#yeah no weak comprehension skills

[aurana-i]

I’m genuinely concerned about gw*nriels who say “Gw*n will change Az! He’s a f-boy now, he feels entitled to Elain, she’s his rebound but Gw*n will change him and they will heal together”

Like… are you for real rn?🙈

First of all, have you met f-boys in real life before? Good luck trying to change those, cause girl, you can’t change anyone! No matter how good and light and bubbly and this and that you think you are, sorry to break it to you, but you’re not special. Fboys stay fboys no matter how hard you try.

Second of all, “change”? I will speak words of wisdom of a wonderful SJM man : “You cannot pick and choose which part of her (or him in that case) to love”. When you love you don’t try to change anything in your partner you just learn to accept and adapt. A person changes only when it their own decision. And if Azriel in your opinion is a “fuck boy” then he will stay this way and his lovers should accept it.

If you say that Elain is Azriel’s rebound from Mor, then Gw*n is his rebound from Elain?😃 it’s your logic after all, why would Gw*n be different? Oh, because she’s his “mate”? The mate he didn’t care about for 2 years after her SA? The mate he didn’t give 2 fucks about when she was taken to a blood rate and had all chances at being SAd again and killed? You sure you understand a mating bond correctly? Suddenly, she will be special and heal him in his book (lol, yeah, sure)

Also, most importantly, you really want Gw*n of all fuckin characters in the series, who suffered from the actual SA, to… change… A MAN?! Who is a… FBOY?! ☠️ What is wrong with yall , do you hear yourselves? Do you not realise how messed up this is?

Cut with this saviour complex bs, it’s embarrassing and pathetic 🙄

Honestly, the amount of mischaracterisation of Az , Elain and Gw*n and even Lu*ien from gw*riles and el*ciens I witness every day is astonishing. Let me break it down to you:

Azriel is the opposite of an entitled fuckboy. To be an entitled fboy you need to have an ego and a self esteem the size of a mountain which Azriel doesn’t have.

Elain is not boring, is not weak, is not anyone’s rebound. Elain had a build up for several book already. She’s made, she’s a Seer, she’s an Archeron sister and the loveliest of them all and could bring kings to their knees with just a few smiles. She’s 10 times more important to the books than a random priestess.

Gw*n is not interested in Azriel or in any man.

Lulu is not interested in Elain nor does she in him. The only man she expressed interest in is Az who is obsessed with her.

What in these canon statements can’t you understand? How are Elriels the ones with “no reading comprehension skills” when your dumb statements exist? It’s not like yall are 10 y.o. and we try to explain to you quantum physics in Mandarin, right? The books are really simple to understand but yall prefer to have ships which are based on 10 year old interviews and one BC. What a joke.

[archivalofsins]

Weird gripe but it kind of ticks me off that people are still treating Haruka like he has more than just communication issues. Especially since his song titles have been the most complicated out of the prisoners since trial one.

Or how it's bluntly stated in his character description on the website he has communication issues and nothing more.

"A quiet young prisoner who always keeps his eyes downcast. At first, he only responds with a word or two in response to Es's questions. By communicating with each other through meetings, the number of words gradually increases. Once we are able to have a conversation with him, we can begin to see his true kind nature. He has a quiet temperament and shows no signs of dissatisfaction with Milgram's environment. He tries to communicate with Es and the other prisoners, but there is something off about them and they don't really get along."

Outside of his literal character description, there's an abundance of evidence in the Portal Timeline and his trial songs that continue to showcase that his issues are solely verbal/communication based. Along with the fact that interacting with all of the prisoners and being given guidance from a particular one has been a great help to him in becoming a better communicator.

So, let's go over what I mean.

Let's start with his trial songs.

Weakness bringing it to attention through its lyrics,

"The word I tried to say was “You’re unfair”." "If I tried and couldn’t say it, You would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”"

And it's Japanese title. Something so complicated that it needed to be explained to me again. Thanks @doctorbunny-

So, that's definitely not the naming conventions of someone lacking when it comes to literacy. Shockingly enough it is possible to have very advanced literacy comprehension and low communication skills. Something that is highlighted through Haruka's character greatly. Yet, they translated his songs title as Weakness due to it being a bit too complicated to translate over.

His second song is called All-knowing All-agony for fucks sake. Stop treating him as though he doesn't know anything just because he's autistic coded. It's real ableist bullshit. Autism isn't a monolith it's a spectrum. People with it can have issues reading/writing, communicating verbally, or both. So, it'd be great if the fandom could stop fucking around with disorders they know nothing about.

It's embarrassing. Also here's timeline interactions where we are expressly shown the other prisoners helping Haruka work through his communication issues in various ways. Further showcasing his issues are verbal.

20/06/05 Haruka: Ah…… ah, u-um, Mikoto-san. The c-communication……? thing, that you were saying was important. I-I thought, I’d give it my best…… Um, so, Mikoto-san, what’s your favourite food……? Mikoto: Ooh? Nice going, Haru-kun~ Yeah, we still have no idea how long this lifestyle will go on for, so it’s best if we all get along together here. My favourite food…… I like pasta and horse-meat sashimi. Also bubble tea, and recently I’ve been big on custard puddings. What about you? Haruka: ……ah, I, I wonder…… H-hamburg steak, and omurice, a-and also…… what else? Ah. Cotton candy…… Mikoto: C-cotton candy!? That’s the first time I’ve met someone who has that in their top three favourites!? ……man, Haru-kun, you really are hilarious.

Mikoto introduces Haruka to the concept of small talk. Asking others questions in order to better get to know them.

20/06/12 (Haruka’s First Trial) Mu: ……Haruka-kun…… are you going? Are you going to be ok……? You don’t know what’s going to happen, so it’s scary, huh…… Haruka: Ah, y-yeah, I don’t know. But I definitely have to go, th-that’s the feeling I get. Mu: ……is that right. Let me know whether it hurts or not…… All the best…… Haruka: Ah, eek…… o-ok. ……I’ll…… be off……

Mu introduces Haruka to the concept of checking in on others who are either about to do something difficult or troubling or seems to be having a rough time.

20/06/22 (Haruka’s Birthday) Haruka: ……*sigh*…… Mahiru: Haruka-chaaan, come over here a bit! I’m looking up everyone’s horoscopes right now to check our compatibility~ What’s your star sign~? Haruka: Ah, erm…… s-star sign……? I-I don’t know. Can’t remember…… B-but, my birthday’s June…… 22nd…… I think, that was it…… Mahiru: Ok then. June 22nd is Cancer, so…… A kind person who prioritises their feelings, and…… hm? That’s today!? June 22nd! You should have told us~ Happy birthday~! Haruka: Huh? Ah, yeah…… Th-thank you…… very…… much…… hehe……

Mahiru introduces wishing remembering and wishing others a happy birthday to Haruka. Something he will attempt to do several times until he succeeds at saying it.

20/06/28 Futa: You said you don’t play any games, right? Do you not watch league or premier either? Haruka: E-eh, I, I don’t understand, what that is…… That… uh, “leeg”? Futa: Huh!? It’s international soccer. It’s normal for guys your age to know stuff like that. What a pain… I really have nothing to talk to you about, huh. Even though we’re around the same age. Also don’t speak to me so formally. It’s gross. Haruka: Ah, e-excu-, I don’t, I uh… got it…… Futa… kun……

Futa introduces the concept of formality. Showing that people near your age will find it gross or inappropriate for him to refer to them to formally. This comes up again later.

20/08/05 (Kazui’s Birthday) Haruka: ……Kazui-san…… um…… Are you, happy…… on your birthday……? Kazui: Hm? If I’m being honest, at this age I don’t really think much about birthdays any more. But…… it can be nice to have as a means to start something. Like, for a friend you haven’t seen in a long while, it’s a good excuse to suddenly start up a conversation, you know? Being able to hear from a bunch of people like that makes it fun. Haruka: I-is that, so…… That’s… nice…… I’m, kind of… jealous. But, I’d also, want to hear from people…… e-even if, there isn’t a reason…… Kazui: Haha, but it can’t always be like that. You know, for us adults…… we always want a reason or an excuse for everything. ……hm? Wait, is today my birthday? So is that why you went out of your way to talk to me yourself for once, Haruka?

This is the first instance Haruka tries to apply what he saw Mahiru do. But doesn't really succeed at saying Happy Birthday to Kazui. Instead just asking if he's happy on his birthday.

20/08/18 (Haruka and Yuno’s Interrogation) Yuno: Hey, Haruka, did you fill those out too? I remember doing profile notes like this in like prima11ry school and middle school too. Wasn’t it nostalgic? Haruka: ……e-eh? I don’t… k-know about that…… B-but, if someone wants to hear, I thought I… should answer…… as much as I can……

More practice with small talk and engaging with conversation even though it's a short one.

20/12/15 (Kotoko’s Birthday) Kotoko: I still need more information before I make my move. ……I wish my turn would get here faster. Haruka: Um, Koto-Kotoko-san. I h-heard that it’s your birth, day…… Kotoko: Ah, that’s right. ……what about it? Haruka: !! A-ah, no, um, it’s, uh, nothing…… S-sorry for, bothering… L-later……! Kotoko: ……what was that about??

Here's his second attempt at wishing someone happy birthday but he gets scared off by Kotoko's blunt nature.

21/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday) Haruka: U-uh, um, Futa-kun! Um! Um!! Futa: Huh? Shut up already… Didn’t I already say not to make a big fuss about my birthday. I’m not some kid who gets excited by stuff like that anymore! Haruka: ……?? Ah, er, i-is it your birthday……? Th-that, ah, um, h-happy birthday…… Futa: …………You will tell nobody about this conversation.

