can tell—she’s rambling because she’s nervous he’s going to ask, but Burke watches her for a moment.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says after a brief pause. “This place could use some new blood. Kinda dusty, don’tcha think?”

Elliot nods. It’s hard not to smile when he’s flashing his teeth boyishly, when he sticks a toothpick in his mouth and winks at her before he sets off. It is kind of dusty, in Hope County, she thinks—and she likes it, this little stretch and slice of home, but it does need new blood. Once they clear the cultists out, it’ll be like new; and then her life will really begin.

She’ll really start over.

Joey doesn’t like him much. “Sounds like a prick,” she says that night over takeout, her legs draped across Elliot’s lap.

“I like him,” she says, fishing her chopsticks around in Joey’s takeout box for a spare bite of broccoli. “He was... Nice. To me.”

“Oh?” Joey cocks a brow at her. “You had a little chat with our friend the U.S. Marshal?”

“Just in the hallway,” Elliot replies quickly, “on my way out today, I passed him. He said he read my file.”

Joey isn’t staring at her, but she doesn’t need to be for Elliot to know that she’s listening. She’s digging around in her noodles for something when she makes a low, quiet noise of inquisition, as though to say, is that so?, because she knows what that usually entails.

“He just mentioned I got good marks,” she murmurs after a moment. “At the Academy.”

“Well, you did,” Joey says. Elliot huffs out a short little laugh and smiles.

“I know. Just nice to be recognized for my greatness.” She crinkles her nose. “Whitehorse just kind of looks at me like he’s worried I’ll fire off.”

“Oh, Elliot! So strong, so smart, so fast, so capable of shooting a man on foot or by vehicle!” Joey wails dramatically. “Your hand in marriage, I beg it of thee!”

Elliot rolls her eyes and shoves Joey’s legs off of her lap, stretching and coming to a stand. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you.”

“Not before marriage, though,” her friend intones somberly. “Joseph “The Father” Seed wouldn’t have any pre-marital fucking in his domain.”

“I don’t think he’s as stiff on that as everyone thinks he is.” Elliot walks into the kitchen and uncorks the bottle of wine, pouring herself a new glass. “Aren’t cults supposed to be weird about that kind of thing?”

She can hear Joey scoff in the living room. “You’re going to be with us tomorrow. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Oh, great idea! ‘Hi, The Father? Do you fuck, or nah?’ He won’t be expecting that at all.”

“Perfect. See how Burke feels about that pro-strategy.”

Elliot laughs and settles herself back on the couch, holding the glass of wine in both of her hands; the fragrance of it swims in her head pleasantly. Tomorrow they take the U.S. Marshal down to the compound and finally root the Seeds out of here. For good.

She says lightly, “Anyway, I want to get tomorrow done as fast as possible.” A little sigh escapes her.

“Things will finally get back to normal.”

Burke’s hands are around her throat and he slams her up against the wall with a vicious noise.

And then he sees her—really sees her—and he drops his hands from her neck to grip her shoulders instead as he says, “Fucking Christ—Rook, I’m so sorry, fuck, I thought—”

Elliot coughs. Her lungs strain with each movement; every bone in her body feels bruised, and something slimy crawls up and down her spine when she thinks about the way Joseph leaned in close to her in the helicopter and said, no one is coming to save you.

“Burke,” she manages out, her voice hoarse, “they took Joey—they f-fucking—”

“This shit is all fucked,” Burke says. “I had no idea. We had—”

Everything in her is vibrating with a strange kind of hunger. It’s like she’s itching for something, but she can’t quite figure out what it is—movement, maybe, or a purpose, a task. It had been one thing to crawl her way out of the helicopter and start running blindly, but now she’s stationary, and in a trailer, and Joey is gone and she almost can’t think straight.

“Rookie,” Burke says firmly, but not unkindly, “with me.”

Her lashes flutter and she realizes she’s been zoning out. “Y—Yeah, I’m—here—I’m—”

And then she’s gasping, heaving for a lungful of air. All of a sudden, the ability to take a breath is gone. Her body’s normal functions have flown out the window. Her vision fuzzes around the edges and she thinks, fuck fuck fuck, don’t fucking do this, please, fuck, not right now, get it together.

No one is coming to save you.

Burke grabs her hand and plants it right on the side of his neck. His pulse beats—fast, but steady, in the complete opposite of the stuttering arrhythmia of her own heart. He’s breathing hard, but his eyes are clear and his movements assured.

“With me?” This time it’s a question, and she’s taking breaths at the same time he is so she nods.

“Yeah,” she replies, “yeah.”

“Good.” He pulls away from her and gestures for her to follow as he heads further in. “Check the room.”

She does. It’s empty. Eden’s Gate scripture decorates the walls, photos of the Seed family staring at her unflinchingly from behind glass panes of photo frames.

“Clear,” she reports, when she remembers to, and finds Burke standing in what appears to be the main living room of the trailer. The lines of his face are hard, unforgiving, and she can feel the urgency radiating off of him as he scrambles to pull together a plan.

“We’re gonna put these fucking psychos behind bars, Rook,” he says, pointing at a picture frame sporting a portrait taken of the Seeds. Elliot can’t stand to look at them. To think that she’d met John in a bar and—even considered—

“Every single one of them,” the Marshal reiterates as he rips the photo frame off of the wall and drops it on the floor, crushing the glass beneath his boot on his way over to the window. “We’re gonna—”

There are voices outside. Dread crawls up her spine; she can feel it latching on, sinking its teeth into her, gripping.

Burke shoves an automatic rifle in her hands.

“Eyes,” he barks out, back to business as he creeps toward the door of the trailer. “There’s a truck out there. You ready to fuckin’ rumble?”

She grips the cold metal. She wants to say, I don’t know if this is a good idea, because the edges of her are bleeding and blending in with everything else, and she’s having a hard time thinking about anything other than the texture of the carpet under her booted feet, but it helps to have something to hold onto.

Burke turns to her, crouched by the door, and his hand drops on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “we're gonna bolt for that truck and hope it starts. Cover me."

"There's hardly any ammo in this thing," Elliot tells him, a note of panic rising in her voice as more people can be heard gathering outside, shouting to check the trailer. "What happens when—"

"I told you, kid, I read up on you. I know you were that small-town, All-American girl hitting soft lobs in the batting cage once," Burke tells her. "You'll figure out a use for the gun if you run out. And Rook?”

Elliot waits, and grips the cold metal slowly going lukewarm under her hands, flicking the safety off. “Yeah?”

The Marshal gives her shoulder a squeeze. “The second you think you can’t anymore,” he says, “you dig and keep going anyway. No matter what. Give ‘em your teeth if you have to. Got it?”

She nods without thinking about it, because the words feel good—if you can’t, keep going anyway. Dig dig dig. It reminds her of a poem she had read once.

What do we do with grief? Lug it; lug it.

“Good.” Burke drops his hand from her shoulder and gets ready to push the door open. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

There’s not a lot of detail to recall of the next few moments. She’s aware of voices, and gunfire, and the rhythmic, steady movements that she falls into. Aim, fire, drop, reload, aim, fire, rinse and repeat, until the torturous drag of time has her hauling herself into the truck while bullets whizz and clink off of the metal. The second she’s sitting, and not moving, and not breathing, her muscles start screaming; pain blooms behind her eyes.

Burke sends the tires shrieking as he speeds down the highway. He says something, but it’s hard to hear over the rush of wind from the open window, over the shouts of voices and sounds of gunfire echoing in the still, dark night. Elliot falls into a rhythm again—lean, aim, fire, pull back, reload, and again and again—while the Marshal drives over barricades and nearly throws her out of the truck.

“Nice fuckin’ shot, kid!” he says over the noise, just as the sound of an airplane rattling above them makes him lean over the steering wheel as he drives. “Fucking—you’re telling me they have God damn air support? Fuck!”

“Burke,” Elliot says, because they’re rapidly approaching a bridge with a truck ahead of them and the airplane hasn’t let up, “Burke—the bridge—”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ see it,” he grits out, fingers gripping the wheel. “Hold on, Rook.”

He punches it. He’s going to try and get around the truck and across the bridge. But it’s not enough; the truck ahead of them swerves, stops him from being able to speed past and keeping them trapped.

Gunfire from the sky rains down on them. The bridge goes up in flames; the truck is plunged straight into the water; and for a second, Elliot thinks, oh, thank fucking God, I’m done.

But she’s not, unfortunately. As she holds her breath around the water she’d swallowed upon the impact, she struggles out through the open window of the truck and fights her way to the surface. Everything inside of her wants to quit—everything says, we could just close our eyes, we could just be done, and then she remembers.

The second you think you can’t go anymore, you dig and keep going anyway. No matter what.

Her hands find soil. She hauls herself out of the water, coughing, lungs straining for air. Her vision blurs black and fuzzes, fizzing and popping in and out of existence as she considers the logistics of letting herself die. Just for a second. She can die for a second, right?

“No! Get off me! I am a United States Federal Marshal!”

It’s Burke. She can see the glimmer of flashlights on a distant bank, closer to the bridge. The dull, wet impact of something against skin quiets him; as Elliot lays back against the bank with her eyes flickering shut, she feels fingers grip the front of her shirt and haul her upwards.

“My children...”

The voice drones out of speakers—the sound speckles in and out, crackling in her head, distant but sickening.

“S—” Her voice slurs as she tries to say something; she’s being carried, and she doesn’t know to where, or by who. “W—Wait—”

“We must give thanks to God. The day I have prophesied to you has arrived.”

Elliot tries to force her eyes open. She can’t. She can’t, and she’s going to let Burke down, because she can’t dig anymore. How is she supposed to dig if her nails are scraping the bottom of the barrel?

“Everything I’ve told you has come true... The authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of my Family... save for one.”

She’s going to be sick. She’s going to be sick, and she wants to die, and she thinks that fucking psycho is talking about her.

“But the Wayward Soul will be found. They will be punished...”

She can see stairs. Concrete stairs, as the man carrying her hauls her down, down down down. Vaguely, hazily, she thinks, belly of the beast, now? and she wonders if she will ever feel normal again. Her vision fuzzes black, but she’s not dead and she’s not asleep; it’s unfortunate.

“And in the end, they will see our glorious purpose.”

Metal clinks against metal. Cold from the concrete floor seeps through her soaked clothes. Elliot lifts her head lazily, feeling the tug and strain of handcuffs around her wrists, and when she opens her eyes she can see she’s—somewhere. Somewhere, and handcuffed to a bed, while an older man stands at the radio. Joseph’s voice rattled on through it.

“I am your Father. You are my Children. And together, we will march too—”

The man turns the radio off. The air hangs hazy around him with smoke; something burns in the ashtray, and she thinks, fuck, I’d kill for a goddamn cigarette right about now.

“You know what that shit means?” the man asks, turning to look at her. She blinks at him blearily, and when she doesn’t answer, he plants himself in a chair in front of her.

Joey, and maybe Pratt—Burke, Whitehorse? They’re all gone, or dead, or something somewhere, and now it feels less like this was her chance to really start over and more like a set of trials and tribulations to make her suffer.

Her gaze flickers to meet the man’s, and she shakes her head uncertainly. The words won’t come out, even if she thinks there’s even a chance she’d have the strength.

“It means the roads have all been closed.”

No one is coming to save you.

“It means the phone lines have been cut.”

What do we do with grief?

“It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley.”

Give ‘em your teeth if you have to.

Elliot feels her stomach churn violently, nauseated. She wishes this man would have left her to die—or sleep, or whatever it was her body had been trying to get her to do on that riverbank.

“But mostly,” he finishes, leaning in to look at her with a hard, flinty gaze, “it means we’re all fucked.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A loud knock at the door echoed in the dim, stinging heat of the bath. For a moment, she felt a jolt of instinctive fear pound through her body—where was she? Was she drowning again? Had she not made it out of the river, had she—

Burke, and Joseph, and Joey getting dragged away, and Dutch, and—

But then Elliot remembered: she was at her mother’s house, and she’d run herself a bath in the big clawfoot off from the master with a vodka soda, and John Seed was here, too, and her lungs burned because she’d been sitting under the water. The sharp, splintering pain in her chest was grief, the memory of Joey's laugh and smile freshly remembered.

Breaking the surface and steadying the breath that wanted to gasp out of her through her nose, Elliot pushed any stray bubbles from her face and eyes and waited again to see if the sound was real.

Another knock came. “El?” John called from outside the bathroom, and his voice hinged on something else—something strange and foreign, and it gave her a tiny little thrill through the pit of her stomach to know she was making him feel like that. She blinked a few times, straightening up in the bathtub as the now-lukewarm water splashed around her. It had been a long time since she’d fallen asleep like that, without sporting a metric fuckton of exhaustion for days. It was probably the alcohol.

“I’m here,” she replied, feeling hollowed out and trying not to let it show in her voice, “come in. What is it?”

The door clicked open. John glanced around curiously at the bathroom—her mother had never let her use this bathroom for anything, not even to get ready for a high school dance or her graduation, and she thought maybe that made the room all the more special—all of her mother’s glittering compacts and colored perfume bottles, carefully-maintained hanging plants, the big French windows and gauzy white curtains; they all spoke to a woman who had created for herself a safe space.

She only thought, I hate that she never let me enjoy this safe space, too.

“We should be going back soon,” he said lightly, crossing the marbled floor to drag the stool from the vanity up to the side of the tub. With one arm leaned up against the porcelain, he reached the other hand out and tilted her chin; like this, covered only by the rose-scented bubble bath foaming up around the hollow of her chest, she was sure that she looked gnarly—mottled with bruises the size of Kian’s fingerprints, all over her neck and shoulders and chest, dousing her in a faded red-wine color that made her skin prickle in faint pain when John traced the slope of her collarbone.

Kian was dead, but he was still there—lingering just below her skin, a bone-deep ache and grief that she would never be rid of because no matter how dead he was, Joey was much more dead.

“—you’re thinking about,” John murmured, his eyes flickering over her face, and she leaned back against the head of the tub.

“Come again?” Elliot reached out of the tub, snagging the half-drained glass of vodka soda and downing the rest of it with a grimace that only partially cleared out the fog of grief.

“I said,” he continued lightly, fingers smoothing over bruisy skin below her collarbone, “tell me what you’re thinking about.”

I’m thinking about Joey, and your fucking cultists dragging her out of the helicopter and taking her away from me. There was no venom in the passing voice as she closed her eyes, damp hair sticking to the nape of her neck and her mother’s bath oils filling up her senses; John was touching the spot he’d once threatened to mark her with her sin. Wrath.

I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Maybe just over your heart.

It wasn’t enough to wear it on her skin, anymore. It didn’t feel like enough, anyway. It was inside of her; a poison that she couldn’t sweat out, embedded in the sinew of her tissue now.

“I can hear those little gears turning, hellcat.”

“What do we have to do?” Elliot asked after a moment, opening her eyes, as John’s fingers traced the shape of a letter beneath her collarbone. W... R... A...

