#verse: Next Generation Detective

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air�� Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[caesariawritesstuff]

so I was looking at some writing prompts for my own stories and I came across one that interested me. . . but when I think about it, i feel like it would be better between Edward and Detective!

if you have the time or desire, would you care to write a moment where Eddie and Detective get stuck in a closet/small space, hiding or something, for an extended period of time and the sexual tension is just like too much. I can imagine some stepped on feet and bumped elbows and heads in the rush of it all. lol

Stuck

Summary: Breaking into a warehouse goes wrong, forcing you and Edward to hide in a cabinet together, resulting in some heavy sexual tension.

Word Count: 1.6k

Content Warning: Slight sexual content.

A/N: This fic is currently not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse storyline. So sorry this took me ages to get to, friend, but I hope you enjoy!

“You’re not going fast enough,” you whispered as lowly as you could.

Edward shot you a look as he leaned slightly forward, shoulders hunched as he attempted to pick the lock on the door to a warehouse – a warehouse, it seemed, the two of you had been led to in an attempt to track down the suspect in your latest murder case.

You looked around the darkened alleyway. Night had fallen across Gotham, and stars littered the sky like gemstones. The alley was deserted, and only one flickering street lamp flashed on and off in the distance. A cold gust of wind slipped around you, and you shivered, crossing your arms over yourself. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you glanced down at Edward, still trying to pick the lock as you tapped your foot on the ground impatiently.

“I thought you were the mega-mastermind criminal here,” you said. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?”

“Patience, my dear,” he said, his voice as smooth as whiskey. “Lock picking is an art.”

“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes, and with a heavy sigh, your breath came out in a mist.

Just as you spoke, you heard a soft click, and the door handle turned. Edward glanced up at you, smirking, that patented look of arrogance plastered across his face.

“You were saying?” he asked as he straightened out his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah,” you huffed out, turning away so he wouldn’t see the smirk on your face. As you did, he pushed open the door slightly, and the two of you stepped into the warehouse. It was dark, practically abandoned, not a soul in sight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you turned on the flashlight and shined it around, illuminating the room. Nothing but rows and rows of boxes and shipping containers filled the space, stacked so high you couldn’t even see over them and into the next row.

“What are we looking for again?” you asked.

Edward murmured something about stolen goods snatched off a ferry out by the docks, but you were hardly listening, too absorbed in reading the labels on the boxes. Well, even being here in general was risky, but this is where your last lead led the both of you two. Sighing, you turned on your heels, prepared to ask something – but a sudden, heavy bang echoed across the other side of the warehouse.

Several rough, gravelly voices sounded out as footsteps pattered against the concrete. Your head snapped to Edward, eyes wide as panic swept across your skin. Shit – you couldn’t be caught here, not like this, not when you were so close to solving this case. Edward stepped forward, snatching up your wrist, as he tugged you down one row. You followed close behind him, but he came to a halt in front of a giant, metal cabinet. He glanced at you, but you shook your head, shooting him a look. You were not hiding in there with him.

“All right boys,” said a voice as the lights suddenly flickered on throughout the warehouse. Laughter echoed throughout the room.

Edward shot you a look this time, before pulling open the cabinet and gesturing for you to get inside. You huffed, but squeezed your way in. Luckily, the cabinet was just big enough for the both of you – despite the awkward way your limbs and bodies bent. You crouched down slightly, practically at Edward’s crotch level, while he leaned over you, closing the door behind the two of you, bathing you both in darkness. Only a sliver of light shined in from the crack between the two doors. Your heart leapt into your throat, pounding so hard as the blood rushed to your face, heating your skin. Edward’s breathing was shallow, the only other sound you heard in the small, cramped space – but from here, he smelled of cheap cologne, the scent of his shampoo invading your nose, smelling like cedar and pine. The masculine smell immediately made something alight inside of you, a warmth at your center.

Shit – being so close to him like this and feeling yourself getting turned on was not good.

You were literally trapped in a cabinet with him, with nowhere to go, and the potential for men outside to kill you. Now was not the time for your panties to be getting wet. Great, just great. Holding your breath, you sat there, scrunched in the small cabinet with Edward beside you, his hands braced overhead on either side to keep himself steady. You shifted slightly, but as you did, your heel came down – right on top of his foot. He hissed between his teeth.

“Sorry,” you whispered, immediately maneuvering a little bit in a different way.

“Ssh,” he said, bringing his finger to his lips.

You looked away, an embarrassed heat flushing across your cheeks. A lump formed in your throat, but no matter how hard you tried to swallow it down, it wouldn’t quite go away. The voices outside continued, a hearty chorus of gravelly laughter and the sound of beer cans opening, but from here, you couldn’t get a good look at who was outside.

Frowning, you relaxed a little, finally beginning to feel like no one was going to come over here. But your soft breaths began to meld with Edward’s, creating a heat inside the small cabinet, soaring hotly across your skin. Sweat beaded on your brow and you reached up, tugging at your collar in an attempt to cool yourself down. As you did, Edward moved to adjust his own position – and his knee and thigh brushed right against your cheek. You immediately looked up at him, crouched down, his crotch in your face. He shot you a smirk, not an ounce of sympathy in his eyes. You jutted out your bottom lip in a pout, looking away.

Well, here you were, stuck in a cabinet with Edward’s crotch in your face, nowhere to run, and now an impending heat coming down on you. You turned slightly again, readjusting yourself, trying to straighten up a little further. You maneuvered yourself so your back was to Edward as you braced yourself against the cabinet wall, but with so little space, his entire body was pressed against your own, leaning against you. His hands slid down slightly, trapping you in between him and the wall, his heavy breath tickling at the back of your neck. You tensed, a delicious ripple of heat tingled down your spine – and then you felt it: a sudden hardness pressing against your ass, his erection throbbing through the confines of his pants.

You glanced over your shoulder at him and raised your brows. “Edward,” you whispered, his name but a breath on your lips. You trembled at how close he was, the way his powerful, lean body seemed to envelope your own.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into your hair at the nape of your neck. “You smell good. Feel good, too.”

His breath tickled your skin, and you shuddered, leaning back into him as your eyes fluttered closed. What would it be like if he slipped his cock from his pants and took you here and now, where you could be caught at any moment? Heat pooled in your core and you squeezed your thighs tightly together, fighting against the fog of lust. Dammit, why did he have to smell good, too? Why did he have to sound so seductive when he spoke? Why did you find yourself so easily slipping into a daydream about him fucking you?

You kept your eyes closed, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as he continued to nestle himself further against you, nuzzling his nose into your hair. Your skin tingled with heat, and you bit your lip to keep a soft moan from escaping your mouth. You could not be caught in this warehouse with your pants down and Edward fucking you.

But…the harder you felt his cock press against you, the more your temptation grew.

You stayed like that for some time, listening to the sound of men outside chatting and laughing and drinking, trying to focus on anything important they might be saying, but Edward’s cock only remained constantly pressing into your ass, so hard you could practically feel it throbbing. You pressed your ass back against him, slightly wiggling your backside into him.

He hissed through his teeth. “Don’t tempt me, detective,” he growled in your ear. “I’ll have you here and now in this cabinet.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, ignoring him, continuing to rub your ass against him. He wouldn’t dare – he knew just how risky it was to get caught here, too.

A low rumble of frustration slipped from his mouth. But just as his lips tickled at your ear, a sudden sound outside made you both pause. The sound of the lights shutting off echoed throughout the warehouse, and the heavy bang of a door shut, bathing you both in a sudden silence. The light streaming in through the crack was now nothing but darkness.

You hesitated, but slowly reached for the door and pushed it open, peeking out. The warehouse had gone quiet, not a soul in sight once more. It seemed as though the men had left. Sucking in a breath of fresh air, you ducked underneath Edward’s arm and stepped back out, stretching your sore arms and legs. He followed after you – but suddenly, his hands were on your hips as he yanked you back into his arms, holding you tight against him, making you gasp.

“Get back in here, detective,” he growled. “We’re not finished yet.”

You smiled. Well, cabinet sex had not been on your agenda tonight, but…perhaps you could risk it now a little, couldn’t you? But as he pulled you back into the cabinet with him, all thoughts of your plan to solve this case vanished from your mind, losing yourself to the taste of his lips and the feel of his hands on your body, drowning in him, and everything he offered.

Oh, yes, solving this case could wait, indeed.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the charming inventor reaper. ﹚: zhào jìngyí 9819.𖹭 ݁

. . . your alibi, darling !! 🍒 : “how bold, flirting with the detective while you’re being interrogated with. shall i flirt back hm? ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 9819

꒰ species ꒱ grim reaper

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ chinese

꒰ age ꒱ 35

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ esfj

꒰ alias ꒱ fěixīn ( courtesy name ), talisen ( other name ), detective zhào, greatest artificer of the century, heir of the yuè sanctuary, shadow weaver, the scarlet stare’s shade, time’s boy, the clockwork pawn ( derogatory )

꒰ story ꒱ 

through calm smiles and charming eyes lies a mind of absolute intellect and innovation. skilled hands eager to work on his next project or hold his scythe dutifully.

zhào jìngyí, zhào fěixīn to most, a man of incredible talent as well as never-ending charming. and he knows it. up in his clocktower he strives, working on his newest invention to marvel the masses or - determined on an ongoing case. the inventor of the century and one of the leading investigators along his partner rishen.

behind all of this lies a cunning man when need be. gleamed with a calculative stare and gears turning through his head with various strategies and manipulative tactics. sure his mind might titter the lines of morally correct and not but. . . if it’s for the sake of justice, what does it matter?

one must do what they can to succeed. his perfectionism and stubbornness won’t let him do much else. whatever it takes to complete his duty. he can’t lose. he won’t lose.

how could he? with his sharp mind and charming persona? what else could anyone expect from the innovator of the century and highly respected investigator. in his constant game of chess with himself and those around him.

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

maroon eyes with slits for pupils. when reaper features show his sclera go black

messy black, long hair, always put into a bun where a pair of goggles are pushed into

tan skin, freckled lightly with beauty spots on his right cheekbone, the tip of his nose and right below his eyes. iris quartz litter is body, especially on his spine,

sharper features than soft, his reaper features come out more in this verse

6’7” ( 201 cm ) in height with an athletic build

rows of sharp teeth to match with his long black talons on both his hands and feet.

forked snake tongue

has two standard and upper lobe piercings, with a helix on his right ear.

usually wears his mechanical gear in cases something needs to be fixed

wears a black, lower face mask to prevent inhaling any bad dusts and smokes

dark brown aesthetics, usually in a very vintage autumn styled aesthetic

always has one of his mechanical spiders on his shoulders or in his pockets

sometimes forgets he works with coals and other sorts of material and accidentally smears it out on his face at times

always wearing pocket watches, as a matter of fact, he is famous for sounding like several clocks when he walks by, due to the amount of pockets filled with pocketwatches

 

꒰ personality ꒱

an extremely charming and charismatic man who knows it and uses it to his advantage. exuding a calm aura of which he is marked by. has a sort of sophistication to him.

intelligent and innovative. he prefers plans and precision. this ties in very well with his extreme perfectionism.

confident in everything that he does, but a sort of easy-going confidence. he does not show-off, he knows his worth far too much for that. instead he is effortless.

has a way with words. whether that be his poeticness or through the next point: deception and cunningness.

through his compassion and loyalty, he is a man with a second face - although uses it for the right reasons. deceptive, manipulative and cunning when need be. all while keeping up his general charming persona.

incredibly observant. you have to watch what you say around him because he will use it to his advantage if need be. he asks questions hat many would not bat an eye at but is all for the sake of information.

duty-driven, which ties in very well with his stubborness as well. if there is something he wants to get done, he will do so.

daring and impulsive at times. while he prefers his plans, he will do anything to see to it that they are carried out.

he can be quite competitive at times. he does not enjoy losing or the thought of it.

can be judgmental.

can be considered overprotective. and even a little ( actually a lot ) paranoid. something that he tries not to show especially with his general stature.

through it all is a wise man with a sharp mind. one that many adore and fear all at the same time.

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

very verbal about his affection. this suits especially well with his poetry. from endearments to compliments to saying some of the most adoring things without even realising it at times

acts of service as a love language is a big part of being in a relationship with him. whether it be getting your things ready or aiding you in whatever you in. it’s especially prominent in his cooking - he’s always cooking and making sure that you eat when necessary.

enjoys calm moments with his lover. sitting along the clockwater with you, arms around you. simply swaying. perhaps cuddling up in bed. he doesn’t mind if there’s no talking — your mere presence makes him feel at ease.

this also transcends into the dates. late night walks or early morning coffee dates. he also is not opposed to art gallery dates or simply sitting around and reading together.

writes poetry for you all of the time and leaves it around for you to find. this is especially apparent when he is not around - so that you have his words even when he is not there.

makes little trinkets for you whenever he gets the time. from jewellery to gadgets and gizmos, stuff to make your life a bit easier. the amount of new inventions he’s created just to make your life more convenient is bizarre.

leaves some of his robotic fireflies with you when he’s away for extended periods of time. you can directly connect to him via calls through these. they’re also nice to have around when he can’t be there. aiding you in whatever you need and giving you little nightmares.

writes down notes about you. the things you say - your favourites - things you may need - etc. he uses his observation skills to the fullest and makes sure that he listens to you. so that he can show you that he cares in this way too.

likes late night dancing on the balcony of his clocktower with you. your silhouettes frame the face of the large clock upfront and he dances with you to the beat of different ticks.

loves when you trace along his iris quartz. especially the ones along his arms and his spine. he melts into you immediately when you do this

tries to use all of his time with you to fullest because of how busy he is. his schedule can be quite sporadic, but he’s always taking every opportunity that he can to be with you. any opportunity to remind you that he loves you despite the time apart.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

sharp intelligence: an extremely intelligent and innovative person

soul-reaping: rishen has the ability to reap more than 200 souls and carry them on his scythe until he can send them away to the afterlife. unfortunately he doesn’t really use the scythe much.

vapour teleportation: can shift his physical form into a dark vapour and can move at high speeds towards a different location.

dark vapor production: produces a dark vapour from his back and shoulders that can blind and disorientate enemies greatly.

hallucinative vapor production: similar to his dark vapour, however causes those that breathe it in to hallucinate; often multiple versions of him.

can see souls/ghosts: as a reaper rishen has the ability to see ghosts, spirits, wraiths, etc. along with the souls of both living and dead.

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

daylight: as a nocturnal reaper, daylight and other bright sources of light can weaken his senses of sight as he is used to the darkness of the night.

d’akar: an anti-magic material that can greatly weaken him if he comes into contact with it.

extreme emotional attachment: while reapers may remind one of humans, they are not. they are beings with very empathetic instincts and have souls bigger than the average mortal being — a thing that has been with them since their creation. they become extremely attached to things they love and it may cause them to become erratic if enough they love is taken away from them.

fading: occurs when a reaper goes through immense hurt and pain. their physical form quite literally begins to disappear, making them appear transparent. it can be a very painful process, both emotionally and physically. until their physical form eventually fades away and their soul moves on to the afterlife

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

rishen herrera: boyfriend, best friend, childhood friend

yuè mèng yáo: mother

zhào mùchén: father

zhào hàoyu: younger irish twin

zhào xīyáng: younger brother

zhào hǎitāo: younger brother

zhào yìzé: younger brother

zhào yu xi: younger sibling

alessio agresta arias: prime suspect

kyung seong-jin: co-worker

indra rosales: co-worker

shi jùn lái: mutual

shi tài: mutual

shi xuan jie: mutual

denara agyros: friend, nurse

danae agyros: motherly figure

orpheus agyros: fatherly figure

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he is known as the “innovator of the century”, he is one of the most prolific inventors of his time

he is both an investigator and profiler with experience in combative field

breaks into random theatre performances together with rishen sometimes after long days

they have a cat named beatrice, who often come with them to missions and helps them sniff out stuff. she wears a cat sized detective hat.

he does not like when the tax collectors come to the clocktower

always noting stuff down

speaks more poetry in the autumn

he makes his own clocks and has a ( failing ) clock business

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,��� he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[beautifulgirl223]

Intoxicating

Y'all, I'm in love with him. Like there is not enough text out there that will ever cure my depravity when it comes to how much I think about this man. He's out of character here I'm sure but I wish I could care. This is Rayleigh's character to me and honestly I'm the only one I care about.

About 5.5k words

CW: afab reader, use of she/her pronouns, cunnilingus (fem receiving), slight breeding kink, praise kink

Intoxicating. 

Everything about him made you desperately want more. He was addicting in his actions, his words, and how he treated you. Sometimes you were scared of how intense your feelings for him were.