Look he did it. This was not his intended purpose in this conversation. He did not know it was Futa's birthday but it counts.

21/06/22 (Haruka’s Birthday) Mu: Haruka-kun, are you awake……? Happy birthday. Haruka: M-Mu-san? I… I-I’m awake…… Th-thank you, very much. I’m… glad…… Mu: ………… Shall we talk? You know, recently I’ve been pretty interested in you. Haruka: ……!! I-in me…? Hehe, hehehe…… interested, in me.

This comes in right after this in a very interesting way.

21/09/02  (Yuno’s Birthday) Haruka: Y-Yuno-san. Good morning! T-today’s your birthday, right……? Ha-happy birthday……!! Yuno: Oooh…… Thanks? You’ve definitely changed a bit huh, Haruka. You speak a little louder now, and actually look people in the eyes when you talk. Haruka: Eh, ah, i-is that so…… I wasn’t, aware of it myself, but…… Heh, hehe. Is that so. Yuno: Ding ding! My sensor is telling me…… this is probably a girl’s influence. Well, everyone here is slowly changing, I guess. Even me.

Oh Haruka is speaking more clearly and looking people in the eye while talking to them. Now who could he have gotten that from. A girl's influence well hm. Let's keep going to be sure.

21/12/15 (Kotoko’s Birthday) Haruka: Ah…… H-happy birthday, Kotoko-san. Kotoko: ……thanks. You’ve definitely changed a bit. Do you remember before? You could barely even talk to me. Haruka: I-is that so? Now that you mention it, I, I maybe have got a bit better since then. ……m-maybe I’ve got more used to being around people. There’s other people here who are interested in me, and, um, in particular Mu-san pays a lot of notice to me…… I… I’m enjoying myself here…… Kotoko: ……hmm. It’s just a theory I have right now, but I get the feeling the outcome of Milgram’s judgements are having some influence on our mental state. Well, I only noticed because I happened to be last up though. Good for you, then. This must mean that you’re fine. ……I’ll accept those birthday wishes.

Success he wished Kotoko a Happy Birthday too. Hm, in particular Mu-san? Isn't Mu younger than Haruka why use san instead of chan. Whelp probably nothing.

22/06/22 (Haruka’s Birthday) Mu: What’s wrong, Haruka-kun? Did something happen? You shouldn’t look away like that when you’re together with me. Haruka: Ah, s-sorry, Mu-san. Um…… No, it’s nothing. I just, suddenly got a feeling. That something is about to happen. Mu: Isn’t that because it’s your birthday? Or perhaps it’s a sign the guard is about to wake up again soon? Fufufu, I bet they’ll be really surprised at a lot of things. Haruka: That, might be true. But, I want the the guard to see. ……the new, me…….

"You speak a little louder now, and actually look people in the eyes when you talk." "A girl's influence." "Mu-san pays a lot of notice to me……" "You shouldn't look away like that."

Well, with some active reading we've determined whats going on here. Haruka has been learning to better communicate with the prisoners through various parties. However, Mu-san the one who pays the most attention with him has been helping him learn how to better communcate with others. Telling him to look people in the eye when speaking to them and to speak clearly as to be heard.

Haruka even asks Mikoto a very similar question to the one Mu asked him when he was going to his first interrogation on his brithday.

Are you going to be ok……?

22/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday) Haruka: Mikoto-san. Um, are you ok……? Mikoto: Ah, Haru-kun. It’s been a while since we last talked, huh. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you doing ok……? Haruka: Ah, I’m fine. I’ve been enjoying myself, a lot. Um, I’m sorry, for avoiding you. I was a bit scared. Of you, honestly…… Mikoto: Ahhh, yeah. I’ve been lashing out whenever I go to sleep, right? ……it’s fine. Even I think you’re right to be scared. You know, I kinda just hate that I don’t even know what’s going on myself….haha. Ah, but despite all that you still came and talked to me because it’s my birthday, right? Thank you, you’ve grown into a good man.

(Star barging in real quickly! Wanted to say that the way Haruka almost doubles back to apologize after Mikoto responds welcomingly to Haruka's attempt to talk with him reminds me of how Muu apologizes to Shidou for finding him scary after he actively shows worry for her.

20/06/17 Shidou: ……do you mind if we talk? It seems you’ve relaxed a bit more recently, Kusunoki-kun. Mu: Eh... yeah, definitely compared to the start... just a bit. But I’m still scared… we still don’t know what they might do to us. I want to go home soon… I wonder what’s happening there… Papa and Mama must be really worried… Shidou: That’s good… You were crying so much, so I was concerned for you.… yeah, I’m sure. Your family will definitely be worrying about you. I… hope you can go back soon. Mu: Shidou-san…… did you come here to comfort me…? I’m sorry, I’d thought you were… a scary person… fufu.

Though there are obvious differences, such as Haruka being the instigator of his interaction vs Muu, who was the one being interacted with. Haruka also apologizes for the actions he took, wheras Muu apologized for her old perception. Also when excited or pleased they both end their sentences with a laugh Mu going "Fufu" and Haruka going "Hehe". This has nothing to do with her helping him communicate it's just a cute thing Gunsli and I noticed.)

Then Haruka continues to use his newfound communication skills throughout trial two. For Mu-san's sake that is.

23/02/19 Haruka: Guard, can you hear me? You can, can’t you? Haruka: I meant what I said in the interrogation. ……please forgive Mu-san. 23/04/07 Haruka: Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. Please forgive Mu-san. PleaseforgiveMu-sanpleaseforgiveMu-sanpleaseforgiveMu-sanpleaseforgiveMu-sanpleaseforgiveMu-sanpleaseforgiveMu-san

Up until the point that won't even work anymore of course.

23/06/22 (Haruka’s Birthday) Mu: Haruka-kun, I brought your food. Are you still alive? Has any mould started growing? Haruka: ……ah, thank you very much. Mu-san. Sorry, um…… I…… Mu: You shouldn’t just lock yourself in your room all day. You have to eat your food properly. Hm, well…… I do understand why you’re feeling down. It feels bad. The atmosphere recently Haruka: Um, I’m totally fine…… Just a bit, I’m thinking, about how to do it. What to do, what to do, to…… fulfil my promise. For Mu-san’s sake……

At that point the only thing left for him to do is figure out how to act all for Mu's sake of course.

[agent-cupcake]

i kinda wanna analyze your mind and understand your thought process because of a singular fic i read. like how can you think of something like this. i’d write poetry about your mind, idk. i’ve read your gojo fanfic, the teacher - student one about divination. let me tell you dawg, im shocked. i can stomach most psychological horror things, horror in general. but that fic in particular had me fucked up (positively) like the whole time i wondered how anyone could write something like this (positively i say this out of admiration, it takes so much skill and insight and comprehension skills to write dark shit). like i kinda want to delve into your mind? but im also afraid? your creativity is horrifyingly poetic, author. i admire and am afraid of your work, seriously and positively. like who are you, how are you, why are you???? you’re such an intriguing person ?????

Aw, thank you! You're more than welcome to come over and crack open my skull and take a peek for yourself, although I think you'll be disappointed. As much as I'd love to say it's my own enlightened creative mind and psychological prowess that lends me special powers to write dark fic, it's actually just really easy to find information on how cult leaders and skilled manipulators focus on vulnerable people and the tactics they use to prey on that weakness. Ulterior Motives is the question of what would get a reasonably rational and intelligent girl into that dangerous of a scenario, so I followed the line of what sort of manipulations would work on me. Anyone can participate in that thought experiment, even if they're not saturated in all those dark and twisty feelings. The thing that's difficult, and maybe where the scenario is the most horrifying, is being honest about how vulnerable you are. Nobody wants to think that they could be the person who gets taken advantage of, or that they could be the dupe. That's why people are like "well couldn't she just leave?" Yeah, she could have. She could have been honest from the beginning and listened to her gut about the danger signs. But a lot of people don't, and that's why skilled manipulators get away with doing horrifying things. Reader's unwillingness to accept that she could be fooled or manipulated is part of what makes Gojo's tactics so successful, her internal insistence that she's playing his game rather than getting played because she can't admit her own weakness is what gets her literally fucked.

I guess my point is that I'm really boring, but if you're genuinely interested in this, there is an enormous amount of information on how skilled manipulators do their thing. My boring little brain is just sort of transposing it into a scenario with a hot anime man.

ANYWAY, thank you <3 I hope you don't mind the rambling, I enjoy this topic quite a bit and I've been doing a lot of research about this sort of stuff recently so it's on the brain.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday

Y'all voted on banters this week! I went for 'end of act 1, in the Underdark' Baldur's Gate 3 banters for the companions and my drow bard Tav, Zynatheri.

There's no only Gale banter because they're not speaking to each other at that point (because Zyn will not stop bullying him).

if you see these and think the idea is fun, I would love to see yours for your Tav or Durge! Just tag me if you do so I can enjoy it! :D

...

Zynatheri: All right.  Shuffled thoroughly back into the deck.  Now, as I call upon the mystic powers of the Talis…are you watching?

Karlach:  Harder than I’ve ever watched before.

Zynatheri: I draw from the very top of the deck, and…Nine of Winds.  Is this your card?

Karlach: Holy shit.  It is!  That’s my card!

Zyn: The cards always know.

Gale:  They most certainly do not.

Karlach:  I didn’t show her the card, Gale.