“Do?”

T...

“For the baptism,” she clarified, as the blunt drag of his nail finished the final touch of an H. “What do we have to do?”

John watched her for a moment, gaze flickering over the quickly-fading red marks he’d left on her sternum. She knew that look on his face—he was hungry for it, this thing he had been trying to get from her all along. Even after it all, he still itched to carve it out of her.

And maybe she did, too; maybe it would feel like a penance, a purging, a catharsis, a—

That’s how, she thought after a moment. That’s how they get people.

“We’ll cleanse you...” His voice trailed off and his eyes flickered back up to hers. “And then reveal your sin.”

“Cut it out of me,” Elliot supplied, exhaling a little out of her mouth.

John’s mouth twisted around a smile when her eyes traced the exposed Sloth scar she had memorized the feel of. “Real courage.”

She wondered, briefly, if it would feel the same as when she had done it before. The scar would certainly look different—no fine gossamer wisps, ghosting across her abdomen and hips and the inside of her thighs. Those were ghosts. This one—this scar John wanted to give her—would be a neon sign flashing over her head.

Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?

Could she have a life after this? Would it matter if she and John even left? Regardless of where they went—if they did—they would be a pair, matching in scars and matching in sin and matching matching matching until they were the same, just as much blood on her hands as there was on his.

“Then,” he continued, dipping his hand into the fragrant water before drawing it up across her bruise-mottled shoulder, “you’ll be clean.”

I liked it, she thought through the haze of alcohol and perfumed air, killing Kian. I liked it.

His fingers came up to her jaw, and he leaned against the edge of the porcelain tub and kissed her; long and luxurious, not punishing or bruising but drawn-out enough to elicit in her a pleasant, dull ache. 

“Okay,” Elliot murmured, speaking the words into his mouth, into his kiss.

John paused, but did not pull away. She could taste the dredges of what swallows he’d gotten of her drink in his breath. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” She reached up and dragged him the tiny distance back in for another kiss. “I want to.” She thought, if it’s what will convince Joseph, if it’s what’ll make it so I can leave, if it means you’ll go with me, if it means I won't have to be alone, but none of those words came. It had never been her strong suit, talking about her feelings.

John exhaled, like the acquiescence—the relenting—was enough to drive him to nirvana. She could feel his smile against her mouth.

“El,” he rumbled against her mouth, fingers skimming along the slope of her jaw, “I’m gonna give you everything you want.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Slow down.”

They’d only been driving through Fall’s End for about five minutes—not that it took too long; you could probably drive five minutes in just about any direction and hit the edge of town—when the blonde barked out the order. It was a strange juxtaposition, to have her biting out words like that when the smell of roses wafted off of her like a perfume, filling the cab from the oils in the bath.

Elliot’s voice was sharp when she spoke; her eyes were fixed on something out past her window, evening having sunk heavy and dark over the town of Fall’s End. It was a ghost town, now, but the urgency in her voice had him hitting the brake more fervently than he intended, and the truck lurched to stop.

“What is it?” John asked, and when he did Boomer growling low and angry behind him. He eyed the Heeler before he realized even the dog was looking elsewhere.

The blonde didn’t answer. She leaned forward instead, as though straining to see in the dark. Over her head, he could see the front of the Spread Eagle where they had been only a few days ago; now it was decorated with blossoms, and at its base sat two darkly-clothed figures. This far away, John couldn’t see if they were asleep or awake.

And then he did see. He saw the arterial spray against the dark wood, flickering under neon lights that buzzed in the stillness of the night; he saw the bouquet clutched between their hands; he saw the open, glassy eyes and slack jaws, and the glint of metal sitting on the ground beside each body.

Above them, written in dark, oxidized red-brown: WRATH, DO YOU WANT TO BLOOM IN ME?

“Sorry fucks,” Elliot said, her voice flinty and steeled as she leaned back into her seat. In the cab of the truck, the perfume of the bath oils radiated off of her in gentle waves, the heady, floral scent almost dizzying this concentrated and close. 

John let the truck roll forward a little, scanning warily; he didn’t see any dark shapes moving behind windows, or in the distant treeline, which was what actually worried him—the presence of more, live enemies, not the suicide love-birds.

But if it bothered Elliot, if it made her feel any type of way to see these dead bodies cradling life in one last embrace, he couldn’t see it on her face. He pressed on the accelerator and glanced at her expression through the corner of his eyes; there was a steeliness there. Not empty, not as though she had stopped processing, but as though she had, and it didn’t mean anything to her.

Good, he thought. That’s how it needs to be.

The rest of the drive back was quiet. There were an unsettling amount of coupled-bodies on the drive home—propped against trees and patches of highway railings or the occasional clifface, hands interlocked as they cradled blossoms, some more intricately decorated than others. But the basis of it was always the same: a couple, slumped and glassy-eyed. Some had the words written around them, some did not. It didn’t seem to hold any pattern that he could tell.

Elliot closed her eyes and drifted in and out of sleep until they got back to the compound, the flickering fluorescents stirring her awake. As they were pulling in, Jacob was getting a truck ready to go; it was late into the evening now, almost midnight, and a sting of apprehension skittered up John’s spine at the sight of his eldest brother loading a rifle into a truck.

As soon as she had opened the door, letting Boomer out first and then following suit, Elliot looked at Jacob and said, “Where are you going?”

“Not your fuckin’ business,” Jacob replied serenely.

“Everything,” Elliot said flatly, “is my business.”

“It’s cute that you care.” Jacob flashed her a half-cocked smile. “But don’t worry, deputy, I’m a big boy.”

John slid out from the driver’s seat, watching the exchange with some apprehension. But it seemed to fizzle and die out right then and there, like Jacob and Elliot had come to some silent truce about the matter without his intervention; Elliot rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath, heading for the bunkhouse without waiting for John.

Which was fine, because John lingered. He swung the truck keys around his finger and said, “So where are you going?”

Jacob glanced back at him over his shoulder. The redhead regarded John for a moment before he looked to make sure Elliot had closed the door behind her and said, “Couple of ours say they spotted Burke wandering around down by the Henbane.”

Oh, John thought, the words both giving him a jolt of excitement and a little of dread. Burke being missing was a problem, that was to be sure—but if they could find him? Get rid of him without ever bringing him back into contact with Elliot? The less time for conspirators to put silly ideas in her head about getting out and moving on from Hope County, the easier it was going to be to convince her of what a bad idea that was in the end.

“You’re going to go get him?” John prompted.

“Yep,” Jacob drawled, “dead or alive.”

“Preferably dead.”

The corners of Jacob’s mouth ticked upward, and he flashed his teeth. “That a request, little brother?”

Stifling his own smile, John replied lightly, “I just think it’ll solve a lot of problems if the Marshal becomes permanently lost. And if it makes my job a little easier in the process, then—”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jacob interrupted, waving his hand. I’ll see what I can do was about as good as an anything you want if it was coming from Jacob, John knew; so when he said that, and clapped John on the shoulder as he passed, it felt like an assurance more than a cautionary ‘maybe’.

John nodded, and then said, “We saw the Family.”

His eldest brother paused in his movements, and then hauled himself into the truck, looking at John expectantly.

“They’re killing themselves,” he elaborated. “At least the ones we saw. You’ll probably…”

John’s voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat and said, “It’ll be hard to miss them.”

Jacob gave one short, brief nod, slamming the door of the truck and starting it with a rattling rumble. “Sorry fucks,” he said, his words unintentionally mirroring Elliot’s words, and it was all John could do not to tell him he sounded exactly like her.

John headed for the chapel, moving with a new and reinvigorated purpose. For once—finally—things were beginning to fall into place. With Burke out of the picture, the last of the resistance having evacuated Hope County, and Elliot’s agreement to the baptism, he thought this could only indicate smooth sailing from here on out.

Well, mostly smooth. There was still the matter of their marriage, which Elliot didn’t know about—and it was a big deal, probably, for her to know that her last name was changed. As far as the law would be concerned, however, everything would check out and be perfectly binding, and when he told her she would understand that he had done it for them, that he had done it because they needed that extra measure of protection in the instance that—

Don’t, he thought to himself, pushing the door open. We are not considering the idea that the End isn’t coming.

“John,” Joseph greeted him, sounding surprised. It looked like he had just been walking towards the doors himself to leave. His brother's gaze flickered over him inquisitively. “It’s late.”

“Elliot wants to do the baptism,” he said, trying to quell his delight at the gentle lifting of Joseph’s brows at the news. “I’ll do it as soon as you want, Joseph.”

The man paused. He seemed to roll the announcement around in his head for a while, the white leather-bound bible tucked under his arm as his eyes flickered absently over the wooden flooring.

“She’s agreed to it,” John tried again. “To the—”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, “I understand.”

Another moment of silence stretched. John kept waiting for it—the happiness, the pride that Joseph should feel at him having accomplished this last great feat. Anything, John thought, I’d take anything, if you just gave me something to work with.

“Tomorrow,” he said finally, and reached out, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He squeezed, and a bit of relief flooded John’s system. “You baptize our deputy tomorrow—”

My deputy.

“—and then we will prepare to retreat for the End,” he finished. “Yes?”

John nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Joseph regarded him for a moment, and then, at last, a little smile quirked the edges of his lips. “You’ve done well, John.”

He felt his shoulders sag a little in relief. “Thank you,” he said, “Joseph, I—”

“And I will forgive you the transgression of your lust,” Joseph continued mildly, “as you will make sure that Elliot joins us completely and wholly. Isn’t that right?”

The dread returned. Just a little; it was how Joseph operated the most effectively. Tiny, light dosings of dread, just to remind you who was in control, who it was that ran things around here. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve already,” John began, “confessed to those which—”

Joseph’s hand came to the back of his neck. “You have been fixated on our deputy since the moment she started taking things from us. You can re-commit an offense,” he said, his words echoing Jacob’s, and for a moment John felt a spike of anger—that they had been talking about him when he wasn’t around. “You’re not so wrathful as to go to such lengths to bring her to heel for that alone. And even if you were,” Joseph added, “it wouldn’t matter, as you had already given in to your sin.”

“She’s my wife,” John insisted, and his words were coming out angrier than he wanted; as always, Joseph could slide right under his skin like it was nothing, like it was second nature to him. 

“A fact she remains, as of yet, unaware of. Regardless, you lusted after her far before that, and acted on it before then, as well. I’ve let it go because of our unusual circumstances, but you understand,” his brother replied, his words a blunt-force-trauma slap to John’s exhausted brain. A moment of silence stretched between them as John worked the words around in his mouth—I actually don’t understand, nothing about that changed how I treated her in my care, I did everything you asked of me and I shouldn’t have to pay—but Joseph said, “At any rate, all will be forgiven once we are awaiting the End." And then, pointedly, "All of us.”

John swallowed. He opened his mouth to say something, any of the thoughts running around in his brain, but Joseph dropped his hand and brushed past him, humming lightly under his breath.

“Goodnight, John.”

He stood there for a little while longer after Joseph had left, turning the words around in his brain. Once again, he felt very far away from Joseph; but all this time, he had been working hard to do exactly what his brother had asked of him. Elliot might have already been converted to their cause if he’d been allowed to break her in the way he’d wanted to before. But it was Joseph who had insisted on a more merciful route, Joseph who had reiterated step by step that to do so by mercy was the way it needed to be done for the deputy.

And now, it was Joseph criticizing the steps he’d taken, in adverse conditions, to give him what he wanted.

John pushed the troubling thoughts out of his brain. Another place, another time, he might wallow on them a little more—perhaps a time when he could drink his way through them, come back to reconciliation about the fear that Joseph somehow managed to strike in him with ease, deal with it then.

When he finally walked himself to the bunkhouse, he found Elliot sitting with Faith outside the door, smoking a cigarette while they exchanged quiet words. Faith flashed a radiant smile at John as he approached, her eyes glimmering playfully.

“Ladies,” John greeted, trying to shake his last conversation with Joseph. “Nice evening for an outside chat?”

“Fucking cold,” Elliot replied, taking a drag of her cigarette and blowing the smoke out and away from Faith.

“I was just telling El how happy I am that she’s here,” Faith told him, coming to a stand. Her very casual and nonchalant use of the nickname El was enough to spike a little suspicion in John, but when she spoke, Elliot’s eyes flickered like she was trying not to smile, like the words meant something to her and she was trying to remain stoic.

Elliot said, not remarking on the nickname and tapping the ash from the end of her cigarette, “That’s two out of four siblings that like me. Think I can go for a full house?”

Three, John thought absently, but he didn’t say; the words would have shredded his mouth on the way out.

“Well,” his sister continued lightly, “I’m exhausted. Goodnight, you two.”

“Night,” John replied, keeping his voice idle as she left. He extended a hand down to Elliot, and she took it, hauling herself to her feet; he snagged the cigarette out of her hand and said, “Speaking of sleep, how about we don’t cram it on that twin bunk tonight?”

Elliot watched him smoke her cigarette down, her gaze flickering back up to his. “It’s cute how you think I’m just automatically going to let you sleep with me all the time.”

“It’s cute how you act like you don’t like it,” he replied, pitching his voice low, “especially when we aren’t sleeping in bed.”

She took her cigarette back, finishing it and dropping it to the ground to stamp it out with her shoe. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind not having you breathing down my neck all night.”

“Oh? You suppose?”

“I’m losing the motivation to continue this conversation,” Elliot cautioned in a murmur, even as he leaned in and kissed her, his hand instinctively coming up to the back of her neck to keep her there. She didn’t pull away, or even try to; instead, after he’d kissed her breathless, she continued, “Are you going to take me or what, Slick?”

He laughed, the sound billowing out of his mouth at her little country-drawl come peeking through.

You will baptize our deputy tomorrow.

His fingers curling into the semi-dry hair at the nape of her neck, and he kissed her again—harder, now, open-mouthed and hungry, until he could feel her fingers knotting into the front of his shirt.

“Tomorrow,” he said into the kiss, “tomorrow we’ll do it. A new cleansing, revealing your sin.”

“Fast,” she murmured.

“So Joseph has decreed.”

Elliot pulled back to look at him; he wanted to lean in, chase her mouth with another kiss, but she said, “Do you always do what your brother says? I thought pre-marital fucking was a big no.”

The words twisted hot and traitorous in his stomach. He wanted to say, technically, we’ve only done that once, but he knew better. After her little display back at her mother’s house, he knew better.

He swallowed back the venom and said, carefully articulating his words, “If we could refrain from ruining a perfectly good moment—”

“By talking,” Elliot deadpanned.

“By criticizing,” he clarified, “that would be wonderful.”

She regarded him amusedly, one brow arching upward loftily. She was clearly thinking about something, working it around in her brain in a place that he couldn’t reach—still, parts of her remained locked away from him, parts of her that he desperately wanted to get his hands on and hadn’t yet.

