#there's an important update about this story coming up next!

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[dogtoling]

General life- and blog update , since I assume at least a few people might have been wondering where I've been and what i've been up to recently. I obviously haven't been posting or drawing much this year in general. This will probably be an important post if you care about stuff on this blog, and I already rambled on Sheezy, but that site isn't very populated yet and it's also very good at hiding journals so let's just ramble again...

The summary of this post if you hate reading: I'm heavily considering just stepping away from Splatoon. That decision obviously would affect this blog (mostly, my OCs, which is kinda most of the blog at this point). I don't think the blog itself will go anywhere, and I'll probably use it for something in the future... alternatively i'll cherry pick stuff from here into an archive for people who like the worldbuilding.

Longer post under cut:

So what have I been up to this year? The answer is quite simple: NOTHING. Like, actually absolutely nothing. Aside from Art Fight, this has probably been one of my worst art output years of all time, which is really frustrating. That's between my horrendous mental health and depression chasms this year and a complete lack of both focus and inspiration (which can also get chalked down to the depression to a degree, yeah). So the very real reason to why there hasn't been much activity on this blog this year is because I just haven't Done Anything in general.

Now because I know there will be a few people who think "that's fine! you shouldn't judge yourself based on productivity!" you're right! I also agree. However the issue for me specifically is that most (if not all) the time I spend NOT drawing or creating, I spend sitting around wishing I could start drawing or creating, because that is like the 1 thing that keeps me sane on this freaking earth. Unfortunately coming up with OC scenarios in my head doesn't really result in output I can feel fulfilled by in any form as much as I wish it did, lol.

Now; The Issue. It doesn't take a genius to see that if you spend 9 months trying to finish like a dozen OC pages that you COULD do in a week or 2 if you wanted to, then there's probably more than just the problem of executive dysfunction (even though that's at least 60% of it for sure). Obviously my other major problem is that I live by imaginary rules and structures that make sense, but aren't actually useful at ALL in reality and are more than a hindrance if anything (the mental to do-list in my head that says i can't do X until I've done Y doesn't do very much if task Y takes 10 months and I also don't want to do it, and it also has no structured ending).

How does this tie into stepping away from Splatoon, you may ask. Well, the issue is that I have foreseeably fallen out of love with the series. Which isn't exactly news lol. Currently, I'm not even sure i will get the next game, if and when the time comes. Yes, the loss of interest is also expected, given that Splatoon 3 has ended and every fandom has this kind of downtime and lukewarm in-between-titles period. But the truth is that modern Splatoon (almost 10 years old!!!!) is tangibly different from the way the series was back when I fell in love with it. That was Splatoon 1, and while the series has improved in a lot of aspects and is thriving, it's grown in a direction that I just don't really like. Splatoon 3 had the most freaking horrendous, immersion breaking story mode they could've done, then they followed it up with a DLC story that was pretty cool but also compounded a lot of my fears about the series' future and played into every single thing i do not want Splatoon stories to be - fully character focused, random fucking villain, mundane event that's unrealistically world-threatening just because a kids video game needs a scary climax even though it's immersion breaking AGAIN, the whole thing taking place in cyberspace and thus offering basically no worldbuilding even though there is SO MUCH WORLD. I COULD GO ON.

The gist of it is that nowadays, rather than playing Splatoon and being inspired and excited at what comes next, I mostly find myself dreading what dumbass plot they will do next to throw a wrench in the otherwise good stuff. And when that's like THE main approach I have to what's supposed to be my favorite series, it is HARROWING. I can't even really blame the game for this; the story is NOT its selling point, the developers probably do their best to get the bits to us that they really want to tell, and at the end of the day the game is unfortunately a product. Worldbuilding for Splatoon is fun to a point. It's less fun when in order to actually write or create something coherent, instead of filling in the blanks, the blanks are 90% of the freaking thing. At that point you're just better off making something of your own instead of being anchored onto an IP that gives more problems than answers and occasionally shoots you with like a machine gun. Working in the realm of Splatoon is frustrating because more often than not, the questions I have ARE NOT MINE TO ANSWER, and the likelihood that the specific-ass questions I need answers to will ever be actually addressed is really low.

Tying this back to my OCs. Obviously I love my OCs more than I love myself which admittedly isn't that high of a bar but you get the point. The problem is that I spend a lot of time mulling over worldbuilding that, again, frankly isn't mine to do. Because if I want it to be Splatoon, then it should be mostly accurate to how Splatoon is! But the problem with that is that there's really not THAT MUCH worldbuilding in the series that you can work with, and most of the core game mechanics are just abstract enough that it's actually horrendous to try and come up with workarounds and ways for things to make sense that don't require just constructing a full knockoff version mirror dimension of the game and saying fuck everything that's in place here because Inkopolis Plaza literally has no roads in or out of there and I have no fucking idea how that's allowed when your only option is to jump the fence (or, nowadays, take the train which also isnt connected to a street as far as I remember). Between the face value issue and the lack of REALLY IMPORTANT worldbuilding, like - I will always come back to this - THE INK TANK'S FUNCTION 10 YEARS DOWN THE LINE - there's a goddamn ocean of plot holes and things that end up being obstacles to creativity rather than inspiration. I feel like I'm pretty solidly at the point (and have been for a while) where hanging onto Splatoon is really only contributing to creativity block and frustration with lack of freedom and the ability to actually do things.

So I guess those are my reasonings that I've put together just sitting here for the time being. The TL;DR is that I wish I could just do stuff without Splatoon's canon getting in the way, which is a really stupid problem to have if you're making Splatoon OCs. I feel this frustration extremely strongly every time I have to work with actual bigger aspects of the world; we still don't have an Inkopolis map, we don't know what the world around Inkopolis looks like, we don't know what the wilderness is like aside from Just Normal Forest and Desert and very few snippets as to what modern wildlife MIGHT be, I still don't know how the fuck the Inklings teleport to the goddamn arctic ocean to play a turf war at Shipshape Cargo co. These are all actually really important things if you're trying to establish a setting in any kind of storytelling that's outside of immediate city bounds (and even there, you need to know the layout of the city and its important areas). Also a fucking mutant bear and a baby salmon and a squid not wearing suitable gear went to space and fought on a rocket in space. These are some things that would give me peace of mind to not have to deal with in my own writing, probably.

So where do we go from here? Unsure. I haven't really made a decision on this front yet, though right now I'm leaning more towards actually going ahead with trying to do my own thing. That will result in obvious design and setting changes for my OCs whenever I get around to it. This blog probably won't go anywhere (again, unless I impulse delete it during a mood swing like i've almost done on like three separate occasions this year), but it will probably get less use, and I will probably end up making a new blog to post about whatever I end up doing once I get to a point where it feels like it makes sense. There's a chance that I will delete this blog and put all the interesting stuff on an archive blog for the people who are here just for the worldbuilding. My actual true passion for a long time now hasn't even been Splatoon anymore, it's just been cephalopods. I'm kind of done having Splatoon get in the way of the cephalopods, as thankful as I am that it introduced me to them...

If you read this to the end heres a treat for you = 🍪

[moominvalleysunset]

Jack & Joker episode 10 thoughts on P'Oh's death

I saw a poster who said they were abandoning the show because of their treatment of Trans characters (Their examples: making P'Saran's character Nulek the butt of a joke and killing off P'Jennies character P'Oh quite gruesomely.) And while I completely understand that this is a sensitive topic, especially right now, where Trans rights are being attacked in many if not almost all parts of the world and the result of the US-election does not bode well for a fair and inclusive future (and as you don't know me, let me emphasize: Trans rights are human rights, end of story!), I cannot agree in this instance. Loooong-ass Essay under the cut, be warned!

First of all, Thai culture is a special case as far as gender, gender identity and gender expression goes, both historically and in the progressive movements that are happening both in Thai society and in the entertainment (specifically the BL) industry. You simply cannot judge it solely by Western (or even other Asian) cultural conventions and standards, and by viewing it even more exclusively through an USA-centric perspective you are not doing anyone any favors.

I think that everyone watching Thai BLs regularily at least knows a little about the underlying cultural issues and practices, but for those who would like to learn more, I would recommend reading Dr. Thomas Baudinette's extremely fascinating and well-researched book Boys Love Media in Thailand (https://thomasbaudinette.com/boys-love-media-in-thailand-2022-3/) , where he also touches on the development of presenting trans and genderqueer characters in Thai TV and film (though only up until 2021/22, and the last two years have seen significantly more progress, diversity and inclusivity in Thai media both in front of and just as if not more importantly, behind the camera.) It's a great read, and I'm looking forward to the updated edition coming out next year. Or at least read a Wikipedia article or two about the subject if you haven't already, it's extremely interesting!

Now secondly, I want to take a look at the narrative. First of all, the two trans/genderqueer characters mentioned above are not the only ones in the show. We have Nulek's friend Pharao, Joke's disguise as Jessie (not a girl but a genderqueer person in drag, and emphatically NOT a caricature), Arun as a femme character and not to forget P'Oh's business – and maybe life – partner, a Trans man. Neither of them has been singled out, ridiculed or punished for their not conforming to any hetero- or cisnormative standards in the story (except for Arun by his dad, and nowhere is this presented as anything but reprehensible behaviour by a father). They are normal people struggling with social injustice and mundane problems, like anyone else. Which brings me to the first of the two instances mentioned, Nulek. While I understand that leaving them at a trash heap (I think we all can agree that getting them out of the way was just a plot thing that needed to happen) might raise some hackles, they are not the only one left there. The – very cismale – driver that Joke impersonated was also left at the landfill, so it is maybe not all that symbolic? Especially because Nulek and Arun's other subordinate Pharao get their comeuppance later on when they get their wonderfully petty revenge on their fallen boss. They have gained agency, rightfully enjoy their upper hand and are again not being ridiculed by the narrative.