But little did you know, he had it much worse when it came to you. 

***

She happily waved to the Straw Hats alongside Shakky and Rayleigh as they made their way off of the Archipelago and to the New World. 

“I’m excited to hear what they get up to next. They really know how to liven up the place!” Your eyes stayed on the ship until it was no longer in sight. With a slight smile you sighed. “I’m gonna miss them. Hope I can drink with them again sometime in the future.”

Rayleigh snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance sometime in the future sweetheart. I have a strong feeling that this won’t be the last time you’ll see them,” he chuckled. Placing a kiss atop your head as you cuddled into him. 

“I’ll miss them, but I’m happy to have you back,” you said, fully turning into his embrace for a hug. 

“What do you mean? After leaving Luffy on Rusukaina I’ve been back here, with you. I would never leave either of you unless I had to sweetheart,” he pulled you away from his chest so he could look down into your eyes, also giving a look over to Shakky.

All she did was shrug. She knew how he was, she didn’t need the reminder. But apparently the new addition to their relationship wasn’t as well-versed on how Rayleigh operated. 

“I knowwww,” you said with an embarrassed tone to your voice. “It’s just…”

He looked at her expectantly without saying anything. His expression speaking for him.

He could tell  by the way your cheeks were heating up that you were struggling to share how you felt. Even though you tried to hide it from him – which you were quickly learning was impossible due to a little thing called Haki (which you only knew about through him)  – he was able to detect how you were feeling based on your body language.

Embarrassed. 

“Of course I’m happy you helped the Straw Hats out. You’re amazing and generous as always Silvers…I just…” you averted his eyes, finding your nails much more interesting at the moment. 

That was until he gently grabbed your chin with his finger and thumb to look him in his eyes, demanding your full attention.

“I know it’s selfish of me…I just missed your attention is all…”

He didn’t say anything else as his mind recalled the last two years. While it’s true that he didn’t stay with Luffy the full two years during his training, even when he came back home, most of his time was spent covertly watching over their ship and waiting for their inevitable return back to the Archipelago. 

His heart hurt at the fact that you were right. He had been neglecting you when he didn’t even mean to. And here you were admitting so sweetly that you missed him. 

Oh. He was going to make up for lost time immediately.

The look in his eyes must have given away his intentions as Shakky looked over at the two of them and rolled her eyes lovingly. “I’m going back to the bar to serve the customers because you know, that’s how I get paid around here. Just don’t break the bed this time Rayleigh” she scoffed as she walked away towards the bar, lighting her next cigarette.

Rayleigh chuckled as he heard an embarrassed whine coming from the woman buried in his chest. Picking you up and following Shakky to the bar with the intention of going straight to their shared bedroom. You wrapped your legs around him so that you didn’t fall now that your feet weren’t on the ground. Not that he would ever let you fall from his arms. 

“You’ve been so patient with me haven’t you baby? I didn’t mean to neglect you sweetheart. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

***

So maybe you had an idea of what was going to happen when you admitted to wanting his attention back, but you had no idea it was going to be like this. How did Shakky survive so long?

Rayleigh had to relearn what restraint was the moment he finally had you laid out bare on the bed underneath him. It was hard to think of anything else but you when you were looking at him so desperately… so ready for him to take care of you.

He could tell you were needy from the look in your eyes, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take care of his sweet girl’s needs after he’s neglected them for so long.

“You missed me sweet girl?” he asked, ghosting his lips over yours, kissing everywhere but where you wanted him most. His hands wandered across your body as if he were learning you for the first time. You both had done this many times before, yet he was always amazed at how soft your body was in comparison to his. How your skin felt underneath his hands. Every single inch of your body, your soul…just you, was intoxicating.

You whine and pull his lips onto yours in response to his question. His lands leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. It was amazing how was able to melt your brain with only gentle caresses, but he did so without fail each time. Whining as he pulled away from the kiss, immediately missing his lips, and he groaned at the noise you made. 

If he looked hard enough, he was sure that deep within your lust filled eyes, he could make out little hearts in them as you stared up at him. Being so patient and waiting once again for him to take care of you. His hand made its way to your neck and squeezed gently. The full power and control you willingly submitted to him made him dizzy. He was going to ruin you.

“I’m sorry I made you wait sweetheart. You’ve been such a good girl being all patient for me haven’t you?” he cooed at you. Quickly nodding your head in agreement. Already drunk off his praise.

“Y-yes, I’ve been good,” you whimpered in response. Waiting on him to continue.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry I haven’t been giving you the attention you needed. I’m gonna make it up to you okay? My sweet sweet girl deserves a reward for being so good, yeah?” He lightly pinched one of your nipples. Not bothering to hide the shit-eating grin on his face at how your body immediately reacted to his touch. He was addicted to how responsive you were to him. Even if it was involuntary, it let him know that he was doing something right. 

He released your neck as he took his own shirt off. Allowing you a moment to rediscover his body. Taking pride in how you shamelessly eye fucked him. He even let you pull him down for another kiss. Sighing at the skin on skin contact. He didn’t even realize how much his own body missed yours until he was finally over you.

He pulled away from your mouth as he smiled sweetly to you. “What’s the safe word sweetheart,” he tapped the side of your face to make sure you were listening, immediately recognizing the spacey look forming on your face. He couldn’t get started just yet until he knew you would be alright. 

“Haki,” you said with a smile. Being able to find your voice for the first time in the last few minutes. 

“There you go…” he whispered. 

You drive him crazy with the innocent look on your face despite knowing exactly how depraved your mind was in that moment. Knowing how he’s the last one who will get to see you like this brings him a high he will never tire of.

He makes his way down your body all while keeping eye contact with you until he reaches the lower half of your body. He grabs a pillow from the top of the headboard and shoves it underneath your hips. He gently rubs your legs in a comforting manner while he slowly forces them apart. 

He breaks eye contact and mentally curses himself for not tending to you sooner. He wonders how long you went just thinking of him, how often you missed his touch, how often you craved him. 

He groans appreciatively at the sight of you spread out in front of him. Your extreme arousal was evident in the way it flowed from you. Suddenly he was dehydrated and his eyes glossed over as if he found a never ending source of hydration. His hands made their way to the back of your thighs as his patience was starting to thin. He coaxed the back of your thighs before he cupped the back of your knees and pushed them up towards your chest and laid his arm out over your legs to keep you completely open and bent.

You whimpered at his strength and how easily he maneuvered your to his liking. Turned on by the way his strength made you feel small and protected. you didn’t even realize that he had guided your hands to his hair until you felt his fingers run along the slit of your core and teasingly circle your clit. The touch took you by surprise as you gripped at his head between your legs. 

“Who got you this excited sweetheart? Surely it couldn’t have been this old man,” he teased as he continued to toy with you. Smiling at the way your breath hitched at his touch.

“You did, only you Silvers,” you whimpered. your hips jolted when he pressed his finger into you. He blew air onto your core, and he felt himself harden even more at the way your body winked at him. your body’s promise to him of how amazing you would feel wrapped around him. 

While you laid spread out in front of Rayleigh, all you could think about was how easily he could ruin you. He could ask you to go after the One Piece yourself and you would agree in an instant if it meant that he would never stop touching you. you wanted him to please you until you were brainless. Until the only thing you could think about was him. He could take you right now and all you would be able to do is thank him. 

“Please Silvers, I’ve been so good, please just -” he cut you off with a stroke of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. The moan you let out – pornographic and needy.

“Don’t beg,” he states, staring at you. “You never have to beg me for anything sweetheart. Anything you want. It’s yours.”

He pressed his arm harder into your legs to keep you still, and brought his other hand to spread you open for him. Mouth watering at the sight of you and the thought of making you come undone with only his mouth. 

Sure, he sailed with the King of the Pirates, but nothing made him feel more powerful than the way your body reacted to just his mouth. 

They both moaned at the same time. yours at the slight feeling of relief, and his at the taste of you that he missed so much. He licks and sucks everywhere he can get his mouth to, and groans at the feeling of you tugging at his hair. He has to press his arm down a bit more, because your body immediately tries to up the friction, trying to grind yourself into his mouth as much as you can. 

He greedily licked up your arousal as his eyes looked up from between your legs. Smirking at the sight of your already fucked out face. Your eyes blurry from unshed tears as your mouth opened in silence.

“You gotta breathe baby,” he muttered against you.

Releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding  “Thank you thank you thank you” you chanted as he continued to ruin you with only his mouth. It was quickly becoming too much too fast. As worked up as you were, you knew you weren't going to last long with how well he was working on unraveling you.

Your body tensed as you felt him insert a finger into you. Her body clamped down on the intrusion, happy to no longer be empty. 

“Gods you’re so tight sweetheart,” he groaned at the feeling of you around his finger. Knowing that you were going to feel even better around him. “Loosen up for me, yeah?” His mouth closed around your clit and sucked. Her body buzzed beneath him. All he could focus on was you. you overwhelmed his senses in the best way possible. 

It only took a few moments before he was inserting another finger into you. you cried out as he began to stretch you out. The tension in your lower body was growing tighter and tighter by the second. Her toes were curling as your breaths became even more labored. 

“S-Silvers! S-slow down. I’m-I’m,” you cut yourself off with a scream as he massaged the spot inside of you that you were never able to reach yourself. 

Rayleigh paid your words no mind as he continued to push you to your finish. While you may have been saying one thing, your body could never lie, and told him exactly what you needed. He knew you were close. And there was no way he wouldn’t give his baby what he knew she needed.

“You gonna make a mess on my face pretty girl? You gonna cum for me, beautiful?” he said as his pace increased. His fingers relentlessly hitting that spot inside of you as he watched you furiously nod your head. He hummed in approval as he continued to lap at your clit. The way he massaged you inside and out made your hips attempt to buck into his face. 

He grows harder at the sound of your voice moments before you came undone. you probably didn’t even realize that your voice started to get high pitched and whiny as you tried to warn him of your inevitable fate. With one last stroke of his tongue, and one last thrust of his fingers you started to scream. 

You looked ethereal as you reached your climax. He groans as you tugs at his hair, but he doesn’t let up. He continues to slam his fingers into her as her walls clenched at his fingers. 

The tension in your body felt like a rubber band that had been pulled so taut that eventually it snapped. Your orgasm crashed on you so strongly that instinctively you tried to move away from the constant pleasure that Rayleigh gave you. His arm pressed into the back of your things prevented you from doing so. The next best thing was to grip his hair as you rode out your climax. you threw your head back in silence as you took in a deep breath and screamed.

Rayleigh continued to work you through your orgasm while listening to the beautiful sounds that fell from your mouth. He grinded himself into the bed at the sound of your voice. It was a mixture of moans and his name. And he knew right then that his name never sounded better than when it was coming from your mouth.

Without relenting, he continued to caress you with his mouth, only slowing up a little when he felt your body relax a bit after that high. Only giving you a moment of rest, knowing that he wasn’t going to stop there. He wanted to force your mind into a state of overstimulated bliss. And he knew exactly how to do that. 

you tried to wiggle out of his grasp and away from his sinful ministrations. you needed a break after having an orgasm that strong, but the pressure on your legs became stronger. you was still rendered immobile and at the mercy of Silvers Rayleigh.

“Silvers, p-please. It’s too much,” you whined. Her mind was fuzzy at best. Still floating somewhere above your body and you couldn’t bring it back down. 

“But I thought you wanted my attention?” he teased from between your legs. He pulled his fingers from you and shoved them in your mouth to keep you quiet. “I know when you’ve had too much sweetheart, and right now, your body is telling me you haven’t had enough.”

This time he took his mouth off your clit to let you have a moment before he forced his tongue into you. A completely different feeling than his fingers, as your body tensed in appreciation. Groaning at the taste of your climax, he dug his tongue as deep as it could go into you. His nose bumping against your clit as he did so. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck…” you chanted at the feel of his tongue in you. He expertly explored every inch of you that he could reach while building you up again. He bobbed his head between your legs as he drank every ounce your body so generously gave. If he could spend the rest of his life in this moment, he thinks he would never leave. Thankful for the fact that you chose him. That you allowed him to be the one who you allowed to please you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life thanking you for that fact.

He took his fingers from your mouth and brought them back down to your core. Now that they were wet with your own saliva, he brought them to your clit, and rubbed it to the same pace as his tongue. Your body the instrument he knew how to play best. 

It didn’t take long at all before another orgasm washed over you. Not as powerful as the first, but just as satisfying. The feeling of being restrained making it that much better. 

You felt as if you could breathe again now that he finally decided that you had enough. He pulled his face away from you and gently released your legs. They flopped back down onto the bed as you were unable to control them. You watched as Rayleigh made his way up your body until he eventually made it to your face.

“You doin alright sweetheart?” he asked with a big smile on his face. You said nothing as you pulled him down for a kiss. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and in his mouth. You tried to win the fight to see who would lead the kiss, but you lost immediately. Happily surrendering to the gentle caresses of Rayleigh. 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, enjoying being with each other in a moment of peace. But it was only a matter of time before you became needy again. Your hands drifting down to the waistband of his pants. Clumsily fumbling with the fabric between your fingers. 

“Take these off” you mumbled into his mouth as he pulled away to take a breath. He chuckled at your eagerness. 

“Should I? Cause I remember distinctly a few moments ago when you said it was ‘too much’ and how you wanted me to stop,” he teased. His smirk growing bigger at the sight of your lips forming into a pout.

Your fingers finally made their way under the waistband as it was your turn to ignore his words. You shimmed them down, until he finally caved and took the rest of them off himself. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. 

Silvers Rayleigh was an attractive man in his younger years as he sailed with Roger. But how he looked then has nothing on what he looks like now as an older man. Nothing about him said old unless you account for the gray hair atop his head. Even in his old age, he looked as good as he did when he was younger. Even better now. And that even went for what he held between his legs. 

Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Wanting nothing more than to take him into your mouth. It was almost as if he read your mind as he brought your attention back to him. 

“Let me just take care of you, okay sweetheart? We’ve the rest of our lives for you to-” you whined in embarrassment.

“Silverssss don’t say it” he laughed at your bashfulness. 

“Sweetheart…I just had my head between your legs and you just finished screaming to high heavens, and you're embarrassed about how-” You pulled him down to cut him off. You couldn’t help what you were embarrassed by.

He relented with a smile as he kissed you back.

“You ready sweetheart?” he asked. You could sense a little restraint in his voice as he rubbed himself against you. Sliding himself along your center, letting the wet mess he left between your legs transfer onto him as well. 

You eagerly nod, excited to have him properly fuck you. 

“I gotta hear you ask for it,” he teased kissing along the expanse of your neck. “Let me hear you ask me, yeah?”

Knowing you weren’t going to get your way unless you did as he asked, you swallowed the last embarrassment you had in your body. There was no way you were going to cheat yourself out of this after so long just because some things made you embarrassed. You already knew he was going to make you feel amazing, so you just had to give in.

“Yes. I’m ready, please fuck me,” you asked quietly as you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to bring him closer.

Grabbing your hips to pull you closer, he pushed himself into you. Groaning at how you felt. Moving slowly until he completely bottomed out, his hips touching yours. His breathing turned a bit heavy as he waited for you to adjust to him. 

It really must have been a while due to how you both reacted. No matter how many times the two of you had slept together, somehow it always felt like the first. 

Intoxicating.

You felt full as you grabbed at his back to pull him in. His muscles stiff beneath your fingers as you grasp at his shoulders for purchase. 

He slowly pulls all the way out to force himself back in. 

“Still so tight for me princess,” he groans as he begins to thrust into you, “gonna be good and let me use you hmm?”

“Yes yes yes please use me,” you don’t care how pathetic you sound. You were finally getting what you craved for so long. You were needy and you knew he was going to take care of you. 

He folds her legs once more so that your knees are bent near your chest while your feet dangle by his ear. He uses his body weight to slam into you, driving you up the bed. He ruts desperately into you, addicted to how you feel squeezing around him. 

His thrusts are rough and punishing and the tip of him kisses the back of you, kissing your cervix each time he bullied his way into you.

Your eyes quickly glazed over once again and the nonstop pressure of him knocking into your spot. The constant bombardment of him forcing himself into you too much for you to take at once, yet you needed more. 

Resting your ankles onto his shoulders, he leaned forward to capture you in another kiss. Trying to hold himself out longer. How you were looking at him combined with the sinful noises falling out of your mouth with how tight, wet, and hot you felt around him, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t stop please please,” you breathily chanted in his ear. You were close to your third orgasm of the night and needed him to give you everything. 

He brought one hand and grabbed at your neck, while the other slid down your body and began to rub hasty circles onto your clit.