“Well,” she relented at last, “I’d hate to ruin a moment. Show me where this luxurious bed is, huh?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot could tell that her acquiescence unsettled John. She could tell that he had been expecting more of a fight out of her; she was so tired of fighting, though. She was so tired, and she was so worn out, and sometimes she could feel her brain switching off in the middle of something happening, like a greater cosmic power was consistently turning her Do Not Disturb sign on.

She’d feel better in the morning, maybe. It helped that she hadn’t looked at the photos littering her mother’s house for too long, and that she’d drank through most of her time there to keep the memories at bay. Elliot didn’t want to linger on thoughts of running barefoot through the house, shrieking with laughter as her mother called out for her to slow down; she didn’t want to think about how many times she and Joey had curled up on the same couch that John Seed had kissed her on, eating lemon bars and flipping through teen magazines while her mother drank and hummed in the kitchen.

There were good memories there. There were memories of a time when Elliot felt like the entire world was within her reach—she could go anywhere, be anything, become anyone she wanted back then.

Things had changed.

She had changed. And even though John’s promise wavered, even though it still lingered in her chest uncertainly like a beast of its own, she thought maybe he meant it. She had seen the tension between John and Joseph as of late. Something about their interactions was waning thin, worried and worn between them, and that meant that when John said he wanted those things with her—a home, a life—that maybe she could trust him.

Isn’t that a pretty thought? A wicked part of her intoned, vicious. The man who’s lied and lied and lied to you, being truthful for the first time.

But she was tired, and she was different, and being different took work and energy and she didn’t want to think about that. What else could she think, anyway? She could operate off of nothing else.

Admittedly, not trying to fit both of their bodies on a twin bed was doing wonders for her mood. John had led her to another small building within the compound; it was laid out much like the other bunkhouse had been, with a bathroom and a small table, but the bed was queen-sized and pushed up against the far wall, tucked into a corner. With Boomer having taken off with his nose to the ground—likely chasing a scent—Elliot had stripped out of her jeans and crawled into the bed with a laborious sigh that only partially revealed the relief she felt.

“I have never,” John said amusedly as she pulled the blankets up, “seen you more relaxed.”

“You did interfere with my life at an inopportune time. My bed is king-sized at home, you know; nothing like sleeping diagonally on a giant bed.”

He laughed; as he shed his own clothes—his belt, jeans, shirt—he watched her like he was trying to figure out why it was she had become so agreeable and so quickly, why she hadn’t picked another fight with him.

Blissfully, he didn’t ask. John crawled into the bed next to her, and already he was reaching to wind his arm around her waist; when he pulled her close to him, she felt that pleasant little coil of dopamine hit her brain, and she thought, what a time, that John’s hands on me make it feel like I’m not drifting away.

She thought to say it, for just a moment; she thought maybe she could give John that, because she’d been taking and taking and taking and she didn’t think she was giving him anything. 

The words didn’t come so easily to her, so instead of saying them, Elliot reached up and dragged him down to kiss him. I’m gonna give you everything you want, he’d said, and just remembering those words made her feel too-warm. She’d never, ever had anyone devoted to her—not like this, not in the way that John was, dragging his mouth reverently down her neck and sliding his hand along the back of her thigh.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” John said, murmuring the words into the skin of her neck. His mouth skimmed lower, dragging down her sternum; his hands pushed up the hem of her tank top and she felt the slick, hot flicker of his tongue against the part of her that she knew was scarred, ghosting and intent.

“Can’t,” she managed out, trying to steady her breathing, “when you’re—”

“You can.” He nudged her legs apart, glancing up at her inquisitively, the blankets dragging down with him. “Tell me.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, open-mouthed, and she felt her breath shallow a little.

“I’m thinking about—what you said, back at the house,” she managed out, as John’s breath fanned across her skin.

John’s eyes fixed on hers again. His fingers skimmed beneath the hem of her underwear; he was waiting for her to tell him to stop. When she didn’t, he tugged the fabric down, sliding it completely out of the way and discarding it somewhere on the floor.

The apprehension curled up, high and hot, in her throat. Still, forced herself to relax, to think about John’s hands gripping her hips and his eyes and his mouth and—

“When you said,” Elliot continued, “you’re going to give me everything I want, and that you wanted—”

He pressed his mouth to her; she felt the sound he made into the gesture, her vibrating straight through her and short-circuiting her brain. Instinctively, her fingers went to his hair and knotted. She didn’t know if she was trying to ground herself again or if she was trying to keep John there, but the intention didn’t matter—as soon as she pulled, even a little, she felt John’s tongue slide sly and wicked against her and she moaned without thinking about it, the sound as involuntary as breathing.

It felt too raw, too vulnerable, and she tried to think is this too much? Am I feeling too much right now?, but the pervasive thought in her brain was: yes yes yes, this is what we need, this is what we want. To be loved, to be touched, to be worshipped.

“Can't get enough of you.” John's voice was rich and dark against her skin. “So sweet for me, hellcat.”

“John, we—you don’t—” Elliot started breathlessly, but the words were strangled in her throat by a half-sighed whimper when John’s mouth returned to where he wanted her the most and he groaned, like he was starved for her, like he could barely stand the thought of not having his mouth on her right that instant.

“Fuck, I wanted this so bad,” he murmured huskily, reverent as he planted kisses along the slope of her hip. “Wanted those sounds you make, and the way you’re looking at me—knew you’d make the prettiest fucking noises when I got my mouth on you—”

Another desperate sound came out of her, just loud enough that John's response was to drag his teeth along the dip and curve of her hip bone. He sighed dreamily and leaned in to flatten his tongue against the neediest part of her; the gesture served only to make Elliot moan and squirm, and her hips instinctively arched upward to try and garner some friction—any friction—but John's hands held her down against the bed.

“Love when you’re desperate for me,” he rumbled against her, breathing the words against her skin and making her breath stutter out of her in an uneven exhale. He pressed his mouth back down, tongue flicking and dragging wet, hot pleasure against her, his gaze half-lidded and not once straying from Elliot’s. 

It was almost too much, the whole lot of it; John, saying filthy things against her while he ate her out, his eyes hungry and his mouth hungrier and the way that he dug his fingers into her hips and—

“F-Fucking—tease,” she managed out, but he shook his head, rumbling against her and drawing another spiral of heat straight into her stomach, sharp and unforgiving.

“Don’t you like it when I take my time with you? You certainly seem like you’re enjoying yourself.” He hooked his arms underneath her legs and tugged her down against him. She squirmed, her lashes fluttering when he let his breath fan across her. “Thinking about how I promised you whatever you wanted. Are you going to tell me, then? What you want?”

Elliot could tell that he loved saying that, I’ll give you whatever you want, because he knew what it did to her; that it thrilled her, this shred of power that he gave her, offered to her. John dragged his tongue against her, his gaze heated and nearly blown-black with want, and stayed exactly there between her legs.

“John,” Elliot moaned, “I—want you to fuck me—” And then, in an effort to feel a little like she was in control: “Please.”

The word had its desired effect; she could feel the tension radiating off of him, straining against his carefully-manicured veneer of being in charge. And then John groaned at her words, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as though her words were enough to make him need a moment before he opened them again. He pulled back from her, sitting up so that he could press his fingers into her, and fuck if it didn’t make all the more delicious to have John watching her while he did.

He said, his voice hoarse with want, “El, you’re so fucking—God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this—asking so nicely for me—”

“Fuck me,” Elliot insisted, her voice verging dangerously close to a wail as he changed the pace of his fingers very little. She thought if John kept looking at her like that, if he kept saying those things, she might finish just like this—and she didn’t want to. “Stop teasing me and f—fuck me like I know you want to—like we both want—”

It was enough. Or maybe it was the thing John had been waiting to hear from her, because it prompted him to shed what little clothing remained between them and sidle back between her legs. Reaching down to cradle her face with his hand as he kissed her, she could taste herself on his mouth; she could feel the heady, intoxicating drag of him against her and God he was taking his fucking time. 

“Want this to last,” he moaned, burying his face into her neck, “fuck, so good for me, baby, so wet already and I just can’t fucking… Can’t fucking get my fill of you.”

Elliot keened her agreement breathlessly. Yes, she wanted to say, yes, I’m so good for you, now please hurry up and fuck me, the thought driving a wedge of heat straight down her spine. As soon as John slid inside of her, he was panting into her skin, biting out swears as he tried to keep himself from snapping into her.

“J-John,” she whimpered. Her brain felt muggy, hazy with want; like she wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else except for him, and that was exactly what she wanted. Not to think. “So—feels so good—”

“Yeah,” he gritted out, moving slowly, too slowly, “fuck yeah, this is what you needed, huh? Needed me to fuck you like this—nice and slow, make you feel me every—single—time—I—”

It felt good to give him this. She hadn’t lied, when she’d said that before—that she liked giving him what he wanted, that it made her feel in-control and desired and loved and maybe that was the worst part of it all, that her brain might have been making those things up as a way to justify this. But it didn’t matter in that moment; all she could think about was the feeling of him rocking into her, hips slotted perfectly against hers and his mouth on her neck and the faded scent of his cologne mixing with the floral scent of her own remaining perfume.

Elliot sighed, “Yes, John,” in agreement, and pulled him up for a kiss; his movements hitched just a little, the delicious drag of the uneven pacing almost sending her right over the edge. So close so close, her body said, so she knotted her fingers into his hair tight and said it again; “Yes, yes, yes,” against his mouth, moaning it, until John was grinding out swear between his teeth.

“Not yet,” the brunette moaned, almost frantic with desire. “I want you to come, I want to feel you get fucking wet for me, baby—”

She knew that she could make him beg, that she could make him come undone if she really wanted to. But for this moment, Elliot thought she liked this; she liked letting him take control, liked squirming and shifting underneath him until each cant of his hips against hers had sparks of pleasure flickering behind her eyes.

John’s mouth went to her neck. His teeth dragged, and then he bit down harder than he had before; the pain bloomed wet and hot, and she moaned, her lashes fluttering as it sent her sprinting sprinting sprinting right over that edge.

“Yes,” he ground out, “yes, fuck yes, so fucking good for me, El, s-so—good.”

Elliot kissed him hard when he came, his fingers reigniting old bruises on her hips and her own high still cruising, careening prettily down; the surrender was almost better, the act of giving in and giving John what he wanted nearly as intoxicating as the idea that he was hers.

Mine, she thought dreamily as he dragged his tongue over the bite mark on her neck, the word one that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her but which hadn’t occurred to her in this context before. For that suspended moment in time, nothing else could matter to her; there was no space in her brain to worry about anything except the weight of his body against hers and the wicked, delicious aftershocks radiating throughout her body.

All she could think about was how nice it felt to not be so alone.

It feels good for him to be mine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When he awoke the next morning, there were three soft knocks at the door. John blinked, forcing himself to work through the tired haze of his mind, sitting up and reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed and—

And of Elliot, curled up against him, stirring from her sleep.

“John?” It was Faith, mild-tempered and shy; like she knew exactly what she was going to find if she opened the door and she was trying not to let him know. It wasn’t that it bothered her; it was that Faith was exceptionally good at keeping herself in-check, so any time her tone deviated from serene was a red flag.

“I’m awake,” he called back, and even he could hear how hoarse his voice was coming out of him, rough with sleep.

There was a pause, and then Faith said sweetly, “Joseph says we need to begin soon.”

The blonde beside him rolled onto her other side, hauling the blankets up to her chin. “Fuck off.”

“We’ll be ready in thirty,” John called back.

“He said that he wants me to get Elliot ready,” she continued, and there it was; that sly little curl in her voice, the one that reminded him exactly of why it was Joseph kept her around. 

John passed a hand over his face tiredly, rubbing his eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat and climbed out of bed. “Sure, alright, Faith, just—give me a minute—”

“Take your time.”

The implication hung there—that she would politely wait until he was done getting dressed, but that she wouldn’t be leaving to wait, so that anything he wanted to say to Elliot was going to have to be saved for later. Haphazardly pulling some clean clothes out of the dresser and onto his body, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Elliot sitting up in bed; she cradled the blanket against her chest and blinked tiredly at him.

“It’s time,” John said. “For the—”

“Yeah, I heard.” Elliot carded her fingers through her hair and slid out from under the blankets. Like this—in various arrays of undress—John could see the purpled bruising along her sternum and neck and shoulder, a few of them on her legs, beginning to fade into a wine color and even lighter still around the edges.

I’ll have to be careful when I’m writing her sin, he thought absently as he buttoned his shirt. As Elliot muddled her way through pulling on last night’s clothes, he closed the distance between them and reached for her; she let him, though maybe only because she was still half-asleep, with the daylight still fresh and new and the outside mostly still dark.

John cradled her face and leaned down to kiss her. “You and me,” he said against her mouth, “right, hellcat?”

It’s not a lie, he reasoned when she kissed him back. It’s not a lie to say that.

“You and me,” Elliot agreed. Her voice sounded thick, like he’d said the exact thing she wanted to hear and it had caught her off guard, and he felt a little thrill of victory in his chest.

Once she was mostly-dressed, he made his way to the door and nudged it open. True to her word, Faith had waited patiently; a swath of dark fabric was draped over her arm, silken, and as she stepped past John she said, “Okay, John, girls only now.”

Obediently, he stepped out of the building, turning and looking at Elliot over his shoulder. The eye contact only lasted for a minute before Faith beamed at him and shut the door. Inside, he could hear Faith saying something to Elliot; making out the words, however, was near impossible.

“Right,” he said under his breath. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

It was the first time he’d said it to himself, in a long time, and it felt true.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“It’s so fucking cold,” Elliot said, shivering. The silk slip of a dress that Faith had told her she needed to wear for the “baptism” barely did anything against the early-morning chill. Dawn had nearly crept all the way over the distant mountains, and as they picked their way down to the water, she wished they’d just let her wear the clothes that she had brought. Naturally, Eden’s Gate—and Joseph, by proxy—were completely incapable of doing anything reasonably.

“I know,” Faith replied sympathetically, their fingers intertwined as they picked their way down the path. “But at least it’s only for a little while. In and out of the water, and then you can change again.” And then, as though it were meant to comfort her, she added, “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot grimaced. Blue was John’s color. “Yeah,” she agreed dryly, “it matches well with my bruises, don’t you think?”

The woman laughed, giving her hand a little squeeze, and for a brief second in time Elliot felt a twinge of regret. There wasn’t too much time to think about it; by the time she was opening her mouth to apologize—an action which Faith seemed to elicit in her quite easily, when overall apologizing was not something that came so naturally to her—they had broken the treeline and all thoughts went sweeping out of her brain.

Joseph stood at the edge of the shore, but she barely thought of him; she barely thought of anything except for John, standing nearly waist-deep in the water, the Book of Joseph held open in one hand and his eyes fixed on her. It sent a little flurry of aches through her, reminding her that once, what felt like a thousand years ago, she had wanted to kill him. Spit in his face. Leave her mark on him and throw his entire fucking family behind bars.