And now P' Oh, played by the wonderful P'Jennie. I am horribly saddened by her senseless death, angry and frustrated, because it was so preventable and unfair, but her being Trans is not the most important part here IMO. She was trying, she was struggling, she was failing, she was succeeding, she was funny and sassy and beautiful and a smart businesswoman, and she was the only character apart from the mains, Toi Ting and Ama (who were not spared, either), whose death would send a big enough shockwave through the community to finally rattle them into fighting back  (but also leave the mains able to function and not utterly paralyse them in grief). That's why neither Toi Ting's dad nor Tattoo's mom were viable options. P'Oh was respected and liked in her community. Having her die was dark as fuck, but narratively speaking IMO necessary, and she didn't die because she was Trans. She died because she was the only character whose death would have the right amount of repercussions. So I cannot agree with the other poster that killing her was "shitting on Trans women". Really not.

Thirdly, we have to leave the show and look beyond, behind the camera. These people are longtime collaborators and by all accounts great friends and business partners. P'Jennie is a star who has written lakorn and BL history with her roles. There is nothing but love and respect for her from the makers of the show, you can be sure of that. And I would really like to hear her speak about her character and her role here. And Nuleks actor P'Saran and their friend Pharao have been collaborating with War, Yin and their managers since the first En of Love Anthology in 2019/20. YWPBs managers P'Go and P'Aun themselves can be read as femme. YWPBs work environment and the people they choose to collaborate with seem to be progressive, inclusive, diverse and definititely neither cisheteronormative nor tone-deaf to social issues, as we can see in all their works and public presence. Even more so in War and Yin themselves and in what they choose to say, do and stand for publicly. Are they all perfect? No (who is?), but it seems to me that they are trying really hard to do what's right.

So while I of course understand why someone could be triggered, angry and disappointed at what they see as yet another instance of a Trans character being treated unfairly, I would argue that here this anger might be misdirected and this reading neither does justice to the characters, the narrative, the actors and makers of this show nor to the very real issues Trans and genderqueer people still face in Thailand and around the world.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my essay/rant and I would be extremely interested in what you have to say in return!

[ssmokyquartz]

currently reading our share of night but i'm a little disappointed that the author decided to tell a big part of the story from the perspective of a character who has very little to add to the story

[aromanticasterisms]

chiori..........

[aliteralsemicolon]

Technically, I didn't stay up.

Just you and Spencer being fluffy when he comes home from work and falling asleep in each other's arms.

Spencer Reid X GN! Reader. 

DISCLAIMER This story is completely SFW, minors do not interact regardless!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

Word count: 1K See notes at end for authors note, any spoilers & update schedules.

I was listening to Margaret when I initially started writing this:

Spencer’s abnormal work hours were something you were entirely used to. You never knew when he was going to be called away and although he would text you when a case wrapped up, it was never a guarantee that he was going to make it home. Actually more often than not, he was usually hauled right back in for another case. What could you do? Serial killers didn’t really care about his convenience. Regardless, you always insisted on being present to greet him at the door, even if it meant testing your sleep schedule.

from: Spence ❤️

20:42 | The jet took off not too long ago. We should land in roughly five hours. Please don’t force yourself to wait up.

20:42 | I love you!

You were quick to respond to everything except the not waiting up part. Your plan hadn’t actually gone that smoothly, you’d fallen asleep on the couch not long after making yourself comfortable there. You didn’t hear him unlock the door. He took extra care to be as quiet as possible when abandoning his shoes and satchel at the entrance. He even put a lot of thought into making his steps as light as possible when he began to make his way to the bedroom, only to spot you curled up on the couch. 

He smiled to himself at the sight in front of him. The only lighting was a small lamp in the corner of the room, but to him, you were the brightest presence in the room. Your expression was neutral and your breaths shallow as you lay dead to the world. You looked so peaceful, he considered it to be almost criminal if he were to disturb you. He couldn’t just leave you there though. It wasn’t good for your body to be curled into a cramped position. 

Spencer made his way over to you, crouching down next to your face. He couldn’t help but admire whatever features were visible. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Honey?” he whispered when he pulled away. His voice was so soft. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted you to be comfortable in your own bed. “Hmm?” Your brain registered his voice, but it took your body a second to register his presence.

Spencer still had a hand in your hair, lightly stroking it. Your eyes fluttered open momentarily before they shut again. “You’re back!” You mumbled groggily, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. “I am!” He whispered gleefully. Your other hand made its way to his face so you could stoke his jaw. You could feel a little bit of stubble coming in. Spencer’s ears perked up at the little giggle that came out of you when you dropped from the couch into his lap and wrapped yourself around him. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I did tell you not to stay up.” His long arms swallow you into his embrace as he speaks. 

“Technically, I didn’t stay up.” You counter letting your hand make its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Sleeping on a surface that isn’t firm enough can contribute to back pain and because the surface of a couch tends to be softer than a mattress, it might not offer enough support for your back. Also, falling asleep while sitting up on a couch could result in your head pushing forward, which puts stress on the neck. Sleep posture is an important predictor of stiffness, back pain, and neck pain, according to several studies.” 

“Thank you Doctor. I remember why I missed you so much.” You pull back as you speak. “Who else is going to be as concerned about my sleep posture as you?”

“I missed you too.” He scoffs in amusement and smiles into the kiss you lean in for. 

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck when you feel a yawn coming. “Let’s go to bed, okay?” He whispers, sensing your sleeping demeanour. 

“Only if I can take you with me.” You whisper into his skin. He huffs a small laugh as he pushes you off him so he can stand and offers his arms down to you. You grab them and he pulls you up. Neither of you let go of each other's hand as you walk into the bedroom. “I’m just going to brush my teeth first, then I’ll be right with you.” Spencer announces. Still ever the germaphobe.

“I’m gonna join you, that nap made my mouth all dry.” You follow behind him. Spencer grabs both of your toothbrushes and holds them out, as you grab the toothpaste and squeeze an equal amount on each brush. You then take yours out of his hand and the two of you begin brushing. You’re both trying to make up for his time away by leaning into each other, stealing glances in the mirror and smiling if you get caught. 

When you both finish up in the bathroom, you make your way back to the bedroom together. It's like both of you are incapable of being away from each other right now, even for a second. Spencer decides against changing into more comfortable clothes, wanting nothing more than to hold you. He joins you under the comforter, immediately pulling you as close to him as possible. 

Neither of you have enough energy in you for conversation right now, you’re still sleepy from your previous nap and Spencer is entirely drained from the case. Still, you acknowledge each other through light touches and kisses. Spencer’s hand now makes its way to your hair while you draw little patterns against his chest. 

‘I missed u’ 

‘I <3 u’

‘♡’

‘:)’

He doesn’t recognise the little messages, but he appreciates the feeling all the same. You begin drifting off into sleep, revelling in the warmth emitting from him. Spencer smiles when he hears light snores coming from you. He truly considers himself the luckiest man alive. You don’t hear it but before he drifts off himself, he makes his feelings known to the universe in a light whisper.

“I love you so much you know. I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Spoilers: Fluff, Domestic! Spencer, entirely fluffy & domestic. Literally a comfort blurb for the people who take hot showers for too long and just need a hug.

AN - Hey so sorry for any errors, I drafted this in like 20 minutes to make up for the fact that my originally planned story for today would not be complete in time. Enjoy this short blurb. I was in a salty mood and made an entirely angst blurb too, but decided fluff was what society needed today. Also sorry for the shitty fucking title, my brain is shutting down. Also side note - I’m a WHORE for domestic! Spencer. I just loveeeeee when everyday tasks become so cute and fluffy and romantic. PLEASE recommend domestic Spencer stories!!!

Update Schedule: Original plan drops Monday or Tuesday (Sunday or Monday night EST time). (soooo apparently I'm a liar)

Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve. Remember to stay real and respectful :)

Thank you for reading!

[derinwrites]

How can I make money writing fiction?

I'm gonna be straight with you. There is no guarantee that you'll make enough as an independent writer to make it worth your time. You very well might -- I make a liveable wage as an independent writer -- but many don't. Most writers I know also have a job. And luck plays a big part in it.

If you're interested in going forward in spite of this, you have two main options for monetisation open to you, and you are going to have to pick one. I call them the sales model and the sponsorship model, and you are going to have to pick one.

The sales model involves writing stories and selling them to readers. You can put books up on Amazon or Smashwords, sell them direct from your own website, enlist the help of a traditional publisher to handle that for you and let them decide where to sell, whatever -- the point is that your money is made from the sale of books to readers. If you go with a traditional publisher, you're using this model (though they will give you some of the money ahead of time in the form of an advance). Most indie authors also use this model, publishing through draft2digital, Ingram Spark, direct through Amazon, whatever. I've never relied on the sales model and can't give you any advice on how to do this, but Tumblr is full of indie authors who probably can.

The sponsorship model involves soliciting small amounts of money from various readers over time. This is ideal for web serials, and it's what I use. I use Patreon, which is designed specifically for this purpose, but you can use other sites such as ko-fi. This model involves providing regular content for free, with bonuses for those who support you.

"Can't I do both? Sell books and have a Patreon?" You absolutely can! I know several indie authors with a Patreon. I sell my completed books as ebooks and will eventually sell them as paperbacks. But your time and attention is limited, and so is your audience's, and you're going to have to half-arse one of these in order to have enough arse to whole-arse the other. You're going to make a lo of decisions that benefit either the sponsorship model or the sales model, not both. So pick your primary income source early and commit.

I can only advise on writing web serials and using the sponsorship model, so I'll go ahead with that assumption. If you want to make a liveable wage doing this, not only will you need luck, you'll also need patience. This is not a fast way to build a career. at the end of my first year of doing this, I had one single patron, and they were a real-life friend of mine. When I reached an income of $100/month, I threw a little party for myself, I was so happy. It had taken such a long time and was so much work. I reached enough to cover rent/mortgage after I'd been doing this for more than four years. It's a long term sort of career.

Here are some general tips for succeeding in this industry, given by me, someone with no formal training in any of this who only vaguely knows what they're talking about:

Have a consistent update schedule and STICK TO IT

The #1 indicator for stable success in this industry (aside from luck, which we're discounting because you can't do much about that) is having a consistent update schedule. Your readers need to know when the next chapter is coming out, and it should be coming out regularly. Ideally, you should have no breaks or hiatuses -- if you're in a bus crash or something, that might be unavoidable, and your readers will understand if you tell them, but if you're stopping and starting a lot for trivial reasons, they WILL abandon you. You can't get away with that shit if you're not Andrew Hussie, and I'm pretty sure Andrew Hussie doesn't message me for career advice on Tumblr. If you find you need a lot of hiatuses to write fast enough then you're updating too often; change your schedule. A regular schedule is more important than a fast one (ideally it should be both, but if you have to pick between the two, pick regular).