Zyn: Yeah, Gale, just because the powers are beyond your comprehension doesn’t mean they’re not real.

Gale:  Your provocations fall on deaf ears.  I refuse to succumb to your clumsily strewn bait.

Zyn:  That’s fine.  Karlach, do you want to see another magic trick?

Gale: Stop calling it magic!

Karlach: You ever think of playing music while we battle?

Zyn: Would make casting spells hard.

Karlach:  What about right at the end, then?  When I crack the last skull and then we look for loot.

Zyn:  Like victory music?

Karlach:  Yeah!

Zyn:  Sure, sounds like fun.  Just save me any jewelry you find.

Karlach:  Fuck yeah!

Lae’zel:  You and Wyll fight similarly.

Zyn:  We probably learned the same style of fencing.

Lae’zel:  Why is he more skilled than you are? Was your instruction inferior, or are you?

Zyn:  Insult or observation?

Lae’zel:  If my observations insult you, that is due to your own weakness.  I only speak truth.

Zyn:  No, you speak ignorance, not truth.

Lae’zel:  Explain.  Alleviate my ignorance.

Zyn:  No thanks.

Lae’zel:  Kainyank.

Lae’zel:  During our last battle I asked repeatedly for healing and was ignored.

Zyn:  Sorry, I was feeling too weak and inferior.

Lae’zel:  Ah.  You were attempting an object lesson.

Zyn:  Sure, it was definitely that and not me being petty.

Lae’zel:  Wyll also employs magic, and his blade does not falter as yours does.

Zyn:  Wyll was given magic.  Nothing against him, but it’s true.  I earned mine through hard work, creativity, and talent.

Lae’zel:  That is no excuse to neglect your sword.

Zyn:  Ah, well, see…I’m also lazy.

Zyn:  Where there’s a Wyll, there’s a way.

Wyll:  Not bad, but I have used it before.  What’s wrong with ‘provoke the Blade and suffer its sting’?

Zyn:  The more mottoes the better.  How about ‘if you seek the Blade, be ready to pay’.

Wyll:  It does rhyme.  ‘Anger the Blade, and prepare to pay?’  It’s quite pithy.

Zyn:  Oh, you’re talking about revenge.  I was working from more of an advertisement angle.

Wyll:  (Laughs.) I am not an adventurer for hire, my friend.

Zyn:  I could make a poster that might change your mind…

Wyll:  Hmm.  Show it to me later.

Shadowheart:  I believe I found some of that moss you mentioned.

Zyn:  Great!  I’ll show you how to prepare it tonight.  We’ll just need oil.  I’m going to need some of the eyeshadow for my own uses, though.

Shadowheart:  Since you’re the one teaching me to make it, I assumed as much.

Zyn: Oh, not for me.  I was going to paint all over Astarion’s face while he’s in reverie.  Of course a cock is classic, but a giant glowing eye on his forehead in the dark would look striking.

Shadowheart: (Laughs.) Why are you so terrible?

Zyn:  I’ll save the cock for Gale.  He deserves it.

Astarion:  What were you and Shadowheart whispering about?

Zyn:  You.

Astarion:  Well, naturally, darling.  What about me?  Hopefully not spilling too many intimate secrets…though I wouldn’t blame you, of course.

Zyn:  She was asking me if the giant mole on your face made it difficult for me to kiss you.

Astarion:  The what?

Zyn:  Did you not– okay, calm down. Calm down! It was a joke.

Astarion: Don’t talk to me.

Zyn: My dear, sweet viper.  Please, stop sulking.

Astarion:  I am not sulking.  I simply have no desire to speak to you.  Or look at you.

Zyn:  Such a shame.  I guess Drizzt isn’t sneaking into your tent tonight.

Astarion:  How dare you threaten me!

Zyn:  It works and has no repercussions.

Astarion: Well, yes, but that isn’t the point.

Zyn: I’m teasing you.  Don’t worry.  Just a quick polymorph, and you’ll finally get your hands on the legendary blade Icingdeath.

Astarion: Gods, you ruin everything.

[jaidethalagorra]

Things They Don't Tell You, Character Intro: Allie

If you're reading this, I'm going to assume one of two things. One: the zombie apocalypse is over and our skeletal remains are left in this house. If that's true, then this should serve effectively as a historical document, outlining what life was like during the Fall. Two: the apocalypse is still happening and you're a fellow survivor who stumbled across this house and found our skeletal remains. In that case, congrats on finding the holy grail of houses! (assuming everything in here still works). This house is solar-powered and completely off the grid with its own farm, water, and sewage system. It took us a while to find it, so take good care of it. This book will also help you to survive if you need that. I've taken the liberty of pointing out discrepancies between popular zombie media and what we're dealing with now. I hope it helps.

-Allie

Character Intro: Allie (Alexandria). Skills: Scavenging, Climbing, Stealth, First Aid Weaknesses: Sociability, Being Vulnerable, Driving Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Lesbian Weapon(s) of Choice: Pistol, Hunting Dagger.

Preparedness: Allie is, in one word, prepared. Before the Fall, she was an avid enjoyer of zombie movies, books, and video games. Her knowledge of zombie media helped her shape her survival plan long before the apocalypse actually happened, and it's helped her survive this far. Her parents were a nurse and an electrician, and both of them were very outdoors-y, furthering her ability to survive longer than most everyone else has. Although her parents are now both zombies, she scavenges alone and far from survivor camps, trying her best to eke by. Over the last several years she's made several weapons and supply caches hidden around the city, and although she doesn't have a permanent home she's well known by many of the more communal scavengers. Ok, let's be honest. Is she a little overpowered? Maybe, but I wanted to play around with a character that, through sheer chance, was totally prepared for the apocalypse. And since most of the story happens as internal dialogue, it'll be fine.

Loner: If Allie was going to be described in another word after prepared, it'd be solitary. Her avoidance of other people is due to a long list of things, but primarily it's due to to her autism. Although it's definitely helped Allie survive due to her special interest in zombie media before the Fall, it's definitely been a detriment when trying to engage with other survivors. However, since the destruction of Haven, the biggest survivor camp in the city due to people getting infected and not telling anyone Allie has distanced herself from survivor camps since and she's pretty happy that way. Until she meets Jessica, that is. A note here: I feel like I may be explaining it wrong, but essentially it's due in no small part to her special interest in zombie media before the Fall that Allie started planning her survival plan. I myself am currently being tested for autism, and I'm doing my best to portray Allie in a way that doesn't make a character trait or a oversimplification of autism and aligns with experiences I've had as a (probably) autistic person. If you feel I'm portraying her in a way that isn't authentic or misses something important, please call me out on it.

The List: The story is told through entries in Allie's journal, Things They Don't Tell You About the Zombie Apocalypse. Although the journal is written after the events that take place in it, each section is a new entry in the list of things that zombie media gets wrong. Allie is making this mental list throughout the story, and it's really one of the things that drives the story forwards. The list in Allie's head is comprehensive and thorough, and really one of the only hobbies she has time for while trying to survive in all this chaos.

So yeah! That's my breakdown of Allie! There's a lot I've glossed over here, from worldbuilding about survivor camps like Haven to the rigor with which Allie's found her weapons to what Allie actually looks like. Please let me know if I should make a part 2 of her, or actually write some sections of her journal! Also, I'm so sorry for not posting since like. Forever. A ton of things happened at once and I was able to catch enough of a break to post a new thing. I don't know when I'll be able to make the next post. I hope you enjoyed this one though!

[vukovich]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you @orange-peony @schmem14 and @teledild0nix for tagging me in this game! Sorry it took me eons.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

47. 46 under "Vukovich" and one that's anonymous.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

921,870

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Harry Potter.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Crane Lord of Gringotts Beauxtiful Boy "I'll Figure It Out" It'll Come Back Fearful Trill

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

No, as a general rule, I don't. I just feel like it's awkward to treat an AO3 comment as a conversation starter, I guess. Like, if someone wants to talk to me, my email address and Tumblr are in my AO3 bio. I do reply to AO3 comments if there's a question about the fic. Especially if the reader says their first language isn't English. I also will reply for the purpose of harassing friends.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Return to Sender and "I love you, (too/also)" are way up there in the angst department. For "I love you, (too/also)" I actually recorded a podfic of it, and I couldn't read the ending out loud without crying so I scrapped it. NO WAIT!!! I forgot about The Seven Weasley Horcruxes. Oh, Jeebus. Apologies in advance for that one.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Eagles in Truro, just for the sake of everyone getting to have their polyamorous cake and eat it too.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes. Just... yes. Big yes.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, most of my fics are explicit. I'm not really sure what kind of smut I write. I feel like my smut is probably more graphic than some. More jizz dripping on the floor and errant pubes in teeth than what's fandom typical.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I can barely hold the HP universe in my head.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, several of them. I think it's cool as hell. If it's a language I'm familiar with, I help with phrasings and subtext and stuff.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah. I have a WIP collection that people can leave unfinished fics in, and then I finish them. And I'd say when I collaborate with an artist, there's enough back and forth that it counts as co-writing. Oh! And there's a WIP with @oknowkiss and @mintawasalreadytaken I'll eventually get back to writing, I swear, you guys, for real, I will finish that shower piss scene.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Joker/Harley Quinn, actually.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

OMG just one?! I have (briefly leaves to check Google Docs) about 100k in unfinished fics, plus outlines for about ten more. I think those are all going to get dumped as-is on AO3 in an anonymous collection, and I'm only going to finish the ones I'm actively posting (Seahorse, Glitch, 24k9).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Weird turns of phrase, I guess. Or at least that's what people tell me. I feel like I'm pretty good at not bogging down the pace with descriptions, but some people like to know the threadcount when they read smut. Honestly, I have way more strengths as an editor than as a writer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Complete disregard for the em dash. If I were meant to use it, it would have a key on the standard QWERTY keyboard. I even bought an expensive-ass keyboard, programmed an em dash key for it, and still didn't use it. It wasn't meant to be. Who would like to buy a very fancy keyboard? I will also die on my double-spacing at the end of sentences hill. Going down with this typewriter skills ship. Maybe YOUR language evolves over time, but mine's stuck in 1987.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

That's one of my favorite puzzles. How comprehensible can I make the foreign language excerpt solely through the use of cognates and cues? Love it. 10/10.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My most masterful works of fiction are letters of recommendation. But this sonnet is fun.