But maybe Joseph had been right, when he asked if she really thought she was going to be accepted by the people she had done all of this to protect.

John's gaze swept over her as they came near; a grin split his face, and with his empty hand he reached for her. She was vaguely aware of Joseph saying something, light and tranquil, but the words didn't register in her brain. She was only barely aware of Faith letting go of her. With that same hand, she took John’s outstretched one, and he tugged lightly, guiding her into the chilly Autumnal waters; where it barely reached John’s waist, the water just crested above her belly button, and she felt the goosebumps spreading.

John cleared his throat. His eyes swept over the page in the book, before he closed it and held it out for Joseph. When the man took it, standing just at the edge of the water, he turned back to Elliot and murmured, low and barely above the sound of the water lapping around them, “You and me?”

Her stomach twisted and lurched uncomfortably, but she nodded. She’d had barely an opportunity to reconcile this moment with herself. She thought, maybe, if she made it a rebirth for herself—if she let Joseph think that it was for him, but in her mind and in the marrow of her bones it was for her, that would be what mattered. But it was hard to think that way when John started reciting the words from the book, words that sparked in her memories of the last time this had been happening.

Hands, gripping her shirt, plunging her under the water over and over and over again. The “scripture” bleeding into her head, into her heart, muffled occasionally by the water. John’s voice, slick with venom, when he said, “This one’s not clean.”

When John finished speaking, he reached up; still stuck in the waking nightmare-memory, Elliot’s hand reached up to grip his arm where the sleeve had been rolled up. 

John, plunging her under the water. Holding her. Dark dark dark, and her voice rolling the word weak around as she fought for air and struggled to break the surface—

But now, his hands cradled against the pillar of her neck; now, he looked at her reverently, like she was something to be worshipped.

“Here,” the brunette said, his voice low and soft, and somewhere in the back of her mind his words overlapped with a memory that at once felt both too sharp and too foggy to recall; “with me.”

“Okay,” she whispered. He smoothed his hand along her back, between her shoulder blades, and then pulled her under.

It took every ounce of her self-control not to fight it. Every fucking ounce of it, and she still caught herself tensing like she was ready to. John kept her there, one hand between her shoulders and one hand on her sternum, the light pressure digging a little into the remaining bruises.

And he kept her there. And kept her there. And—

Above the water, somewhere out there, she heard the sound of John saying something; more voices echoed back, more than just Joseph and Faith. He pulled her up out of the water abruptly; the sudden movement had her gasping for air, her nails digging into his forearm, and she thought, he was going to let me, he was going to let me fucking drown, I—

“I’ve got you,” John said, steadying her; certainly he could feel the rapid pulse of her heart. There was something strange about his tone—it was hard, tense and tight, and she saw it in his face, too.

Shivering ferociously, Elliot kept her hand gripping his arm. She started, “John, why did you—”

“Rookie?”

The familiar voice had her head jerking back to the shoreline. There were more people there, now. There was Joseph with Faith beside him, and just at the edge of the water and staring at her, was Cameron Burke.

Behind him, Jacob flashed his teeth in a wolfish grin.

“See?” Jacob said, slapping his hand onto Burke's back like an old friend playing too rough. “Told you she was just fine.”

The Marshal’s hands and feet were unbound, but he swayed on his feet, and Elliot saw that his pupils were blown wide and dark—he reeked of a sickly-sweet floral scent that felt familiar, tingled somewhere in the back of her mind—

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t think about any of that; her brain felt like its competency had been completely reduced, that the strain of focusing on more than one thing at a time had become too much. And here, now, Burke was staring at her, and when he said it again—when he said, “Rook, is that you?”—his voice broke, hoarse and wretched.

“B—” Elliot’s throat closed tight. The air had been sucked out of her lungs; she felt the ache in her chest bloom fresh and hot and new, and it was grief—grief and shame, reopening old wounds that she had hoped would be long-since healed over.

With me? Burke’s pulse, steadfast and firm, under her fingertips. 

The man’s expression crumpled. She let go of John’s arm and went to wade through the water; his hand caught her elbow and held her fast.

When she looked back at him, his expression was unreadable. He said, “El,” but that was all he said, and she heard the strain of something close to desperation in his voice. Don’t, it said, without saying it at all. Don’t do this.

With her teeth chattering and a violent spike of anger racing through her, Elliot jerked her arm out of his grip and stumbled her way up onto the bank; Burke reached for her almost immediately, catching her arms and pulling her up out of the frigid water and to him. His body felt feverishly hot, even though the cotton of his shirt, his vest long-since discarded.

You dig and keep going anyway. No matter what.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he managed out as he gripped her, and she felt his eyes sweeping over the exposed bruising, like war paint on her skin.

“Burke,” Elliot said, her voice breaking, and oh, she thought, oh, there it is; the release, the catharsis, because she was crying at the overwhelming sense of shame and relief in equal amounts at the sight of the man who had walked her through her first real firefight; big, gasping, grieving sobs, hiccuping in her chest violently because she kept thinking about Burke—she kept thinking about him grabbing her hand and saying, we’re getting out of here, and how he was here now. Now that she was—

This.

“God, what the fuck did they do to you?” Burke asked, his voice barely breaking the sound-barrier of a whisper. He pulled her forward, closer, protectively. “I’m so—I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I—”

“Found him wandering out by the old prison,” Jacob explained, presumably to the others and not to her, “having a nice little trip. Weren’t you, Burke?”

The shame washed up in her again, a nauseating cocktail that reminded her of all the things she had done. All of the awful things she had done, while Burke was out there, alone, wandering and confused and tripping on Bliss overloads and now he was here. Now he was here, and she kept thinking, what have I done?

“Hey,” Burke said against the top of her hair as she clutched at him, “I got you, Rook, I’m sorry, I’m here.”

I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm ruined now.

“Well,” Joseph said, his voice tightly-controlled and forcibly serene, “I suppose we should give the deputy and her Marshal a moment to catch up, shouldn’t we?”

[addierose444]

Microsoft Return Offer: Explorer to SWE Intern

I’m excited to announce that I’ll be returning to Microsoft next summer as a software engineering intern! Read on to learn about my specific product team! (If you missed my recent post about my experience as a remote Microsoft Explorer Intern click here). It’s so crazy to already have summer 2022 plans as I haven’t even started my next year of school yet. This year, I didn’t have my summer plans until March which at the time felt sort of early. 

I’ve known all summer that I would likely know by the start of the school year if I’d be returning. This is because return offer decisions are communicated during the final week of the internship. Furthermore, after getting an official offer, you are typically given only two weeks to decide. However, I was actually given a deadline of November 1st as Smith strongly encourages employers to give students until then to commit to a full-time job or internship offer. It is worth noting that Microsoft honored Smith’s policy even though I’d been unaware of it. In fact, my first reaction was that my recruiter had made a mistake. I knew that such policies existed at other schools but had been unable to find one for Smith the last time I’d looked. You can read the full policy here. Even though things worked out for me, it is advisable to proactively let your recruiter know about the policy.

It initially sounded crazy to have so little time to decide but to be honest I’ve had the intention to return for quite a few weeks now. For me, returning to Microsoft makes a lot of sense because it’s been an incredible place to work. Even at the midpoint (before diving into the more technical side), I was leaning towards returning to Microsoft. The easy part was knowing that if I want to do software engineering that Microsoft is where I want to be. The harder part was determining if software engineering is the right career path or whether I should do something that’s a bit closer to the hardware. Even if I ultimately decide not to pursue software engineering as a career, I know that it will be an incredible learning opportunity and that I’ll meet even more great people. Furthermore, it’s a solid line on my résumé. Speaking of résumés, click here to check out the résumé that got me the initial interview at Microsoft. For now, my plan is to continue learning new skills and generally keep my options open. My current post-college vision is that I’ll either go straight into a software engineering role or attend graduate school for something like robotics. 

As an Explorer Intern, the default return offer is a software engineering internship with your current team. While return offers aren’t guaranteed, they aren’t as elusive as they may seem. What you need to remember is that companies like Microsoft invest in their interns as a key part of their recruiting efforts. Of the ten interns with whom I share a recruiter, eight of them received return offers. Returning to your current team doesn’t necessarily mean or guarantee the exact team. Rather, your offer is held at the product group level. Explorer Interns also have the opportunity to change teams or disciplines. The discipline change would be to a program management internship which requires an additional interview. The exact skills that make a great program manager are a bit different from those that make a great software engineer. The other reality is that teams need fewer program managers than they need software engineers. Program management is interesting and I could potentially see moving to the role farther into my career. However, for now, the more technical aspects of software engineering are much more exciting. Furthermore, the experience gained as a software engineer can be applied to both engineering and non-engineering roles. Since program managers typically don’t write code, the reverse transition is significantly more difficult. To change teams, there is a more informal process of meeting with the manager of the new team and making sure your skills and interests align. The other key factor is headcount which is basically whether they have the budget, need, and interest in taking on an intern. To successfully complete a team or discipline change, you must also perform well on your current team and be recommenced for a return offer by your manager. 

Even though I’ve loved my current team, I ultimately decided to request a team change. I’m excited to announce that next summer I will be a software engineering intern on the OneNote Team. Long-time readers of my blog will know that I absolutely love OneNote. (To read some of my past posts about how I use OneNote, click here. In the future, I plan to write more in-depth guides to how I use it as a student). Moving over to OneNote from my current team isn’t a giant leap as I get to stay within MMX (Microsoft Mobile & X-Device Experiences). This actually almost created a problem for me, as I’d heard incorrect information that return offers were at the CVP (corporate vice president) level, and thus concluded that moving over to OneNote wouldn’t be considered an official team change. The decision wasn’t easy, but in the end, being able to work on a product like OneNote is why I was interested in working for Microsoft in the first place. Furthermore, I love the product, the core market it currently serves, and am invested in its modernization and growth. 

Throughout the internship, my manager knew that OneNote is my favorite Microsoft product and about my interests in the more technical side of things. He made it clear early on that he’d be happy to have me return to his team but also encouraged me to explore other teams and offered to help make those connections. With his help (and one of his contacts), I was able to connect with two software engineers and an engineering manager from the OneNote team. From talking to the software engineers, I learned about the team culture and key technologies used. In my conversation with the engineering manager, I got a better understanding of OneNote as it exists now, some of the problems it faces, and the vision for the future.

In the background, my manager had been in communication with my intern champ about my interest in OneNote. Intern champs are full-time employees who take on the additional responsibility of overseeing intern placements within their part of the organization. On Thursday of week ten, I met with my intern champ. Going into the meeting I was expecting to talk about my technical experience, coursework, and my interest in OneNote. Instead, I learned that moving over to OneNote was technically an official team change and was given the name of the OneNote intern champ. The specific reason is that MMX has an intern champ (and corresponding hiring budget) for phone and tasks and another one for notes. I think it was meant to be a five-minute conversation, but I decided to inquire about my options within the phone and tasks part of MMX. I learned that as a returner, I’d be prioritized in team placement and my intern project would be built around my specific interests and skills in addition to the needs of the team. I was initially worried that by moving over to OneNote I’d be making a compromise in regards to the technical components of my project. Furthermore, I was a bit reluctant to move forward with the team change process as I felt like it was already too late. These fears were ultimately unfounded and my intern champ strongly encouraged me to just set up a meeting with the OneNote intern champ.

On the Tuesday of week eleven, I met with the OneNote intern champ (another engineering manager on the OneNote team). We discussed my technical interests and determined that the team run by the original engineering manager I had met with would likely be a good fit. Despite it being an official team change, coming from another team within MMX worked in my favor as both intern champs were happy to hear that I wanted to stay in MMX. The one remaining hurdle was whether that team could take on another intern as they’d already committed to another returning Explorer. Right after that meeting, I met with my manager for our 1:1. I used that time to get an understanding of what our team might look like in a year’s time. Things move fast in tech and given that my team had just graduated out of incubation and that we didn’t yet have Redmond engineers, I knew that the team would transform dramatically. My manager advised me to consider whether I wanted to join a more mature team or one that was relatively new. Later on that evening I got the news (from the OneNote intern champ) that the initial engineering manager I had met with had confirmed his interest in and ability to have me on the team. 

I had until Friday to make my decision. While I knew that both options were incredible, the decision felt a lot bigger than it really was. I created a list of pros and cons for each option (in OneNote of course). On Thursday, I let everyone involved know that I’d chosen the OneNote team via a message on Teams. I emphasized why I’d chosen OneNote, that I’d had an amazing time on my current team, and that I was really appreciative of how supportive everyone had been in letting me make my own decision. That support went a long way in making me feel confident in my decision to return to Microsoft (specifically MMX). It was evident that everyone would be happy to have me on their team, but in the end, just wanted to help me to make an informed decision. With that being said, I have heard that some other teams are significantly less supportive of their interns requesting a team change. The next step was emailing my recruiter to make the request official. I then had to give written confirmation that I understood I would not receive a return offer to my current team if I proceeded with the team change process and that return offers are held at the product group level.

On the Tuesday of my final week, I met with my recruiter (and the eight other Explorers who were receiving return offers). During that final meeting, we got the official word of our return offers and learned a bit more about the next steps in the process. I received my official offer letter the Thursday following the conclusion of my internship (August 19th). I also received an email from my recruiter with some additional information about intern benefits and Seattle neighborhoods. The offer letter itself was posted to my action center (part of the Microsoft careers portal) under the account I used to initially apply to Explore Microsoft. As stated previously, I was given the surprise deadline of November 1st thanks to Smith’s recruitment policies. However, I signed the letter two days later (August 21st) once I got the chance to carefully read through everything. Overall, I am really excited about next summer, but need to remember that I am still a student and should at present focus on the academic year ahead. 

[adverb-slut]

Poison Apple Crêpes (Fanfiction) Part 1/2

I wrote this little oneshot initially on AO3, but I decided to post it on Tumblr, as well, since I am trying to write more fanfic on here!

Title:

Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 1/2)

Summary: 

An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger. 

(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)

Genre:

Fluff

Rating:

G

Word Count:

2011

-

Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms.  

The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away.  Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone other than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.

However, since Mammon had no actual guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for all the brothers fell upon Lucifer.  And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed far too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.

Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased.  Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda. 

Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be this time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over.  A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.

He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, period.  The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study.  

The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase.  Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.

The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know.  This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?

Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.

He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”

It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s super-secret code phrase.  Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition.  He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one.  Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss.  

Too easy.

He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.

Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon.  His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … sleeping? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either.  Had he been here in his study all night?  

Mammon couldn’t even begin to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours.  However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake.  

“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk. 

He cocked his head.  His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy.  

Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk. 

Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor.  In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer.  He found that strange and wondered why that was the sole object not privy to the elements.  

He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame.  Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside.  

It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so.  He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old.  Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera.  Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.

Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well.  When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite.  However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes.  

He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling.  Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.

Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples.  The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender.  

His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a very long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café.  In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm.  

But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made one trip to the café in all the years since.

Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.