2. Pay attention to your readership, listen to what they want from you

Your income is based on a pretty complicated support structure when you're using the sponsorship model. this model relies on people finding your story, liking your story, and continuing to find it valuable enough to keep paying you month after month. This means that your rewards for your sponsors should be things that they value and will continue to pay for ('knowing I'm supporting an artist whose work I enjoy' counts as a thing that they value, to my great surprise; there's a lot of people giving me money just for the sake of giving me money, so I can pay my mortgage and keep writing for them without needing a second job), but it also means supporting the entire network that attracts readers and keeps them having the best time they can with your story -- being part of a rewarding community. Because this is advice on making money, I'm going to roughly divide your readership into groups based on how they affect your bottom line:

sponsors. People giving you money directly. The importance of keeping this group happy should be obvious.

administration and community helpers -- discord moderators, IT people, guys who set up fan wikis, whoever's handling your mailing list if you have a mailing list. You can do this stuff yourself, or you can hire someone to do it, but if you're incredibly lucky and people enjoy being a part of your reader community, people will sometimes volunteer to do the work for free. If you are lucky enough to get such people, respect them. They are doing you a massive favour, and they're not doing it for you, but to maintain a place that they value, and you have to respect both of those things. My discord has just shy of 1,300 members and is moderated by volunteers. I'd peel my own face off if I had to moderate a community that large. If you've got people stepping up to do work for you, you need to respect them and you need to make sure that they continue to find that rewarding by doing what you can to make sure that the community they're maintaining is rewarding. Sometimes this means taking actions and sometimes this means staying the fuck out of the way. Depending on the circumstances.

fan artists. Once you have people drawing your characters, writing fanfic of your stories, whatever, treat these like fucking gold. Give them a space to do this, and more importantly, give them a space to do this without you in it. Fanworks are a symptom of engagement with your work, which is massively important. They are also a component of a healthy community, an avenue for readers to talk to each other and express themselves creatively to each other. Third, fanworks act as a bridge for new readers. When readers share their art on, say, Tumblr, it can intrigue new people and get them into the story. Your job in all of this is to give them the space to work, encourage them as required or invited (I reblog most TTOU fanart that I'm tagged in on Tumblr, for instance), and other than that, stay the fuck out of their way. These people are vital to the liveblood of your community, the continued engagement of your audience, and the interest of your sponsors. Some of the fan artists will be sponsors themselves; some won't be. Those who aren't sponsors are still massively valuable for their art.

speculators, conversers, theorists, livebloggers, and That Guy Who's Just Really Jazzed For The Next Chapter. Some people don't make art but just like to chat about your story. These people are a bedrock of the community that's supporting your sponsors and increasing your readership, and therefore are critical to your income stream. Give them a place to talk. Be nice to them when they talk to you. Sometimes, they'll ask you questions about the story, which you can choose to answer or not, however you feel is appropriate. They'll also want to chat about non-story-related stuff with each other, so make sure they have a place to do that, too.

that guy who never talks to you or comments on anything but linked your story to ten guys in his office who all read it now. Some of your supporters are completely invisible to you. You can't do anything for these people except continue to release the story and have a forum they can silently lurk on if they want to. But, y'know, they exist.

If you want to focus on income then these are, roughly, the groups of people that you will need to listen to and accommodate for. You can generally just make sure they have space to do their thing, and if they want anything else, they'll tell you (yes, guys, paperbacks will be coming eventually). Many people will fit into multiple groups -- I have some sponsors that are in every single one of these groups except the last. Some will only be in one group. A healthy income rests on a healthy community which rests on accommodating these needs.

3. If you can manage it, try to make your story good.

It's also helpful for your story to be good. Economically, this is far less important than you'd think -- there are some people out there writing utter garbage and making a living doing it. Garbage by what standards? By whatever your standards are. Just think of the absolute laziest, emptiest, hackiest waste-of-bandwidth story you can imagine -- some guy is half-arsing that exact story and making three times what you'll ever make on Patreon doing it. And honestly? Good for him. If he's making that much then his readers are enjoying it, and that's what matters. Still, one critical component of making money as a writer is writing something that people actually want to read. And you can't trick them with web serials, because they don't pay in advance -- if they're bored, they'll just stop. So you have to make it worth their time, money and attention, and the simplest way to do that is to write a good story.

This hardly seems mentioning, since you were presumably planning to do that anyway. It's basic respect for your audience to give them something worth their time. Besides, if we're not interested in improving our craft and striving for our best, what are we even writing for? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to try to write a good story. The reason I list this is in fact the opposite -- don't let "I'm not a good enough writer" paralyse you. The world is full of someday-writers who endlessly fuss over and revise a single story because it's not good enough, it's not perfect, they're not Terry Pratchett yet. Neither was Terry Pratchett when his first books were published. If you're waiting to be good enough, you won't start. I didn't think Curse Words was good enough when I started releasing it -- I still don't. I started putting it out because I knew it was the only way I'd get myself to actually finish something. I don't think it's all that great, but you know what? An awful lot of people read it and really enjoyed it. And if I hadn't released it, I'd have been doing those people a disservice.

Also, it taught me a lot, and based on what I learned, Time to Orbit: Unknown is much better. If I'd never released Curse Words, if I hadn't seen how people read it and reacted to it and seen what worked and what didn't, then Time to Orbit: Unknown wouldn't be very good. And it certainly wouldn't be making me a living wage, because it was the years writing Curse Words that started building the momentum I have today.

And Time to Orbit: Unknown as it is today has some serious problems. Problems that I'm learning from. And the next book will be a lot better.

So that's basically my advice for making money in this industry. Be patient, be lucky, be consistent. Value your community; it's your lifeline, even the parts of it that don't directly pay you. And try to make your story as good as you can, but make that an activity you do, not a barrier to prevent you from starting.

Good luck.

[stxrvel]

coincidence! (2)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!” 

“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?” 

“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!” 

“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”

“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”

It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.

When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy. 

Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand. 

Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly. 

Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier. 

“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news. 

“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?

“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted. 

“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.” 

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.” 

Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business. 

 “Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look. 

Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!” 

“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.” 

“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.” 

 “Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”

 “Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair. 

 “y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.” 

 “Ow, my poor baby.” 

 “I told you not to say that to anyone!” 

 “I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!” 

 “This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!” 

 “Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.” 

 “You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!” 

 “It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!” 

 God. It was going to be a long day. 

- 

Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run. 

 “Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?” 

 “Maybe.” 

Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions. 

 “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?” 

 The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare. 

 Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.

 You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return. 

You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart. 

“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew. 

“How did all this happen?” 

“Why do you think I have an answer for that?” 

Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity. 

“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.” 

 “It's…complicated.” 

 “I don't think so. Tell me.” 

Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much. 

 “It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.” 

“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.” 

 Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile. 

“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.

“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?” 

Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva. 

“Oh?” 

Play fucking dumb. 

“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.” 

Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed. 

One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung. 

“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”

“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.” 

Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day. 

“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.” 

Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar. 

“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”

“That has nothing to do with…” 

“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.” 

“What does that have to do…?”  

“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.” 

“…” 

At what fucking moment? 

“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?” 

“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.” 

Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends. 

Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town. 

They seemed to have disappeared from the planet. 

Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you. 

That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present. 

“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.” 

You were probably as white as a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.” 

God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous. 

“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?” 

“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.” 

“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!” 

You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you. 

“Don't tell my mom I said that.” 

You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left. 

The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait. 

Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably. 

-

a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592

[multifandomgirl08]

Something Bad, Something Good [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fiancée!Reader

Summary: Reader deals with the haters on Twitter, Nico calls Reader Mama. Max claps back at the haters on Instagram like the malewife that he strives to be.

Warning(s): slander of reader on Twitter (+ some people not being mean on Twitter at the end), fluff, Mixed formatting (Story + Social Media)

A/N: This was a request from this ask and was sent in by anon. I felt it was important to show that everything in life is give and take and I hope that this showed that.

11/12/2023 A/N: The last social media post was updated to match reader's face claim

Words: 2.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

You had seen it on Twitter and it wasn’t long before you were down the rabbit hole. It didn’t take long to show up on your Twitter feed when you opened the cursed app.

It started with a simple tweet and took you no time to find the source.

It was speculation that you had grown used to. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when people thought that you were using Max because he had money. You knew that it probably wasn't just the small group of people on Twitter. It never was. There would always be people that wouldn't like that you were with Max. It was just the inevitable.

You had locked your phone when Nico came up to you with one of his toy cars in his hand.

“Are you sad Mimi?” Nico asked.

“No, Nico I’m not sad.” You reached for him before he moved to sit in your lap.

Nico didn’t need to know that people on the internet liked to stick their opinions into other people’s personal lives for no real reason. They talked what they didn’t know anything about and speculated on the obvious. Just another day of living in the 21st century, you thought.

“Someone wasn’t being nice to me. But, I have you and Papa, and Auntie Vic. So I will be okay.” You kissed the side of Nico’s head before he curled up with you on the couch to watch something.

You would be okay. They were just comments on a screen, as long as Max didn't find out, it would be okay.

"Okay," he muttered before laying his head on your shoulder. You were still a bit jet lagged from getting back from your trip with Max and decided to close your eyes while the movie played on the TV.

“Papa,” Nico said. “Is Mama sad?”

Max looked up from his phone to see Nico in the living room.

They had only been back from their trip for a few days and Y/N had left to go get groceries with his mom. Sophie was leaving in the morning so Y/N insisted on cooking tonight before they dropped her off at the airport tomorrow.

Nico had never called Y/N Mama before, not even when they had gotten back from their vacation, and told Nico that he and Y/N would be getting married.

“You called Y/N Mama, you haven’t before.” Max wanted to know why. Why now?