“Gonna be a good girl and cum on me? I wanna see you lose yourself again pretty girl,” he praised as he worked you to your end. His pace never faltered as he leaned over and put more of his weight onto your body.

Intoxicating. That’s all Rayleigh could think of as he fucked you deeply into the mattress. The sound of your skin slapping against him made him groan at the filthy thought. He wanted to make sure you never felt forgotten again, and with the way you were babbling nothing but his name, it was safe to say that he achieved his goal. That and how adorable you looked losing yourself over his dick.  Over him. “...only you Silvers…” your previous words coming back to the forefront of his mind. You were going to make him lose his mind.

You let him use your body, scratching at his back as he forcefully brings you closer and closer to a praecipe. 

Maybe it was because you were overstimulated. Maybe it was because it had been so long since the two of you slept together. Or maybe it was because of how he played your body perfectly…something about this orgasm felt different.  You placed your hands on his hips trying to slow him down. “Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck w-wait s-slow d-down Silvers!” You squeal. The back of your thighs tensing against his chest. You felt as if your body was trying to leave you.

He only held you a little tighter response. He’s got you right where he wanted you.Your body may try and leave you, but he would make sure it stayed exactly where he wanted it to in his hold.

He was going to be the death of you…but you craved him all the same.

You tried to hold out. You were about to make a mess and it didn’t seem like he cared. To be completely honest, it kinda felt like he knew that and continued his brutal pace anyway. His hips move in an almost primal way. It was as if he was digging the orgasm from deep within you.

“Just let go for me sweetheart…I got you, I promise,” he whispered in your ear.

Turns out, that was the final straw as you finally let yourself fall over into bliss. Rayleigh continued to fuck you through it all while praising you. Holding your body to the mattress so you didn’t ruin your own orgasm.

“There she goesssss, come on baby,” he grunted, bullying his way into your contracting walls. He wanted you to milk him dry. The way you were squeezing him made his pace falter. “You’re being so good f ‘me hmm?”

This time you did actually forget how to breathe as your mouth was open in a silent scream. Your nails scratched at his back as your third orgasm washed over you almost painfully. It took you by surprise how strongly it came. It was so earth shattering that you actually started to cry. 

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…” he groans at your words. At how you thank him for how he makes you feel, when he should be the one thanking you. He moans when he feels how wet you’ve gotten, realizing that he’s made you squirt. It wasn’t his intention this time, but he’s saved this information for the next time he’s got you trapped underneath him. 

“What a messy baby hmm?”

His heart swells as he looks down at you. A heavenly sight that he feels lucky enough to have gotten the chance to see. Let alone be the reason he could even have the view. 

“Where do you want me,” he growls into your ear, “tell me where you want me baby?” he asks kissing behind your ear, removing his hands from your neck and clit. Moving them to rest on both sides of your head. 

“Want you inside,” she cries, “I wanna be full of you Silvers.”

In that moment Rayleigh would do anything you asked him to. If you wanted him to build you a ship and sail you to the New World, he’d do it without an ounce of shame and with a smile on his face. Anything for his baby girl.

“That’s my girl. Let me take care of you baby…” trapping your legs between the two of you, and used you to chase his own end. With only a couple more thrusts he bottomed out completely and finished deep inside with your name as a whisper on his breath. You feel amazing as you take everything he has to offer as he lightly thrusts into you. Finishing with a deep groan into your ear. He quietly keeps you flushed to him as he rocks into you, his way of silently worshiping you and your body. His way of thanking you for trusting him. The silence not needing to be filled as the unspoken words say enough. 

He lowers himself closer to your front, as your legs slowly let go of his abdomen. He places lazy kisses along your neck as the both of you try to catch your breath. You two sit in silence for a moment before he slowly pulls himself from you. He covers himself as he quickly leaves the room to grab you a glass of water. 

He comes back with a warm rag along with a glass of water. He sets the water down on the bedside table and gently begins to clean you up. His movements slow and calculated, being careful to not wipe too harshly in fear of overstimulating you anymore. When he cleans you up to his liking, he tosses the rag into the hamper in the corner of the room and guides you to sit up in bed.

“Drink some water for me princess,” he coos. You blush as the older man dotes on you and you do as he says, sitting up and taking small sips of the water. All you wanted to do was lay and cuddle with him, as your preferred method of aftercare, but you knew that he was just doing what he needed to before he indulged.

After you drank what he felt was enough, he took the glass from you, took a large sip himself and set the glass back on the table. He laid back into bed and pulled you onto his front so that you could lay your head on his chest. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart? You back with me?” He rubbed your back and brought the blankets up to cover your body as he stroked your hair. He knew that after a passionate session, you typically needed coaxing to come back to reality. It was his favorite way of taking care of you. Having you lay here completely vulnerable while you placed your complete trust in him made his heart soar. He would never dream of taking advantage of what the two of you have built.

You answered him with a hum, snuggling more into his chest, chasing after the warmth his body provided. Your eyes started closing to the feel of his hands rubbing soothing patterns on you.

“I’m…perfect,” you manage to say after finding your voice. Your voice was a bit scratchy, but you laid there wholeheartedly happy and satisfied. Knowing he wouldn’t be happy until he heard your voice. 

“You did so well for me princess. Was it okay? Did I go too hard on you?” He asked a bit worriedly. While you never said your safe word, he couldn’t help but be a little worried after each session. Wanting to make sure that he only ever made you feel good. 

“You were perfect Silvers. Honestly, I’d like it if you were a little more rough with me. Not that rough everytime, but…ya know,” she said as she traced her finger up and down his abs. Sex with Rayleigh most of the time was soft and slow. And while you didn’t have a problem with it (Rayleigh made sure you were satisfied each time), being manhandled is something that you wish would happen a bit more often. It melts your heart that this strong man treats you with the fragility and tenderness of ceramic, but you like to be broke once in a while.

“Strongly noted,” he chuckled as he placed a kiss on top of your head. “Shakky will be happy I didn’t break the bed this time.”

“Yeah well, with how you had me folded, I’m surprised I didn’t break,” she giggled. 

“Well if you want me to break you then you only need to ask,” he teased as one of his hands snaked down to your ass and gave it a slight squeeze. 

“Strongly noted.”

***

Literally foaming at the mouth I love him so much we're actually married. Shakky and I tease him all the time

[brucewaynehater101]

Grandpa Drake would be a himbo except he looks a little too much like a noodle, he looks like milo thatch but with black hair or a black haired pre serum steve rogers, this does not stop him from absolutely getting into drag down knock out fights at bars when he spots some jerk who is harassing a woman or, even worse, has drugged a drink. And while he may be a bit air headed at times, he is a savant when it comes to pharmaceutical science and the general realm of developing medicine.

Grandma Drake looks like a little music box ballerina, she is small and fine boned and as mention previously, is completely capable of breaking a person's femur with a kick. She is fiercely loyal, incredibly intelligent, and likes to be prepared. She is the type of person to have a full first aid kit, a snack, a bottle of water, and a tire repair kit in her bag ready for an emergency. While she can and will knock out anyone who's messing with her friends or family, she'll try verbally eviscerating them first because she doesn't want to be kicked out of the bar or banned. The majority of the time her verbal battles are won and result in her opponent being in tears.

Grandy is something like a piece of the void of space and stardust in a mostly humanoid shape or sometimes an amorphous blob. They enjoy pretty things and are a noted patron of the arts across the galaxy as well as being dedicated to their duty and to their duchy. The way to immediately annoy Grandy is by being rude to service workers. Grandy developed a crush on Grandma Drake when they saw her dancing on stage. They dated for awhile but Grandy had to return to their planet to fulfill their responsibilities and Grandma wasn't ready to leave earth. The break up was amicable and they were still friends. Grandy fell for Grandpa after they saw how they made Grandma laugh and liked how Grandpa inspired such joy and they both looked just so pretty when they were happy that they felt compelled to ask out the Drakes. They courted both of the Drakes and this time when they asked the two to come with them to space the Drakes figured why not? Janet was all grown up and married after all, Mary was also married and living happily with her beloved, and, as far as they knew, David was dead. They figured they could come back to visit sometime. They left an an emergency beacon with Janet and told her to use it if she had important news for them. Jack accidentally broke it at one point and hid the pieces which is why they didn't return to see their grandchild when he was a tiny baby. Janet found out later when she tried to use it to get her parents' attention regarding their coming grandchild. Jack was on very thin ice for a very long time. (Had Grandpa, Grandma, and Grandy known about what David was up to, the Drakes would have done their very best to kick their son/step son's ass into the next year or hired probably lobo or some other intergalactic mercenary to do it for them since they were getting up there in age. They also left behind a sizeable deposit with a detective agency to continue to investigate Jack Drake every year and give Janet the report just in case. The agency wouldn't follow the Drakes outside of the states so this is one of the reasons that Jack pushed for lots of trips abroad.)

Grandpa and Grandma are the most beautiful beings in the galaxy the eyes of Grandy until they see their adorable adopted grandchildren. Then the grandchildren as well as grandma and grandpa are the most perfect examples of beauty, wonder, and joy in the eyes of Grandy.

Grandma, Grandpa, and Grandy all get along very well with Ma and Pa Kent. None of the Drakes are particularly well versed in the kitchen, they can cook in a pinch but it's not their favorite thing to do, so they don't infringe on Martha's kitchen dominance.

Of course Alfred was in a thruple with Martha and Thomas, personally I don't believe there's any reality where he wasn't.

I can't find the OG posts this is referencing. If I do, I'll add the link back in later ^^

The last point I 100% agree with. Alfred/Martha/Thomas all the way. It makes Alfred's angst even heavier (especially if the three were hiding their relationship from Bruce, and thus the kid never knew Alfred to be another parent figure. He was still considered family, but the change in roles was definitely a transition stage for both Alfred and Bruce).

Anyways, thank you for expanding on the AU some more!!! I especially love the way that Grandy is described. Their form seems so beautiful.

Hmm... In this AU, Dick, Cass, and Tim are Grandpa Drake's bio grandkids. Does the grandparent thruple recognize their siblings (Duke, Jason, Damian, maybe Babs and Steph) as their grandkids as well? I'd imagine so.

Also, have the G.T. (grandparent thruple) recognized anyone else as their kids/grandkids through adoption? It'd be hilarious if they considered Starro as their kid and thus Jarro is their grandkid (not sure how to make that work, though).

I would love to see more adventures of G.T. in space, getting to know their grandkids, and hanging out with Ma Kent and Alfred.

[spectr3inl0ve]

Sooo I read cradlerobber!bruce Wayne

And what do you think I would happen if reader became a vigilante and hid it from Bruce? 🫣probably leading to an argument abt how he wants her to “be safe” but ending in comfort

(Maybe dick knew but did t tell anyone else lmao)

I mean I don't see this being "canon" in the cradle robber!bruce wayne verse BUT hypothetically...(Idk why I wrote in third person for this sorry 😭)

reader prolly met lucius fox in secret to get a suit made for her, and with a hell of a lot of convincing, he caves and gets a suit designed and made for her. i think that generally bruce would try and get her to learn self defence, the basics at least. she would spar with dick and learn stuff she wouldn't learn from bruce (ig flexibility, yk) and she would learn dicks fighting style, and vice versa.

she would leave around 20mins after bruce leaves for patrol, sneaking out the balcony in the bedroom no less. she would go on foot, using grapplers to her advantage and would stick to dealing with low life thugs in alleys trying to rob and assault other civilians. it goes on for maybe a month or two, because something bound to happen when you're surrounded by some of the world's best detectives.

reader does tail some of the members of the batfam, but for only short periods of time as to not be noticed. and she thinks she's slick, but she's not; the batfam knows when they're being followed, and by this mysterious woman. but who is she? bruce has started discussing this mystery woman at dinner, reader jokingly saying, "well i hope she doesn't interest you too much, bruce." and he waves her off, assuring her, though she knows there's nothing to worry about.

within the next week, reader can't seem to find nightwing, but hes started to follow reader, watching her watch and observe his family her family. he can't help but wonder why she never tries to pounce at them, if she timed it right, she could easily take one down. she's watching red robin intently, her eyes following his movements, always making sure to stay on the rooftops and far away. a loud crash and a singular gunshot comes from the opposite building. "warning shot." she whispers, if dick wasn't almost right behind her, he wouldn't have heard her. she turns her attention from red robin to the building, trying to gauge the situation through the dirty, dusty windows. dick knows what's going on in that building, and it's not anything that this amateur vigilante should be dealing with. "don't go in there." he says lowly, startling her. she turns around, straightening up. "and who are you to tell me that?" she makes her voice more deeper? more depth, maybe. but it does the job in partially concealing her real voice. "I've got more experience, I'm trying to help you." his hands moving with his words as he responds. the woman says nothing glaring slightly. "got a problem? hey, who even are you?" nightwing smiles good-naturedly. "it doesn't matter." reader readies her grapple gun, aiming at the rooftop of the building where the gunshot came from. dick grabs her wrist, "hey- you can't just leave. you've been following my team for the past couple months. why?". she laughs, "what's wrong with watching?" "tell me why you've been following us. before i make you." he threatens, his grip on her wrist tightening. she goes to punch him in the face, but he catches her fist easily, moving to hold both her wrist in one hand. she knees him stomach, struggling to get free while he recovers (quickly ofc). as they continue to fight, nightwings starting to notice some patterns. she always goes for the face first, simultaneously kicking at his shin. sure, it's not that uncommon for someone to do that, but the way she does it...well, there's only one other person who's done it in the amateur, repetitive way she has: [readers name]. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

dick calls her name, slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. as much as she tries to hide it, a small look of surprise washes over her face. "don't worry, your secrets safe with me." he chuckles as reader grapples away without another word.

so, for obvious reasons, things have been awkward with dick. to her at least, dicks having the time of his life watching her be constantly on edge around him.

I'm so so sorry but I think I needa do a part 2 to finish your ask cus I don't rlly know what to write for this 💔💔!! again, this is not canon to the cradle robber!bruce wayne verse

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Killer Match

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/61848349 by Triskuit (TriskHellion) Peter hadn’t experienced anything this thrilling in quite some time. He’d done his share of killing as the pack’s Left Hand — that’s how he ended up as an alpha, after all — but generally the point was to do his hunting without detection. This cat and mouse game where he let himself be seen, but not followed was very entertaining. Secure in the knowledge that his prey must still be a few halls over in the maze-like belly of the old mall, Peter was just thinking of what he’d say when they officially made each other’s acquaintance when he turned the next corner and the blade slid into his gut. That’s one way to make a memorable introduction, he thought with a groan. Peter looked down at knife sticking out of his ruined shirt and sighed, grasping a blood slicked wrist while gazing into wide, dark amber eyes. “Well done.” Words: 2055, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Omega Verse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Left Hand Peter Hale, Getting Together, Explicit Sexual Content Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/61848349

[ramayantika]

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬: 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(Apna apna sab choose karlo 👀)

Bharatanatyam

The girl in red and gold. Never steps out of the house without a bindi, loves the sun a little too much and gets the perfect golden hour photos. Will drag you out in the sun to prove that her hair is brown. Looks no less than a goddess in traditionals, rocks desi wear as well as western, always the best dressed in the room and sometimes the overdressed one. A walking saree encyclopedia, dreams to have a large wardrobe just for her sarees. Will also lend you some of her sarees and drapes them so well. If you are wearing a saree for a date, ask her for help. Reads a lot of detective books maybe, ranging from Sherlock Holmes to Feluda. Has learnt martial arts too, armed with wit, got the best comebacks and will fight for her friends. Highly intimidating when you meet her first until you get to witness the soft sunshine version of her. Photogenic, loves the camera, could also be a model. Her walk radiates power and confidence. Ambitious and full of ideas, commands attention easily with a snap of ger fingers. Heads turn at her when she enters the room, an eloquent speaker because she is well read. Tries to spread happiness in her own ways, knows everyone in her neighbourhood, is friends with everyone, right from the little kids to the oldies in the park, the Mother hen of her group. Loves puppies and will cry while watching cute puppy videos. Cooks delicious dishes and watch her lash out if she finds out that you skipped breakfast. A pure soul, too kind and generous for the world and does her best in spreading happiness around her.

'It's honestly a choice which we have to make. We can choose to see everything as cold and heartless around us or start seeing at the brighter side of things. Trust me, the latter is a better choice. Why would someone want to live such a miserable life laced with bitterness and resent. I know I cannot singlehandedly make everything right in the world, but I can surely make a difference in at least a single person's life? Why focus on things at the greater scale when we can make changes that should starts from us?"