Tagging everybody already tagged, as well as @peachpety @@epitomereally @tontonguetonks @diligent-thunder @wheezykat @lou-ifyouwant @corvuscrowned

[fellasleepinbaltimore]

also I'm thinking I love starting out learning a language writing and focusing on grammar and like being comfortable with the practical skills like conjugation, tense, noun class, reading and writing comprehension yk that's the easiest way to like built comfortablity ig

but I have difficulty moving to speaking and stuff like listening can be hard sure and speaking too but it's like it seems like if I don't have the opportunity to speak with someone I trust quite often I get stuck and stuff

like I'm thinking back on the processes and tbh writing and speaking are more aligned bc I'll writing something and read it back to myself and that also helps with reading but listening is the only thing I can't really do on my own I mean like music and videos yeah but like idk it's hard to find and know when a video is exactly ur level yk?? or even ones that are interesting to you

so I'd say my biggest weaknesses are vocab and listening comprehension which is like... extremely important parts of knowing a language

[atlantahammy]

Didn’t think i’d get this done before my days off ended, but hey, I did it! even if it is ass late at night! Whoop! aanyway: Nice lil Ref-sheet I did of Astra, yeah her full name is Astraea, Yes, those are open toe boots, for those interested there is Infor for her under the cut!

I’m also not really gonna list her age since I draw her on the older scale with my own design for her partner... If that makes sense?

———————————– My Commissions | .Carrd

Full Name: Astraea V. Orenda Nicknames: Astra, Nicknames Given by Donnie: Dusk, Starlight, Stars, Princess, Octavia,  Species: Dragon Yokai. Height: 4′10″. Sex: Female (She/her, doesn’t care for gender roles) Sexuality: Unlabeled. Significant Other: Donatello Hamato (FIGHT ME, I AM CRINGE BUT FREEEEE!) Family: Devi, Kadem, Rune. Disabilities: PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Nearly Blind without glasses, Deaf in left ear.  Star Sign: Leo. M.B.T: INFJ-T. Alignment: Chaotic Good. Character Class: Witch (Wizard in D&D terms?) / Mage (Same thing??) Occupation: Enchanter / Potion Crafter / Fortune Teller / Scroll Scriber Weapons: Magic / Quarterstaff (The PoleStar) / Shorts words / Long Swords / Daggers / Darts

Skills:

Art /Song /Dance

Crafting  / Enchanting

Potion Craft / Cooking

Scroll scribing / Alchemy

Divination / Astronomy / Lucid Dreaming

Gardening / Herbalism

Language & Rune Comprehension

First Aid / Magical Medical Knowledge

Note: Being a mage, Astra has had to dabble in a number of things, such as song and dance for rituals that require chants and movement, drawing for a steady hand for drawing magic circles and rune carving and magical studies, not to mention all the reading, so keep that in mind with her long skill list, even if some are also hobbies, being a mage is tiring.

Ability's/Weapons/Items:

Multiple Forms: Dragon / Yokai / Human (Cloaking Necklace)

Size Shift: Dragon form can change size mainly.

Elemental Breath Weapon: Its Plasma, purple plasma. #SpaceDragon

Scaled Armor: Her scales makes it harder for her to be hurt, but also uhh some people would love to use her scales for armor #Yikes

Magical Blood: Dragons blood is pretty potent for spells and potions, so getting cut isn’t always a bad thing, now when other people want to use it... #MajorYikes

Natural Weaponry: Claws & Sharp Teeth

Flight / Wing Manifestation: In Yokai form, she can retract / hide her wings as constellation tattoos on her shoulder blades, when she needs them she can bring them out to use for flight.

Spell Book / Magic: Astra has a spellbook with a number of spells she uses frequently, such as a spell she uses to levitate and manipulate objects too heavy to lift or out of range due to her short height.Healing spells of varying degrees, Shielding spells, shadow blade, and a number of crystal based attacking spells.

Polestar: Her Signature Quarterstaff, a gift from her sister that she treasures like no other, in its first form she can use the crystal to channel her magical energy into that of a scythe, or ningata, second form allows her to hold AOE type spells and summons to a greater degree, but also aid in teleportation spells.

Cloaking Broach: It's the large star pendant on her choker, not really a broach but still.

Bag of Holding: Yep, she has one, carries a lot of stuff in it, like medical supplies, potion supplies, electronics, snacks, potions, etc.

Divination Magic: Her major magical study, She ends up seeing the past, present, future, near future, what could of been, what was avoided, finding what was lost, finding what is hidden, speaking with the dead, etc.

Note: Astra’s Divination is a double edged sword, The bad visions stick with her more then the good, and often making her mental state worse, causing her to be a bit paranoid, as if she talks about them, it could force them to happen or force them to not happen at all, cause seeing the future is a pain in the ass like that with self fulfilling prophecies and the like. 

Weaknesses:

Short: And Hates it!

Weak: No arm or lifting strength at all, hurts herself opening soda bottles, all the strength went to her brain.

Anti-Magic: Girl is pretty much a sitting duck without her magic, no better than a civilian. 

Lack of Energy: Depressions a bitch, she’s always tired.

Walking Target: She’s a mage, so high on the list of likely to be mugged due to how they look rich (even if they just look it and really just a struggling collages kid), an likely carry a lot of highly priced magical goodies, and being a dragon with magical blood and scales that make amazing armor? not to mention who knows what else dragon organs can be used for? Yeaaah. #BigFuckingNope

Inferiority complex / Anxiety: Never thinks she good enough, thinks everyone hates her, thinks she’s always messing up, her achievements never really feel like achievements, struggles with expressing herself, Self Hatred etc.

Trivia:

Left Handed

Perma-Eyebags

Notch in Left ear

Short Summary: Astra is a dragon Yokai, living with her adoptive fathers, and sister she works in Devi’s (one of her fathers) magic shop as a clerk and aiding him in creating potions, magical items, and scrolls for sale, while also using her divination magic on the side for those who need a bit of help. 

When she comes to the hidden city under new york with her father on a business trip, things... get out of hand and turtles happen.

Which is weird because she knows a lot about them from her visions (And her sisters weird streaming obsessions) so, things are waay beyond awkward, specially with the purple one, cause, ya know, nothing like knowing who your partner is before either of you do and all these complicated feelings that come with it. 

Right?

....Fuck.

[archieroberts]

Entry 6

Words: 419

For the week two session eight practice interview with peers, I feel my performance overall was solid. Not amazing but definitely not bad. My elevator pitch was ‘short and sweet’, I was described as shy but confident in my own ability. My eye contact and posture was good as well. Following more practice interviews in session eleven. The feedback from my peers as the interviewer was positive. Anna said I was very confident, and Max said my attitude was great. Again, I felt even better after further interviews during session twelve. In terms of things to work on, my eye contact has never been good, so I need to attempt to fix that. It makes me look shy which is a weakness. Another flaw is that I use many filler words (words such as yeah, alright, umm etc.). After another set of practice interviews in session twelve, I feel I was getting the hang of it. Jade and Rory really liked my overall self-confidence, ability to answer questions, and my general attitude and positive mindset. However Rory raised a weakness in my interview. He stated that I displayed some weaknesses. Mainly, that I kept saying ‘I think’ rather than ‘I am’. This of course illustrates uncertainty and is not something an employer wants to hear from an intern. I corrected this quickly though. Gaining feedback from your peers, especially to do with interview practicing is a beneficial exercise (Panadero & Alqassab, 2019).

During the actual assignment with Simone and Jess. I feel my performance was good. Positively, I answered the questions quite well and was enthusiastic. I listed my three main strengths well and really ensured Jess knew them. Finally, Jess stated I spoke really well, and my vocabulary was great, But, I did have some areas to improve upon. Mostly, I spoke too fast, not as in it was very difficult to hear, but I definitely needed to slow it down. My other weakness was that I over-explained many of my skills and I was being quite repetitive. But these are components I can work on easily and correct them for next time.

All the learnings and take-aways from this class I believe will be very beneficial for my future career development. Before taking this class, I had nothing to work with. But it has grown my confidence, allowed me to understand the importance of personal presentation and look, and how to sell yourself to people.

Peer feedback review sheet from when Ethan reviewed my mock interview.