He knew that Nico had grown quite attached to Y/N after she had moved in with them. Nico liked spending time with Y/N. Nico had thrown a fit before they had left for their vacation because he would be without Y/N for a few weeks. His mom had called him once they had gotten to The Bahamas saying that Nico wanted Mimi to come home and had been crying since seeing Max’s plane take off until he had eventually fallen asleep.

Nico shrugged his shoulders. Maybe Nico was too young to understand the concept of a mother.

Nico walked away before pulling out one of the children’s books that he would read to Nico before bed. The story had a very basic structure that would appeal to Nico’s mind. It was about a mother lion taking care of her four cubs.

Nico’s finger ran over the picture of the lions on the page stopping on the mother lion. “She’s their Mama, like Mimi is mine. She takes care of me...” Nico trailed off.

He felt his phone buzz next to him but didn’t check right away to focus on Nico. He pulled him into his arms and then had him sit on his knee.

“Nico, you know that you can call Y/N Mama, right?” He said to his son in Dutch.

Nico nodded.

“I’m sure that it would make her happy if you did.” Nico didn't say anything to Max for a moment. Max saw him nod.

"When is ...Mama coming home?" Nico slowly said, as if he was truly trying it out for the first time. Letting the word roll off his tongue, and then assessed if he liked it before giving a small nod that Max would have missed if he wasn't looking.

“Soon,” He said. "Why do you think Mama is sad?" He couldn't help but think back to what Nico said when he first came into the room.

Nico gave a small shrug, "She was looking at her phone yesterday. She looked sad."

Max was a little surprised. Why would Y/N be sad about something on her phone? He would ask her when she got home.

“Come, we’ll go play with some of your toys until she and grandma get home.” He was going to leave it at that. Nico didn't need to worry about that.

He checked his phone to see a text from Lando while Nico went to get out the toys that he wanted to play with.

Nico took things out of boxes while Max quickly texted Lando back.

Max quickly locked his phone, turning to Nico to give him all of his attention to play with the mini model cars he had.

This was why Y/N had been sad, she had seen what people were saying about her on Twitter. He wasn't going to even look because he knew it would just make him angry.

They had played for a while before Max asked Nico if he would put everything away before Mama got home with Grandma.

It wasn’t much later that Max heard the front door open to Y/N and Sophie walking through the door with groceries in their hands. Max moved from his spot on the couch and helped take the bags into the kitchen.

Max hugged his mom before pulling Y/N in close, he cupped her cheek for a moment and then leaned down to kiss her on the lips. He just needed her to know that he was here if she needed anything.

“Hi.” He muttered feeling her pull away.

“Hey.” She said back. He tried to search her eyes to see if Nico was right. If she was sad, he couldn't see a trace of it at the moment.

There was the unmistakable sound of light feet against the hardwood floors.

Max and Y/N turned towards the sound of Nico standing just outside of the kitchen looking at them for a moment before running up to Y/N.

“Mama!” He yelled, before he locked his little arms around Y/N’s legs.

Y/N looked down at Nico placing her hand into his hair.

Max could see the tears filling at the corners of her eyes, not expecting to hear that.

Max couldn’t help but look over at his mom, and could see the look of approval on her face. It wasn’t something that he needed from her, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

He could see that Y/N had pushed away the stray tears that had managed to fall before he had reached over and kissed her forehead, letting his hand rest on Nico's shoulder. Max reached up to cup her chin again feeling the slight tremble of her bottom lip. She was trying to stop herself from crying.

As he looked at her he could see the silent thank you in her eyes. Her letting him know how grateful she is to him for letting her have this. To truly be Nico’s mother.

Y/N had leaned down a little and kissed the top of Nico’s head before Sophie had shooed them out of the kitchen so they could put the groceries away. Max quickly kissed Y/N on the lips before giving his mom a hug and took Nico with him out of the kitchen.

Y/N had started dinner not long after and they ended up eating some pasta dish that took what felt like no time to cook. Through dinner every time Nico asked Y/N for something it started with him calling her Mama. Y/N couldn’t wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the evening.

Once Max was done clearing the table after dinner he quickly went on his phone, wrote out a message and then posted it to his Instagram story knowing that people would check and read it. It was easy enough. Once they were both up and he had checked them twice for spelling. Then he had left his phone in the bedroom for the rest of the night, going out into the living room to talk with Sophie  and lay on the couch with his family.

He would never allow a few anonymous people to speak ill of his son's mother, Max loved her too much for that.

maxverstappen1 has added to their story

Sophie had called it an early night so she could finish packing and offered to put Nico to bed. Neither he or Y/N refused.

Max had tried to get comfortable in bed once he and Y/N had moved to the bedroom but he couldn't manage it.

"What's going on?" Y/N asked as she climbed into bed. "You’re never like this."

"I got a text from Lando today. Apparently, someone on Twitter was talking about you." Max watched as Y/N stopped in her tracks, slowly sitting back against the pillows.

She knew, she had seen those comments.

"I'm assuming that you saw them." She said.

"No, I didn't.” He didn’t need to see them to know that Lando was telling him the truth. “Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"Because it doesn't matter." Max wanted to fight her on that. People who didn’t know her shouldn’t have the right to say horrible things about her.

"I'm his mother Max, Nico sees me as his mom. That's why none of those comments matter." She continued. "I never knew how much I needed to hear him call me that until he did today."

Max could only guess for Y/N how different it was to actually hear Nico call her Mama for the first time. It was a first for Nico as well, given that he didn’t have a mother figure in his life until she had come along.

Max can remember the first time that Nico had called him Da. It was barely audible, but Nico had looked right at him when he had said it. He wasn't sure if he was able to breathe after that. Nico could only rely on him to take care of him until Y/N had come into their lives.

He let out a deep breath before opening his arms for her. She pushed back the sheets resting herself against his side, playing with the loose thread at the hem of his gray t-shirt.

“Mijn leeuwin,” He started to say. “Is this something that you want?” He asked.

“Do you want to legally be his mother?” They had talked about this months ago after he already had gone to get her ring made. Making it legal was just another step for them to fully be a family.

“I don’t need to legally be his mom Max.” She stiffened in his arms, seeing the reflection of the diamond just out of the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want to though?” He echoed. He knew that she didn’t need it, she hadn’t in the last few months since they had talked about it the first time. She had never pushed for Nico to call her anything other than the nickname that he had for her.

He looked to see her slightly nod, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears ready to spill from them.

“I’ll give it to you.” He could make it happen, a few calls to his lawyer who would look through the papers that Amelia had left him about giving up her parental right to Nico, talking to Raymond as well and it could all be settled just after the wedding if they moved fast enough.

“Max.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. She didn’t have to say anything else but his name. As she looked up at him all he could see was the love that she had for him fill her eyes.

Neither of them had to say anything in that moment. It was settled, they were going to start the process of Y/N adopting Nico.

It wasn’t long after that they both fell asleep curled up around each other. Exhausted from the high emotions of the day.

maxverstappen1

Liked by sophiekumpen, victoriaverstappen and 523,345 others

maxverstappen1 Miji Familie

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August 19, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel

[greenorangevioletgrass]

if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story. 

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried. 

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album…  boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck. 

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you. 

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation. 

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing. 

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more. 

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases. 

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice. 

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs. 

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?” 

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!” 

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children. 

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia. 

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits. 

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling. 

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you. 

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his. 

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there. 

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.” 

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago. 

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk. 

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you. 

[thatlittlered]

time warp | aaron hotchner

warning(s): none, just hotch being delicious

GIF by @katebeckets

part one

author's note: I have never updated a story this fast in my life. Another part is coming tomorrow.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

The door to his office is open, chatter from the bullpen reaching him when you all get too loud. He can tell Morgan is pestering you about something and the others have gathered around to listen.

“You only have one watch?”

“How many watches do other people have? You act like it’s insane.”

Spencer, like always, feels the need to interject, “I have three.”

You sigh, abandoning your pen and notes.

“I have another one but that’s my grandmother’s, I can’t wear it to work.”

Derek is not satisfied with your answer.

“You have a thousand pieces of jewelry.”

“I know!”

“You are wearing most of them right now.”

“I know, Morgan, you can stop bullying me now.” You pout at him and he pouts back, but his grin is indicator enough that he’s not even close to finished with you.

“Where do you even spend your paychecks, sweetheart?”

“Important stuff. Like shoes.”

“I only have one pair of shoes aside of my trainers.”

Emily laughs, “Yeah, we know that, Spence. Their time is coming to an end, by the way.”

Morgan zeroes in on you again, poking a finger into your knee to get a reaction.

“How many pairs of shoes do you have exactly? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“They were twenty… at some point.”

Triumph.

You almost can’t stand his shit-eating grin.

“There you go. Too bad you don’t get to wear them here.”

“Where do you spend yours? A lifetime’s supply of V-necks at GAP?”

You stand up from your chair, eager to get away from this conversation.

“You’re only mean to me because you know I’ll love you anyway.”  

“Maybe.”

He puts his hand over his heart in feign hurt. Garcia mutters something about a woman’s right to shoes in your defense and you kiss her cheek to thank her on your way to the kitchenette. Aaron still watches from his seat and squirms uncomfortably when he sees Morgan follow you.

You take his mug and pour you both some coffee while he takes a seat, thanking you. You don’t even see Hotch come in.

“Did your watch get lost?”

You almost spill your coffee at the baritone of his voice. Everything he says comes out so official, so professional, as if speaking orders, but not at that beach under the sunrise. Who was he then?

“Yes, it did. Totally on its own and not because I keep leaving my stuff in random places and not looking after them properly.”

“Maybe that’s why you spend so much on stuff, if you keep losing them.”

You quirk a brow at Derek, leaning over him menacingly from your position.

“I swear to God, Morgan, this might be the day you officially lose my affection.”

He takes the cup you’ve poured for him from your hand and slowly walks backwards in resignation.

“No, please, I didn’t mean it.”

You smile at each other and you point a finger at him. Hotch watches with a frown.

“Tread lightly.”

When Morgan’s gone, he can finally step closer to you. Getting to the coffee machine is only the excuse.