Odissi

The shy girl next door, writes poetry in her rough notebook, hopeless romantic and a daydreamer. For her, outing means a visit to the temple. Ardent admirer of all types of art, stares at temple sculptures and statues, and is also a history lover. Pink lip gloss, jasmine flowers and a doe-eyed beauty. Makes flower jewellery and will gift you many of her own works if you are her friend. Wears light coloured clothes and minimal accessories, light feminine, crushes over book characters and will make you see the best traits in yourself but forgets to look at the good in herself. Recites romantic poetry in front of the mirror and pretends to be someone's muse, replaces herself with the characters in period dramas Has gorgeous hair but will always keep them in a messy bun, but god when she lets her hair down, she looks like an angel. Her social life includes playing with children and narrating them stories and fairytales.

'His lips gently follow the trail of the small dots of sandalwood paste on her back. It forms a serpentine path on her skin and ends on the curve of her waist where his lips gently caress her soft skin, delighted at the treasure gifted by the perfumed trail.'

"You haven't even held hands with a boy and yet you can come up with this? How?"

"Oh, it's nothing. You have to see my writing journal and you will definitely believe that I am well versed in the arts of love."

"Arts of love? Who uses that?"

"Me. Now come, let's watch Jodha Akbar."

"Again?!"

Kathak

Kurtis and Anarkalis. Has long hair that is half of the time braided. Might also wear a parandi at events. Shayari aur ghazalein, listens to old Bollywood songs late at night under the moon on the terrace. Star gazing, late night deep conversations, vintage clothing, would write you hand written love letters. Knows hindustani music, sings late at night and sometimes in the early hours of dawn. Aankhon mein gehra kajal jise dekh na jane kitne uske aashiq bann gaye, deep eyes that will stare into your soul, loves to wear red lipstick and will wear silver jewellery with every outfit. To win her heart? Take her jhumke shopping. She is the desi pinterest aesthetic. Bases her personality on Sahibjaan from Pakeezah, Anarkali from Mughal-E-Azam, Umrao Jaan and Chandramukhi from Devdas. Has desi aesthetic moodboards on Pinterest and lives like it too minus the havelis and lots of expensive jewellery. If you are a poet, she will end up proposing you.

'जो मेरा नाम अपनी शायरी में अमर कर दे

मरूंगी तो केवल उस शायर के नाम'

"Umrao jaan 2.0 apni pariksha ki taiyari kare aapke non existent premi kavi ya shayar marks nahi dilayenge"

"Tauba tauba sara mood kharab kar diya"

Kuchipudi

Was made to learn dance and music as a child, knows how to play the veena or the sitar well, cannot sing but will play the instrument for you if you ask. Gold jewellery? No. Silver jewellery? No. Pearls? Absolutely! An all rounder, academically brilliant as well as in extra-curriculars, perfectionist and will breakdown at the slightest inconvenience. Loves to go on long walks, sunset photography, has a collection of journals and hauls stationary items. Collects fallen flowers and keeps them inside her books. soft smiles, long artistic fingers that always have ink spots, a small but a close friend group, wishes on flowers, so quiet that you might not her speak at times, notices the minute things about her friends and the people she meets. Looks too long into the mirror and loses herself, has too many questions but will never ask. Has pretty crazy dreams that could become book plots.

"Do you ever stare at your eyes in the mirror for a very long time? Do you feel your reflection change? Those eyes that look back at you... they have so much to say, they carry so many secrets inside them even though at a superficial level, it might seem that your reflection and you are the same, but it's not. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel it's not me. I am not her nor am I anyone else. I feel I am a part of the galaxies, of stars and planets and of souls -- that I have existed here a long time ago and I have been reborn again for unknown reasons, reasons that somewhere my would would know. Do you not feel the same?"

Kathakali

Athletic, into sports, highly dramatic, can and will recite film dialogues at every situation, has a larger than life attitude, grand gestures and celebrations for her favourite people as well as for herself, always brimming with energy even at 3am, colourful flashy clothes that make her stand distinct from everyone, make-up game on point, a HUGE foodie, takes you to the best eateries and restaurants, indulges in pranks and all sorts of harmless mischief that makes her endearing, expresses everything just with her eyes. You can't say no to her because she will conjure such a facial expression that it would be difficult to say no which is why she gets away with mischief. Will debate about literature and philosophy, has a lot of knowledge about historical texts and scriptures, can easily make you laugh by imitating characters from stories and tales. Will also spam you with her thoughts and opinions on text and if you are in her close friend circle, keep your phone on because she will immerse herself about the latest book she read. Races with kids from her colony and lets them win, gully cricket vali didi, street smart, procrastinates assignments until the deadline is knocking at the door. Knows the secret spots in the city as well as their stories, has the best horror stories to narrate at a campfire.

"I know it's 2am, but is it okay if-"

"Even if I say no, you will tell me, but I am interested. Speak."

"What if all the characters in our epics were us, I mean like us normal human beings who achieved greatness and such divine status because of their work and somehow maybe that was the truth, but with time, we began thinking that we are not capable of becoming like them so we decided that we would take the credit of their hard work and replace it with magical powers and worship them, but not try and become like them? And somehow so many ideal kings, queen, warriors and artists when then look at us from heaven want us to achieve the same level of greatness like them? But they are sad that we think so less of ourselves? I am not denying God's presence though, don't get me wrong on that. I am talking about all the great people from stories that have been passed down to us. I do appreciate the creativity and imagination of the writers and poets involved, but what if we are actually failing to look more deeper into it. What if they want us to go beyond the veil of imagination in those stories and find ourselves in them?"

Manipuri

One word: Ethereal. Doesn't look like she belongs to this world. You saw her first at a waterfall, dressed in white and red shades, mostly prefers pastel shades, makes beautiful flower bouquets, has got a very melodious voice and when she sings by the waterfall with the swans sitting beside her, she appears like a water nymph. Playful eyes, whispers words, will wink and smile at you before disappearing into a run. She walks as if she is floating, got the lightest feet, soft dewy skin, nature's daughter. Sings before the Gods in temples, always has a peacock feather with her, makes one wonder if she is a human or someone divine, wants to live in a cottage overlooking lush green hills.

"Ironic isn't it that beauty, riches, pride, nothing shall exist in the end because we shall go back to mother nature, Prakriti? I shall be ash, a small heap of ash in the future and my stories, my experiences, the beauty which people love to talk about, nothing will exist. Even when humans leave a piece of land, they think it shall be dead and decayed, but they have forgotten Prakriti's nature. She is nourishing and a healer. She shall be the only one remaining."

Mohiniyattam

Loves to sit by a riverbank, serenity, looks at you as if she knows everything about you even about the words you shall speak next, mysterious vibe, doesn't trust anyone easily, lotuses are her favourite. Who is the girl standing waist deep in the river looking at the moon? Loves to wear alta on her hands and feet, wears anklets, longing side glances, perfectly arched eyebrows, dances in the rain, photographs everything, a natural charmer, goes to museums and coffee. Date ideas? Boat rides for evenings. A very private person, doesn't reveal much about herself, contemplates about Life and the Universe, space geek, stars are her friends.

When I look at you, at your great depths, I marvel at the power you have subdued while flowing through the land of Man. Born from the great peaks of mountain ranges, like a young girl who is pulsating with energy, you flow down your father's abode. Were you aware of your strength then? You cut through rocks, found your way through dense forests, and finally emerged into our land. We took you granted, knowing you shall forever exist for us, that you shall always nurture our bodies, our minds and our souls, until we witnessed your dance of death.

I wondered how Lasya, the feminine style of dance, also known as Goddess Parvati's style of dancing could be destructive? You swirled to great heights. With each turn, your colour darkened, absorbing the green from trees, the white from clouds, yellow from the sun, blue from the dawn and purple from sunsets. In the end your colour changed to brown and grey as you engulfed everything we held dear. You ultimately showed your hidden strength that you possesses in the days of girlhood until you heard us wail and weep. Motherhood came back to you, and with time, you began nursing us once again. The city repaired itself, we began learning about the secrets of life and death on your banks and children played with your gentle waters. And then you longed for love, so you advanced towards the sea, merging with its grand form. Once, I used to see it as a way of losing your entire identity, but now I see it as being one. You nourish man in the city and then with your dear love, the mighty sea, you nourish the life that resides inside water. I would like to be something like that.

"Is that why you spend so much time at the river?"

"Yes."

Sattriya

Plays the flute, the most non violent human, will never get angry, calm voice that might lead you to deep sleep. Nobody has seen her even glare at someone. Gold jewellery, squints at the sun, sings devotional songs for Krishna, cannot eat spicy food, lives in the hills, will definitely win if you race against her in the hills, knows quiet spots to appreciate the valleys. Has a great deal of knowledge about herbal medicines, one touch and you will feel that the pain is gone. Has Diy skin care methods ready, gives the best oil massage, cold hands in winter, looks adorable when covered in a shawl, red cheeks that appear like natural blush, makes the best tea.

"Close your eyes, open your ears and your mind too. You might begin to understand the language of the hills. They will send you messages of rain clouds, soft kisses of wintery breeze, fragrance of spring and gently warmth of the sun. Sometimes, if you look closely enough, you might get to know who you are in this world in front of them."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ‧͙⁺ ˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙◌

I DID IT :D

Even though it's based on dance, but everyone isn't into dance, so i did try my best to make it inclusive and ofc i had to write these paragraphs because I felt more creative lol (just to sum up the vibes maybe that's why) It was a bit tricky to make for Sattriya and Manipuri. I looked up some articles and then some Assam and Manipur tourism videos and also some of theri dance videos too for this. Now I mentioned some of rhe traits and stuff based on the dancing history and the repertoire plus also from the place where it belongs too

Tell me your favorite one and which one you relate to the most.

Shoutout to @remen-nyoodless for the hindi lines

Tagging: @yehsahihai @swayamev @sanskari-kanya @navaratna @daddojanam @pulihora @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @aapki-pyaari-sakhi @kuhuchan @arachneofthoughts @vedajananixx @pothosinpots @eugenephosgene @reallythoughtfulwizard @ma-douce-souffrance

[osaumu]

OSAMU DAZAI \ VERSES + BASIC DESCRIPTIONS.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ DISQUALIFIED AS A HUMAN BEING ⸺ PORT MAFIA.

pretty self-explanatory, follows dazai's time in the port mafia from fourteen to eighteen years old and in some cases beyond. for this verse age will always be dropped in the tags of the first post and discussed beforehand because there's no way i can make six different verse tags for the different ages. key ages of note are fifteen, when dazai meets chuuya. eighteen, the year in which dazai loses odasaku and leaves the port mafia. but like i say, age will always be dropped in the tags so that everyone's aware! these are dazai's formative years and something i'm interested in exploring.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ DEAD TO SHAME‚ A LIVING CORPSE ⸺ ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY.

exploring the current timeline from age twenty-two and in some cases from twenty, when dazai took his entrance exam and first started working with the agency. for this verse i ignore the canon timescale of the timeline, as it states that everything from chapter one to wherever we're up to has happened within 4 weeks, screw that. in my head i can stretch it out however far i like, and in some cases dazai may be twenty-three/four by the time we reach our current place in the manga. i just don't believe in squeezing it all into four weeks, so there's room in this verse for other things to occur! unless necessary, age won't need to be disclosed for this verse as it begins from age twenty. in some cases this verse might also include ages eighteen and nineteen and explore dazai's time underground, before he joined the armed detective agency.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ I COULD BELIEVE IN HELL‚ IMPOSSIBLE OF HEAVEN ⸺ PRIVATE.

private verses that don't necessarily require an entire tag! some of them may get a personalised verse tag if extended upon and built around, but sometimes these are short threads that are pretty self-contained, so i don't think they need one.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ FORESAW‚ MY LIFE ROTTING AWAY ⸺ BEAST.

this verse follows the timeline of the beast light novel, in which at age eighteen dazai has assumed the parent status over the port mafia, the boss. in this verse dazai holds his memories of his canon timeline, and as such does not take akutagawa under his wing but instead atsushi, akutagawa being picked up by odasaku in his youth and working to retrieve his sister from the port mafia. that's kind of all there is to that, dazai has this entire timeline wrapped around his finger so explaining it would take way too much time, but he dies at the end, after completing his goal of getting atsushi and akutagawa to work together and creating that world's next generation of double black.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ THIS VESSEL OF MY SUFFERING ⸺ JUJUTSU KAISEN.

in this verse dazai's canon ability which is ability nullification, becomes cursed energy nullification and works exactly the same way as his canon ability. he has strong cursed energy recognition and possesses a lot himself, and his technique relies on touching the subject he intends to nullify. this stems from curses, to cursed tools to other sorcerers. dazai possesses domain expansion: no longer human which creates a vast void-like space in which inhabitants trapped inside it will cease to possess their cursed energy without dazai having to touch them. it has a strong outer barrier but a weaker inner barrier, but being that inhabitants have been rid of their techniques and cursed energy, it is hard to break out of in this regard. the technique creates two other mirror images of dazai of his different formative ages, fifteen and eighteen, alongside his basic age in this verse of twenty-two and onward. this is set to confuse inhabitants and keep himself from harm. with the nature of his ability, dazai is considered an unregistered special grade as it is undiscovered if he can permanently rid a person of their cursed energy by touching their soul. in this verse the armed detective agency and the port mafia still exist as they do in canon material. the armed detective agency work on cases for jujutsu society but as a branch off, investigating curses and incidents involving sorcerers. the port mafia exist in tandem with jujutsu society but on the spectrum of illegality. they have both regular humans and sorcerers in their leagues and those with cursed energy are set different tasks than those of the regular humans. dazai's journey in this verse follows much the same as his canon material, he was aligned with the port mafia after being taken in by mori, later he joins leagues with the armed detective agency. there is room in this verse for him to catch the attention of the jujutsu society higher-ups and be taken in to either school to further his cursed technique and/or use it to their advantage. this verse can also extend to the heian period, in which dazai is closely employed as an investigator for the reigning emperor of japan, investigating crimes both of the normal and curse variety.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ THE MIND OUR GREATEST ALLY ⸺ APOTHECARY DIARIES.

set in ming-era china, in which the relation between japan and china relied on diplomatic engagement, trade, cultural exchange and military conflict. dazai, trusted advisor of emperor murakami and a member of a small royal investigative agency headed by fukuzawa yukichi, is on loan to the reigning emperor of china to investigate a series of crimes across the region. he is firstly assigned to the rear palace to give a verdict on a series of deaths and disappearances both within the inner and rear palaces and in the surrounding cities. in this verse, dazai possesses no abilities and is a regular human, though much like maomao he is immune to most poisons and in tandem, medicines, after so many attempts on his own life.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ LIVING ITSELF IS THE SOURCE OF SIN ⸺ KIMETSU NO YAIBA.

finding no happiness and excitement in average, everyday life, dazai became a demon some two hundred years before tanjiro's story takes place. in doing so, dazai thought he would find the meaning of life and find some excitement in exposing himself to the horrors that eternal life can grant, but the adventures he dreamt of were lacklustre in comparison and thus left him with a further depreciation for life, especially the one muzan kibutsuji had granted him. unaffiliating himself later in his years, dazai has a similar relationship with the demon slayer corps that lady tamayo has. as a demon, dazai has joined forces with a league of human detectives, headed by fukuzawa yukichi they investigate strange happenings across the region of both the demon and average variety, calling on the demon slayer corps for further help when necessary. the agency has good relations with the demon slayer corps - though, most upon seeing dazai aligned with a human agency will at first think he is the target of their operations, and it takes some explaining. from his human life, dazai still possesses a great number of scars, and so more than half of his body stays wrapped in bandages, similar to canon. as a demon, dazai possesses great strength and regenerative abilities but no singular abilities - only that no longer human presents itself as an invulnerability to demon slayer breathing styles, and as such he is virtually unkillable, if only by standing in sunlight will he meet his end. this vexes him as it is his intention to die peacefully, and so when he comes into contact with demon slayers he does indeed invite them to try their luck, but to no avail. among the detective agency dazai is a trusted friend and ally despite his status as a demon, and mostly he takes on the nightly investigations and works within the office during the day, interviewing potential case holders and evaluating case importance. it is important to note that dazai has not killed a person in order to feed on them in fifty years, and possesses great restraint in this regard. similar to kamado nezuko, dazai rests for long periods of time in order to regain his strength, but it is also known that coming into contact with water will help restore some of his energy.

⁽ ☆ ⁾ THE WORLD‚ A PLACE OF BOTTOMLESS HORROR ⸺ UNDECIDED.

what is says on the box ... where my undecided verses can go until i find a name for them / flesh them out. at the moment this just remains my kny verse and a blue eye samurai interjection of dazai's character.

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott’s success did not arrive overnight. His has been a slow and steady ascent from supporting player to leading man. But his status is now assured: at 47, the Irishman is among the most talented and prominent actors of his generation, on stage and screen.