References:

Alqassab, M. Strijbos, J.-W. Ufer, S. (2019). Preservice mathematics teachers' beliefs about peer feedback, perceptions of their peer feedback message, and emotions as predictors of peer feedback accuracy and comprehension of the learning task. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 44(1), 139–154. https://doi.org/10.1080/02602938.2018.1485012

Panadero, E. Alqassab, M. (2019). An empirical review of anonymity effects in peer assessment, peer feedback, peer review, peer evaluation and peer grading. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 44(8), 1253–1278. https://doi.org/10.1080/02602938.2019.1600186

[lorebite]

Here’s one for your beautiful writing skills:

Jason and y/n are roommates. Secretly in love. HEAVY sexual attraction. Y/n is a virgin & insecure. ✨🕺🏻

Thank you, bby. 💖

Since I’ve already done two fics that include these topics separately, I thought I'd throw a wild card into the mix as well to avoid repetition. Hope you don’t mind. Also, This took me embarrassingly long to finish, so I'm sorry and thank you so much for being patient, love! 💗

Also #2, this fic very directly takes inspiration from Cops n’ Robbers by Anxious_Red (highly recommend listening to it if you’re into audio erotica and Msubs).

𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒔, 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒅 | 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: 18+ minors dni. cursing. fem/afab reader. suggestive content (teasing, dirty talk (Jason loves to ramble mid-coitus), use of handcuffs, telekinetic handjob, daddy kink, finger sucking, mentions of masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (p in v), bowstring position, very slight corruption kink). [roommate] enemies to lovers. superhero au. mentions of reader being inexperienced and insecure. friendly (?) jabs and banters. use of a silly nickname for Jason. sexually charged physical fight. praises and pet names.

Jason sat with his head hung, one hand holding a dripping bag of ice against his disheveled hair. You smiled at him from behind the bar table, mere steps away, as you tended to a customer. His eyes barely rose to meet yours, fingers wringing absentmindedly in his fringe. 

The neon purple lights cast a soft shadow over his face and the bruises spread into his skin. He winced as he shifted on his stool, tongue worming out to wet the caked blood over his torn, chapped lip. 

The bar was almost empty and yet, your ears were full of his pained complaints and fogged memories; one in particular, he kept circling back to. A certain masked vigilante whom he had fought only minutes before he stumbled through the doors of your workplace, completely out of it.

A traitorous smile struggled to split your face open as you walked back to him, tossing a towel over your shoulder before leaning forward with a palm against the edge of the bar table. 

“Hey, man, you’re doing okay over there?” 

You hooked your lip between your teeth, brows rising in a mocking show of concern. 

Jason loosened his fist on the tabletop, drawing your eyes to the aggressive flush of his knuckles and the mark – your marketched in a fresh scar to the back of his hand; a designated “V” carved with two sharp swipes of your dagger. A humiliating reminder of his loss against you. But right now, he was too dazed for the weight of it to truly sink in.

“Yeah… ‘M fine… Need a beer…” He slurred, the words barely comprehensible above the faint chatter in the bar and his own near stupor. His eyes stared vacantly ahead at the liquor shelf behind you, then his finger rose to wave aimlessly in the air. “Some o’ that.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t need that, Jason. I’m not carrying your deadweight ass back home. And you didn’t tell me what happened to you.” 

It took him an instance to gather his response. He was still clearly under the influence of the chemicals that knocked him out back inside the warehouse. He was being an absolute pain. If you hadn’t looked over your shoulder quickly enough, he would’ve been able to take off your mask. You had no choice. You had to put him down to protect your own identity. 

“‘S just my head.” He finally argued, albeit very weakly, and with a petulant frown of his lips.

“Does it still hurt?”

He nodded wordlessly, letting the now watered-down bag of ice fall by his hand on the wooden table. 

“Alright. I got you.”

As you picked up the plastic bag and turned for the kitchen, Jason caught your wrist. His grip was weak and his fingers immediately released you to fall back against the table when you stopped. He gave you a moue of protest.

“Don’t go.” He whined softly, almost childlike, and you resisted the urge to grin again. 

“I’ll be a second. But you have to tell me what happened, okay?”

He made a drawn out “mhm-hmm” as you finally walked to the back of the bar and inside the kitchen to grab another makeshift icepack before returning to his side. You dumped the bag on the table and heaved a sigh.

“There you go.”

A moment of silence stretched between you as Jason picked up the plastic bag and to his head, grimacing at the first touch of biting cold against his skin before relaxing into it. 

“Vex…” He mumbled, and even then, the venom in his voice was rich as he spat the name.

You, of course, knew what or who he was talking about. But to him, you were just an ordinary civilian he happened to share a roof with. And besides that, you had to pretend you didn’t know about his double life as a superhero.

“Who?”

“You know—the, um—the mark thing—the mark.” His hand waved vaguely in the air as a feigned frown of confusion tugged at your brows. He clicked his tongue in defeat, elbows spreading across the tabletop. Then, as though struck by a jolt of electricity, his arm shot in the air to show you the back of his hand and the scar upon it. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. That’s her.”

“That’s… Vex?”

He hummed lazily in agreement.

“You’re saying she roughed you up like this? She sounds pretty cool.”

He narrowed his eyes, jerking a pointer finger in your direction. “No, she doesn’t.” As if that wasn’t enough of a statement on its own, and seeing the small upturn of your lips as a challenge to himself, he stood halfway to reach over the table and fullyjab the pad of his finger at your chest. “No. She fucking. Doesn’t.”

You giggled.

“Alright. I heard you the first time.”

He plopped back down on his stool with a groan. 

“I’m gonna get her back. I swear I am.”

“Whatever you say, Jason.” 

The taunt came before you could hold from it but it didn’t shake him even slightly. If anything, he took offense to it, giving you a betrayed scowl of disbelief.  

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He narrowed his eyes again. “When I finally grab that girl by the scruff and shove her face into those fucking cameras, I’m gonna sit here and say I told you so.” His rant sunk under a brief lull before he said again quickly, “and yeah. There will be cameras.”

“So, that’s it?” Typical buzzkill, you thought to yourself. 

That was all he was planning to do if he finally caught you? You couldn’t say you were entirely surprised but you sure were disappointed. 

He didn’t respond immediately, instead he scoffed and rolled his eyes. As if you had just appalled him, questioning what he stood for. And in your own twisted way, you quite were. If he knew he was talking to Vex herself right now, this conversation would’ve turned out a lot less civil.

“Why would I turn her in right away? It ain’t no fun.”

No fun, he said. No fun. Since when your lovely little hero was turning into you?

Months of this fox and hare chase and it took just tonight to find out Jason enjoyed this as much as you did. Truly strange. But maybe after all, he wasn’t just a stereotypical self-righteous prick of a hero with a stick far up his ass. Boring? Definitely. But that sentence alone told you even his morals tiptoed on a slippery slope. Oh, how fun indeed!

“Between you and me,” Jason started after a moment of silence from you. “I kinda like her – don’t get me wrong,” he quickly attempted to remedy what he said. “She’s still a pain in my fucking ass. But fuck, I’d kill to see her face.”

A string of thoughts then queued up in his head; ones he was clearly embarrassed to put into spoken words. But he wasn’t thinking about Vex anymore. His eyes stole guilty glances at you as his next thought emerged; see your body, I wanna see your body. The shame was pure evident in the flash of dark tinge across his cheeks as he averted his eyes shyly. 

You almost choked on your own spit, the embarrassment of your own pooling in the pit of your stomach. Your heart fluttered as the thread of his thoughts wove and wove and muddied into filthier suggestions. They coiled tighter into a lustful heat, and panic burst like a spark in the back of his mind as he fought to push them away before he wasn’t able to stop his body from reacting to them anymore.

“Don’t let anybody else hear you say that.” You finally said, letting a small smirk spread across your lips.

Jason’s nightly fruitless search for you continued for weeks to come. You felt even more inclined to hide from him now. Since that night in the bar, everything began to spiral. What seemed like a stupefied, unspoken confession, became more serious, and also more tangible.

He came home every night, mind riddled with flashes of his painful bruises and weeping wounds. And they were so obnoxiously loud, they woke you in the middle of the night. You swore the man was screaming inside his own head, even as he shut the front door quietly and made his way across your tiny living room, trying his damnedest not to stir you. 

And those nights you wished more than others to have been able to turn off his thoughts. 

When he was in the confines of his bedroom, where he heaved his worn body over his small bed, it only took him minutes for it to start – what you liked to call his late night self-pity feasts; the soft rustling of the bedsheets, the harsh strokes of his fingers along his cock, and the thunderous need to cry out your name. 

No concrete wall of any density could keep away all the ways he pictured you in those private moments. And it terrified you immensely. Because you knew how quickly the switch was going to be flipped if he were to find out who you truly were.

And perhaps for another reason, too which you weren’t willing to entertain the idea of now.

You already had your hands full with keeping a low profile and scheming an elaborate plan for the perfect moment to strike. You were going to pull out all the stops, put on one hell of a show to mark Jason’s downfall and take another win to your name. And you happened to have just the occasion in mind as well.

The morning of that fateful day, a regular morning like any other; quiet above all, except for the head-spinning gush of Jason’s thoughts that passed over the small dining table to you; somewhere in the midst, his mind slowed down as his eyes began staring vacantly down at your loose-fitting shirt.

You were raking your fingers through the damp threads of your hair before the clouded look in his eyes caught your attention. His mouth moved absentmindedly, his fork sliding back and forth over his food without picking up any, and then it hit you. As you raised your steaming cup to your lips to take a sip, a foreign stream of thought that certainly didn’t belong to you.

…god, I just wanna take those tits into my mouth.

You coughed out your gulp of coffee, shoulders hitching uncontrollably as you yanked a napkin off the table to hide your mouth behind. Jesus, this fucking man! 

You wiped your mouth gingerly, avoiding Jason’s unmoving stare as his eyes followed the movement of your hands. Finally meeting his gaze, he quickly darted his focus down to his plate, shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“I’m working late today.” He mumbled, and you almost marveled at how easily that lie fell through his teeth without him choking on it. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll have dinner at work.”