“You know, you’re really good at keeping him in check. Maybe you should be in charge here.”

You smile into your cup, “That’s alright, we already have a boss and he’s okay.”

“Oh, is he? Good to know, I can’t wait to have that all over my evaluation files next year.”

You nod. The fabric of his suit jacket brushes against your arm while he pours.

“Some might even use the words ‘pretty good’.”

He hums, “So eloquent.”

Your smile deepens, nose wrinkling upwards in a way that now really can’t be hidden in your cup.

-.-.-

It’s almost time for everyone to head home and for once, he’s trying really hard to make it out of the office before sundown; maybe spend some quality time with Jack.

There’s a knock on his door before it opens and he’s about to send whoever it is away but-

“Hi, sorry, am I interrupting?”

He looks up, uncharacteristically disoriented.

“Uh, no-no, come in.”

“Are you coming to Rossi’s tonight?”

He’s dumbfounded.

“I’m not really sure yet, I have some errands to run when I’m done here.”

“Oh, okay… I just found some old Marvel comics and I thought Jack might like to have them, but I didn’t bring them with me. Maybe I could give them to you tonight? That is, if you make it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you mind?”

“No, of course not, I just-”, he exhales, “I’ll be there.”

You smile and nod, ready to leave.

“Maybe I could give you a ride and you can give them to me then. I mean,” his thumb scratches his bottom lip uncomfortably, “your place is practically on the way.”

“Have you ever been to my place?”

Aaron laughs awkwardly, “No.”

“But you seem to know what you’re talking about, so I’m going to put my faith in you. Pick me up at seven?”

“That works.”

-.-.-

It’s not even half past six when he rings your doorbell and you open the door still clad in pjs.

“You are so early.”

Hotch suddenly looks so small for such a usually imposing man. He stands in your doorway with nervous hands in his pockets and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him act like this before.

“I’m sorry, I can wait in the car if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay, come in. I think I knew deep down that you would be; just not by this much.”

 He clears his throat and moves inside to now stand awkwardly at the apartment’s entrance, “I’m sorry, I started way too early from my house. Overestimated how long it would take to get here.”

Your interactions do something to warp his sense of time.

“That’s okay, Aaron, really. You’re just going to have to give me a few minutes because I haven’t had the time to get ready yet.”

He watches, frozen in his place, while you walk towards the kitchen.

“Do you need anything? Coffee, orange juice?”

He almost smiles to himself. He just knew you’d be the type of person to always keep the fridge fully stocked even if you’re barely ever home. He likes the confirmation that he knows you, despite his inability to really make conversation and establish familiarity. He grasps at straws; little pieces of you that he sometimes finds and keeps them close to his heart.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You still bring him a glass of water, freezing cold, just like he likes it, and rest it on the coffee table.

“You can sit, if you want.”

“Right.”

He smiles and sits almost robotically. When he picks up the glass, he softly wipes the ring of water that’s formed underneath with his hand but you don’t see it.

“Let me just grab the box.”

“It’s a whole box?”

“Yeah, I got it at a yard sale.”

“You bought it? You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, now that him and I are officially friends I have to do something to maintain the relationship, seeing how I never actually get to see him.” You sit beside him while he looks through the various issues. There have to be at least fifteen in here.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he really appreciates the comforting hand on his shoulder, “This was very nice of you to do, thank you.”

You smile and nod at him.

“Actually, I also have something I wanted to give you; I just need to get it from the car.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, give me a moment, will you?”

He’s out and back in a second. Practically runs back into your apartment when you open the door; a small gift bag in hand.

“I would have brought in with me, but I chickened out at the last minute.”

His fingers linger when he hands it to you. It’s almost a caress in passing.

“You got me something?”

It’s a digital watch, neatly sat on soft velvet.

Was that the errand he had to run?

“Oh, Hotch, thank you so much, but you really shouldn’t have. I know I joked around today, but I would have actually gotten around to getting one. I am not that financially irresponsible.”

“It’s nothing really, it’s not an expensive watch.”

“Oh, okay, as long as it’s the cheap, trashy stuff. Phew.”

He laughs and you realize you’re both standing in your doorway again.

“I just wanted to do something nice.”

“You’re nice to me all the time.”

His brows furrow, “It doesn’t feel like I am.”

“It must come easy then.”

“It does with you.”

He meets your gaze and you stay there for a while.

“Can you help me try it on?”

“Of course.”

He clasps it high on your wrist, just like he’s seen you wear the previous one. The color matches your jewelry and it’s excruciatingly sweet just how much attention he pays to details.

“I just wanted to thank you, I suppose, for the other day. It meant a lot to me.”

Aaron’s hand doesn’t leave your arm, instead wraps gently around it instead, as if one of your bracelets.

“It meant a lot to me too.”

His breathing is heavy, his voice barely a whisper. What you are doing feels like a secret; like it’s meant to be hidden from the rest of the world.

“I’m not sure you mean that in the same way that I do.”

Your other hand comes to rest on top of his, thumb passing softly over protruding veins and scars. He thinks, for a moment, it might wipe them away.

“Then you’re not the people expert that you think you are.”

His laugh is heartbreaking.

“Guess I’m not very good at that either.”

You hum, “You’re okay.”

Neither of you is moving but it feels like you’re getting closer.

“So eloquent again.”

You can’t help but beam with pride at how comfortable he’s getting with your banter. A whole world unlocked and open for you to see. His body is drawn to you, almost folds over and around you to be closer. As close as he can possibly get without touching you more.

“It’s the worst moment possible now, when you’ve just given me a gift and picked me up from my place, but I think it deserves to be said that I would very much like to be kissed by you.”

His eyes flutter close.

“It really is the worst moment possible,” his hand slides slowly from your wrist to elbow, taking in the feeling of bare skin, “but I would very much like to kiss you.”

“But you won’t.”

His hand stops traveling up your arm, drops back onto your wrist and without really meaning to, pulls you closer.

“No.”

You stay like this for a while. Nothing but soft breathing to be heard in the room.

“I should probably go.”

You look up in surprise, “Are you not coming with me?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” he touches the inside of your palm and traces the lines as if to remember them, “I wouldn't know what to say or do after this.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s alright, I understand… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The loss of his touch is like a sudden drop in the temperature around you. You both feel it.

He doesn’t meet your gaze again, simply gathers the box and clears his throat as if that will magically return him to what he’s used to being.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You see him press his lips together before he turns to leave.

When you get to Rossi’s, the team is disappointed to know he’s not coming after all, but they’re not surprised. JJ asks you about the new watch and you lie. You can tell Emily is not convinced but she doesn’t say anything about it, merely smiles at you and inches closer with her chair.

Aaron spends another night alone. Jack is at a sleepover with a friend that he didn’t have the heart to pick him up from all of the sudden.

That’s the cost of being a stone, he supposes.

part three

[pakhnokh]

House of Gentians Arc 2 || Pages 163-168 END

Wei Ying: Sorry, I can't let Lan Wangji hold me by the waist like that again ;___;

Me: Goddammit, alright, have it your way, but I'm going to draw the most intense panels of you putting your hands on his shoulders. Is Lan Wangji flinching cause it's Wei Ying who's touching him so fiercely? Is it the fact that his scars that are barely healed yet hurt from that grip? You decide!

ARC 2 EXTRAS FOR PАТRОNS Extra mini comic: The Dog Art pieces Extra mini comic: Cornetto commercial

ARC 2 Complete PDF with extras ARC 3 (TBA)

PREVIOUS PART

ABOUT+TABLE OF CONTENTS

IMPORTANT NOTE: Always be sure to click on my profile and check for updates because if you see a random part reblogged IT MIGHT NOT BE THE EDITED VERSION WITH THE WORKING LINK TO THE NEXT PART ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arc 2 has come to its end! Yes, I can't believe it too. It's been 11 months since I posted the arc's cover image. I've been through so much since then, so much of my life has changed and yet working on this project, providing 4 pages every week, was somewhat of a blessed constant and fairly, I'm going to miss it.

I have to say that I'm very grateful to you, the readers, because your excitement with this story and the wonderful comments and questions and interest and insights you left on each part is what kept me going and also helped me understand my story better, so THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! A HUGE THANK YOU TOO FOR MY PАТRОNS!!!! I wouldn't have been able to do NONE of it if it weren't for your amazing support. You have no idea how grateful I am that you are giving me the opportunity not only to create this story for you and for others, but to also develop myself further as an artist (this is the first time I do a long comic of such a scale and by thinking about you when I make updates every week, I think how much better I can make my work). Your support is also a huge help with my daughter, not only because you help me provide for her, but also because in spite of the fact that taking care of her gets more and more difficult, you being there keeps me motivated to not give up on drawing and succumb to 100% life of a mother and a housewife. You save me <3.

So what now? Now I will work on extras for members of the peke-king tier on my Pатrеоn. I will create extra comic pages, a few more arts, and a funny comic strip. When all of that is done, I will create the PDF and upload it to the shared drive (I think this arc+extras is going to be about 200 pages!!) after that, I will take a break from HoG to finish other MDZS projects I halted, and after those are done I will take a break entirely to reread MDZS and consume all its media again, so I will remember forgotten parts and get that spark ready for Arc 3! So absolutely stay tuned! Thank you all again for being with me in this journey, and hope you enjoyed the story! <3

[clockwayswrites]

Both Ways at Once Part 4

WC: 668, Masterpost

Jason inched forward and pressed his ear to the door Tim had just gone through.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked.

There was silence, then “Where’s Jason?”

That was Dick. He’d been staying at the manor since it all happened. It was a little weird to have him a round like that.

“Asleep. He’s still getting exhausted too easily.”

Dick would buy it, of course he would. For one, it was true; Jason was exhausted. For another, Jason had been good. He rested when he was told. He ate when he was fed. He spent most of his time awake in the library just reading. He was passive.

He may have set them up, but it was their own damn fault if they bought it.

Dick let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know, I’m worried about that. So’s Bruce. They had Constantine bring in another specialist…”

“No good?”