“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town.  Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”

“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him.  It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is—if you’d like to come.”

“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at any café in the Devildom?  It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe.  Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator, again. Would you care to use it with me?”

“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother.  She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward.  Will you join me?”

He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother.  He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.

Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer.  He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it.  He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled Mammon already signed up for tutoring ); on the back, and left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he despised the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.

He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk.  He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.

“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study.  “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”

As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket.  Now that he thought about it, he had just the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café. 

He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.

… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.

THE END

Read Part 2/2 here!

[illfoandillfie]

Code Red

Request: Okay so like roger and y/n are going at it and roger wants to try stuff and keep making her cum over and over and like she’s being pushed too far but she wants to please Rog so she doesn’t say anything and like maybe loses consciousness and Rog is like taking care of her apologizing profusely and ya know she wakes up and he’s saying how sorry he is and that can never happen again and she should always tell him when he’s crossing a limit

Beta’d by the wonderful @laedymoon​ 

Pairing: Roger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+) but also a bit of Hurt/Comfort maybe leaning into Angst territory, could be read as DubCon, forced orgasm, overstimulation, fingering, vibrator, safeword not being used when it should

Words: 3501

A/N: So this definitely won’t be for everyone. It’s not something you see a whole lot of in fics though, so when I read the request I immediately wanted to do it, even though I knew it would be a challenge (sorry it took so long for me to actually write it!). My main concern was Roger coming across as ~The Bad Guy~ and I think I’ve successfully avoided that.

Taglist:  @dtfrogertaylor​   @ezmina98​  @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon​ @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @bowiequeen  @hannafuckingsucks​ @some-kindofcheese

By the time you were dressed and ready for work, Roger was standing in your kitchen. It was a nice sight. His back was towards you, bare shoulders hunched up as he yawned with his whole body. As he exhaled he brought a hand up to rub his eye, and then went back to drumming his fingers on the bench, impatient for your kettle to boil. “Morning,” you said softly as you wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing just a little and pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder, “Y’know you don’t have to make the coffee if you sleep over. I could do it.” Roger turned to face you, leaning forward to kiss you before he waved off your protest, “Nah, I don’t mind. It’s nearly done. Just waiting on this stupid thing,” he pointed at your kettle with his thumb, “to boil.” “Thank you, think I’m going to need a lot of coffee to get through today,” “Work that bad?” “No, I’m just a bit tired and don’t want to fall asleep at my desk,” “We were up quite late weren’t we,” Roger said, winking at you before turning back around to get the now whistling kettle. You smiled sheepishly and avoided his eye when he handed you your mug. “C’mon love, nothing to be shy about with me. I was there remember?” “Yeah, I know,” “Actually, I wanted to ask you something related to that. Y’know how we’ve been trying some new stuff in the bedroom? I had an idea of something else we could try, if you were into it.” You could feel the heat rushing to your face and pointedly kept your eyes on your coffee. The barest mention of sex made you embarrassed. It wasn’t that you were a prude or inexperienced or didn’t like sex – sex was great, especially with Roger – it was just that you preferred the actual act to talking about it. You figured it had to do with the rather sheltered childhood you’d lived. Roger was incredibly understanding though, going out of his way to use round about phrases like in the bedroom rather than something more direct, in an effort to alleviate your discomfort and hesitancy. Very early on in the relationship you’d tried to weasel your way out of actually having the conversations, but Roger wouldn’t let you. He insisted that part of what made a good relationship was communicating properly, especially about things that might make you uncomfortable and especially about sex. So far it had been a good policy. It was the difference between you and Roger, and you and anyone else you’d dated. All the guys you had previously been with had found your shyness charming, alluring, at least at first, and so never tried to push you to talk. Which meant that you’d either ended up stuck in ruts, growing bored with the routine you’d fallen into, or you just never communicated properly and fell apart. Roger hadn’t let that happen, always open about what he wanted and trusting you to be honest with him about your own wants and needs. “What did you have in mind?” you asked your coffee, though you were actually insanely curious. You’d tried a lot of stuff recently, beyond what you were already familiar with. Some of it you’d suggested, stuttering over your words and fighting the impulse to hide under the covers, but some of it was Roger’s ideas, things you’d never considered before, though all of it had gone well so far. Roger, sensing your discomfort, placed his hand over yours to calm you. “Forced Orgasms. Kind of tied into the whole dominant, submissive thing we’ve been testing.” “And, um, what, what would happen exactly?” “Essentially,” Roger continued, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand, “I’d make you cum a lot.” “Yeah, I figured as much from the name,” you giggled, “more meant specifics. Like, umm, fingers or…?” If you hadn’t been embarrassed before, you certainly were now. “If that’s what you want, I can definitely use my fingers.” You were still focusing your vision on your coffee, but you could hear the cheeky lilt in Roger’s voice and felt his fingers tap against the back of your hand as he wiggled them teasingly, “Or if you wanted, I could eat you out. Last time I did this sort of thing I used a vibrator which worked well. Fast too. You don’t have to make up your mind right now though.” You nodded, thankful he wasn’t going to make you say any of it out loud just yet. “What’s your record?” “Um, four times I think,” “We can beat four, easy. But, it might get uncomfortable, maybe even hurt, the longer it goes on.” You shrugged, “Spanking hurts too but it’s still fun.” “Very true,” he laughed.  You chanced a glance up at him, catching his eye before you dropped your attention back to your coffee, “But what do you get out of it?” “Well, y’know I like being in control, we’ve established that. And I think it’ll be hot to watch you cum over and over, especially knowing I’m the one making it happen. Does that mean you’d want to try it?” “Yes, absolutely. Maybe not tonight though,” “No not tonight. We’ll save it for a day you’re not working.”

 It was nearly a week before you had a day off. In that time, you managed to change your mind about forced orgasms what felt like fifty times at least. Some days the idea excited you, to the point where you’d spend all day turned on and rush home hoping Roger would be easy to get a hold of that night. Other days it sounded like pure torture. Part of you wanted to discuss it further with Roger, get a clearer understanding of what exactly he was going to do to you and why the idea turned him on so much, but you’d never been good at initiating that type of conversation. Plus, every little reminder of it seemed to excite Roger and you couldn’t bear to admit you weren’t one hundred percent into it anymore. You’d ruled things out in the past which Roger always said was fine but you worried he was just being nice, that he didn’t really mean it. And you knew that if you took back your yes, indicated at all that you’d changed your mind, he’d resent you. He’d leave you for someone who wouldn’t chicken out of things, wouldn’t say no. So instead, on your day off, you stood in front of Roger and responded to his query if you were ready with a hearty yes, adding a quick Sir at the end because you knew it would please him. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he took you in. “You remember your safeword, Kitten?” His use of the nickname you’d recently agreed on made you feel a little calmer. It was a response to your deference, acknowledgement of the roles you’d initiated, a sign you were on the same page. Even if you weren’t totally.  “It’s red, Sir,” “Good girl,” his voice was soft as he brushed his thumb over your cheek and then he let you go, voice gaining that commanding edge that appeared whenever you let him take control, “Now strip.”

 Roger unbuckled his belt, gaze fixed on you as you pulled your shirt off and moved on to unbuttoning your pants. His own pants fell to the floor with a dull thump as he stepped out of them and then, still in his shirt and underwear, turned and made himself comfortable, stretched out in the middle of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He watched as you removed your final garments, eyes roaming over your exposed body as you waited for your next instruction. Your heart was already beating faster than normal, the nerves making it hard to swallow.  “Come here Kitten,” he finally said, moving his legs apart and patting the space in between. You dutifully sat where he’d told you to, though your whole body felt tense. “‘s alright, love, I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good. Just tell me if you need to stop,” He said softly against your ear as his warm palms rubbed up and down your arms.  You felt yourself breathe more freely with every stroke, relaxing against his chest as he brought his lips to your neck.  “That’s it, good girl.” You hummed as you tilted your head to the side, presenting more of your neck to Roger. He went slow, dragging his lips along your neck and shoulder until you were making small needy noises. Your hands fell to his legs on either side of you as he tilted your head in the opposite direction so he could kiss and suck at the other side of your neck, bringing his hands to your breasts at the same time. Unconsciously you pushed your chest forward, your legs falling open a little more, feeling his breath on your shoulder as he chuckled. “There’s my filthy slut,” he squeezed your breasts as he spoke, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, “bet you’re already wet for me,” You whined as he trailed his hands lower, one moving to your knee, pulling your legs further apart and holding you in place. He dragged a single finger along your pussy, right up to your clit, holding it up in front of your eyes when he was done. “Yup, just like I thought. Wet.” His voice was right in your ear, making you shiver, “Think that deserves a reward.” He picked up one of your legs, pulling it over the top of his, and then did the same with the other, exposing your pussy to the room and his fingers. “You comfortable?” You wriggled a little as you adjusted to the new position, finally settling with a, “Am now Sir,” “Alright, let’s see how much cum we can squeeze out of you,”

 He knew your body well. Knew every extra sensitive spot, knew how to make you moan. And it wasn’t long before you were doing just that, two of his fingers fucking you, curling against your wall, as his thumb pressed against your clit.  “Close, Kitten?” “Mmhmm,” “Show me what a dirty girl you are and cum for me,” Your whole body tensed up as you reached your climax, Roger’s voice in your ear praising you the whole time. But his fingers only slowed down so he could add a third, and then they were back at their previous pace. “Oh God, Sir,” “Didn’t think I was going to give you a break, did you? Why would I do that when you look so good cumming for me? And I’m going to watch it happen over and over and over. One after another.” It took less time to feel your second orgasm approaching than it had your first, his fingers expertly pulling you towards it until finally you fell over the edge. You’d expected Roger to keep fingering you but he withdrew his hand, pressing his fingers to your lips instead. You parted them without a second thought. “That felt good, didn’t it Kitten?” You hummed around his fingers as he shifted his weight slightly, reaching his other hand out towards the bedside table. “Think we can do better though,” He settled back into his original place as he brought the thing he’d been reaching for up to your eye line. It was a vibrator. You stopped sucking his fingers, “Sir?” “Are you okay if I switch to this Kitten? I can keep fingering you if you’d prefer but we run the risk of being interrupted by a cramp.” You bit you lip as you eyed the machine. It was much more powerful than a human hand could be, enough to make you a little nervous. But Roger seemed excited by the idea of using it on you, and so far the whole forced orgasm thing had been fun, not much different to a regular night with Rog. “Switch,” “You sure?” “Yes, Sir. I want the vibrator.” He kissed you on the temple, dropping one hand back to your leg as the other positioned the vibrator against your clit. You practically jumped when it came to life, Roger’s grip on your leg tightening to hold you still. He started on the lowest setting, running the vibrator through your folds until it was coated in your juices and then holding it against your clit once more. When you started trying to buck your hips towards it, he turned it up, pushing you over the edge again. “Good girl, two more and we’ll’ve beat your record. You okay to continue?” You nodded, the vibrator still pulsing against your clit making it hard to form words. Roger’s hand rubbed over your thigh gently as he continued. The next two orgasms came fast, Roger pushing the vibrator up to its highest speed, your nails digging into his leg with each one. He shifted the hand that wasn’t wrapped around the toy to your stomach, holding you in place as you tried to writhe away from the constant stimulation on your now sensitive clit. So this is where the forced part comes in, was all you had time to think before your toes reflexively curled and your breath caught as you were pushed into another climax. Your moans got quieter, turned to whines which turned to whimpers and tears prickled your eyes as the throbbing sensitivity turned to pain. The idea of using your safeword crossed your mind but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually say it. Roger’s hold on you was so tight and you could feel how much he was enjoying the scene, his cock hard against your back. And it wasn’t like cumming so much was that bad. It felt good except that it hurt a bit more with each passing minute. But you could get through the relentless torment to please Roger, to keep Roger. Even when it reached the point where the pain outweighed the pleasure and your nails were constantly squeezing Roger’s thighs and it felt like you couldn’t possibly have anything left for him to pull out of you, you grit your teeth and took it, legs shaking and vision blurry with tears.

You’d lost count entirely. Not sure how many times you’d cum or how long you’d been positioned there, spread open between Roger’s legs. Your clit was practically numb from overuse. He’d shifted his hands again. One hand still held the toy against you, that arm pressing against your stomach, the ditch of his elbow tight against your side, while his other hand wrapped around one of your thighs, stopping your leg from moving after you, unconsciously, tried to close them. You couldn’t remember when he shifted his hold on you. His voice was in your ear again, but the words weren’t getting through properly, brain too clouded to understand. There were tears on your cheeks though you also couldn’t remember when they started to fall. It was all too much, his voice and his touch and your grip on his leg and the way you were shaking, too much to focus on any one thing. The only word in your head was red. Urgent and desperate, RED. All caps, bold, italicized. RED. Over and over again, RED, repeating like a mantra. RED. It was the last thing you thought as your hand stopped clenching on his thigh and your head fell back against his shoulder and your eyes slipped shut. 

When you came to, blinking the blurry confusion from your eyes, it was to find Roger hovering over you, his fingers pressed against the pulse in your neck. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lip red and swollen from where he’d bitten it, a small streak of blood just below his mouth. As soon as he realised you were coming round he let out a relieved breath. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, calming, though a little strained, “Hey, love, you with me?” “Rog?” His whole body slumped in relief, as he pulled his hand away from your pulse point though it hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain if he was allowed to touch you again, “Thank god you’re okay. Your heart was racing and you just went limp and passed out. I thought you’d gone into shock or something, god I’m so sorry.” You had to piece together what happened from your sore muscles and the numb tingling sensation between your legs and Roger’s babbling as he kept apologising. It all rushed back to you though as you try to sit up, the muscles in your legs complaining with every slight shift of your weight. You noticed blood on Roger’s leg as he shuffled back to give you space, the spot where your nails had dug too deep. “Are you okay?” you ask, pointing at the scratches. He was still studying you with worried eyes, arms folded into his chest because he didn’t know what else to do with them. At your words he blinked a couple of times, worry slipping into confusion. “I’m fine,” he said glancing at his leg, “Jesus, you passed out and you’re worried about me? After I…” He bit his lip again before tentatively reaching out and touching your leg. It was light and uncertain, the only physical contact he’d allow himself, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. That went too far and I should have stopped it sooner. I should have realised. I should have…” his hands tightened on your knee, “why didn’t you safeword?” “What?” “Your safeword. Why didn’t you use it?” His eyes were wide with hurt and confusion, staring at you, waiting for an answer you didn’t want to admit to. “What’re you looking at me like that for?” You moved your leg, his hand falling away as you pulled your knees up to your chest, “Pretty sure I’m the one that blacked out.” “Are you fucking kidding me? You do understand why we have the safeword right? It’s there specifically so you can tell me to stop when things get too much. So why the fuck did you collapse like that? You should never have got to that point.” He pushed himself off the bed, stalking to the other end of the room as he dragged his fingers through his hair. If he hadn’t moved you would have cringed away from the sharpness his voice took on. “You didn’t stop either,” “I know, Y/N, believe me I fucking know,” he turned back to face you, voice softening with his face, “I got too caught up in it and stopped checking in on you and that shouldn’t have happened. I fucked up. But so did you. I’m not a fucking mind reader. You should have told me it was too much. Why didn’t you tell me?” You dropped your head, focusing on your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together, agitated  and anxious, “I didn’t….” “Y/N, please look at me.” Slowly you raised your eyes to his face, unsure how to get the words out. “Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” You took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” “Disappoint me?” “I was scared that if you knew I couldn’t handle it you’d be disappointed and you’d get bored of me. I just want to be enough for you.” “Y/N, I’m not…. Never. That would never happen.” You could hear his steps as he slowly came back towards the bed, as if you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to scare off. He gently sat down again, reaching out to brush his fingertips over your cheek as he looked you in the eye, “Needing to use your safeword or telling me that something doesn’t feel right is never going to disappoint me.” “Even when it’s something you’re really excited about?” “Even then. None of this is fun if you’re not enjoying it. And I’m not just talking about when we try stuff like this or the restraints or spanking or whatever else. I mean any sex at all. Even regular old missionary. If something doesn’t feel right to you, I want you to tell me.” “Are you angry?” He sighed, “No I’m not Angry. I’m upset with myself for not looking after you properly. And I’m upset that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t speak up and that you were afraid to be honest with me about what you need. And I’m upset about how bad that got. The way you just collapsed against me was terrifying and I never want anything like that to happen again. But I’m not angry.” “I’m sorry, Rog.” “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, catching a fresh tear on his thumb, “We’ll both try harder in the future, okay?” You nodded as you let your body relax against his, wrapping your arms around Roger as he hugged you tight.