A rouge smile tugged at your lips as his “work” flashed in his head in quick bursts of colors – the national art museum and that pretentious charity gala he was going to escort the mayor to. A soft “mhm-hmm, sure.” tipped off your lips as you fought to shove down the flurry of heat rising rebelliously in your core, half of your mind still fixated on his previous untold comment. 

His mind buzzed with excitement. Electrified. He had more reason than fulfilling his duty to the city this evening; a promise you – Vex had made him long ago that he was finally going to have his fill of a proper, fair fight. Jason was confident he was going to get you tonight. How quaint!

A few hours later, you were pressing through the doors of the museum, draped in your red dress and guised by your masquerade mask. You smiled shyly at your reflection in the large windows as you made your way down along the winding hallways. This was a nice change from the constant bulk of your armor suit weighing down on your shoulders. 

However, you couldn’t help but feel quite exposed; the dress was perfectly tailored to your body, embosoming your silhouette while also leaving enough room for movement. The long slit running along the skirt rippled over your leg as you sauntered towards the ballroom, lured by the seductive tune of the string quartet. 

You fidgeted with your fingers, thieving steps behind the other guests as they eagerly walked in and blended with the flow of expensive clothes and alluring aromas. The room hummed with the chatter of unspoken thoughts inside your ears, and you listened intently for that familiar echo that told you Jason was here as well. And somewhere in the midst, you had to scold your own nagging voice of anxiety before stepping in onto the cream marble tiles. 

Your eyes shifted uneasily as did your feet, shoulders tense as every head you walked by began to feel much more like a prying eye pinned to your every movement. Voice of reason was in a constant battle with your gnawing anxiety, sending pinpricks of ice cold through your chest. I should’ve just stayed the fuck home, you thought begrudgingly, steering away from the slowly crowding floor of the ballroom as pairs of dancers joined hands for the next number.

“Red’s for sure your color, darling.”

You startled upon the familiar rasp from over your shoulder. You spun on your heels, your widened eyes meeting a pair of dark ones through a simple black mask. If it weren’t for the prideful singsong of his mind practically giving him away, that cocky quirk of his lips was a true seal on his identity.

Your eyes fell to his outstretched hand, long fingers beckoning – no, demanding – for yours. You arched a brow, gaze rising back to his questioningly. 

“Think you owe me a dance.” And a fight, his mind finished for him.

He didn’t wait for your response, stepping immediately into your space to slip his hand in yours. His other palm grazed the small of your back, warm fingers pressing gingerly against the sheathed skin. The gentleness betrayed the cold look in his eyes as he tugged you suddenly forward, and you fell clumsily against his chest with a short gasp. His lips gave a playful twitch; a faint, barely there gesture that didn’t slip from your attentive eyes.

“Nice party, isn’t it?”

The dirty drawl of his voice raised goosebumps along your arms. The balmy air of the ballroom suddenly began to feel stifling and cold. His calloused grip tightened on your waist as he moved you against himself to the music. From this distance, you could smell the sharp tang of his cologne on his pulse points as he lifted his head to stare down at you from beneath his lashes. 

The smooth skin of his neck showed through the unkempt collar of his white shirt. He was temptation itself in the rawest form. Rough. Heavy. Loud. And he was certainly no gentleman unlike what his polite television persona liked for you to believe. If the stealthy crawl of his hand trailing a path down beneath the slit of your skirt proved anything.

You smiled. “Patience, Kolchek. You don’t wanna give anyone the wrong idea, do you?”

His fingers closed around your thigh, pressing indents into the skin. His hand was so close to the holster strapped hidden underneath your dress, and you tried to not let the anxiety break upon your face.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m gonna bet if I kissed you right now, no one’s even gonna bother to turn and look over here.” 

Oh, that fucker was messing with you! None of what he spoke rang true under his mischievous tone. Not even his head stayed loyal to the words on his lips.

“Is that a challenge or a promise?”

“You know me, sweetheart. I always play hard.”

“More like make things hard – whenever it’s not necessary.”

He hummed. “That’s your job, baby. I’m sure you can even feel it right now.”

His hands tugged you forward again and surely, there it was; the firm press of something hard that you could feel through the silk of your dress. You swallowed and stole a quick glance around the ballroom. You were much farther away from the watchful eyes of the guests, hidden in the cool shadows behind the tall archways that rose high to the dome ceiling. Truly, nobody could see you. Not even the cameras turned in your direction.

“That’s just my gun,” you finally remarked, returning your eyes to his. “But nice try.”

An easy laugh spilled free from his lips, eyes twinkling dangerously. “Smart smart girl,” he lilted. “Looks like you’re not so hopeless after all.”

“You wouldn’t be hunting me down for months if I were.”

“What makes you think you get away on your own?” His voice dipped lower, almost threatening. Only the soft playful glint in his eyes doused the panic that suddenly rose in your stomach. He leaned closer, his warm breath feathering over your ear as he whispered, “what if I let you? Ever think of that, sweetheart?”

His face was back before your eyes again, his lips now only a breath apart from yours. Your pursed lips pulled into a tight smirk.

“You flatter yourself way too much.”

“Wanna test that theory then?”

Your smile broadened. “Sure.”

And for only a short few minutes, you danced in his arms, and he moved you like a loose ribbon gliding upon air. That was impressive actually. You couldn’t have even guessed this man had it in him to be any graceful. And now he was dancing you as he’s done this many times before. 

As the music slowed, he pulled you closer, noses brushing like lovers. He flashed you a boyish smile. That up to no good troublemaker smile that sent your heart plummeting to your core. It made your skin tingle with adrenaline and your cheeks with warmth.

Now was the time.

You surged forward and captured his lips against your own, spurred on by a sudden burst of confidence. His grin faltered, mouth growing slack; but he reciprocated only instances later, breathing a soft “hmm” into your mouth. His lips moved eagerly upon yours – returning kiss after kiss that only turned more passionate with each one. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lip boldly; however, you responded by releasing him without a second thought.

You wormed out of his embrace with ease as he watched you, stunned, empty arms remained in midair as though a puppet master held his strings firmly in place. Your pistol, now sitting safely back in your hand, slid right into your holster as you smiled victoriously.

And with that, you disappeared behind the crowd without another word as Jason’s eyes followed the small trail of your skirt along the ballroom floor, slithering away from him.

Another shot missed.

However, it didn’t take Jason long to find you again. His eyes sought you like a moth to the flame, tearing down the melodically entranced ballroom for that one place he could find you in. His own mind under the spell of that sudden kiss and the igniting warmth on his lips which now flooded his entire chest. 

He eventually caught you peering over the balcony underneath the alcove just a floor above the guests, your fingertips warm and leaking with thin smoke as your power sizzled beneath your skin. When his panicked gaze locked upon your mischievous one, your lips curved into a disarming grin. 

You lifted three fingers to your lips, pressing a showy kiss to their pads before blowing it in his direction, firing a sphere of flames to the floor below with it. Jason’s eyes widened, head snapping to the deafening noise of explosion immediately consuming the walls and the screams of terror within them. 

Somewhere in the heat of the incident and your own adrenaline-fueled pulse thrumming in your ears, you missed the dark brown eyes meeting yours once more, and the red hot fury flashing in those blown pupils; because you were stunned when your body jerked back against your will and landed painfully on the cold ground beneath you.  

You glanced up immediately at the familiar face hovering over yours – that angry, flushed, deliciously handsome familiar face. Despite the many times you imagined that same face smothered between your thighs, you pushed your palms against his chest and threw him back and off of you. This was a fight between Jason and Vex. There was no place for you in this. 

You shot back up to your feet, wasting no more time to make a run for it towards and out the closest exit, not stopping even as Jason yelled gruffly after you, very possibly drawing attention to himself – and consequently, you.

You dodged past the coming influx of frightened guests, ears ringing with their screams and alarmed thoughts. The threatening glow of your palms, bearing a pair of burning orbs, scared away anyone who attempted to stop you upon Jason’s loud demands for them to hold you off. Though none also managed to stop the taunts from falling over your lips.

“You wanna burn? Fucking move!”

You were out of the ballroom now, scurrying past and away from the cameras which had surely broadcasted the entire havoc unfolding. Through the tall, yet tight hallways, there was only you and the reverberation of Jason’s heels hot on your tail. And soon, it became the soft humming of air tearing away for your meteoric feet as you ran, high off of your powers.  

Jason had but abandoned all care for the encased relics as soon as you made it into the deserted atrium, firing shot after shot at you. Each breezed past your head like a kindled cannonball, but none of them even came close to touching you. However, you could still feel their danegrous heat licking at your skin as you dodged them skillfully.

With the short ceiling above you, it was a certain trouble for Jason to hop off his feet and fly the remaining distance to catch up with you. But you still looked over your shoulder, only briefly, to fire your own shots at him in an attempt to slow him downfurther. Jason ducked his head, an arm shielding his eyes, cursing as the glass cases propped against the walls burst into shards and flew over his face. 

Your attempts didn’t deter him even slightly. His angrily contorted face appeared again from below his arm, now blemished with splotches of blood from the shrapnel, eyes narrowed and still ever determined. You cursed under your breath and turned back around.

“Emergency exit, emergency exit, emergency exit!” You chanted under your breath, eyes frantically darting from corner to corner. “Gotcha!”

You slammed shoulder first into the heavy metal door and stumbled through. Catching your breath for a second, you then began to descend the spiral of stairs. Soon enough, you heard the door thud shut above you and you slapped a fist against the handrail with a snarl.