“Don’t know. He sorta…” Dick laughed but it was strung out sounding. “He phased into the cell and then refused to let go of Hood. Or Hood refused to let go of him, we’re not sure. They’re in a meeting room now. According to him, they were basically torturing Hood by keeping him locked up in the Watchtower—”

Jason didn’t hear anything else. Blood was rushing in his ears. They were hurting him.

When he had come to in that basement, Jason had been confused. He hadn’t known how he had gotten there or what was happening. But also he had. Part of him had known, instinctively, that the huge man next to him was important and that they needed to stay close together.

His head had felt like it was splitting in two as what he knew and what was overlapped. His skin had felt too tight, like he had been stuffed into it. Everything had hurt. And so when his family had arrived and whisked him one way and the other man another, Jason had let them.

He had regretted it ever since.

Bruce and Constantine had sat him down the next morning, explaining that he had been hit with a magical spell that affected him mentally and physically. He had been split into two. He wanted to see the other part of him, but they said no. They had to find out more about the situation first, he was told. There could be a magical backlash. It was dangerous. They were keeping him in the dark, that’s what.

Fuck that. Jason had started using his exhaustion and pain as a cover as he worked to find out information. He learned: - The man was called Red Hood (no, not that Red Hood). - Apparently he used to look a lot closer to how Red Hood did. - The memories he knew of the last few years never happened. - They were keeping Red Hood in the Watchtower. - He needed to see him.

Jason was still putting together a plan, and now this consultant had solved one of the biggest problems about how to make it happen, Red Hood was out of his cell. Half baked plan or not, there was no time like the present.

Careful to keep his steps soundless, which was easy enough in the thick socks he wore to desperately try and stay way, Jason crept away from the door and took off to the Bruce’s study. He was grateful that while things about the present overlapped weirdly with his memories, like half dreams and stories, anything before he had… anything before Ethiopia still made sense. Anything after was a crap shoot if it was real.

The hands on the clock turned easily, his thumb print still scanned, and the door still opened. The way to barricade the door from the inside was the same too. It wouldn’t hold any of the Bats for long, but it was enough for Jason to scramble down the steps and over the the Zeta tube.

He just needed Red Hood to hold on.

He would be there soon.

He needed to see him.

-----

AN: So maybe I'm spoiling you all with another update today, but it is dark and stormy and I'm burrowed into a blanket with cats and a headache, and people have been asking about smol!Jason so I felt you all should get to meet him!

Stay delightful and dry, darlings!

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the masterpost to be notified!

[tan1shere]

Promotion

Ellie williams x female reader !

A/n: yes I'm awful, I needa stick to one story at a time BUT I couldn't resist when I heard this song like I needed to write something to it - enjoy 😝

Update! I had a dream last night and it was of Ellie and, let's just say it was 😋 so it got me even MORE inspired 😌

Summary: where you're a teasing menace as you're out with your girlfriend for the night - at a small party for her big fancy work, little did you know she knew how to shut you right up.

Warnings: smut 😈 durh. Mdni. Soft dom Ellie, sub - slightly bratty reader ! Narcissistic men !!!! (Theres only one) breeding kink ?! Cute n fluffy at the end 🤗

Masterlist

There was no doubt on how much you liked to tease Ellie, it was entertaining to say the least. She enjoyed it, watching what you'd do next. Until she didn't. It was times like these when she was incredibly pent up and she had no patience for your antics. Ellie never got angry at you tho, whenever this happened usually she'd give you a very specific taunting look. It would shut you up instantly, remembering on how she'd have you if you didn't. Not today. You didn't really care, you wanted to have fun and teasing was your playground. You were good at it. Too good, for Ellies liking. Maybe that's why she eventually resented it so much, the way you got to her so easily. Or the fact she felt so not in control at how you could get her.

You enjoyed the punishment tho, it was thrilling. Ellie worked at a huge company, she was like the big boss there. So you'd be forever dragged to these fancy parties/dinners. It was lovely, you always loved them so much. But you felt like being a menace tonight. Maybe because Ellie had been away so much recently, you know it's her job. Bur it still pissed you off deeply. The owner of the company was a dickhead and he made her work overtime. Ellie being Ellie she never said anything like you had suggested. She needed a break, a well needed one. She said it was fine, and she constantly responded with that.

So after a long day with your job all you wanted to do was rest. And you were just about to do that- "Get dressed." You see her coming into your room dropping her bag. "Well hi to you too-" "Hi my love, we've got an important dinner to get to." She states, beginning to get dressed into her usual attire, for these things. "These are like every other night Ellie why can't Ian-" Her head whips around to face you. "There's no arguing with him. These are a must baby, and you know how I like to bring you along." You nod. "Fine." It was cold, making Ellie look at you still. "What's crawled up your ass." You get up, going to get into a nice black dress. "Your stupid boss. The fuckwit owner." She sighs. "Y/n-" "Ellie." Her eyes roll at you. "Why do you get like this huh? You want my attention or something." Your shoulders shrug.

"Maybe, or maybe I'm just tired." She lets out a chuckle. "That's the biggest lie love." You stare at her blankly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." Her eyebrow raises, really not taking any notice of your little mood. The closet door opens, as she grabs a black dress for you and puts it on the bed. "And what if I want to keep wearing my sweats?" You question. She keeps her gaze on you. "Baby, come on. Please?" When you don't say anything she sits down on the bed. "Do you genuinely not want to go?" She asks, looking in your eyes. You're still silent as she waits for a reply. Honestly you didn't really care one way or the other, your day was messy and you just wanted to be more messy, by fucking with her. It truly could be thrilling. So maybe that'll make you feel better... Sooo much better.

She still awaits for your words. But you're silent, having a slight smile on your face. She lets out a huff and pinches her upper nose. "Got it, you're just being a brat." Your eyes roll as you go to get up. "You're annoying, let me have my fun." She laughs a bit. "Not when you get out of control." Her attention is on you, especially when she hears you scoff. "You've become a real party pooper in your old age." You joke, making you both let out a small laugh.

Once you arrive at the venue you spot Ellie's narcissistic boss. You honestly didn't have the energy for him, he was a pig. He treated you like some idiot when in reality you were incredibly smart. And so was Ellie so it'd shock you when you'd hear how he treats her. She was so blind to it but you sure weren't. It boiled your blood just because Els always dressed a more masculine way, including her mannerisms. Didn't mean she was a guy. This man just liked to test you in any way, and it's like he knew exactly what he was doing. But you never faked your dislike towards him. Never once were you fake.

"Ahh, Ms Y/n. Lovely to see you again." His hand goes out for you to shake but you ignore it. "Mmm, wish I could say the same." Ellie nudged you to be polite, but he just pissed you off. "Feisty like usual I see." He smirks slightly in Ellie's direction. "Might have to keep this one on a leash." He laughs. Although for the first time Ellie did not find that amusing. Was she seeing his dickwad side? "Excuse me?" He ends the laugh still smiling. "You know what I mean, come on there's some people I'd like for you to meet." He states dragging her along.

You were still fuming at his comment, who on earth does he think he is just because he's some big boss. You were currently over at the bar just ordering some drinks. Fantasizing about throwing it in his face unexpectedly and hoping his eyes are open so it'd burn- "Hey, sorry about that." You suddenly hear Ellies voice, bringing you out of your thoughts. She sighs. "I'm sorry about what he said." You shrug. "Don't be baby, he should be cuz if he says one more disgusting thing-" She grabs your shoulders. "I'll finally say something." You smirk a little. "Yeah?" She nods. Her hands go to move down to your waist. "Yeah." She finishes. Yours move to her shoulders. "It's about time I do. I've realized how horrible he can be towards you." You wait for her to finish. "Anddd? He's putrid to you too baby." But she gives you a look like she knows already. "What?" You say. "Do you think I'm blind?" Her laugh was then heard, it made you a tad confused.

"Oh babe, I know. But it's fine. I never let it bother me cuz I know who I am. And I'll never be what he thinks I am, and if that's the case then I'm gone." You then smirk again at her words. "You're hot like this." Her eyes move to your lips for a second. "Yeah? If anything you're hotter. I honestly enjoy when you're bitchy to him." Your smirk grows massively. "Well, before you came over here I was imagining what it'd be like to throw a drink in his face, preferably when his eyes are open. Hopefully making it burn those horrid brown orbs." Her own smirk appears. "Damn, your evil." You laugh a tiny bit. "Not as much as him." "True."

As the night went on you started getting bored, you were slumped in one of the sofas in the building. It was quite comfortable actually. When Ian comes over to you. "Where's williams?" He asks as he sits down next to you. God you couldn't get a break. "Shes using the restroom." Your tone was dry. "Your very cold to me darling." You thought you could puke right then and there all over his face. "Just how I am." Your shoulders shrug, finally looking at his face. "Theres no need to be, we're all friends here no?" All you wanted to do was tell him what an idiot he was but you keep your cool for Ellies sake.

Until you didn't. "Williams is incredibly good at her job, working while you're at home. I'm surprised you two don't have any kids yet." You were biting your tongue, teeth digging into the flesh. "Think she should knock you up." And that was your breaking point. Your pointy heel goes right onto his foot, hard. His eyes almost bulge. "Don't you ever, speak like that about her again. You can say all the nasty things you want about me. But don't even think about uttering such filth. I don't give two damns if you're her boss, you need to start treating her like the woman she is. And if not it won't be so pretty for you. Capish?" You could tell the sharpness of your shoe was affecting him, as he couldn't get any words out. Until you removed it. "Yes ofcourse my apologies."

He spoke professionally,which you weren't really buying. But Ellie soon came back over. "Ah, williams. Just wanted to let you know you have a big meeting with those people on Friday." She looked so happy. "Are you serious?" He nods. "Wow thank you." His eyes look over to you, when you just give him a stern look. "Uhm, and since that's a big achievement I've decided to increase your pay. You deserve it." He smiles softly, beginning to walk away. She beams at you. "I cant believe it." It made you truly happy inside. Smiling at her smile. "I'm so proud of you baby." "I've been trying to get them to do it with me for months this is so cool." Your lips meet hers in a sweet kiss. After her small freak out, she looks at you. "He seemed a little different though, What'd you say to him." You shrug. "Nothing much, only that you're amazing and you needed to be treated like that."