[awesomelephuoclocblog-blog]

CloudFunnels Review – ClickFunnels Rip-Off or Real Deal?

https://lephuocloc.com/cloudfunnels-review/

Welcome to our CloudFunnels Review!

Have you seen an advert for a wonder thing called CloudFunnels that will give all that you need to make glorious arrangements channels and expected to check whether it was just a ClickFunnels rip-off, or whether it was the real deal?

Taking everything into account, we are so upbeat you are doing your assessment as it is the best way to deal with dodge online stunts and simply find authentic ways to deal with get money on the web.

Exactly when you have a thing like this one that is offering a lot of features at a really negligible exertion, especially when you balance it with ClickFunnels, you have to represent the request what they are not telling you… We expected to see it for ourselves and check whether it was genuinely going to empower a novice to acquire money on the web.

Arrangements Funnels are incredibly ground-breaking, when you have the pertinent data to put them decisively, yet there is also an inspiration driving why ClickFunnels gets high evaluations, whether or not it is an exorbitant decision.

CloudFunnels cases to offer all that you need to start an online business, which suggests they are concentrating on learners, so is CloudFunnels straightforwardly for a youngster wanting to start on the web, is it a stunt or a certifiable article… we should find as we experience our study.

We should start with a smart thing audit…

Thing Review Summary

Thing Name: CloudFunnels

Originator: Cyril "Jeet" Gupta

Thing Type: Sales Funnel, Membership and Email Marketing Builder Platform

Cost: $37/month or $67 on-time charge, notwithstanding upsells ($261 + $20/month)

Best For: More Advanced Marketers with an Established Business

Cloudfunnels-review

Framework: CloudFunnels offers a phase to make bargains channels, enlistment, purposes of appearance and email displaying endeavors all from one spot. Regardless, their promoting is all over. Some bit of it is concentrating on someone wanting to start an online business (anyway they won't have a thing or traffic), concentrating on someone planning to start an association and concentrating on a present sponsor. They are endeavoring to make out they are exceptional and better to ClickFunnels by keep referencing them, which makes them sound like a copycat and there are issues with the customer reviews on their business page.

As a rule, I wouldn't endorse this to someone wanting to get money on the web. It is too much like other IM programs where they promise you the world anyway miss the mark on the very critical stuff that you will require.

Rating: 35/100

Recommended? For More Advanced Marketers, Maybe. Verifiably Not for Beginners

Here's My Top Recommended Program>>

Rundown of sections

Thing Review Summary

What is CloudFunnels?

How Does CloudFunnels Work?

The sum Does CloudFunnels Work?

What We Liked About CloudFunnels

What We Didn't Like About CloudFunnels

My CloudFunnels Review - Final Conclusion

How We Make Money Online

What is CloudFunnels?

CloudFunnels offers you a program that grants you to make bargains channels, investments, introduction pages and email exhibiting endeavors in just two or three snaps…

Regardless, there is by all accounts a mixed message on their business page. The top communicates that "Building Your Business Online Just Become Affordable". Regardless, there are strategies for building an online business that have been free for quite a while, we do just that with auxiliary publicizing. Regardless, the mixed message is apparently that they are undeniably concentrating on the complete beginner, as a further evolved promoter would no doubt straightforward their business page.

Do whatever it takes not to misjudge me, anyone online will show up at a point where they need to abuse an average arrangements channel and email advancing is up 'til now an incredible promoting strategy. Regardless, that is the explanation a logically advance promoter may benefit by this program, while there are some unquestionable openings that you ought to regardless leave and convince elsewhere to have the choice to use this item.

The first is a site, as they are not offering a site as a significant part of this… The second is the genuine traffic that will see your business pipe.

There is no point having a business pipe or an email get page, if no one is coming to see them.

In this way, they are promising all of you that you need to collect an online business… anyway a normal arrangements channel provider will truly outfit you with stuff that will help you with improving your arrangements.

There is also the reason for what are you going to progress with these business channel designs they are giving. That is the explanation we feel this thing may benefit someone who starting at now has a thing to offer and is planning to make the accompanying step with their business and not a complete amateur who is going to need to make sense of how to walk around they start running.

In any case, I don't get that vibe from their business page.

Further down their business page, they again notice it being the ideal time for you to "Make a Successful Online Business"

cloudfunnels-wrong-swarm

They also notice the 3 requirements for electronic displaying accomplishment:

Making Sales Funnels and Maximizing Customer Value

Make a Membership and Build Profits Further

Concrete a Relationship Using Email and Profit Forever

Taking everything into account, I am going to thoroughly contrast to a point. Those 3 centers are critical, beside there is a focal issue and that is there is no notification of having a thing or organization to make a business channel on. See how in one breath they are concentrating on a beginner in the first place an online business, anyway they are letting them miss the mark at the central hindrance.

We have seen an unnecessary number of these ventures that promise all of you that you need to start an online business, however they don't outfit you with all the information.

I do acknowledge that you will get a phase that will allow you to make a business channel, etc like they state yet there is little point doing that until you have something to progress or sell.

If you are a novice and are scanning for a way to deal with acquire money on the web, yet have not wandered into anything yet, by then you are best off keeping away from this program at the present time and taking a gander at a genuine planning program that will help you with starting with a strategy for getting money online from a redirection you have. We recommend Affiliate Marketing. It is novice neighborly and doesn't require confronting difficulties with a thing like this one. With our proposed planning stage, Wealthy Affiliate you can start for Free and build up a course of action of things to propel where you may benefit by a business pipe stage at some point later. Snap HERE to get acquainted with Affiliate Marketing.

If you do have a thing or organization, or maybe a site and need to see how CloudFunnels work, keep scrutinizing on.

Hi, We are John and Gem

We Learned the Secret to Making Money Online... Need to Know How We Did It?

Let Us Show You How WE Did it!

How Does CloudFunnels Work?

CloudFunnels offers a phase that can either be encouraged in the cloud, or they even let you download it and move it to a webpage you viably own. They balance themselves with ClickFunnels a ton, anyway there is an inspiration driving why ClickFunnels is a market boss and choose to function as they do.

They are surely a further evolved program and I would not fast this for fledglings or even moderate promoters, you should win incredible money before you put assets into ClickFunnels, from my perspective. In any case, manager among why they keep their funnels cloud-based is that they can successfully keep awake with the most recent without any issues rising, notwithstanding they fuse refreshes without a limit.

Taking a gander at the demo video, they have an easy to use strategy for making a business pipe and have an assurance of formats you can use. Adjusting the business page is fundamental with their WYSIWYG in-developed publication supervisor, which implies it is natural and you can believe a to be see as you change the page.

At the point when your funnel is live, you are worthy to share it and they have different consolidations you can use to share them or get portion.

Blends for Payment are:

PayPal

Stripe

Net

JVZOO

Warrior Plus

Paydotcom

Paykickstart

ThriveCart

ClickBank

As they furthermore offer an Email Marketing exertion formats, etc. They similarly grant you to join with the going with autoresponder associations:

Mail Engine

Dynamic Campaign

Steady Contact

GetResponse

HubSpot

Mail Chimp

Ontraport

Aweber

If you have to see how CloudFunnels truly works, see the demo video underneath brought to you from the owner:

My most prominent issue isn't with whether the thing will do what it affirms to do, anyway it is the truth they are concentrating on complete novices communicating that this will give all that you need to start an online business whenever it absolutely leaves behind a significant open door the part about having a thing and how to attract visitors to your business channel.

No Product + No Traffic = No Sales.

By then, we get into the costs which as regular with a program overflowing with exposure on their business page, the base thing is confined with what it offers. Which implies you have to pay more to get more features.

Haven't Made Your First $1 Yet?

Studies have shown that over 70% of the people who need to get money online have not made their first dollar yet. Along these lines, you're not alone!

Need to Check Out Our

https://lephuocloc.com/cloudfunnels-review/

https://lephuocloc.com/

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 18 -- The Heist

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

Sometimes, when a person makes a declarative statement, they are only referring to one specific, usually fleeting instance. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they may actually mean is “it’s cold in Lohnausfall today.” This statement would remain true even if it was warm there the next day. They could also mean “it’s cold in Lohnausfall in winter,” which would also remain true even if it is incredibly hot in Lohnausfall in the summer.

However, they could also be referring to the general, often much more permanent, state of things. In that case, when they say “It’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they mean is that it is just generally a cold place, and that whenever you visit Lohnausfall, it would make sense to bring a coat.

In some cases, both senses of the word apply. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they could mean is “I know it’s always cold in Lohnausfall, but wow, it’s especially cold today.”

A more relevant example would be the statement “Nicks Rizzo was bored,” which is, unlike “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” was true both in general, and specifically at this moment.

Nicks Rizzo was bored. She rarely managed to find a moment when she was not bored, but right now, she was especially bored. The night was dark and dull and absolutely nothing was happening in the casino that you wouldn’t expect to happen at a casino.

Most movies about Cosa Nostra crime families made the life seem glamorous and filled with mystique. In reality, it was incredibly dull and almost bureaucratic. Her father, Harry “Big Top” Rizzo, spent most of his time running numbers, loaning money to desperate people so he could charge insane levels of interest, and having his goons launder his ill-gotten money through their family’s casino. It was, of course, fairly easy to launder money through a casino, since it’s one of the few forms of business where money is exchanged for neither goods nor services. In fact, most of the time, it is simply surrendered to the business in exchange for nothing at all.

Since anyone could enter with thousands of dollars of ill-gotten cash and leave with nothing, while Big Top Rizzo could report those thousands as legitimately earned casino profits, pretty much all of his illegally-obtained money was handed down to subordinates who were instructed to lose it all gambling in his casino. The family business wasn’t doing so well lately, but a recent acquisition might turn that around.

The most exciting part of the life, in Nicks’ eyes, were when a minor turf conflict escalated into a shootout. That seemed rarer and rarer lately, however, and after the fifteenth time you’ve seen six guys shooting at each other from behind washing machines in a dirty laundromat until the cops show up and they have to flee out the back, it loses some of its charm.

This was how she’d fallen in with a community of confidence tricksters, since that allowed for a little more creativity than organized crime, but even that had grown a little stale.

At this very moment, she was sitting on a gaudy red velvet couch in her father’s office, whose already low comfort level was made much worse by the baggy plastic slip-cover (placed there to avoid the same dust-covering that coated her father’s trusty but long-unused pulse handgun on the shelf behind her), watching the security hologram of the casino floor that flickered about two inches above the surface of an antique mahogany coffee table. She was, as she often did in this situation, praying to god that a rival gang would burst through the doors and try to start something.

Today, for the first time, she would not be disappointed.

On the corner of the hologram, she saw a young woman about her age jump up onto a blackjack table and brandish a fully automatic pulse rifle in the air. A thrill surged through Nicks. The unmistakable flicker of repeated muzzle flashes appeared from the gun’s tip, blowing holes in their very expensive ceiling. The hologram didn’t provide audio of the casino floor, but she imagined the young woman was shouting something to the effect of “EVERYBODY GET ON THE GROUND,” since the next thing that happened was that all of the casino patrons dropped to the floor and covered their heads. A few of the casino employees reached for concealed firearms, but the woman on the table quickly revealed some kind of switch in her hand and opened her jacket to reveal rows of explosives strapped to her body. She began speaking again, likely something in the vein of “ANYBODY MOVES AND I BLOW THIS PLACE SKY HIGH,” since even the armed employees stopped reaching for their guns and slowly kneeled down on the floor.

Several more young women filed in. All of their faces were covered by strategically wrapped scarves, and they were all strapped to the nines with automatic weapons. One of them used their free hand to pull an aerosol can out of her pocket, and seemed to aim it directly at Nicks.

Nicks smiled. These girls are clever, she thought. A moment later, everything viewed from that angle seemed obscured by a dark fog. The girl had sprayed over one of the composite cameras that formed the hologram. Nicks changed her angle so she could keep viewing the action, but it didn’t matter. Within a few minutes, all of the cameras had been painted over and the hologram on the table looked like nothing but a dark cloud.

She had to be a part of this action. She regretfully looked back at the safe behind her father’s empty desk. She knew she’d be in a world of trouble if she left the safe alone and something happened to its contents, but, she doubted anyone would be able to detect it. There was one safe hidden behind the portrait of her grandfather, which contained a few wads of petty cash and a handful of jewelry so that potential thieves would think they’d gotten away with something, but the real valuables were kept in a concealed secondary safe behind the vault’s false back.

She briefly considered staying there, but, thought better of it. Without her father’s handprint, retinal scan, and fifteen separate passcodes, it would take the system’s greatest hacker to break in, and from the look of these girls, they weren’t looking to commit cyber-crimes.

On her way out the door, she retrieved her father’s dusty Chekhov M2460 off the shelf, and quickly thought to grab something to conceal her own face.

This should do nicely, she thought, grabbing a metallic-looking cowl from one of the drawers on her father’s desk. She remembered he’d worn this to a recent masquerade thrown by a colleague who’d referred to him as a “snake” behind his back. Big Top thought it would be funny to show up to the party wearing a snake mask, and he’d paid handsomely to have a realistic-looking mask custom-made.

In the drawer, she also noticed a small device that she thought could come in handy, and hastily jammed it in her pocket.