You finally made it out to the parking lot. Now surrounded by the labyrinthine clusters of cars, you were certain you have won this. It was evident from Jason’s distant thoughts that resounded like a faint wind chime under your ears. But just to make sure, you stopped momentarily to lean against a car and listen for the direction they were headed to.

Though your legs were, yet to tire, your brain had gone haywire from the adrenaline, heart pounding painfully in your chest. Jason’s surprise attack had thrown you for a loop. You could still feel the too close for comfort of his fiery shots against your arms. That was close, you thought. So fucking close.

You pushed off of the car and back to your feet after your rapid pulse calmed down enough, but you flinched as a car alarm blared through the parking lot. You quickly distanced yourself, trying to hide in the safety of the darkness as you hissed under your breath. But another car immediately joined in the cacophony. Then another and another, until the previously quiet space was shaking with the noise.

“Fuck. You really make a man sweat for it, don’t you?” Jason’s breathless voice came from behind you and you whipped around to find him within your arm’s length. All the loud background noise had muffled out his thoughts.

You grumbled before taking off in the opposite direction, suddenly noticing the open air in the distance you hadn’t seen until then. The sight spurred you on with more determination, fueling your legs to go faster. Jason was far behind you now and you were mere steps from getting away. 

But then you began to skid along the concrete ground, a string of breathless “fuckfuckfuck” rushing through your teeth as you finally stopped right at the edge of the building. You were��somehow tens of feet in the air, and you almost ran yourself off the roof. 

“It would’ve been funny if you hit that wall.” You heard Jason from behind you again.

The lucid skyline quivered like a ripple in calm water, and the pale wall slowly morphed back to reality. That was just one of his infamous illusions. Of course. Of fucking course. Your chest heaved with an exasperated sigh. How the fuck did you still manage to fall for that?

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He said melodiously as you turned around to face him with a roll of your eyes.

“That’s my line.”

He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket anymore, his masquerade mask also having long been discarded; lips not shy to make a show of his smug grin as he strutted with overt confidence towards you. His handsome face still glowed underneath all the fresh scars. His two-sizes-too-small white shirt clung to his body like a second skin, buttons gaping on his chest, biceps practically bulging through the thin fabric. Vain motherfucker, you thought, irked.

Jason pulled at his already loose black tie and yanked the slip of fabric off with a swift move of his fingers before tossing it to the ground. 

“Care for a civil conversation this time ‘round, Vex? No more fucking running.”

“With handcuffs?” You gestured lazily at the menacing glint of metal dangling from his belt. Your eyes followed the movement of his arms as he undid his sleeves and rolled them up to the crook of his elbows. Throwing a thumb over your shoulder, you continued, “and those fucking cameras? You have a funny idea of civil.” 

His hands rest upon his hips, fringe disheveled and cheeks flushed, yet his lips were quirked in that shit-eating grin that prodded at your already growing frustration.  

“That’s just for formality’s sake. You know that.”

“Well, I know I’m not an idiot. I can sniff an attention whore before I see one. So, yeah,” you giggled at the irritated twitch of his brow and the slow drop of his face. “You can act like a sweet little hero with a pure heart for them but I don’t buy that shit for even one second.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, I guess I don’t. But you give enough away on your own.”

Jason’s chin lowered, narrowed eyes burning holes into your face. His jaw went slack, tongue rolling uneasily inside his mouth as he tried to bite down his words. He was wrestling with his thoughts – torn between attempts to shove them down and flare of heated emotions snapping like electricity sparks.

“Why don’t you take off your mask so we level with each other?” He started slowly. “After all this time, I think it’s only fair.”

You stood very still, shoulders suddenly stiff. An unpleasant warmth clawed its way down your body as Jason once again began walking towards you. You couldn’t let him see your face. You’d be done for if you did.

“Who said anything about being fair?”

You flipped your wrist, palm facing skyward, your fingers curled in as the surge of power seeped from the lines of your hand. Jerking your arm at a nearby vehicle, a van lifted off its wheels before you threw it in Jason’s direction. He jumped back in time for the hurtling van to ram into the cars behind him. As he landed back on his feet, you saw his next course of movements before he even made them.

He charged at you, hands glowing with bright green flames. An arm aimed for your face, straight as a spear, and you ducked your head to have his fist pound against the wall instead. He turned with a sneer and before he could so much as lift a finger, you raised your palm and forced him up the wall.

He writhed against your invisible hold, kicking his feet as you wrung your fingers and a pained grunt ripped through his lips. He reached a hand to you, fingers grabbing futilely at your face in an attempt to pull off your mask. You slapped away his hand and clicked your tongue.

“What a fucking pushover.”

With a small flick of your wrist, Jason was thrown across the floor. He stood back to his feet with a groan, and not sparing you another moment, he charged at you again.

You easily dodged his flying punches, seeing each of their directions in his mind before the eventual blows. A sly smile tugged at your lips, body fluidly sifting through hit after hit without a break of sweat on your brow. Jason, on the other hand, was exhausted. Face slick with sweat and teeth bared through a snarl, his confident grunts had faltered into angry huffs of breath.

“You motherfucker!” He cried out as you evaded, yet another thrust of his persistent fist.

You chuckled, watching him stagger a few steps away from you. His chest rose and fell heavily, fingers tightening into white-knuckling fists. He glared at you, beads of sweat rushing down the side of his face as he sneered.

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss.” You grinned. “You live and learn, dumpling.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He growled with a raise of his brows, jerking a forefinger in your direction.

“Or what? You’re gonna kick my ass?”

Your voice, suddenly, echoed right back to you as though you were standing inside an empty chamber. A faint smirk began dancing across Jason’s lips as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s not funny.” You said sternly and you were responded by your own echo again. “Hey! Get off it.”

The echo came louder this time, now a chorus of identical voices striking from different sides. And it hit you like a stormy wave, flinging you backward against the wall, knocking the air out of your throat. 

“Jesus!” You croaked, catching your breath. “You’re such a sore loser. Fine. If I let you punch me, will that gonna make you feel better about your weak little ego?”

You were being sarcastic. Obviously. But Jason was already striding back towards you, fist tight and ready to punch a bruise anywhere he could get his knuckles to land upon. You barely had time to react before he was too close. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll save your pretty face.” He said through teeth before his fist dug into your ribs. 

You keeled over, clutching your stomach as you groaned. “Fucking hell! Don’t hold back or anything.” 

You straightened yourself back up just in time for another punch to fly towards your face. You moved your head immediately and the blow breezed past your ear and against the wall instead. Again. Jason’s nostrils flared as he glowered at you, keeping his close proximity with your body. 

He was warm, his face close. His legs were tangled between yours, allowing you no room to escape. He was going to take off your mask. Your eyes grew wide and you began struggling against him. He pushed away your flaying arms as you tried and failed to force him back. He didn’t give you enough time to train your palm on his chest and channel your powers against him again.

“Stop squirming.” He spat.

“Fuck off!”

He grumbled under his breath and caught your hostile wrist harshly in one hand, lifting the other to the hem of your mask beneath your eyes. You wriggled your neck frantically.

“No, no, no, no!”

“You know, now that I think about it, you sound very familiar.”

With a swift tug, he peeled the mask off of your face. The sharp complacent look in his eyes turned confused as his forehead creased with a frown, his grip loosening around your wrist.

“Well, fuck me. Look what the cat dragged in.” His lips slowly gave in to a smirk as he cocked his head. “You cheeky motherfucker. This entire time?”

You swallowed, cheeks stinging with heat as you sucked your lip between your teeth. Jason’s eyes suddenly blew wide, face becoming sickly and pale.

“This entire time?” He asked again, more urgent and forceful this time.

“You need a fucking answer for that?” 

He remained quiet after that. The stream of his thoughts became turbulent once again. He wanted to ask whether you’ve been reading his mind since you moved in with him but he already knew the answer. And yet, he was scared of the confirmation that could come from your mouth. So, you only rolled your eyes at him, deciding that was going to be a good enough answer for him.

Jason’s scowl returned to his face, the short-lived softness quickly and far gone. He took the handcuffs from his belt and held them up to your face.

“Let’s do this nice and easy and no one’s feelings get hurt, alright?”

Feelings. Yeah. Okay.

“You’re embarrassingly mild.” You scoffed.

“I can be rough,” he briefly raised his glimmering eyes to yours to flash you a smirk before he spun you around. The cold metal of the cuffs grazed your skin before they fastened around your wrists. His mouth ghosted over the shell of your ear, his warm breath rousing goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Since you had your fun inside my head, you should know how I imagine you.”

Your mouth hung ajar and Jason breathed out a low chuckle into your ear before leaning away, pulling at your restraints to turn you back around.

“So, what now? Are you gonna take me down to your little friends and claim your I have a big dick badge?”

A smile toyed coyly on his lips but he immediately frowned and clenched his teeth in order to smother it. He tugged forcefully at your wrists and you winced as the sharp metal ridges bit into your skin.

“I will consider that if you don’t shut up.”

You shifted uncomfortably on the dining chair, the wooden cushion offering no relief for the loss of feeling in your behind. The television murmured behind you in the living room, muffled by the ringing of clatters from the kitchen. You were only able to catch snippets of tonight’s incident – the chaos that you had caused.  

Jason walked out with a bottle of beer, socked feet dragging along the carpeted floor as he ran his fingers through his hair before sprawling down on the couch in front of you. He was in his pajamas now, unlike you who was still very much wearing your dress. The thin silky fabric tugged at your skin the more you moved and it made you itchy in places you didn’t know was possible. And what was worse – it made you feel even more vulnerable under Jason’s scrutinizing eyes.  