Her lips curve in a small smirk. "He pushed your buttons didn't he." You smile triumphantly. "He's a bit of a pussy if you ask me." Those lips now crash onto your own. "God you're sexy, thank you baby." You smile at her. "You're sexier." She rises to her feet. "Home?" "Speaking my language."

The smell of alcohol, the taste. It was lingering in the kiss you soon shared with Ellie when you immediately got home. "You're so hot.." She blabs, moving her lips to your neck to immediately suck. "Am I?" Feeling her hands hold your waist, your chest rises and falls, a bit out of breath. "Incredibly." A slight moan escapes your lips, the first and certainly not the last for the night. She needed you. You needed her. But that once bratty self, creeps up again. You wanted that fun. "Take this off." Fingertips tug at the hem of your dress. "Mh-mh." Her lips stop on your neck. "Don't start with me.." She breathes against your skin. This makes your smirk appear again. But bigger. "Naww, but it's just sooo. Fun." She groans. Deep down she loved the way you did this but it also frustrated her deeply.

"Do it for me." You state but she had no patience. Those hands move to grab your thighs and roughly lift you up, taking you into your shared room. "Oh you want me to do it for you huh?" She places you flat on the floor. When your eyes widen, hearing the dress rip. Right down the middle. You look down at it shredded on the floor, quickly looking back up at her. She backs you up making you sit on the bed. "Now you're quiet." It was true, you honestly didn't know what to say. "Wh-you just tore it apart-" Her face comes closer to yours, her hands resting on the bed making you lean back a bit. "I just got a raise mama." Her lips go to your ear. "I can buy more." Shivers ran down your spine at the way she said 'more' making you cross your leg over the other.

But her hands were quick to pull them apart instantly, making your balance go, sending you back against the sheets. Her eyes roam your body, your tits on display. She eyed you like you were diamonds. Expensive. Her lips come in contact with your soft skin, making your head rest in the white duvet. Another moan fell from your lips. Increasing her ego more and more as you slowly go into subspace. You finally let your head go from the full on day you had. "There you go baby. Atta girl." She sucked your nipples with such need. Her hands move to your underwear, slowly pulling them off. "Tell me.. what did he say to anger you." She starts, before you feel two of her fingers fill you.

Your mouth hung open at the feeling. "Mmngh.. w-well. He stated the fact, fuck!" Your walls felt full as another finger slipped in. "He what? Sorry, couldn't catch that my girl." She earns a small whimper from you as you couldn't form any words let alone think. "Baby.." you sigh out. "Go on, tell me what he said." Her voice was so soft. Like velvet. She was taunting, everything in her tone. And it was sending you overboard. Your eyes shut wanting her to speed up. "He- mentioned how we don't h-have children." She hums, her pace increasing again. "A- fuckfuck." Your head was thrown back. In pure pleasure. "And said that you should knock me up- Ellie!" You scream out.

Feeling her tongue suddenly lapping at your cunt. It was all happening at a fast speed, making your thoughts go to mush. "P-please." She laughs a wee bit. "You secretly liked the thought though didn't you baby." You honestly did, but it always made you sad that you couldn't have an exact mini you and Ellie. So maybe that also got you mad when he mentioned it. "He was being mean Els-" "you want me to fill you with my children?" Her hot mouth was now right above yours, you tried to go to kiss her but she wanted an answer. Her thumb moving on your clit to try get you to talk. "Y-yes!" Ellie always tried to make the best out of everything. She knew you'd love to be a mother, it hurt her too. Cuz in all honesty, she wish you two could be parents the way she would like.

So instead of making the situation sad she'd turn it around. "Gunna do just that mama." Her hands reach for her pants grabbing out the plastic dick. You sit up on your elbows. "You had that on the whole night?" She shrugs. "Didn't know if you were going to behave or not." Your eyes roll. "You're a freak." That fed her ego entirely. "It turns you on don't even." "Says wh-" But you're cut off, a huge pornographic moan escaping you. "Well by the sounds of it, you." Her smirk might as well be tattooed onto her face, growing at your noises. "Els, fuck-" Her lips meet yours in the most hungry kiss you could think of. Making your head spin. Her tongue slips past your swollen lips, grinding faster into you. It's like she needed this too. To get you there, making all these pretty noises and because of her. No one else was doing this. It was her. "Imagine when you're walking around all filled with mini me's and you's. All my doing." She speaks, trying to get you closer.

"P-please Ellie." Her thrusts were deeper. "I'll have you leaking with them in no time." Your moans were all that could be heard, alongside Ellies pants. Everything about this was messy, the good messy. "I-im so close, please." She waits a second before speaking again, moving her lips to your jaw, your cheek. Settling near your ear. "Say it." She whispers, her voice smooth like butter. "N-need your babies." Her movements were rapid. "Hmm?" "Fuck! Please Ellie need to be so full of them!" Her pace never faltered. "Yeah? Want to be a mama?" You nod. "Do you baby?" With one last thrust of her hips you're screaming out her name. "Yes! Please make me one!"

Your heads spinning as you ride out your high, she lets you overcome your orgasm, coming down to kiss your face so delicately. Everything was silent. The comforting kind. She cuddles into you. "I do want one.." you tried not to let it get to you. But it sometimes did. "Shhh what're you talking about you're like probably pregnant right now as we speak." She closes her eyes. Resting her head in your hair. You let out a small laugh at her words. "I'm serious Els." When she said these few words. "I've already been looking for a doner sweet girl." And you thought you fell in love with her all over again.

[welcomingdisaster]

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[mochatsin]

When MC is a Writer

You’ve written several books back in the human realm, some posted online while others were published. You have some works unfinished but since you were taken to Devildom, you had to put them on hold. Eventually the brothers find out about your hobby.

Hi I had this idea while I was reading light novels. Certain brothers would have certain themes in whatever is being written to fit them, but feel free to imagine what kind of story your MC would write. Thanks for reading!

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Lucifer

Lucifer was out on a stroll on RAD when he spotted you with Simeon having lunch together, looking deep in discussion. He does notice that you both have been spending a lot of time together and a part of him is curious as to why that is. You’re either talking with Simeon during lunch breaks or meeting up with him after school. He’s not jealous, Lucifer is more intrigued as to what must be so important that you come home late after your visits with the angel. 

You were both in his study when he finally asked you about it. You were late for dinner yesterday after coming home late from purgatory hall, Lucifer wouldn’t want you to start ditching your duties if it’s your turn to make dinner for the week. You explain to him that you’re not trying to avoid your chores at all, there’s just something that you needed Simeon’s help with. Now what could possibly Simeon do that Lucifer couldn’t? He probes a bit more until you spill the truth. 

You tell Lucifer that you and Simeon are meeting up together because you’re trying to tie the loopholes in this story that you were writing, and Simeon has given you great advice as a fellow writer. Now Lucifer is intrigued, enough to the point he put down his fountain pen and paused in his work. That can wait until tomorrow, he wants to hear all about your writing. He won’t pressure you into talking if you don’t want to tell him yet, but he promises not to make fun of whatever you make. 

You both enjoy a glass of demonus while you tell Lucifer the premise of your story, giving him enough background and detail for him to understand the part that you’re having trouble writing. Surprisingly, Lucifer is also quite a big help as he asks you thought provoking questions and offers suggestions that you can try to implement into your works. Given that he’s read several pieces of literature for the years he’s been alive, he has a lot of insight on what you can do to pace your story better. 

There’s a small smile on his face as he notices how your eyes shine every time you figure out a way for you to write the next parts, and he sits there in his spot sipping on his drink while you talk about what you can do for future updates. It’s impressive just listening to you untangle such an intricate story as if you’re just placing pieces of a puzzle together. To him, your mind is beautiful. 

Some time later, you found Lucifer by the living room with your book in his hand. He said that even though you explained the story, he still wanted to see how it really goes and appreciate your work. You asked if there’s anything you can do to thank him the other day for helping you, and all Lucifer asked  is that he’s the first to know once you update.

Mammon

Mammon is lounging in your room while he’s checking his stocks and latest lottery results (he lost) when you start asking him questions about gambling. He interpreted this as you finally having an interest in his gambling habits so he began talking about the mechanics. Roulette tables, machines, you name it and he’ll explain it with great detail. It would make the brothers wonder why Mammon can’t even remember to do all his chores when he can recall all of these with ease. 

You also ask about how people normally scheme and cheat in casinos. At first he thought you were accusing him even though he often does that in game nights at the House of Lamentation (Levi caught him), but then he realizes it’s just pure curiosity so he explains how he’s heard some people pull it off. It’s a high risk kind of stunt and since he doesn’t want to be banned from the casino then he doesn’t resort to those methods. 

Mammon then starts questioning why you’re asking these. It’s not like you were going to gamble right? He silently hoped you weren’t in debt to the point you’re resorting to gambling but no that’s not the case. You tell him that you’re trying to write a scene and it takes place in a casino, and since Mammon spends a lot of his time in those places then his experience makes him the best person to ask. He was definitely turning red at that last part. 

Mammon goes back to his room and since you talked about your writing, he searches for it online to check out your works. He didn’t know you were such a big shot in the reading community so he wants to see what your stuff was about. It started as reading the summary, to reading the introduction, and now he’s updated. They were all right, you’re good. 

Mammon starts reading more often, though it’s mostly limited to the things you’ve written before. Satan has been trying to get him to read his personal recommendations but if it’s something written by you then he’s not hesitating to pick it up. Lucifer is personally thanking you for giving Mammon something that helped temporarily forget his gambling habits and dumb schemes.

If you have any more questions about gambling or anything, Mammon is always happy to tell you everything he knows. Heck, he even offered to bring you over to the casino to let you have some personal experience of whatever that is you’re writing but the brothers warned you against that idea if you want to come back home with Grimm still in your pockets.

Levi

Lately Levi has been reading a lot of Light Novels. Usually he’d be updating himself with manga he’s read to check for any new updates but he decided to pick on light novels that one of his favorite manga’s are based on. He claims that despite the manga and anime adaptations, there’s still a whole world of lore that there’s yet to discover so he wants to pick up on those, and he eventually came to appreciate these sorts of books. 