Dublin-born and raised, Scott first took drama classes at the suggestion of his mother, an art teacher, to try to overcome a childhood lisp. At 17 he won his first part in a film, Korea (1995), about an Irish boy who finds himself fighting in the Korean War. By 21, he was winning awards for his performance in Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night, for director Karel Reisz, no less, at The Gate. He arrived in London, where he continues to live, at the end of the 1990s, and worked regularly, with smaller parts in bigger TV shows (Band of Brothers, Longitude) and bigger parts in smaller plays (A Girl in a Car With a Man, Dying City). By the mid-2000s he was well established, especially in the theatre. In 2006, on Broadway, he was Julianne Moore’s lover, and Bill Nighy’s son, in David Hare’s Iraq War drama, The Vertical Hour, directed by Sam Mendes. In 2009, he was Ben Whishaw’s betrayed boyfriend in Mike Bartlett’s Cock, at the Royal Court. He won excellent notices for these and other performances, but he was not yet a star. If you knew, you knew. If you didn’t know, you didn’t know. Most of us didn’t know; not yet.

That changed in 2010 when, at the age of 33, he played Jim Moriarty, arch nemesis of Benedict Cumberbatch’s egocentric detective, in the BBC’s smash hit Sherlock. The appearance many remember best is his incendiary debut, in an episode called “The Great Game”. When first we meet him, Moriarty is disguised as a creepy IT geek, a human flinch with an ingratiating smile. It’s an act so convincing that even Sherlock doesn’t catch on. Next time we see him, he’s a dapper psychotic in a Westwood suit, with an uncannily pitched singsong delivery and an air of casual menace that flips, suddenly, into rage so consuming he’s close to tears. Such was the relish with which Scott played the villain — he won a Bafta for it — that he risked the black hat becoming stuck to his head. In Spectre (2015), the fourth of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies, and the second directed by Sam Mendes, Scott played Max Denbigh, or C, a smug Whitehall mandarin who wants to merge MI5 and MI6, sacrilegiously replacing the 00 agents with drones. (If only.)

There were other decent roles in movies and TV series, as well as substantial achievements on stage, and he might have carried on in this way for who knows how long, even for his whole career, as a fêted stage performer who never quite breaks through as a leading man on screen.

But Scott had more to offer than flashy baddies and scene-stealing cameos. His Hamlet, at The Almeida in London, in 2017, was rapturously received. I’ve seen it only on YouTube, but even watching on that degraded format, you can appreciate the fuss. Scott is magnetic: funny, compelling, and so adept with the language that, while you never forget he’s speaking some of the most profound and beautiful verse ever written, it feels as conversational as pub chat.

Another banner year was 2019: a memorable cameo in 1917 (Mendes again) as a laconic English lieutenant; an Emmy nomination for his performance in an episode of Black Mirror; and the matinée idol in Noel Coward’s Present Laughter at London’s Old Vic, for which he won the Olivier for Best Actor, the most prestigious award in British theatre.

The second series of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s phenomenal Fleabag, also in 2019, proved to a wider public what theatregoers already knew: Scott could play the mainstream romantic lead, and then some. His character was unnamed. The credits read, simply, “The Priest”. But social media and the newspapers interpolated an adjective and Scott became The Hot Priest, Fleabag’s unlucky-in-love interest, a heavy-drinking heartbreaker in a winningly spiffy cassock, and an internet sensation.

Fleabag began as a spiky dramedy about a traumatised young woman. Scott’s storyline saw it develop into a bittersweet rom-com, brimming with compassion for its two clever, funny, horny, lonely, awkward, baggage-carrying heroes, lovers who can’t get together because, for all the snogging in the confessional, one of them is already taken, in this case by God.

It was the best and brightest British comedy of the 2010s, and Scott’s fizzing chemistry with Waller-Bridge had much to do with that. The ending, when she confesses her feelings at a bus stop, is already a classic. “I love you,” she tells him. “It’ll pass,” he says.

Over the past 12 months, in particular, Scott has piled triumph on top of victory, and his star has risen still further. At the National, last year, he executed a coup de théâtre in Vanya, for which he was again nominated for an Olivier. (He lost out to an old Sherlock sparring partner, Mark Gatiss, for his superb turn in The Motive and the Cue, about the making of an earlier Hamlet.) For Simon Stephens’s reworking of Chekhov’s play, Scott was the only actor on stage. On a sparsely furnished set, in modern dress — actually his own clothes: a turquoise short sleeve shirt, pleated chinos, Reebok Classics and a thin gold chain — and with only very slight modulations of his voice and movements, he successfully embodied eight separate people including an ageing professor and his glamorous young wife; an alcoholic doctor and the woman who loves him; and Vanya himself, the hangdog estate manager. He argued with himself, flirted with himself and even, in one indelible moment, had it off with himself.

It’s the kind of thing that could have been indulgent showboating, a drama-school exercise taken too far, more fun for the performer than the audience. But Scott carried it off with brio. In the simplest terms, he can play two people wrestling over a bottle of vodka in the middle of the night — and make you forget that there’s only one of him, and he’s an Irish actor, not a provincial Russian(s). An astonishing feat.

For his next trick: All of Us Strangers, among the very best films released in 2023. Writer-director Andrew Haigh’s ghost story is about Adam (Scott), a lonely writer, isolated in a Ballardian west-London high-rise, who returns to his suburban childhood home to find that his parents — killed in a car crash when he was 11 — are still living there, apparently unaltered since 1987. Meanwhile, Adam begins a tentative romance with a neighbour, Henry (Paul Mescal), a younger man, also lonely, also vulnerable, also cut off from family and friends.

Tender, lyrical, sentimental, sad, strange, and ultimately quite devastating, All of Us Strangers was another potential artistic banana skin. At one point, Scott’s character climbs into bed with his parents and lies between them, as a child might, seeking comfort. In less accomplished hands, this sort of thing could have been exasperating and embarrassing. But Scott’s performance grounds the film. He is exceptionally moving in it. He was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor, losing to his fellow Irishman, Cillian Murphy, for Oppenheimer. Earlier this year, he made history as the first person to receive Critics Circle awards in the same year for Best Actor in a film (All of Us Strangers) and a play (Vanya).

Finally, last month, the title role in Ripley, a new spin on the lurid Patricia Highsmith novels. That show, which unspools over eight episodes on Netflix, was a long time coming. Announced in 2019, it was filmed during the pandemic, at locations across Italy and in New York. Scott is in almost every scene and delivers an immensely subtle and nuanced portrayal of Highsmith’s identity thief, a character previously played by actors including Alain Delon, Dennis Hopper, and Matt Damon in the famous Anthony Minghella film The Talented Mr Ripley, from 1999.

The fragile almost-charm that makes Tom Ripley such an enduring antihero is there in Scott’s portrayal, but so is the creepiness, the isolation, the fear and desperation. His Ripley can turn on a smile, but it quickly curdles. Filmed in high-contrast black and white, Ripley is a sombre, chilly work by design, but doggedly compelling, and not without a mordant wit. Again, critics swooned.

So the actor is on a hot streak. Later this year he’ll appear in Back in Action, a Hollywood spy caper, alongside Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx, above-the-title stars with dazzling, wide-screen smiles. But could they play Chekhov single-handed? They’ll need to be on their toes.

Before our shoot and subsequent interview, in April, I had met Scott briefly on two previous occasions, both times at fancy dinners for fashion brands. Compact, stylish, dynamic, he is impishly witty and charismatic: good in a room. Also, obliging: the second time I met him, he took my phone and spoke into it in his most diabolical Moriarty voice for a wickedly funny voice message to my son, a Sherlock fan.

At the Esquire shoot, on an overcast day in south London, Scott again demonstrated his good sportiness: dancing in the drizzle in a Gucci suit; generously sharing his moment in the spotlight with an unexpected co-star, a local cat who sauntered on to the set and decided to stick around for the close-ups; and entertaining the crew — and hangers-on, including me — with rude jokes. At one point, while for some reason discussing the contents of our respective fridges, I asked him where he kept his tomatoes. “Easy, Tiger,” he said.

At lunch the following day, upstairs at Quo Vadis, the restaurant and members’ club in Soho (my suggestion), the actor arrived promptly, settled himself on a banquette, and we got straight to business. It’s standard practice now for interviews published in the Q&A format to include a disclaimer, in the American style: “This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.” (Well, duh.) In this case, we talked for close to three hours. Inevitably, paper costs being what they are, and Esquire readers having busy lives, some of that verbiage has ended up on the cutting-room floor. But not much! I’ve tried to let it flow as much as possible, and to keep the spirit of the thing, in which we toggled, like all good performances, between light and dark, comedy and tragedy.

In early March, a month before this interview took place, Scott and his family suffered a terrible and unexpected loss: his mother, Nora, suddenly died. He went home to Dublin to be with his dad, Jim, his sisters, Sarah and Hannah, and their family and friends.

As an interviewee and, I suspect, as a person, Scott is thoughtful, convivial and solicitous: he doesn’t just answer questions, he also asks them. He is not above the occasional forearm squeeze when he wants to emphasise a point. He seems to possess a sharp emotional intelligence. Perhaps one should expect empathy in a great actor, but in him it seems particularly marked.

Before we began talking, there was some studying of the menu. Scott wondered, since I eat often at Quo Vadis, if I had any recommendations. I told him I had my eye on the pie: chicken, ham and leek. “Why would you not have the pie?” wondered Scott. A good question.

So, how was your morning? Where have you come from?

This morning I’ve been at the gym, Alex.

Are you working out for a specific reason or are you just a healthy man?

Just trying to keep it going. Exercise is so helpful to me. I don’t know if you know, but my mum died four weeks ago.

I did know, and I’m so sorry.

Thank you. So, yeah. Just trying to keep it going. They say your body feels it as much as your mind.

The grief?

Yeah, the grief. My friend said a brilliant thing last night. She’s been through grief. She said, if you think of it like weights, the weight of it doesn’t decrease, but your ability to lift the weights does. So, if you go to the gym and you’re completely unpractised you won’t be able to lift the weight. But the more you get used to it, the more you can lift. There’s a slight analogy to grief. I’m just learning about it.

Have you been through grief before?

Not really. A little bit, but not to this extent. And it’s a strange thing because, obviously, I’m in the middle of having to talk a lot [promoting Ripley] and making that decision of whether to talk about it or whether not to talk about it. I’m finding myself talking about it, because it’s what’s going on, and without giving away too much of it she was such an important figure. It feels right. It’s such a natural thing.

Is it helpful to talk about it?

I think it has to be. I feel very lucky with my job, in the sense that, all those more complex, difficult feelings, that’s what you have to do in a rehearsal room; you have to explore these things. So strange: a lot of the recent work that I’ve done has been exploring grief. With Vanya, and All of Us Strangers. So it’s odd to be experiencing it this time for real.

I wasn’t planning on making that the focal point of this piece, so it’s up to you how much you feel comfortable talking about it.

I appreciate that.

Was it unexpected? Did it happen out of the blue?

Yes. She was very alive four weeks ago. She just deteriorated very quickly. She got pneumonia and she just… it was all over within 24 hours.

What sort of person was she?

She was the most enormously fun person that you could possibly imagine. Insanely fun and very, very creative. She’s the person who sort of introduced me to acting and art. She taught me to draw and paint when I was really young —that’s another big passion of mine, drawing and painting. She was amazing with all of us. My sister Sarah is very talented in sport, she’s now a sports coach. And my sister Hannah was very artistic and she’s an actor now. So, she was really good at supporting us throughout all our different interests. What I say is that we’ve been left a huge fortune by her. Not financially, but an emotional fortune, if you know what I mean? I feel that really strongly. And once this horrible shock is over, I just have to figure out how I’m going to spend it. Because I think when someone else is alive and they’ve got amazing attributes, they look after those attributes. And then when they die, particularly if they are your parent, you feel like you want to inhabit them, these incredible enthusiasts for life. She just made connections with people very easily. I feel enormously grateful to have had her. Have you had much grief in your life?

My mother died, during Covid. She had been ill for a long time, so it was a very different experience to yours. But I think they are all different experiences, for each of us. I don’t know if that loss would be in any way analogous to yours. But like you, I love art and books and music, and that’s all from her. Last night, I watched a rom-com with my daughter, who is 14. And I don’t know if I would like rom-coms so much, if it wasn’t for my mum.

Love a rom-com! What did you watch?

Annie Hall.

Did she like it, your daughter?

She absolutely loved it. She was properly laughing.

Oh, that’s great!

And she’s a tough one to impress. But she loved it, and my mum loved Woody Allen. My mum can’t recommend Woody Allen to my daughter now, but I can, and that’s come down from her. So it goes on.

That’s what I mean. Your spirit doesn’t die. And I’m sure you went to bed going, “Yes!”

I did! It was a lovely evening, it really was. Tonight we’ll watch something else.

Are you going to watch another Woody Allen? Which one are you going to watch?

I thought maybe we’d watch Manhattan? More Diane Keaton.

Or Hannah and Her Sisters? That’s a good one. Insanely good. Yeah, it’s amazing that legacy, what you’re left with. My mum was so good at connecting with people. She was not very good at small talk. She was quite socially bold. She would say things to people. If she thought you looked well, she’d tell you. She’d always come home with some story about some pot thrower she met at some sort of craft fair. Being socially bold, there’s a sort of kindness in it. When someone says something surprising, it’s completely delightful. My mother sent me something when I was going through a bad time in my twenties. It was just a little card. It said, “The greatest failure is not to delight.” What a beautiful quote. And she was just delighted by so many things, and she was also delightful. And like her, I really love people. I really get a kick out of people.

I can tell.

But there’s a kind of thing, if you become recognisable, people become the enemy? And it’s something I have to try and weigh up a little bit. Because people are my favourite thing about the world. I think it’s part of my nature. My dad is pretty sociable too. And so it’s weighing that up, how you keep that going. Because certain parts of that are out of your control: people treat you slightly differently. But this phase, the past four weeks, it still feels so new. Just thinking about legacy and kindness and love and the finite-ness of life. All that stuff.

Big stuff.

Yeah, it’s big stuff. And it’s very interesting, talking about grief. Because it’s not all just low-energy sadness. There’s something galvanising about it as well. I don’t know if you found that, too?

One of the things about someone else dying is it makes you feel alive.

Yes, exactly. Even though we have no choice, it does that. It’s that amazing thing, the year of magical thinking.

[Waiter approaches. Are we ready to order?]

We are.

I think so. Are we two pie guys?

We’re two pie guys!

We’re pretty fly for pie guys.

Are we salad guys? Tomato, fennel and cucumber salad?

Yeah.

And chips, maybe?

Listen, you only live once.

So, the year of magical thinking…

You know, when you’re walking along, are you allowed to have a surge of joy? Or are you allowed to just stay home and… It’s extraordinary when it gets you.

Like a wave of emotion?

I had one on the rowing machine today. I’m glad of it, though.

That was sadness.

Just loss, yeah. Just loss.

So, there’s two ways to do this. You can choose. We can do the usual interview where we start at the beginning with your childhood and go all the way through to now. That’s totally fine. Or, I can throw more random questions at you, and see where that takes us?

Random!

Shall we random it?

Let’s random it.

OK. That means I might sometimes read questions off this piece of paper.

Reading takes just slightly away from the randomness of it, Alex…

That is a very good point. You are quite right. But I don’t read them out in order! They’re just prompts.

[Sardonically] Oh, I see!

Talk me through what you’re wearing.

Oh, this is so old. What does it say?

[I peer at the label on the inside of his shirt collar. It says Hartford.]

What colour would you call that?

I’d call it a bit of a duck egg, Alex, would you?

I’d go with that. And it’s like a…

Like a Henley?

And these [pointing to trousers]?

Mr P trousers. And a pair of old Nikes.

And sports socks.

When I am off duty, I think I dress slightly like an 11-year-old. You know, when you’re just plodding the streets, I wear, like, a hoodie and trainers.

And you have a chain round your neck.

This is a chain that I bought in New York. No, maybe I bought it in Italy. It was a replacement chain. I’ve worn a chain for years. Sometimes I like to have it as a reminder that I’m not working. When you’re in character, you take it off. Because when you’re in a show or a play, they sort of own you. They own your hair.

They own your hair!

Or sometimes you have to walk around with, like, a stupid moustache. Or, worse, chops. Actors fucking hate that. Like, nobody suits that, I don’t think. Right? I’m trying to think of someone who suits that.

Daniel Day Lewis, maybe? He can carry it off.

He’s got the chops for chops!

What’s something about you that you think is typically Irish?