She tucked the pistol into her waistband and left her father’s office, flagging down the two nearby enforcers to follow her. They quickly barrelled down the steps, but quietly slipped in one of the less conspicuous entrances to the casino floor, concealing themselves behind a row of large slot machines.

“We don’t need anybody to get hurt,” the main girl shouted, “My associates will be coming to each of you with a large sack. Consider them fare collectors. You are buying safe passage to the exit of this casino. The cost of admission is all the cash, credit cards, jewelry, and electronics you have on your person. Fail to provide this, and you will not be granted admission into the rest of your long, happy lives, and that’s not what anyone wants, is it?”

As if on cue, a woman who had been playing poker before the bandits arrived began to cry, and tried to make a break for the door.

The girl standing on the table did not hesitate to put three shots in her back. The woman fell to the floor and lay there, motionless. Her assailant announced, “Are we clear?”

The girls started to bring their bags to the casino patrons.

“It’s okay,” Nicks heard one of them say in a voice that was much softer than she expected, “you look scared so I’m not going to make you give us anything. Just pretend to put something in the bag and I’ll let you go safe, okay?”

This struck Nicks as strange. Why would a group of armed bandits be swayed by their victims seeming scared? Wasn’t the whole point of armed robbery to intimidate people into giving up their money?

Nicks looked at one of the other girls. She watched as a crying man in the suit reached into his pocket, brought an empty hand to the mouth of the sack, and open his hand.

It suddenly clicked with Nicks. “They’re just trying to cause a scene,” she hissed at the guards, “it’s a diversion, get back to the office now.”

They rushed back up to the office, but they were too late. The portrait of her grandfather was on the floor. The decoy safe was blown open and its contents left untouched. The false back was set aside with a note on it reading “Child’s play.” The duffel bag full of priceless religious artifacts was gone.

Thankfully, Nicks had thought to put a tracker in the bag. They wouldn’t get far. She turned on the tracking beacon and rushed back downstairs. The bandits were gone, as was the supposedly dead woman they’d shot.

She rushed out the front door, following the homing signal as fast as possible. The guards attempted to follow her, but she dismissed them by saying “Haven’t you two have disappointed me enough for one day? Send the rest of the guards after me in fifteen, you two take the night off. Without pay.”

This hurt their feelings, since it was her who’d left the office unattended and ordered the people in charge of stopping intruders to abandon their posts, but as so many people do in the workplace, they swallowed their objection since their continued employment meant more to them than their dignity.

Nicks knew the streets of Lohnausfall better than anyone, she’d been sneaking out from the watchful eyes of a crime boss for years and she knew all the shortcuts. Based on the movement of the homing signal, it looked like they were heading to Belafonte Park, but they were not taking the most direct route. Four narrow alleys and two jumped fences later, Nicks arrived in Belafonte Park just in time to see about a dozen young women she didn’t recognize, and one young man she did, running up to an idling shuttle with a duffel bag that belonged to her.

“Stop right there,” she shouted. She stepped out into plain view, holding her pistol in one hand and the small device in the other. She quickly hit the switch on the device and the bandits all felt a small electric charge run through their body. Nicks heard the engine of the shuttle suddenly go quiet. “Your weapons and explosives are useless. Right now, my pistol is the only one within 30 meters that is able to fire and it’s going to stay that way for the next 20 minutes.”

“Who the hell are you?” Said one of them, a Chinese girl with a pompadour standing unmasked with blood on her shirt. Nicks recognized her as the woman who’d been shot on the casino floor. She wondered how long she had to play the table to realistically seem like a casino patron before she could be “shot” to make the robbery seem real.

The girl next to her, who was still wearing her bandana, asked “Why are you wearing a corny halloween mask?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Nicks replied.

The man she recognized, Prescott, responded, ignoring her. “This is Nicks Rizzo. Remember what I told you about her?”

“Yes,” replied a short black girl wearing strange goggles, who Nicks had never seen before, “I tried that, but we’ve established that my pistol isn’t working.”

“Prescott,” Nicks smirked, “Thought you’d have been killed when you got caught punking out on the church heist.”

“Not for lack of trying,” said the tallest bandit, also still masked, but clearly identifiable as the woman who’d been standing on the table issuing commands.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Nicks said, and gestured at the duffel bag in his hand.

“I stole it, it belongs to me,” Prescott snapped, “you just betrayed me and left me to die.”

“Let’s not get caught up into what belongs to who here,” said the girl in the goggles, “it’s not like any of us acquired this bag legally.”

“We were supposed to use this to start our new life together,” Prescott said, sounding pretty genuinely hurt, “did you ever care about that?”

“Ugh,” Nicks replied, “a new life doing what, exactly? Running low-level cons on dumb wagoners? Scamming some bumblefuck cult out of their goodies?”

“With this kind of money, we could’ve gotten out of the criminal life,” Prescott sounded close to tears, “finally settled down somewhere, you know? We finally could’ve lived on easy street for the rest of our lives.”

“What fun would that be?” Nicks chuckled, and summarily unloaded two rounds into Prescott’s chest.

Out of force of habit, the bandits all raised their guns, despite the fact that they were still completely useless. Had they brought any sort of bladed weapons, there would be one lodged in Nicks’ neck before Prescott hit the ground, but as knives are better for covert operations and this was supposed to draw as much attention as possible, no one had thought to bring any.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little trick, either,” Nicks said, gesturing her gun at the girl in the bloodied shirt. “I watched her take a fatal dose of plasma and here she is walking around, so I’m betting in a few seconds, our friend Mr. Cain will be in fighting shape again. That is, unless I do this…”

She aimed at Prescott’s corpse and fired off one more shot, this one landing directly between his eyes.

“Now,” Nicks began, “I’m going to take my duffel bag and then I’m going to go home and take a warm bath. I’m going to let you walk away from here unharmed, and I’m not going to call the authorities.”

“Sorry, I just…” the bandit from the table began, “You have us at your mercy and you’re just going to let us go? I mean, I’m not complaining—”

“Oh yes,” Nicks said, walking up to the tall girl from the table and the short girl in the goggles, laying one hand affectionately on the tall girl’s face, “you girls are just too. Much. Fun.”

“And what if we don’t let you leave,” asked the girl in the bloody shirt, “I mean, you can’t shoot all of us, we could easily overpower you.”

As though by magic, at this exact moment, the fifteen minutes Nicks had requested was up, and several dozen mob goons sprung out, all brandishing high-powered plasma hand cannons.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, these guys were 50 meters away when I disabled the weapons, so be aware: their weapons work too! Now, give me what’s mine.” Nicks gestured for the duffel bag and the bandit with the goggles handed it over. “Boys, grab this degenerate’s body and throw it in the incinerator. Last thing we need is a buncha pigs trying to jam us up on another murder.  Alla prossima, belle ragazze,” she called back, “arrivederci!”

The crew piled into the shuttle. As soon as Fastwing could get the motor running, they found their way off-world and navigated back to their station.

Tripwire was there to greet them. “So, the mission went well?”

“We didn’t get the cargo, Prescott died, and that pampered little princess has his decryption key and she’s going to incinerate it,” Sasha replied dejectedly.

“Only one of those things is true,” Tripwire said, and smirked at Ariadne. “You sure are quick on your feet, cap!”

Sweettalk looked confused. “What is she talking about?”

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted. When we got into the office,” Ariadne explained, “Prescott thought I was too preoccupied with the safe to notice him dislocate his wrist to get free of the Jumper, attach it to this, and stash it in a potted plant.”

Ariadne held out a small, visibly broken, electronic device.

“It’s a bomb,” Ariadne said. “Its detonator is configured to respond to the energy of a teleportation field. Proprietary hardware of the Rizzo crime family, to keep people from attempting to teleport valuable property out of the casino. He was planning to run off with the bag and leave us with a useless, burnt-up decryption key. So, while his back was turned, I grabbed the decryption key out of the Jumper and slipped the Jumper in the bag.”

“So,” Pilar practically beamed at Ariadne’s deviousness, “you’ve had the key this whole time?”

“Not only that,” Tripwire said, “but with their safe in our cargo hold, I’m betting the Rizzo crime family won’t be dealing in religious artifacts anytime soon.”

[essaysbyciara]

Thy Neighbor (Chapter 10)

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5 + 6][Chapter 7 + 8][Chapter 9] 

Hey, beautifuls! Here’s chapter 10. Chapter 11 -- and possibly chapter 12 -- is coming today (3/31) as well. Check the tags and as always, if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! XOXO. 

“And this is our food pantry and kitchen. We teach children how to cook meals. We’ve been blessed by the donations from local restaurants. Time and tools. It’s amazing”

“This is amazing. Incredible.”

The hallways Trevante and Hampton Scott, the director of Proverbs, are walking down remind Trevante of his high school days galavanting the halls, cutting class to hit the gym for a quick weightlifting session. So many hiding spots, so many teachers ready to cut him a break if they won a playoff game or, even better, a state championship.

Trevante couldn’t pay much attention to school with football on his heart plus his father’s behavior at home. But without the game he loved, he would have dropped out. And who know what would have happened to him then.

As Trevante roams inside the makeshift playroom for the kids, he spots a tall and lanky boy, same complexion as him, reading a book in the corner, ignoring all of his friends playing with action figures and toys. Staring intensely in a book, the boy only breaks his reading stride when he lifts up his right hand to adjust his glasses, a pair a little too big for his prepubescent face.

Trevante smiles. He misses his glasses. He started wearing contacts to fit in -- so stuck on perfecting his appearance that he ditched his second set of eyes. No one knew that his sunglasses were prescription though.

“The city needs this, Hampton. I needed this.”

“You’re a military kid?”

“Yeah. My father. Iraq. Just passed.”

“Prayers to you and your family.”

Trevante reluctantly says thanks. Tre’s family wasn’t religious, only going to church on Easter and Christmas Eve because his grandmother would have a fit if they stayed at home. Although he believed in a higher power, he failed to see how that power impacted his life -- especially since tragedy was always around the corner. He couldn’t understand the optimism beside the chaos and taciturn response to tragedy. It just never made sense with the rigidity of Trevante’s life.

“Are you a believer?”

Tre bristles at the question. Hampton notices his reaction. “Hey, man. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I ain’t ask you, now..”

Trevante gingerly laughs, smiles and shakes his head. “Respect.”

“Look, I want you meet my director of outreach. He’ll be overseeing the staff in the Philadelphia location.”

Trevante and Hampton walk into a makeshift conference room.

“Trevante. I want you to meet Y’lan Noel, our site director here Philadelphia.” Trevante and Y’lan shake hands. As they both take seats the long teacher’s desk turned conference room table, Hampton steps out to give them some privacy.

“Y’lan, this program would be such an asset to the city.”

“Yeah, man. I agree. I’m glad to be leading the way.”

Proverbs was not meant to be the final destination for Y’lan. After he left Ciara, he found his way to Camden, New Jersey, into the arms of another woman. And into an engagement. He didn’t want to move fast but he remembered the last time he took his time with a woman he loved.

Although he never expressed it, he loved Ciara. Or felt that energy. He never committed due to his fears of failure. He always did the right thing, always walked the straight and narrow. In his mind, dating Ciara wasn’t that. It was taking a risk, it was calling attention to his love life in a way that he didn’t want. It was him walking away from a high school sweetheart and supposed future wife.

Y’lan couldn’t let his high school love go. Every Sunday, he sat in her father’s church, always in the second pew, and watched as his girlfriend directed the children choir. She’s the pastor daughter, he was the aspiring minister. On paper it all made sense in a community where making sense was the only way to go.

He couldn’t tell Ciara that the only reason why he couldn’t have sex with her was because he promised himself to his future wife. They made that promise in spirit and in word, Tisha writing texts about how she couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Noel so that they could experience that moment together. Tisha was heartbroken when he told her that she wasn’t going to be his first. But she forgave him. That was before her, she thought.

It wasn’t.

Although he played committed to Tisha and homie-lover-friend to Ciara, Y’lan’s phone was riddled with text messages from other girls. Saved and not. It was easy to watch a movie with Tisha and not try anything when you just came from -- and in -- some girl. He could leave her  apartment unscathed when he knew he could call so-and-so and such-and-such from whatever campus ministry. He thought he hid it well until one of his friends call him out on it. He vowed to get his act together.

When Y’lan met Ciara, he threw himself into a storm. She was a healthy mix of the late night mistakes  and the life he wanted to live.

She was everything that Tisha wasn’t. She was rebellious. She had one foot in the culture. She prefered hip hop over hymns. She oozed sexuality in a culture that preached to be chaste. But she had a sense of morality to her. She was a Theology student, could throw out a Bible quote with the quickness. She thought promise rings were asinine.

Y’lan would take his off when he would see her. Even though that ring was on the right hand of a lie.

When Ciara would ask if she could go to his church before brunch, he told her no because he was too busy helping with staff -- and trying to avoid conflict. When Ciara showed up unannounced one Sunday, he panicked. He didn’t answer her texts asking where he was, later elling her that he took that Sunday off. He hid in the music room for the entire service.

Shame racked him once his girlfriend’s father pulled him aside to ask him, jokingly, if he was ever going to marry his daughter. Though it was laced in a joke, he knew her father wasn’t kidding. He had to make a decision. He was about to choose a seminary, he was thinking about moving away. But he needed to choose.

So when he walked into Ciara’s apartment to spend time with her as she packed for Spring Break, his sabotaging ways came into play. Instead of telling her the truth of why he couldn’t commit and didn’t want to visit Maryland with her, he ruins their relationship. But he didn’t want to leave that way. He wanted for them to have that one moment that eluded them since they met. He wanted to cap off their relationship. He wanted to share something with her that would have been special.

He experienced grace when Ciara said no.  It was the right answer. It was divine intervention.

As soon as he left her apartment, he felt a nasty mix of guilt and relief. He could finally move on with his life and do the right thing. He called his girlfriend’s father and officially asked for her hand in marriage.

He quit his work in Philadelphia and transferred over to a program in South Jersey, staying in his future father-in-law’s basement. He started looking for apartments, she started booking vendors. But then that changed.

“We need to talk.”

Those harrowing words weighted on him as he walked to his fiancee’s apartment. He knew the game was over.

“I’ve been praying, Y’lan, and…” Tisha’s words cracking as she spoke. “I knew that I needed to place our relationship in front of God. I knew this moment would be the right time to do that. I just wasn’t expected the answer I got.”

Y’lan exhales, knowing the response.

“We’re not ready for this. You’re not ready for this.”

Y’lan felt cold. He didn’t know how much he was pushing off the idea of walking away. He thought that by righting the ship everything would be okay. He thought to keep that secret in his heart but Tisha saw right through it. He knew. She knew. They needed to reconcile with that.

Y’lan started looking for apartments for himself. He left her father’s church and started working for Proverbs as a recruiter. Hampton was impressed with his adaptability that he promoted Y’lan to director of outreach in less than a year. When Proverbs decided to open a Philadelphia office, he knew Y’lan would be the one to tap for the project.