He was going through some recommendations and read through some of them, but one series definitely caught his attention and he spent an entire night trying to catch up to the latest update. He went to the breakfast table with heavy bags in his eyes and a big pout on his face so you ask him what’s wrong. 

He tells you that he found an interesting book series that has all his favorite tropes, but the author went on a sudden hiatus so there weren't any new updates as of recently. Biggest problem is that the chapter was left on a cliffhanger. You let him ramble on with the story until you realized that was one of your works. You were debating if you should admit it or not but maybe it’s best you do. 

You explained that you were actually the author and the work was on pause because of the exchange program. You wrote it in the human realm but because you were taken to Devildom, you couldn’t find the time to continue writing. Levi wasn’t sure if he should believe you were actually the author because no way can this happen to him twice, first it was TSL now it’s this one. 

He asked you several questions about the series like another TSL trivia quiz. His question went from easy basic knowledge to something oddly specific, but since you wrote it then you answered everything perfectly. Levi has that sparkle in his eyes that he usually has when he looks at his idols, except this time it’s with you. 

Levi refuses to hear any major spoiler from you so that his reactions are genuine by the time you update. You’re instantly one of his favorite writers and he won't hesitate to hype up your work on any forum platform. He can talk about how much he loves your writing to the point that you’re motivated to go back to finishing the next chapters. Maybe you could let Levi take a peek to be the first person to read once you’re done.

Satan

It’s always a nice leisure time to just sit in a room with Satan, both of you doing your own thing while discussing books you’ve both read recently. Often though you both do that in his room but since his recent rampage left everything a bigger mess than it already was to begin with, your book discussions were held in your room for the time being until his place gets cleaned up. Barbatos is not going to be happy about it.

You can see how he’s dying to discuss the latest book he’s read so the moment you say he can go first, he’s talking almost to a Levi level kind of excitement. Satan tells you how he recently found a series he’s invested in. The story and pacing are so good that he was hooked on it immediately, recalling all his favorite lines and scenes from it. He talks about the work in high regards and how he hopes the author comes back soon with some updates. 

You don’t know if you should be surprised that Satan has already come across your works considering that most of his days are dedicated to reading. You haven’t told him about this part of your life since he’s read so many good books, you fear it may not be up to match with other great writers so you kept it a secret from him. It's nice to see that Satan is praising your works, unaware that you were the author.  

You left your laptop on one day and Satan didn’t intend to look but accidentally did. He thought it was a homework essay for one of your classes, but he was surprised to see your drafts of the next chapters. Satan wanted to assume you were those fanfic writers that Levi has been talking about, but he does see that it was all aligned to the latest update. Realizing how much  he just talked about your work in front of you made him red from embarrassment, but he’s proud more than anything else. 

He comes clean that he knows your secret while apologizing for taking a peek, but he’s quite ecstatic to be associated with someone as talented as you are. It’s one thing to be a fan of books, it’s another to be writing a good one. If you need a beta reader, he’s always ready to lend his services. He’s a quick reader and he can lend useful advice or proper criticisms. At least he can be useful to you and it’s a bonus to be the first out of everyone to read about it.

Other than being a huge bookworm, Satan is the most knowledgeable among the brothers so if you’re struggling with writing something you don’t know too much about then he’ll help fill in the gaps of your knowledge. If it’s something he’s not familiar with then expect to wake up the next day finding out that Satan spent the night researching it for you so he could answer any question you have. He’d love to help you out in whatever way he can. 

Asmo

Asmo has been whining to the house of purgatory for any ideas because he needs to make some new content for his account because he wants to keep his followers entertained. He’s always doing makeup and skin care reviews because it’s what he does best (and also because he’s sponsored to do so), so Asmo is thinking of what’s something new he can do this time. It’s good to do something new from time to time to shock his fanbase.

Simeon suggests that Asmo should go read a book. At first the demon thought he was being condescending, but given that it’s a suggestion from Simeon then it’s definitely a genuine one. Asmo wanted to turn down the idea, though Simeon adds that he should read books up his alley. Perhaps a romance book should suit his tastes? They’re not too complicated to read and can be entertaining if written well. Being an Avatar of Lust, romance does sound intriguing and Simeon has the perfect book to recommend.

Asmo shocks everyone at the House of Lamentation when he comes home reading a book. It has a pretty cover and talks a tale of lovers, plus it was easy for him to digest since the book isn’t as thick and heavy like the ones that Satan normally likes to read. He seems overjoyed by the book that Simeon suggested to him and it must take a lot for a story to captivate Asmo that he almost forgets his nightly skin care routine.

He’s laying on your lap, swinging his feet with glee as he talks to you about this book he’s been fussing over. The story progressed so nicely between the two lovebirds, and each obstacle is so entertaining that Asmo can’t help but go through the next pages to see what happened. Does it strain the relationship? Do they break up? How will it go from here on then? It’s all too good! One of the best romance books he’s read so far. 

The more he talked about the twists and the plot, the more you realized that he was talking about your book that you published before you even got to Devildom. You ask Asmo how he got his hands on that book since it’s from the human realm, and he tells you that Simeon suggested it. You sighed, of course it was Simeon. He was the only one who knew you wrote books because you told him, though you didn’t expect that he’d suggest it to Asmo of all people.

Eventually you come clean to Asmo that you were the author, and it took a bit of explaining until he would believe you. You showed him your old drafts of when you worked, maybe some pictures of that time when you were storyboarding the book so you could convince him. He’s shocked to see this precious human has quite the talent of writing romance novels, he almost believed that your works were written by cupid himself! His new promotional video is him raving about your books, talking about how his heart skipped a beat and whatnot. The sales spiked that day.

Beel

Beel came home from practice one afternoon and due to the intensive workout, he’s definitely starving for something. He bought some Black Puddle Jelly from Madam Scream’s before he went home because he thought about sharing them with you. Food always tastes better when it’s with you. He would’ve brought Belphie with him, though his twin is still in detention for pulling a prank on Lucifer during class earlier.

He looks for you but before he goes to your room, he spots you by the kitchen instead trying to cook up something. As far as Beel knows, it’s Levi who would be on dinner duties for tonight so he’s wondering what you’re doing in there. The aroma of what you were making is what drew Beel to you, and he asks what you were up to when you spot him behind you, mouth already watering. 

You tell Beel that you’re trying to cook some recipe you found online while making use of the ingredients here in Devildom. It’s the first time you went out to buy every ingredient on your own to experiment, and Beel immediately points out to you which ones would probably be safe to eat and what would be dangerous to add in the dish because some ingredients won’t react well with each other. Even though Beel can most likely eat anything, he wouldn’t want you to accidentally poison yourself. 

Beel watches you type down some notes on your phone and asks if that was for the recipe, though you tell him that you’re writing details. You’re attempting to cook with foreign ingredients because you’re trying to immerse yourself with a character you’re writing in your story. A character that’s trying to discover some new recipes with things they’ve never seen before.

You’re thankful for Beel’s advice about the ingredients earlier, it helped you gain some more insight and inspiration on what to do for the next chapters. You’re already imagining the culinary endeavors your character will go through while you’re chopping the mandrakes you got. The demon is happy to help and all Beel asks is that you feed him whatever you’re making when you’re done, since he likes your cooking after all. He sits by the island counter, chewing on the Black Puddle Pudding while he listens to you discuss your book with him. 

Beel eventually walks up to you one day and admits that he tried to read your works. Your culinary adventure storyline is fantastic, but when it starts to describe all the delicious food that the character makes, Beel’s hunger starts to spike that he almost ate the page. There’s just something about the way you discuss the food that makes it sound so appetizing to him, he almost wants to recreate it with you. When you offer to read it with him while he eats some snacks, he has this happy smile on his face as he nods. 

Belphie

Belphie just got back from RAD, stretching his limbs a bit and yawning as he opens the door. He just came back from detention for pulling pranks, and all he wants to do is to just fall asleep right now. He wanted to invite Beel for a nap but his twin is still in practice so he’s not available. You were the next person he had in mind, so he went out searching for you around the house.

He finds you by the planetarium, and he was ready to invite you to sleep but he sees that your focus has been going back and forth between your notes and the stars in the sky. Since Devildom always has an endless night time, you’re able to study the constellations as freely as you want. There’s no need for you to wait for the sun to set like you had to back in the human realm. There are books about Devildom stars scattered around you, ones you’ve borrowed from the library or from Satan’s collection so you can study them better.

He sits down next to you, resting his head over your shoulder and asking if you’re trying to memorize the constellations. You explain that you’re trying to get inspiration and notes for something you’re writing, a short fairy tale that’s dedicated to the stars this time. You’ve written fairy tales before you got here, and you want to make something inspired from Devildom stars. The constellations they have here are way different from what you normally see in the human realm, so you’re sure that the stories behind them are different as well. 

A fairy tale about stars? Written by one of the people he cares about the most? Belphie is definitely interested in hearing more about it. He doesn’t try to tease you or anything about the fact you’re writing stories, he’s even willing to offer to help you by telling you everything he knows about the stars and the stories behind each constellation that he can remember at the top of his head in hopes that may spark more inspirations. Satan may know a lot of things, but Belphie is passionate about stars and you can feel it from the way he talks. 

Belphie is incredibly drowsy the next day since he spent the night talking about your writing and helping you with it. He can’t help it when it’s about stars, and Belphie loves the way your eyes light up whenever you get an idea that you can put in. To him, it almost shines like the stars you’re writing about. He may have a vague idea of your story based on yesterday’s conversation, but he’s excited to read the final outcome. He’s seen glimpses of your works when you showed him your notes, it would definitely be worth the wait.

You invited him back to the planetarium because you want to show him your draft underneath all the stars. Even when he’s tired, he shows up and lays next to you to rest with all these pillows. The only favor he asked was that you read the fairytale for him while he rests, he promises he’ll try not to fall asleep. You read the story to him, occasionally checking if he’s still awake or not. Whenever you stopped, he would squeeze your hand and despite having his eyes closed, he would tell you to continue with such a groggy voice. He manages to at least hear the rest of it before falling asleep with a smile on his face.