It goes back to that people thing. When I go home to Ireland, I’m aware that people talk to each other a lot more. And I think there’s a sense of humour that Irish people have that I love. And I suppose a softness, too, that I love. Those are the positive things. And then the guilt and the shame is the negative stuff.

Catholic guilt?

Catholic guilt. I feel very strongly, though, that I’ve worked to emancipate myself from it. There’s a certain unthinking-ness to guilt. Your first thought, always: “What have I done wrong? It’s gotta be me.” That doesn’t benefit anyone. And with shame, I don’t feel shame anymore. I think I probably did before. But in a way, it’s an irrelevant thing for me to talk about now. The thing I prefer to talk about is how great it is not to have that anymore. Rather than how horrible it was. The thing I feel enthusiastic about is how there are so many beautiful and different ways to live a life that aren’t centred on the very strict, Catholic, cultural idea of what a good life might be. Namely, 2.4 children and certain ideas and a very specific life.

Are there positives to be taken away from a Catholic education?

The rituals around grief, I think, are really beautiful, having gone through what I’ve just been going through. And the community that you get in Catholicism. Because that’s what Catholicism is about, in some ways: devotion to your community. The amount of love and support you get is to be admired. It’s the organisation that has been the problem, not the values. Random question number 16!

When’s the last time you were horrifically drunk?

Good question! I was in New York doing press recently for Ripley. And I met Paul Mescal. He had a negroni waiting for me. Love a negroni. And then we went dancing.

Are you a good dancer?

I’m pretty good, freestyle. Slow on choreography but once I get it, I’m OK. I love dancing.

I love dancing.

Do you really? Do you do, like, choreographed dancing as well?

No! But I’m a good dancer.

Do you have moves?

Oh, I have moves.

Ha! I love that!

It’s so freeing, so liberating.

It totally is.

And it’s sexy and fun.

Exactly! It’ll get you a kiss at the end of the night.

It’s sort of showing off, too, isn’t it?

But it’s also completely communal. It connects you with people. Also, you can learn so much about someone by watching how they connect with people on a dance floor. How much of communication do they say is non-verbal? An enormous amount.

If you didn’t live in London, where would you most like to live?

I suppose Dublin. I do live a wee bit in Dublin. But one of the things I feel really grateful for is that I have sort of been able to live all over the place. I lived in Italy for a year, during the pandemic.

You were making Ripley?

Yeah, we were all over. Rome, Venice, Capri, Naples… A bit of New York. I’d love to spend more time in New York. I was very lucky recently to have my picture taken by Annie Leibovitz. We were outside the Chelsea Hotel, and this woman came up. [Thick Noo Yawk accent, shouting]: “Hey, Annie! Why don’t you take a picture of this dumpster? It’s been outside my block for two months! Take a picture of that!” There’s something about that New York-iness that I love. It still has such romance for me.

How old do you feel?

Really young. I don’t have an exact age for you. Thirties?

Some people feel in touch with their childhood selves, or almost unchanged from adolescence. Others seem to have been born an adult.

That’s really true. I think of playgrounds for children: you’re actively encouraged to play, as a kid. “Go out and play!” And I hate that at some point, maybe in your mid-twenties, someone goes, “Now, don’t play! Now, know everything. Now, turn on the television, acquire a mortgage and tell people what you know.” I have to play for a living. It’s so important, not just in your job, but in life. It’s a great pleasure of life, if you can hold on to that. Talking about my mum again, she had an amazing sense of fun.

She was a funny person? She made people laugh?

Absolutely.

That’s important, isn’t it?

It’s really important. I think having a sense of humour is one of the most important things in life. It’s such a tool. And you can develop it. My family were all funny. Laughter was a currency in our family. Humour is a magic weapon. It separates us from the other species. Like, I love my dog. I think dogs are amazing. And he can have fun, but he’s not able to go, “This is fucking ridiculous.” He’s not able to do that! So it’s a real signifier of your humanity, in some ways.

Also, being a funny person, or someone who can connect with people through humour, that’s how we make friends.

I think actors make really good friends. Because you’re in the empathy game. And because you’re making the decision to go into an industry that is really tough, you need to have your priorities straight: “I know this is tough, I know the chances of me succeeding in it are slim, but I’m going to go in anyway.” It shows a sort of self-possession that I think is a wonderful thing to have in a friend. Also, actors are just funny. And a lot of them are sexy!

Funny and sexy: good combination.

I know! Not that you want all your friends to be sexy, that’s not how you should choose your friends.

Oh, I don’t know. It’s not the worst idea.

It’s not. But I think it’s something to do with empathy. And it’s a troupe mentality as well. You’re good in groups.

It’s a gang.

I love a gang. Do you like a gang?

I do. Magazines are like that. A good magazine is a team, a great magazine is a gang. And the thing we produce is only part of it: you put it out there and people make of it what they will. The process of making it is the thing, for me.

Oh, my God. That’s something I feel more and more. Process is as important as product. I really believe that. You can have an extraordinary product, but if it was an absolute nightmare to make then, ultimately, that’s what you’re going to remember about it. You make good things that are successful that everybody loves? That’s lovely. But also, you make stuff that people don’t respond to. So, if you have a good time in the process, and the attempt is a valiant one, and there’s a good atmosphere, if it’s kind and fun, that’s the stuff you hold on to. One of the reasons I love the theatre is you don’t have to see the product. You just do it, and then it’s done. It’s an art form that is ephemeral. There’s a big liberation, too, in discovering you don’t have to watch any of your films if you don’t want to.

Have you watched Ripley?

I watched Ripley once.

And?

It’s a lot of me in it! Jesus!

Is that a problem?

I find it hard to watch myself. I do. There’s something quite stressful about looking at yourself. Have you ever heard yourself on someone’s answering machine? Horrific! You’re like, “Oh, my God, that can’t be me. How do they let me out in the day?” It’s like that, and then it’s your big, stupid face as well. Mostly, I have a feeling of overwhelming embarrassment.

On a cinema screen, I can’t even imagine. Your face the size of a house!

The size of a house, and there’s 400 people watching you.

Nature did not intend humans to ever experience this.

That is so true. It’s not natural.

I mean, even mirrors are to be avoided.

Maybe looking in the sea is the only natural way?

Well, Narcissus!

Yeah, true. That didn’t turn out well. I’d love for that to be a tagline for a movie, though: “Nature did not intend humans to ever experience this…”

But equally, nature didn’t intend the rest of us to gaze upon you in quite that way. We sit in the dark, staring up worshipfully at this giant image of you projected on a screen for hours. Is that healthy?

Without talking about the purity of theatre again, when you’re in the theatre, you, as the audience, see someone walking on the stage, and technically you could go up there, too. There’s not that remove. It’s live. There’s a real intimacy. That’s why I feel it’s the real actor’s medium. Your job is to create an atmosphere. I always find it insanely moving, even still, that adults go into the dark and say, “I know this is fake, but I don’t care: tell me a story.” And they gasp, and they cry, or they’re rolling around the aisles laughing. It’s so extraordinary, so wonderful that it exists. I really do believe in the arts as a human need. I believe in it so deeply. During the pandemic, our first question to each other was, “What are you watching? What book are you reading?” Just to get through it, to survive. It’s not just some sort of frivolous thing. It’s a necessity. As human beings, we tell stories. Expert storytellers are really vital. No, it’s not brain surgery. But, “Hearts starve as well as bodies. Give us bread, but give us roses.” I love that quote.

Tell me about playing Hamlet. Was it what you expected it would be?

It’s extraordinary. Loads of different reasons why. From an acting point of view, there’s no part of you that isn’t being used. So you have to, first of all, have enormous physical stamina, because it’s nearly four hours long. Our version was three hours, 50 minutes. And you have to be a comedian, you have to be a soldier, you have to be a prince, you have to be the romantic hero, you have to be the sorrowful son, you have to understand the rhythm of the language, you have to be able to hit the back of the auditorium — there are just so many things about it that require all those muscles to be exercised. You know, it’s so funny that we’re talking about this today. Because at the beginning of Hamlet, it’s two months since his dad died. His mother has already remarried, to his uncle! What are they doing? I mean the idea that next month my dad might marry someone else is so extraordinary! So, Hamlet’s not mad. Of course he would wear black clothes and be a bit moody. The more interesting question [than whether or not Hamlet is mad] is, who was he before? I think he’s incredibly funny. It’s a really funny play, Hamlet. And it’s a funny play that deals in life and death: the undiscovered country from which no traveller returns. It’s about what it is to be human. And what it’s like to be human is funny, and sad. The language is so incredibly beautiful and it’s also incredibly actable. And it’s also a thriller.

And a ghost story. It’s supernatural.

It’s a supernatural ghost story. And because the character is so well-rounded, I always think of it like a vessel into which you can pour any actor or actress. So, your version, the bits you would respond to if you were playing Hamlet, would be completely different to mine or anyone else’s. It can embrace so many kinds of actors. So Richard Burton can play it or Ben Whishaw can play it or Ruth Negga can play it or I can play it, and it’s going to bring out completely different sides. Did you do much Shakespeare at school?

I did. I studied Hamlet.

I remember Mark Rylance said…

[The waiter arrives with our pies and we both take a moment to admire them before breaking the crusts… The following passages are occasionally hard to make out due to enthusiastic chewing.]

You were about to say something about Mark Rylance. I saw his Hamlet in… must have been 1989, when I was doing my A-levels. He did it in his pyjamas.

I’ve heard. He came to see [my] Hamlet. He said, you feel like you’re on a level with it, and then in week four, you plummet through the layers of the floor and you’re on a deeper level. He was exactly right. Something happens. It’s just got depth.

Does it change you? Do you learn something new about yourself, as an actor?

I think because it’s such a tall order for an actor, it’s sort of like you feel you can do anything after that. Like, at least this is not as hard as Hamlet. You know you have those muscles now. We transferred it from The Almeida on to the West End. So, we did it loads of times. That’s a big achievement.

How many times did you play him?

One hundred and fifty. Twice on a Wednesday, twice on a Saturday. Eight hours [on those days]. Even just for your voice, it’s a lot.

We keep coming back to theatre. Is that because you prefer it?

It goes directly into your veins. It’s pure. You start at the beginning of the story and you go through to the end. When you’re making a movie, it’s a different process. Your imagination is constantly interrupted. You do something for two minutes and then someone comes in and goes, “OK, now we’re going to do Alex’s close-up, so you go back to your trailer and we’re going to set up all the lights and make sure that window across the street is properly lit.” And that’s another 20 minutes, and then you try to get back into the conversation we’ve just been having… And so the impetus is a different one.

The Hot Priest…

What’s that?

Ha! I watched Fleabag again, last week. It’s so good. But The Hot Priest, he’s a coward. He gets a chance at happiness with the love of his life and he doesn’t take it.

Well, not to judge my character, but I suppose there’s an argument that he does choose love. He chooses God. That’s the great love of his life. Whatever his spirituality has given him, he has to choose that. Is there a way that they could have made that [relationship] work? Of course there is. We’re seeing it from Fleabag’s point of view, literally, so of course it feels awful [that Fleabag and the Priest can’t be together]. But I think we understand it, the thing that is not often represented on screen but which an awful lot of people have, which is the experience of having a massive connection with somebody, a real love, that doesn’t last forever. I think somebody watching that can think, “I have my version of that. And I know that I loved that person, but I also know why we couldn’t be together.” And that doesn’t mean those relationships are any less significant. It just means that they are impossible to make work on a practical level. Not all love stories end the same way.

Annie Hall.

There you go! La La Land. Love that movie.

The Hot Priest is damaged. There’s a darkness there. Journalists interviewing actors look at the body of work and try to find through lines that we can use to create a narrative. It’s often a false narrative, I know that. However, that’s what we’re here for! Let’s take Hamlet, and the Priest, and Adam from All of Us Strangers, and, I guess, Vanya himself, even Moriarty. These are not happy-go-lucky guys. Ripley! These men seem lost, lonely, sad. Is it ridiculous to suggest that there’s something in you that draws you to these characters — or is it a coincidence?

That’s a really good question. I think it can’t be a coincidence. Like, even when you said “happy-go-lucky”, right? My immediate instinct is to say, “Show me this happy-go-lucky person.” With a different prism on this person, there would be a part of him that’s not happy-go-lucky, because that’s the way human beings are. If we could think now of a part that’s the opposite of the kind of part [he typically plays], a happy-go-lucky character…

How about the kinds of roles that Hugh Grant plays in those rom-coms? Yeah, the character might be a little bit repressed, a bit awkward at first, but basically everything’s cool, then he meets a beautiful woman, it doesn’t work out for about five minutes, and then it does. The end.

[Chuckles] OK, yeah. I’d love to have a go at that.

Wouldn’t you like to do that?

I would! I really would.

Why haven’t you?

I don’t know! It’s weird. That is something I would really love to do. Because I love those films. There’s a joy to them. It’s something I would love to embrace now. When I was growing up, as a young actor, I did want to play the darkness. With Moriarty, I was like, “I’ve got this in me and I’d like to express it.” And, conversely, now I think the opposite. I know that’s a little bit ironic, given I’ve just played Tom Ripley. Ha! But I have just played it, and I have spent a lot of time in characters that are isolated. And I was in a play [Vanya] that was one person. I don’t feel sad doing those things. It’s cathartic. But I would love the idea of doing something different.

Also, you don’t strike me as a person who is especially morose.

No! No, no, no. I’m not. But again, we all contain multitudes. My mother’s legacy was so joyful. Not that she didn’t have her soulful moments, because of course she did. I mean this as the opposite of morbidity, but it doesn’t end well for any of us, it really doesn’t. So bathing in the murkier waters, it’s wonderful to be able to explore that side of you, but also the opposite is true, the idea of joy and fun and lightness is something I’m definitely interested in. Like a musical! I’d love to be in a musical. I’ve just done a cameo in a comedy that I can’t talk about yet. It was just a day, with someone I really love, and it just lifted me up. But of course, there’s the stuff that people associate you with, and that’s what brings you to the table.

You played a baddie really well, so you get more baddies.

Yeah. You have to be quite ferocious about that. You have to go, “Oh, wow, that really is a great film-maker, that’s a lovely opportunity…” But how much time do you have left and what do you want to put out to the world? I feel like I want to be able to manifest what I have within me now. That’s a wonderful thing to be able to do. It’s such a privilege. And I feel so grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given. But why not get out of the hay barn and play in the hay?

Ripley has been well received. Do you read reviews?

I read some of them.

Why?

I’m interested in the audience. You know when people say, “You should never care about what other people think?” Of course I care what people think.

Ripley is excellent, but it’s quite gruelling to watch. Was it gruelling to make?

Yeah.

Because you have to inhabit this deeply unhappy person?

Maybe not unhappy. But very isolated, I think that’s key. It was hard. There was a huge amount of actual acting. Doing 12-hour days for almost a year. I’m not necessarily convinced you should act that much.

Ripley is himself an actor. He puts on other people’s identities because he doesn’t like his own. He doesn’t like himself. Some people think actors are people who don’t like themselves so you pretend to be other people, assume other identities. Or maybe it’s that actors are hollow shells. When you’re not acting, there’s no one there. No you. Sorry to be rude.

No, it’s not rude at all. I totally understand it. But I find it to be completely the opposite of what I’ve learnt. The essence of acting, for me, the great catharsis of it, is that you’re not pretending to be somebody else, you’re exploring different sides of yourself. You’re going, who would I be in these circumstances? Some of the darkest, most unhappy people I know are the people who say, “I don’t have an angry bone in my body.” Then why do I feel so tense around you? People who have no anger… I remember I used to have it with some religious people when I was growing up. People proclaiming that they’re happy or good or kind, that does not necessarily mean that they are happy or good or kind. That’s the brand they’re selling. I’ve always liked that expression: “fame is the mask that eats into the face.” How do you keep a healthy life when you’re pretending to be other people? You do it by going, “I’m going to admit I have a dark side.” It’s much healthier to shout at a fictional character in a swimming pool [as Moriarty does in Sherlock] than it is to be rude to a waiter in a restaurant, in real life.

You find that therapeutic?

Yes, you’re still expressing that anger. I think it is therapeutic.

So playing Tom Ripley every day for a year, were you able to exorcise something, or work through something?