Y’lan was so excited. A chance to work in the city. A chance to network with churches and the community. But when he learned that the staff offices would be a block away from Penn’s campus, he started to shake with fear.

Would he run into Ciara? Would he have to walk to the other way again? Avoid their favorite coffee place? What would happen if he saw her? Those thoughts slowly started to cascade his mind as he spoke with Trevante about the vision for the Philadelphia program.

“So what do you think, Y’lan?” Trevante asks.

“I love it, man. Let’s roll with it.”

Trevante and Y’lan dap each other up as Hampton walks into the room. As Trevante is gathering his things, an idea comes to his mind.

“I have a friend who works for an organization named Protestant Placements. They place students at organizations like yours across the Philly area. You okay if I connect you two?”

“Absolutely.”

taglist: @blackpinup22 @voyagetoadinas9

[vatrixsta]

Pierced (2/?)

Siiiiigh all of your lovely comments on part 1 have forced me into this course I wanted to take anyway and I just hope you’re proud of yourself. Shout out to @csmarchmadness for the always handy gun to the head - all the ladies there are awesome and I enjoy stalking their conversations when I finally get online again at my obscene times of day and night. :D I’m going to try to update this with some regularity, so I hope you enjoy! And we’re off. 

Also on AO3

Emma had to cancel this date that was absolutely not a date.

There was just no possible way it was a good idea, date or no date. Not only were his eyes too blue and his smile too bright and his hands too… perfect when they touched hers, but she wouldn’t even be able to ruin it quickly by sleeping with him too fast because of the fucking piercing she gave him.

She was feeding Henry an incredibly nutritious dinner of Spaghettios and carrot sticks (he was going through a phase where he hated basically everything and at least she was still getting carrot sticks past his rapidly shrinking palette) when she realized that she didn’t actually have Killian’s number and would have to figure something out tomorrow, maybe ask Ruby to run interference. Except Ruby wouldn’t, the whore, because she wanted Emma to make nice with the Sex God.

She was making sure Henry took a bath (six year old boys would pay almost any price to continue smelling like street urchins, she’d found) when it occurred to her that despite his flirtations, it was possible he didn’t intend for it to be a date. Maybe he really did just want her to design a tattoo for him and he was pleased with her professionalism and artwork. God that would be embarrassing, if she told him she couldn’t go out with him and he basically responded with, who asked you?

She was halfway through reading Henry his favorite book of fairy tales when she realized all the princes (and a few of the pirates) suddenly had blue eyes and British accents in her head and you know what, that’s enough for tonight, Henry, light’s out and I’ll see you in the morning, love bug.

She was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she remembered he’d had to fill out the consent form for the procedure and would have had to put his number on there. If she got to work early enough, she could go into the client files she wasn’t supposed to snoop in unless an actual emergency occurred and tell him she was dying or moving to Yemen or anything that would stop this train before it ran straight over her heart.

She was waking up with a groan and Henry’s knee connecting with her pelvis when she realized that the idea of canceling this date that was definitely, absolutely not a date actually bummed her out. It was lunch and he was nice. She could design a tattoo for him -- he’d tipped her extremely well for the piercing -- and maybe finally be able to afford that new video game console upgrade Henry had been not so subtly hinting at for Christmas, which meant there were only fifty-two more shopping days until Black Friday.

She was walking Henry to the school bus, teasing him about the crush he had on a little blonde girl his age that he swore was not a crush at all, that they were going to be best friends forever and she just wanted to kiss his his precious little cheek so she did, glad that he only scrunched his face a little in distaste, when she seriously considered that she might be losing her mind. It wasn’t normal to think about someone you’d just met this much, to obsess over a virtual stranger (if you could consider someone whose cock you’d pierced with a 12 gauge barbell a stranger) to this degree. She definitely, absolutely had to cancel.

“His paperwork? Oh, yeah, I threw it out. I was drinking coffee while I filed last night and, well. Oopsie.”

Fucking Ruby.

Sending her friend and boss a glare that clearly communicated I do not believe you, you lying whore and glaring harder when Ruby’s unrepentant grin widened, Emma left the back office area and stomped over to her station for the only therapeutic option left to her: sketching.

The small notebook she used was the ninth of its kind since she’d started working at Red, White and Tattoo. She kept them all, tucked behind her little book of cocks, as Killian had referred to it (OHMYGOD STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!) and filled with some sketches that had turned into elaborate pieces that decorated backs and wrists and ankles and every other body part conceivable to little half finished works she’d never fully cracked. There were also incredibly personal drawings she’d asked Ruby to ink on her own skin -- Emma had done the buttercup herself, but it was a process she’d rather not repeat.

Killian had said he’d be by to collect her at 12:30. It was currently 10:00 and Emma was praying someone would take advantage of the early bird special so she’d have something else to focus on.

After straightening up her station (twice) and sketching an elaborate oceanscape (she refused to actually color it; she knew the waves would match his eyes as well as her supplies could manage she did not need this fuckery) Emma was ready to crawl out of her skin, pissed at herself and Killian for getting her into this state. This was why she had her rules! This was why the last date she’d gone on had been a hit it and quit it one night stand with the dorky guy who’d sold them the front desk display case. That had been... three years ago? Oh, Christ. No wonder she was insane now.

Killian was thoughtfully fifteen minutes early, as he if he could sense his date was crawling out of her skin. He entered the shop with that wide, easy smile on his face and Emma forced a smile of her own that she hoped didn’t look too forced, because she didn’t want him to take her jittery mood personally even though it was 100% his fault.

Ushering them quickly out the door (she didn’t want to risk another embarrassing moment with Ruby playing the world’s most obvious matchmaker) Emma asked where they were eating.

“There’s a place I like to go, down by the water,” he said, adorably rubbing at the back of his right ear. “It’s probably the last of the nice weather for the year so I thought we could walk?”

“Sure,” Emma said, stuffing her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid like reach for his.

They fell into a slightly awkward silence that actually should have been a lot more awkward, given they didn’t know each other too well.

“Robin - my partner? - he was shocked speechless I actually went through with it,” Killian said after a few quiet minutes.

“Are you following the after care instructions?” Emma said, probably a lot more sternly than was necessary.

“Yes, Mistress,” Killian teased.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many people blow it off,” she muttered. “An infected piercing is never fun. An infected genital piercing?”

“Emma, you have my word that I shall heed your every instruction,” he said, both teasing and serious at the same time. How did he do that?

They arrived at a seafood place Emma had been dying to try but always found other uses for her paycheck - luxuries like new winter boots for Henry and electricity.

“Um, this place is a little fancy,” she said, looking down at her work outfit of dark wash denim jeans, white tank top and red leather jacket.

Killian indicated his own attire - black jeans that were a little less tight than the ones he’d worn yesterday (a good sign he was obeying her instructions), a dark blue t-shirt and a black leather jacket of his own that looked more suited to riding a motorcycle than catching criminals, but what did she know?

“Casual dress at lunch,” he assured her. “To die for lobster rolls.”

Emma mentally calculated how much a lobster roll would set back her food budget as Killian placed his hand on her lower back and urged her into the restaurant.

She was going to have to make a rule about him not being allowed to touch her because her brain short circuited and she suddenly couldn’t recall what a budget was or how one accommodated for it.

They were seated at a table by the water and the view really was spectacular, the horizon a calming sight Emma was desperately in need of. Killian had good table manners (because of course he did), filling her water glass from the bottle their server left on the table before he attended to his own, confirming with her that the lobster roll sounded good (it really, really, really did) before ordering for them both. He added a pitcher of fresh blueberry lemonade for them to split, promising her it was not to be missed. Emma’s eyes bugged at the prices but she decided to give herself this afternoon with an unfairly attractive man who genuinely seemed to like her and wanted her to eat lobster rolls with him. There was plenty of time for reality to come crashing down when she couldn’t smell the sea and watch the flickers of sunlight play in Killian’s eyes the exact same way it did on the waves.

She tried this once, the dating someone new thing. Neal had pretty much decimated the part of her brain (and her heart) capable of trusting, but she thought, maybe there was a guy out there who’d remind her they weren’t all like Neal. (Never mind that she still remembered what it had been like at the start, her and him against the world, the mischievous flicker in Henry’s eyes reminding her that she could never really hate him the way she wanted to, because the best parts of him were like a gift every time she looked at her little boy.)

Once she got settled into work at the tattoo shop, she’d gone on a few dates, Ruby and Mulan eagerly offering to babysit toddler Henry. There had been five - maybe six? - guys total and every single one of them had been visibly deflated by the news that the hot 20-year-old blonde had a kid at home. Though the one she disliked the most had been the guy who’d feigned interest in Henry so he could sleep with her.

Emma realized that she really wasn’t looking forward to watching that disappointment cross Killian’s face. No one expected the hot (now 24) year old blonde who worked at the tattoo shop to have a kid. She suspected Killian was a little older than her (she’d have put him around 30 given his job and the slight laugh lines around his eyes) but she knew a single mom wasn’t exactly a highly sought dating prospect. She just felt shitty not telling him about Henry, when he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, just so she could, what? Enjoy a hot guy eating a lobster roll?

Yeah, okay, so maybe a little bit that. Besides, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He didn’t need to know about her life because this was a friendly meal and she was supposed to be asking him about his tattoo not picturing him naked (and she could. From the waist down, at least, all dark hair and lean muscle and definitely a shower, not a grower--STOP IT EMMA) and nervously peeling a bread roll.

“Luv?”

Emma blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Killian smiled, but it was a little forced. “I, uh, suppose you were woolgathering.”

Great and now she’d been so lost in her social anxiety that she’d completely missed him speaking to her. If this were a date, she’d have pretty much blown it.

“I don’t get much time out by the water,” she said a little lamely. “I don’t get much time out, period,” she added ruefully.

“Workaholic?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she hedged. She took a lot of shifts at work to earn enough money to keep her and Henry far from the poorhouse. Ruby’s grandmother lived in the same building and watched Henry after school most days. She also let him stay over when the shop stayed open late on the weekends. There was a little sleeping bag zone in back dubbed Henry’s corner that he’d filled with books and toys and the oldest of his handheld video games. “What about you?”

There, that was nice and sociable.

“I enjoy my work,” Killian said. “But I have other… priorities that keep me from the workaholic label. Which, I suppose, brings us nicely to the subject of this lunch.”

Right. Not a date. He wanted a tattoo and she’d broken Rule #2 for him.

She gave him a professional smile. “Tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for.”

His lips pursed in thought for a moment, then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s part of the problem. I know what I want it to convey and I know the meaning behind it, but I’m not sure I know what symbol will best represent it to permanently ink on my body.”

Her smile turned a little more personal, because she could relate. Her buttercup was easy - the other tattoos she’d had were a little less… on the nose and direct. It had taken her months to settle on them. “Why don’t we try this. Tell me why you want it and some of the ideas you’ve had and I’ll do my job to get you some sketches to narrow it down.”

He puffed his cheeks out like an adorable chipmunk with no idea how attractive it was. Damn it, she was so screwed.

“Brilliant.” He reached into a satchel and pulled out an old, battered copy of Peter Pan, then set it before her almost reverently.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Big fan?”

His smile widened. “My brother and I read the tale a great deal during our childhood - he’s older, so some of my earliest memories are the little crush he always had on Wendy Darling.”

Emma laughed. “And you?”

Killian shrugged. “I’ve always preferred the company of real women.”

“Yeah, that’s just about what I’d figure you’d say,” she muttered. Damn chipmunk knew exactly how attractive he was.

“Though I confess, the last few years, there’s really only been the one woman in my life,” he added.

That confession definitely gave Emma pause. If he had a girlfriend -- a steady one at that -- it meant this was definitely just a business thing and she was suddenly mortified at the idea that she’d tried to call off a date that wasn’t even a date. That was what mortification felt like, right? That vice like grip around her heart that felt like disappointment and the death of some possibility, some flutter of perhaps when you met someone new?

“And is that lucky lady the other inspiration for the tattoo?” Emma asked, swallowing down the disappointment - because that was exactly what it was. She should have been used to it by now.

His smile didn’t widen - it glowed. Emma kind of wanted to vomit, which was perfect timing, because the lobster rolls were delivered by their efficient but discreet waiter. The blueberry lemonade was spectacular, too, damn the charming chipmunk who was obviously not available.

He’d said he was though, hadn’t he? When they’d been talking about his after care for the piercing? She could have sworn he’d said he didn’t have to worry about any sexual partners! She wasn’t so delusional that she’d made that up.

She was about to open her mouth and say something stupid and accusatory like how dare you get a single mom’s hopes up even though I’m not really interested because I’m an emotional cripple, but seriously how dare you sir - when his phone went off.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he stared down at a text. “I’m so sorry, it’s an emergency at work - please, enjoy the food and feel free to wrap mine up and take it with you.” He was waving the waiter down and scrolling through his phone. “Are you busy tomorrow night? A mate of mine is playing at a pub and I promised I’d go, but we can discuss this a bit more then. I’ll be much less likely to be called in at night, as well.” He shot her a charming grin and she was so dazzled that she forgot all her questions and simply rattled off her phone number. He responded by sending her two emojis, one that was lifting its eyebrow and the other giving her a cheesy grin.

Seriously, who the hell did he think he was?

Then he was gone and a few seconds later she got another text with an address and the time of 7:30, tomorrow night.

She was going to have to ask Granny to watch Henry, because apparently she was a total idiot for this guy. He’d left the copy of Peter Pan so at the very least she’d need to return it to him, since it meant so much.

When the waiter returned to ask if she’d like anything else, Emma had another moment of panic - she was going to have to pay for both of their lobster rolls. But when she said she’d only like to go containers and a check, the waiter said Killian had taken care of the bill on his way out.

Sneaky, multitasking little profiler - Emma took a grudging bite of her lobster roll, then couldn’t quite muffle an involuntary moan. It was amazing and she wasn’t above gloating a little that she would get to have his for dinner. He may have a girlfriend that was getting a loving and thoughtful tattoo out of him (even though she could have sworn he said he didn’t have one) but Emma could re-prioritize. She could enjoy spending some time with a very attractive man who was apparently willing to buy her delicious food in exchange for said time while she got to design a beautiful piece of art for him.

That was the definition of win-win.

So why did she feel vaguely shitty about the whole thing?

She texted him back anyway, with a thumbs up emoji. Then she started flipping through Peter Pan while she carefully kept her lobster roll hand separate from her page turning one.

Another text dinged on her phone. Killian - yes, she’d added him to her contacts, so what, shut up.

Great! Really sorry I had to run out on you - I should warn you, this does tend to happen a fair bit. So please don’t take it personally - you are as lovely and charming as a bloke could hope for and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.

Seriously, who texted like that? Who had a right to be so thoughtful and flirty but not over the line flirty and perfect and apparently have a girlfriend even though he definitely said he did not have one?!

Emma took an angry bite of her lobster roll.

And responded with another thumbs up text.