Well, that’s why I found Tom Ripley quite difficult. He’s hard to know, and a harder character to love. If you think of Adam in All of Us Strangers, you go, “OK, I understand what your pain is.” What I understand with Tom, the essence of that character, is that he’s somebody who has a big chasm that is unknowable, perhaps even to himself. We’re all a little bit like that, we’re all sometimes mysterious to ourselves — “I don’t know why I did that…” — but to have empathy for someone like that is difficult. You know the boy in your class who gets bullied, and it’s awful, and you try and understand it but he doesn’t make it easier for himself? That’s the way I feel about Tom Ripley. It’s a thorny relationship. Your first job as an actor is to advocate for the character. That’s why I hate him being described as a psychopath. Everyone else can say what they like about him, but I have to be like, ‘Maybe he’s just… hangry?’ So you have to try and empathise, try and understand. When we call people who do terrible things monsters — “This evil monster!” — I think that’s a way of absenting yourself from that darkness. Because it’s not a monster. It’s a human being that did this. You can’t look away from the fact that human beings, sometimes for completely unknowable reasons, do terrible things. And that’s why it’s interesting when people talk about Tom Ripley. They say, “Have you ever met a Tom Ripley type?” The reason the character is so enduring is because there’s Tom Ripley in all of us. That’s why we kind of want him to get away with it. That’s [Highsmith’s] singular achievement, I think.

I find reading the Ripley books quite unpleasant. It’s a world I really don’t want to spend any time in. I read two of them preparing for this. She’s a great writer, but they’re horrible characters; it’s a depressing world.

I agree. That’s what I found most challenging. Where is the beating heart here? How much time do I want to spend here? And when you do, well, it took its toll. It did make me question how much time I want to spend with that character, absolutely. That’s the truth.

The way you play him, he’s very controlled. You didn’t play him big.

I think it’s important to offer up difference facets of the character to the director and he chooses the ones he feels marry to his vision. And those are the ones [Steven Zaillian] chose. And he executed those expertly.

Are you a member of any clubs?

Yeah, I’m a member of the Mile High Club. No, no…

That’ll do nicely.

OK, that’s my answer.

What’s your earliest memory?

Do they still have, I think it’s called a play pen?

Sort of like tiny little jails for toddlers? What a good idea they were!

I remember being massively happy in it. My mother used to say she just used to fling me in that thing and give me random kitchen utensils. I don’t know, like a spoon. I’ve always been quite good in my own company. I really remember being left to my own imagination and being very happy.

Do you live alone now?

Yeah.

Is that not lonely?

Of course I’ve experienced that but, ultimately, no. I don’t know if that’s the way I’m going to be for the rest of my life. But I certainly don’t feel lonely. I’ve got so much love in my life.

Would it be OK if you lived alone for the rest of your life?

Yeah. It would be OK. One of my great heroes is Esther Perel.

I don’t know who that is.

Esther Perel. She’s a sort of love and relationships expert, a therapist, and she’s a writer. A real hero, I think you’d really dig her. She talks about relationships and the mythology around them. The difference between safety and freedom. She talks with real compassion about both men and women; she talks about this idea of what we think we want, and what we really want. And how there’s only one prototype for a successful life, really, or a successful relationship. Which is: you meet somebody, da-da-da, you fall in love, da-da-da, you have kids, da-da-da. And that prototype just can’t suit every person in the world. There are some people who live in the world who might see their partner every second Tuesday and that suits them. And to be able to understand and communicate your own preference at any given time is really the aim. To be able to say, “At the moment I’m happy in the way I am, but maybe at some point…” I’ve lived with people before, and maybe I will again, but at the moment it feels right to sort of keep it fluid.

The difficulty, of course, with relationships, is there’s another person with their own preferences. Maybe you’re OK with every second Tuesday, but they need Thursdays and Fridays, too…

But isn’t that the beauty of love? That you construct something, like a blanket. You stitch all these things together. One of the things about being gay and having a life that ultimately is slightly different from the majority of people’s, is you learn that you can create your own way of living, that is different and wonderful. A homosexual relationship doesn’t necessarily have to ape what a heterosexual relationship is. That’s a very important thing to acknowledge. I mean, of course, if you want to do that, that’s brilliant. But you don’t have to. To me, the worst thing is to be dishonest or uncommunicative or unhappy or joyless in a relationship. It’s much more important to be able to have a difficult conversation or a brave conversation about how you feel or what you want. So many of my gay friends, I feel very proud of them, really admiring of the fact we have these conversations. It seems very adult and very loving to be able to acknowledge that the difference between safety and freedom can be real torture for some people. How do I love somebody, and still keep my own sense of autonomy and adventure? That’s a real problem. That’s what Esther Perel says. It’s one of the biggest causes of the demise of a relationship. That people coast along, they can’t have that conversation, and then the whole bottom falls out of the boat.

I wasn’t necessarily going to ask you about being gay. One tries to avoid labelling you as “gay actor Andrew Scott” instead of “actor Andrew Scott, who happens to be gay”. But since we’re talking about it already: because you’re famous, you become a de facto spokesperson for gay people. People look to you for the “gay opinion.” Are you OK with that?

I’ll tell you my thoughts on that. If I talk about it in every interview, it sounds like I want to talk about it in every interview. And, of course, I’m asked about it in most interviews, so I’m going to answer it because I’m not ashamed of it. But sometimes I think the more progressive thing to do is what you’re saying: to not talk about it and hopefully for people to realise that if you had to go into work every single day and they said, “Hey, Alex! Still straight? How’s that going?”… I mean, being gay is not even particularly interesting, any more than being straight is. But I understand, and I’m happy to talk about it. I suppose it depends on the scenario. I just don’t want to ever give the impression that it isn’t a source of huge joy in my life. And at this stage in my life, rather than talk about how painful it might have been or the shame, or not getting cast in things [because of it], actually, I’m so proud of the fact that I’m able to play all these different parts and, hopefully, in some ways it demystifies it and makes people — not just gay people, but all people — go, “Oh, yeah, that’s great that it’s represented in the world, but being gay is not your number-one attribute.” The problem is it becomes your schtick. Frankly, I feel like I’ve got just a bit more to offer than that.

Two reasons I think you get asked about being gay. One is just prurience — you’re famous and we want to know who you’re shagging — and the other is that identity politics is such an obsession, and so polarising, and we hope you’ll say something controversial.

I think that’s right, I think that’s what it is. But sometimes people think there’s just one answer, in 15 characters or less. That’s something I resist, slightly.

All of Us Strangers is about loads of things, about grief, love, loneliness, but it’s also very specifically about being gay. To me, anyway.

Yes, it is.

I thought, in particular, that the scene with Claire Foy, where your character comes out to his mother, was incredibly moving.

Isn’t it extraordinary, though, that you, who is not a gay person, could find that so moving? There’s no way you’d find that moving if it was only about being gay. I always say that coming out has nothing to do with sex. When you’re talking to your parent, you’re not thinking, “Oh, this is making me feel a bit frisky.” Anyone can understand that this is about somebody who has something within them — in this case, it’s about sexuality — that he hopes is not going to be the reason that his parents don’t speak to him anymore. And I think we all have that: “I hope you still love me.” And the great pleasure about All of Us Strangers is that it’s reached not just a particular type of audience, but all types of people. And I love they’re able to market it to everyone. Usually they do this weird thing where they pretend the film’s not gay…

Right. There would be a picture of a woman on the poster.

Exactly. Someone who’s playing the neighbour! But now you’re able to market a film with Paul [Mescal] and I, and the fact is that that’s going to sell tickets. I know there’s a long way to go, but that is progression. Before, that wasn’t the case. This time, no one gave a fuck. Nothing bad happened. The world didn’t explode. Family didn’t collapse.

Identity politics question: there’s an opinion now frequently expressed that gay people ought to be played by gay actors, and so on. What are your thoughts on that?

The way I look at it, if somebody was to make a film about my life — it’d be quite a weird film — would I want only gay actors to be auditioned to play me? I would say that I’m more than my sexuality. But there might be another gay person who feels that’s incredibly important to who they are and how they would like to be represented on film. How do we balance that? I don’t know. I don’t have an easy answer on that. I think it’s a case-by-case thing.

You’ve played straight people and gay people. You’re Irish but you’ve played English people and American people. I would hope you would be able to continue doing that.

The question I suppose is opportunity, and who gets it. It was very frustrating to me, when I was growing up, that there were no gay actors.

Well, there were lots of gay actors…

But not “out” gay actors. Now there are more. Representation is so important. So I think it’s complicated, and nuanced. And talking about it in a general way rather than a specific way is not always helpful. It depends which film we are talking about. Which actor.

You were spared the curse of instant mega-fame, aged 22. Would you have handled that well?

No. I think all that scrutiny and opinion, it’s a lot. Now I’m able to look at a bad review or somebody saying something really horrible about the way I look, or even someone saying really nice things about that, and go [shrugs]. Before, when that happened, it was devastating. But I survived and it was fine, and I got another job and I was able to kiss someone at a disco, so… Whereas if you’re 22 and you don’t have that experience behind you, you go, “Oh, my God. This is horrible, what do I do?” And also, there’s much more scrutiny now, so much more. I think that must be really hard. Social media is a crazy thing, isn’t it?

I think it’s a horrible thing, on the whole.

That thing you were saying about cinema, about how it’s not natural to see yourself, or other people like that… The amount of information that we’re supposed to absorb and process? Wow. You wake up in the morning and you’re already looking at it.

They used to say that the fame of TV actors was of a different order because they are in your home. People felt they knew the stars of Coronation Street in a much more intimate way, while movie stars, Cary Grant or whoever, these were much more remote, almost mythical creatures. People who are famous on Instagram or TikTok are in the palm of your hand talking to you all day.

And it’s so interesting what people on social media choose to tell you about their lives, even when nobody’s asking them any questions. Like, is that person insane? It’s a very dangerous thing. I find it troubling.

Do you think things are getting better or are they getting worse?

That’s such a good question. I have to believe they’re getting better. I don’t know what that says about me.

It says you’re an optimist.

I think I am an optimist.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?

Fucking hell. Do you know what I don’t like? Any food that you don’t have to put any effort into eating.

Give me an example.

Custard.

Yes!

I don’t mind ice cream, because it’s got a bit of texture. But I don’t like mashed potato. I don’t like creamed potatoes, or creamed anything.

Risotto?

Absolutely borderline. So if it’s got a little bite to it, it’s OK. But baby food. Ugh! Makes me feel a bit sick.

What’s your favourite of your own body parts?

Ahahah! What do I like? What have we got? I don’t mind my nose? My eyes are OK. Like, my eyes are definitely expressive, God knows. Fucking hell. I remember I was in rehearsal once, and the director said, “Andrew, I just don’t know what you’re thinking.” And the whole company started to laugh. They were like “You don’t? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Because I think I’ve got quite a readable face.

Which is a tool for an actor, right?

It can be a tool for an actor. But you have to learn what your face does, as an actor. On film, your thoughts really are picked up.

What’s your favourite body part that belongs to someone else?

I like hands. And I like teeth. Someone with a nice smile.

Are you similar to your dad?

Yeah, I am. He’s pretty soft-natured, which I think I am, to a degree. He likes fun, too. And he likes people. He’s good at talking to people. He’s kind of sensitive, emotional. He’s a lovely man, a very dutiful dad to us, very loyal.

Would you miss the attention if your fame disappeared overnight?

I definitely think I would miss an audience, if that’s what you mean. The ability to tell a story in front of an audience, I’d miss that. Not to have that outlet.

Before you got famous, you were having a pretty decent career, working with good people, getting interesting parts. Would it have been OK to just carry on being that guy, under the radar?

Oh, my God, yes. Absolutely.

Would you have preferred that to the fame?

The thing is, what it affords you is the opportunity to be cast in really good stuff. You get better roles, particularly on screen. And I’m quite lucky. I have a manageable amount of fame, for the most part.

Some people are born for fame. They love it. They’re flowers to the sun. Others should never have become famous. They can’t handle it. You’ve found you’re OK with it.

Do you know what I feel? I feel, if I was in something I didn’t like, if I was getting lots of attention for something I didn’t feel was representative of me, I think I’d feel quite differently. I feel very relaxed, doing this interview with you today. I feel like, whatever you’re going to ask me, I would feel self-possessed enough to say, “Alex, do you mind if we don’t talk about that?”

Shall we leave it there, then?

Thank you. That was lovely.'

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

What's Up

Hello 50-odd followers I've gained in the last two weeks! You may have signed up for the Starkid content, but surprise! You also get me writing a full-ass response to the latest episode of Shipwrecked's The Case of the Greater Gatsby every week! If you haven't listened to it, please it give it a try. It's a hoot and two halves!

As ever, spoilers for Episode 11 (already??) under the cut.

First of all, I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE LOCATION OF THE TAPES! This was a fairly basic thing to be right about, but seeing as there really are so many threads (lmao that SONG) complicating this story, I'm going to take the victories I can get. And we can't say it wasn't fun listening to Fig repeatedly fail at the not-so-simple task of getting Sheila to leave her own living room.

The real highlight of the episode, however, was Ford's interview with Vivian. My beloved Fightingale were back and in full force today, folks. Ford definitely feels like something's off with Vivian--though it's unclear if he's clocked what @katvantassel pointed out weeks ago about Vivian knowing that Fitzgerald was strangled before Fig or Ford could tell her. And her alibi is definitely sketchy--almost like something she specifically designed in hopes of making Ford uncomfortable or short-circuiting his brain. Also, the way Vivian and Mo say the details of that night out loud to each other sounds very much like they're concocting their story together then and there. It's interesting to note that Mo's corroboration explicitly covers midnight and afterwards, since we know thanks to Jasper Fox that Fitzgerald was killed in that exact time period. Could that even possibly be a coincidence? And more generally, are Mo and Vivian in cahoots? That would explain how Vivian prematurely knew about the asphyxiation, but would really bring into question why she needs Fig and Ford when there's a cop at her beck and call. Unless, of course, Barnaby is too powerful to be investigated by the police force, so she has to use our favorite detectives to frame or point the finger at her husband instead...

But then again, there's the Bixby angle to it all. If Mo really is trying to bring down Bixby, why would the bar's favorite performer be working with him? I suppose they could be two completely separated plot points. Or maybe Vivian's making a play to claim Bixby's as her own? After all, we do know she doesn't hold the highest esteem for Bixby's other acts... AHHHH. SO MANY THREADS!

Speaking of which, "Too Many Threads" was an absolute smooth bop, with cleverly meta lyrics, a tantalizingly pointed final verse (is Vivian taunting Ford?), and that perfect combination of Dylan Glatthorn's songwriting and Mary Kate Wiles' voice that we've come to know and love. Please release this song soon, Shipwrecked! I will buy it from you! (Bonus points for also including Clark's Cole Porter cover from last week!)

In other news, it turns out that Bixby, so helpful this episode in recapping all of the various mysteries and cases, was not in fact lying about his financial issues in order to cover up for the Brigade. His landlord, Old Bob, has been drastically raising the rent! Could this have anything to do with anything else, or is it just typically vampiric landlord shenanigans?

AND THAT CLIFFHANGER OF AN ENDING! Oh Persauds, this is the cruelest thing you've done yet. I can't wait to hear from Fitzy himself next episode!

[hellsgreatestshow]

Animal Within; Alastor

This is lore for my muses built with the help of @hellsgreatestgame. We have carefully worked together to build and expand the Hella-Verse. All these ideas are mine and not to be used by anyone else without permission. A lot of time and effort went into every detail or my lore.

This post will be discussing animal nature, physical change, body gore adjacent and some mating seasons. If you are uncomfortable with any of that please do not read.

Features & animalistic attributes

Alastor's species of deer is the North American Red Stag. A very large and majestic animals that can adapt to a lot of terrain including wetlands and woodlands. Because of this he is best in areas like this. Alastor's hooves make difficult terrain a breeze.

Alastor is partly colorblind being able to large not see varying shades of colors and his palette his quite dull making things always seem more like shadows or blurs to him. This has lead him to adapt to fighting with all his senses focusing especially on scent and hearing.

Along with colorblindness, he suffers with very unique but poor vision. The receptors in his eyes allow him to see nearly completely around him at all times covering about 310% degree field of view, the issue though is that the bright the room is the hard it is for him to see. He is extremely sensitive to lights even seeing a far brighter light spectrum than many. His vision is most effected with fast movement causing him to see a lot as just blurs in the background.

Night vision however is superb. He can detective if the slightest of motions in the darkness. Nothing can escape him in his own realm.

His range of hearing is far superior than most relying heavily on his own natural skills as well as the static he produces he is able to hear a large radius around him covering a fairly large portion of the hotel. His large ears act as dish turning and pinpointing sound locations.

The most powerful of his senses is by far his sense of smell. He is able to detect and lock on to any familiar scent. Once he knows your scent it is locked in his memory. Scents do vary with age but their natural pheromones don't change.

Now on the topic of smells, Alastor has very strong and potent pheromones. He is an apex predator and therefore he is meant to fool you by drawing out certain primal instincts. He has glands in his mouth and along his throat to release these chemicals. Allows you access to these areas are very intimate and a very primal way to claim his partner by rubbing his scent all over them.

Elaborating on his scent, he is a very musky man. Having the linger scent of his bayou on his skin and blood. He smells of war and decay with a hint of bark and cinnamon.

The next feature to touch on, would be his claws. Alastor has razor sharp fingers coming to a claw that can shred through flesh and bone in a precise and deadly manner. His nails are filed sharp and incredible thick deposits similar in texture to dear hooves. They are thick as well as his fingers in general.

He has a short tail that is hidden. There is not many practical uses to it aside from being adorable. It does give away some emotions, wagging when he is feeling excited or loves. Don't bring it up.

Noises & Vocal stims

Alastor makes a wide array of sounds and noises. Varying from animalistic to static and pops. Each noise is unique and have varying meaning.

There are varying degrees of grunts that Alastor will make. The three major ones are small grunts with his eyes closed, these are often signs of affection or greetings. Often done with familiar people he has accepted. The second is a deep guttural rumbling grunt that is out of pleasure. The last or short and high pitched grunts used in annoyance as a warning he is getting fed up.

The next important sounds he makes or snorts. There are to big types of snorts given off, the first is a normal snort that is brief and often accompanied by a bob of the head or stamp of his foot to indicate warning and assert dominance. the second is a breath wheeze of a snort that is often to indicate he is needy and needs something. This can indicate great danger or luck depending on your relationship to him. If you hear it he is about to lash out or request something of you.

Another sound that he makes is a soft mew. This is a soft yip from the back of his throat. Often used when overwhelmed with emotions. It is a very nurturing and reassuring sound.

His natural timbre of his voice has a smoky tone with a noticeable accent. He considers his voice to be one of his most notable features. He takes great pride in his natural voice so not many are worthy enough to hear it. When he drops his static, it is a truly intimate sharing.

Unnatural sounds he creates is a mix of static and various stock type sounds that would have been used on the radio. He is like a human soundboard. He personally enjoys the disruption and often tries create as much noise as possible. He also can act as a personal white noise machine.

One other quirk he has is a lot of subtle vocal stims such as awkward time laughing, crash sounds with things break, random glass shattering and ect.

Shedding, antlers & rut

Once a year, around early to mid September, his antlers slowly slough off layers as it weakens to fall off and grow back stronger. This is a painless process called shedding and the discard is called velvet.

Velvet is this incredible fuzzy lay of shedding of skin. It is the texture of that of a peaches skin. Being so large with adjusting antlers, Alastor produces an insane amount of velvet, around 50-75lbs every season. The velvet is a highly nutritious substances that has a multitude of uses in potions and spells. It can act as a strong aphrodisiac when paired properly. It is also good for medical purposes such as lowering stress and helping with aches and pains.

His velvet takes 2 or 3 days to fully come off. During this time he is incredibly irritable and aggressive. Often he will headbutt, rubbing against or shake trying speed up this process.

When his antlers do finally fall of, they often fall in uneven sections due to the growth ability of them leading to having 4 or more large viable pieces of antler that can be used. His antlers can serve many purposes. He tends to save them or offer them out to others as a sign of endearment.

Almost instantly he will begin to grow his new set. Nubs will appear within a few hours of the old ones falling. They grow in quite rapidly though during this time they are highly sensitive and react to the smallest of attention.

This heighten sense of feeling will send him into natural desires as his body will begin craving raw and carnal affections. From September to around mid-November is a time when his emotions are more heightens. This would fall into somewhat of the category of rut but for Alastor he presents in a different way.

Some of the things he experiences during rut is craving attention. He will be more social with those he considers his pack. He will engage in more high energy activities and be a bit more receptive to hanging out.

His own sexual desire remains low. For him, it's more the chase and being close to someone. Deep down he craves acceptance and to be loves unconditionally so that is what drives him during this season.

When he is with someone, during his rut he very much enjoys the chase. Foreplay and edging lasts for days. Deer really enjoy drawing out the process often chasing their mate for days and engaging in games with one another.

Various animal traits & mannerisms

One trait Alastor picked up on is whenever he sees himself in a mirror, he will either preen and try to impress or he will get unnecessarily aggressive.

When very uncomfortable he will yawn to simulate being tired to flee the situation.

Twitching or stimming when still for too long. It's a fight or flight feeling that will cause him to randomly jerk. This can include snapping his neck to the side and other exaggerated movements.

Grooming with his tongue. This is something important and intimate he will do with his partner and/or familiar bonds.

[more-than-a-princess]

SHIPPING INFO. answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

what’s your OTP for your muse(s)?

For canon muses, it's definitely Sonia/Gundham and if you've played/watched Danganronpa, it's probably obvious. Their chemistry is incredible.

That aside, some of the other canon Danganronpa character ships with Sonia I enjoy (though these are also portrayal-dependent!):

SDR2:

Sonia/Akane - Probably my next favorite ship for Sonia from her specific game. I'd love to explore a ship with these two!

Sonia/Peko - I think their dynamic could be an interesting one. They have very different personalities and yet have a sense of duty and obligation to their families. In very different contexts of course, but I feel they'd be able to understand each other a bit.

DR1:

Sonia/Byakuya - I know some of you on my dash despise him, whether in general or as a DR antagonist (but he's my favorite of the DR antags and it's absolutely no contest), but this is the canon DR character rivals to lovers ship in my book. Two generally competitive rich kids who don't think too terribly highly of each other? He thinks she has weird and unrefined hobbies and she thinks he's a snob preoccupied with money and status only. Imagine the bickering, then the bonding, then the feels.

Sonia/Kyoko - This one I can't really explain but...the vibes are there.

Sonia/Celestia - I'm imagining Celestia having copious amounts of jealousy towards Sonia before realizing she actually does enjoy her company. Meanwhile, Sonia likes having someone around who enjoys a good cup of tea and conversation: she finds Celeste darkly charming.

DRV3:

This one's a tricky one as I just don't see Sonia being romantically interested in Class 79 students while they're all attending Hope's Peak: they're just starting their journey at school while she's thinking about graduation, university, and the next steps in her life.

However, in a post-school verse, I think she'd get along well with Maki. I'm a little more torn as to if she's more platonic or romantic with the likes of Kirumi, Rantaro, and Gonta. I think it would be very portrayal-dependent here.

Otherwise, I quite like crossover and OC ships for Sonia. Considering two of my longest running and developed ships are with OCs, we're very OC-friendly over here.

My canon NOTPs for Sonia are Sonia/Chiaki (they're best friends to me, not lovers), Sonia/Sayaka (also platonic friends), and pretty much all instances of Kazuichi/Sonia. And as said above, DRV3 muses that are still in high school.

what are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

Plotted slow-burns with plenty of humor, drama, affection, and character growth, both as individuals and as a couple. For one, Sonia's an idiot when it comes to someone showing genuine affection and romantic interest in her (which is why she can tell easily when Kazuichi is fawning over/infatuated with her: it's for generally superficial reasons!). It will take time for her to figure out someone is truly in love with her. And two, I have no interest in writing a quickly developed ship.

This blog is no Amazon Prime next day shipping, y'all. Ships take threads, interactions, and development. Additionally, I prefer writing smut in the context of larger plot development and interactions, which is why you'll never see me share a smut meme. I've been burned too many times in the past by writers who, once I wrote random sex scenes, would only write with me for that.

But for Sonia specifically:

She's never going to truly love someone who, at their heart, is not a good person. They can absolutely be a bit morally grey at times (and quite often, she's attracted to that!), but at their core, they are good people: they care, they are generous, they want to make the world a better place and will stand with Sonia to do that. They wouldn't want to squash her kindness, her empathy, her generosity towards her country and the world itself. Sonia is also pretty good at detecting this in others, even when they can't see it themselves. Your muse doesn't have to be a hero in shining armor (in fact, that might make Sonia hesitate at first!) but they can't be an irredeemable villain. And I completely understand if muns prefer not to tone down their villains, that's fine! But Sonia just cannot love someone who has no good in them.

No mental/emotional manipulation/possession/forcing her against her will. I do like arranged marriage plots but it has to be with a character Sonia would actually fall for in the end, not someone forcing her hand.

Sonia will not tolerate infidelity, open relationships, and/or polygamy/amory. She's a monogamous person and due to the messiness in her family, she does not abide by anything but. The more your muse comes to know her and understand her, they'll likely understand why. It's also a liability for her future: she has to marry a royal consort one day and while the Royal Council would likely look the other way for her to conduct discreet affairs, she just can't do it. She's not poly and she never will be poly.

how large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Adult/minor is a no, but also as mentioned above, Sonia will not see the DRV3/Class 79 students as romantic prospects if they are all attending Hope's Peak Academy together. They are her adorable kouhais only until they've all graduated and are adults.

are you selective when shipping?

Yes. I won't apologize for it, but I'm mostly selective with ships as I want ship partners whom I get along well with in terms of writing style and are approachable OOC when needed for plotting, bare minimum.

I'm generally pretty open to different characters to ship with as long as the chemistry and mun interest are there (and for me, those characters fit the bill of what Sonia would be attracted to in the first place. See two questions above!). But my selectiveness is more to do with consistent, developed threads over time. Many muns I've encountered just don't want to do that, prefer instant love or shipping after just meeting my muse, etc. And I just don't have any interest in instant romantic love or immediate shipping. The muses have to earn the right for smooches, you know?

how far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

When the clothes start coming off. Nudity at all = NSFW.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

I covered the DR muses specifically above but most other ships are based on chemistry. I'm familiar with a few otome games that I have preferential ships for but otherwise my ship bias comes from muses Sonia has encountered over time and/or shipping with already: @dcviated's Wylan, @quickdeaths' Shinobu, @burnxngslash's Lupin are the ones that have been solidly plotted and/or happening. I hope Sonia figures it out with @electricea's Ryuji eventually, too!

These are no by a complete list and I'm eager to explore ships with other muses, but these are the ones that have been plotted that aren't DR muses, and are actively writing long-term threads/interactions with Sonia right now.

does one have to ask to ship with you?

Yes, you do, if you are interested in that content. One, so I know that you'd like our interactions to go that route and two, we can see if there's mutual chemistry and interest there. But please, let our muses interact platonically for a little while first? :)

how often do you like to ship?

When I've got consistent threads and writing partners and we are building towards a romantic ship. When that happens please give me ship threads.

are you multiship?

Probably obvious from the above, but yes.

are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

In general? Not really. With specific ships I'm writing? Yes. I just like writing, but I tend to focus more on ships when they're unfolding versus being ship obsessed overall.

what is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

For Sonia in Danganronpa it's Sonia/Gundham, obvs. But as Shinobu counts as a DR OC I think, Sonia/Shinobu will share that spot with Sonia/Gundham.

Do not point out Sonia's affinity for goths

finally, how does one ship with you?

Be an active writer and enjoy writing longer threads (I'm not a one liner or 1-2 short paragraph writer. I prefer ship partners who aren't, either). Reply to threads and, if possible, wrap up threads before starting new ones. Be enthusiastic and engaged in interactions. And then ask, especially if you've enjoyed how our muses are getting along (or perhaps not, at first! See Sonia/Byakuya) and you'd like to see if we could explore an eventual romance between them.

Stolen from: @lostusagis (I hope that's ok!) Tagging: You, if you'd like to fill this out.

[inspofromancientworld]

The City in the Sea and its Ancient Origins

By Unknown author; Restored by Yann Forget and Adam Cuerden - Derived from File:Edgar Allan Poe, circa 1849, restored.jpg; originally from http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=39406, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77527076

Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, poet, and literary critic who lived from 1809-1849. His subjects tend to lean to the macabre and the mysterious credited with being the first American to make their living by writing and with inventing the genre of detective fiction as well as making contributions to science fiction and cryptography. He published two ciphers under the name W. B. Tyler that remained unsolved until 1992 and 2000, while including simpler ciphers in some of his detective stories that made them popular among the general public.

By anonymous - eapoe.org, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2829735

He was abandoned by his father when he was one and his mother died when he was two. He was then taken in by John and Frances Allan (he used their last name as his middle name), who continued to support him through young adulthood. He started schooling at the University of Virginia, but was only able to attend a single year before he had to quite due to a lack of money. He and John fought over his tuition fees and gambling debts. He enlisted in the US Army when he was 18 under the name Edgar A. Perry. While there, he published his first collection of poetry as 'a Bostonian'. In 1929, after the death of Frances, he and John were able to reach a truce that lasted until Poe did poorly at West Point and decided he was going to be a writer. The two parted ways after that. He left the Army and began working for literary journals, gaining a reputation for his particular type of literary criticism and had him moving from Baltimore to Philadelphia to New York City. When he was 27, he applied for a special dispensation to marry his 13 year old cousin, Virginia Clemm, who died of tuberculosis when she was 24. He published perhaps his most famous poem, The Raven, in 1845, when he was 36, to great success. He was in the process of trying to start his own literary journal when he died at the age of 40 under mysterious circumstances, possibly disease, alcohol or other substance abuse, or possibly suicide. He was found 'in great distress, and…in need of immediate assistance' per Joseph W Walker, the person who found him at 5 am October 3, 1849. He was unable to explain his state, though some say he called out 'Reynolds' on the 6th, before he died on the 7th and that his last words were 'Lord help my poor soul.'

The City in the Sea was written around 1831, originally published as The Doomed City in 1831, but the final version was published in 1845. In it, a personification of death rules over a city in the west ('Lo! Death has reared himself a throne/In a strange city lying alone/Far down within the dim West') which echoes the ancient Egyptian idea that death is in the west because that is where the sun sets. All are drawn to the city, '[w]here the good and the bad and the worst and the best/Have gone to their eternal rest.' In the next verse, he adds '[n]o rays from the holy heaven come down/On the long night-time of that town;/but light from out that lurid sea/Streams up the turrets silently--', adding to the unsettling feeling about the city, then explains that 'from a proud tower in the town/Death looks gigantically down.' The wind itself is indifferent to it's path ('No heavings hint that winds have been/On seas less hideously serene'). In the end, '[t]he wave--there is a movement there!/As if the towers had thrust aside' until '[d]own, down that town shall settle hence,/Hell, rising from a thousand thrones/Shall do it reverence.' The poem was based on Flavious Josephus' (37-100 CE) retelling of the fall of Gomorrah, one of the two cities destroyed for being 'wicked' and Titus Lucretius Carus', better known as Lucretus, (99 BCE-55 BCE) On the Nature of Things (De rerum natura), which is a 7400 dactylic hexameter poem that was divided into six books that explores natural philosophy, consciousness, and the development of the universe as guided by chance rather than the gods. Other influences include Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan and Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queen.

You can read the poem here.

[aboutzatanna]

Who/What is Zatannas personality? A lot of the comics I've read of her I feel like shes just written as 'The hot magician'. :/

Zatanna is fun, clever and playful. She is both an entertainer and superhero. She is well aware of the dark side of magic but wants to use her power to bring joy to others.

It also makes her one of the few magical characters who don't isolate themselves from humanity in some way. Thus making her a sort of bridge between the human and magical world.

I think Final Night #3 and Adventures of Superman #522 both written by Karl Kesel does a great job of showing her as both a showman and a superhero. In the former she is trying to entertain and save people during the literal darkest hours when the sun is about to die and in the latter she helps Superman repair Metropolis but also turns it a performance.

She holds herself to high standards and takes failure and mistakes hard. Sometimes to the point where she loses sight of her own positive attributes.

This has also caused her to spiral into depressive moods which she then has to drag herself out of.

She is generally kind hearted and has helped out those who may/may not have fully deserved it like when she gave Key a small portion of her life force since she realized that his rampages were motivated by his fear of dying from his degenerative condition. Or actually trying to save Adam; the man who kidnapped her and experimented on her to duplicate her powers in that one JL story arc. But don't push her though, as she will absolutely rock your shit if you hurt someone she loves like the Joker learned in both the main universe and the Injustice verse.

Much like Superman, she is so powerful that her stories are more about how she uses her powers. Which can lead to situations that can be best described 'good intentions pave the way to hell'.

And generally no situation is too big or too small for her. She could fighting a incomprehensible cosmic threat one day and the next she could be helping a little girl search for her missing dog (such as in Worlds Finest #278).

For comics that focus on her personality, I recommend:

Adventures of Superman #522, Final Night #3, Seven Soldiers: Zatanna mini series, Detective Comics #834-835, Zatanna (2010) ongoing, Zatanna/Black Canary: Bloodspell, Zatanna: Come Together mini series, 1985 Zatanna Special, Justice League of America (#175, 187, 191, 206, 207), Wonder Woman Agent of Peace #3.