“Are you gonna have me sit here like some kinda fucking trophy?” You complained bitterly, eyeing the tinted bottle flip upside down as he tossed his head back to take a swig.

He met your eyes with a raise of his brow, lowering the rim of the bottle to show you his glistening lips curled into a mischievous smile. You huffed irritatedly. 

“Well, I am enjoying the view,” his eyes slowly wandered down your form as he hooked his tongue inside his cheek. It was as if that small gesture ignited a fire beneath you, giving you an urge to squirm. “I’d be stupid if I didn’t milk it as much as I could. Think I’ve earned it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head before mumbling lamely, “this is so dumb.”

“What was that?”

You stomped your foot. “I said I want some of that ice cream we bought the other day.”

Jason rolled his eyes before he was up and back in the kitchen. He returned with the pint of ice cream and sat back down on the couch. You stared at him expectantly and he heaved an exasperated sigh.

“I swear, if you start moaning at me again—”

“Then how the hell am I supposed to eat that?”

His playful smile crept back to his face as he spread his knees. His hand snuck between your legs and gripped the edge of the chair before pulling you towards himself. You gasped, heart sinking to your core as you nestled between Jason’s thighs. He stared up at you with that panty-dropping crooked smile.

“I’ll feed you. Stop your huffing and puffing.”

He speared the ice cream with a spoon before holding up the spoonful before your lips. Your eyes shifted hesitantly between the bite of sweet coldness and his eyes. He wiggled the silverware, urging you to open your mouth. So, you did. However, as you leaned forward to take it into your mouth, Jason pulled back his hand and the bite disappeared into his own mouth instead.

“Assface.”

“Sweetheart, you love this face.”

“And what gave you that idea?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he abandoned the spoon by his side to dig into the pint with a finger. His coated fingertip emerged and he held the sweet chunk before your slack mouth again. You scowled at him.

“Well, I’m no Vex,” a sudden grin split open his lips at the mention of the name, “but I know one thing for sure; and that is your eyes speak more than that smart mouth does.”

You watched the ice cream slowly melt on his finger, a sticky sweet trail rushing down its length. Your mouth watered at the thought of taking it onto your tongue and sucking it clean.

“Am I wrong?”

Your eyes shot back to his, cheeks flooding with warmth. “What?” You breathed out.

“You have a pretty animated face. I don’t think you even realize it. Like how even right now, you’re looking at me like I’m a pint of ice cream.”

You snorted. “I’m not.”

A toothy smile began fighting its way to your lips and you had to suck them into your mouth to hold from giving yourself away. You were glad – no, ecstatic that Jason couldn’t read your mind; because that simple statement managed to unplug a whirlwind of thoughts you were trying your damnedest to suppress. 

He pulled back his hand again, bringing his finger to his tongue that had now slithered through his lips to lap a long stripe at its length, his sharp eyes not once leaving yours. He pumped his finger into his mouth once before releasing it soundlessly, a thread of saliva trailing from his lips. Fuck. Why was that so hot?

“Want a little taste, sweetheart?”

Your lips fluttered hopelessly, words scratching the walls of your throat without managing their way out. Blood rushed straight to your face, hard rapid pulse ringing in your ears. He dipped two fingers this time in the pint and scooped out a larger piecebetween them. This once, you didn’t hesitate to open your mouth and take his finger.

As his fingers wormed onto your tongue, your eyes fluttered shut upon the immediate coldness filling up your mouth. It quickly gave way to the warmth of his skin melting the sweetness and running it down your throat.

An image flickered behind your eyes then. One you were certain your mind hadn’t conjured up for you. But it was becoming more vivid the more your tongue curled and uncurled around Jason’s fingers. It was way past due time for you to let it go but you couldn’t bring yourself to. And the blurred mess of colors before your eyes has now become too compelling to ignore. 

You were suddenly in Jason’s bedroom, the crammed space blanketed in darkness besides the sliver of moonlight filtering through the thin curtain of his window showering down upon his bed. He was lying awake underneath the duvet, the fabric rustling with the rapid movement of his hand beneath it. His head was thrown back against the pillow, his thin shirt ridden up to his ribs. 

He sighed shakily, his strong shoulders lifting off of the mattress as he came, a hand plastering over his mouth to muffle the sudden string of moans that flowed freely from his lips. When his arm fell limp back on the bed, weak whimpers of your name began falling through his quivering lips. 

You could see the trembling of his thighs as his hand slowed down. His body twitching, his firm touch softening only steadily around his sensitive cock.  

Your core clenched around air, knees knocking against something as you tried to close them once more. Then you suddenly remembered; eyes opening wide, they peered right back into Jason’s who was still sitting on the couch before you, his legs encaging yours. 

“Enjoyed the show?”

You swallowed, briefly stunned into silence with the sudden immense heat flooding between your legs. You blinked slowly and tried to gather your wit.

“Looks like you enjoyed it more than I did.” You motioned your head at the bold outline of his bulge through his sweatpants. The struggle snapped like a rubber band in his head as he tried to push away the incoming surge of all the ways he imagined you on that very same night he’d just shown you. A teasing, more confident smile curved your mouth. “I can still hear you.”

“Okay. Maybe I want you to.” He said with a defensive shift of his shoulders. And with that, the storm of his thoughts flickered back to life.

It made your head spin. The way it always did whenever you were in Jason’s proximity. But this time you could feel them, too. Like white hot sparks that flared in your stomach, making your heart stutter as the voice inside his head grew bolder. You could hear him chant over and over – I need you; I need you right now.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathed out, averting your eyes to the floor. “If there’s one thing you shouldn’t be saying to me right now—”

He interrupted, “why? It’s not a rule that we can’t fuck just cos we’re working for different sides.”

You choked on your spit at the casual drop of the word “fuck” off his tongue, eyes going wide as you shook your head fervently.

“No.” You spat immediately and the previously carefree look on Jason’s face contorted into one of hurt before it quickly softened again.

“Can I ask why?”

“Because… because…” 

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead as you stammered to find a response, but it was evident he wasn’t trying to rush you into a justification. He only wanted to know if you liked him, too. You sighed, shaking your head slowly before hanging your head.

“I do like you, Jason.” You finally said. Your confession was followed by his silence even though his head became bright and full with relief. You continued, “it’s just–it’s–I don’t know, man. It’s stupid,” you quickly back pedaled, “well, it’s not stupid. Right. But I’m not exactly experienced. I’ve never been with anybody—”

An incredulous scowl shadowed over his face as he interrupted you again, “you’re a super villain.”

“So?” You snapped, embarrassment stinging your cheeks. “Not all of us live up to the stereotypes of their people, okay?”

Jason’s head inclined slowly as his eyes shifted back and forth between yours, cheeks bearing a rosy tinge of shame, though his features remained stoic. It wasn’t any mocking thought making its rounds inside his head. No. It was far far worse. He was already picturing you on your back; his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy, and making your tight little hole clench deliciously around his thick length. 

Your breath locked in your throat, escaping in uneven releases through your parted lips. It was as if he was teasing you without even touching you – unsaid filthy suggestions you wished to hear straight from his mouth, knowing fully well how his sharp tongue was going to make you burn and twist. In more ways than one.

The words struggled to leave your lips the longer you sat in quiet and listened to the accension of Jason’s arousal. It didn’t seem as though he was going to be the first one to break the silence, and this only made you feel compelled to carry on further. 

“And, uh—I’m not exactly, like, the most confident person out there. So—” The end of your word tapered off slowly as your eyes returned to his. “There’s that.”

A small frown drew Jason’s brows closer as his head fell in a slow nod.

“Let’s unpack what you just said. You think you don’t look good?” His finger jerked towards your chest in an almost accusatory manner. As if you had just done the most questionable thing. Even more questionable than the scene you had caused only hours ago. “I heard a lot of crazy shit tonight but this one just takes the fucking cake.”

“Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence—”

“You’re sitting in front of me, looking like that, and you dare fucking tell me you don’t look good?” His scowl deepened. “It’s that fucking suit, I’m telling you – it hides every-fucking-thing on your body.”

“Exactly the whole point.” You fired back, offended. “Because it’s practical that way. I don’t need it to look cool for the cameras like you, dipshit.”

“Listen; you gotta cut yourself some slack, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna magically fix that little problem in there,” he tapped his finger gently to your chest for indication. “But I’ll be straight with you and tell you this; if any motherfucker tries to start shit with you and say you ain’t worth it just cos of how you look, you get your cute ass up and sucker punch them in their sorry looking face – or however it is you like to deal with me when I’m on your ass about shit.”

You laughed softly, lips giving into a sincere smile for the first time this evening. Jason’s face reflected the joyful light upon yours, eyes softening with adoration. 

“There’s that pretty smile.” He crooned, and it only fueled the pleasant heat filling up your chest. “And you do look good for the cameras, by the way. That armor suit is one of the best ones ‘round here. Looks pretty fucking badass. ‘S bulky and shit but still. Makes you look a bit mean, too, which I bet you like hearing that.”

You scoffed a bashful laugh, averting your eyes.

“For what it’s worth, I still wanna see what you look like underneath all that. Just to make things clear.”

You gave a small nod. Your face might as well have been on fire even though you fought hard to not let the dizzying shame show upon it.

“Yeah… you made things… very clear.”

He stared at you. Silently. Not even his thoughts could help ease the mounting tension between you at this point. Finally, after what felt like minutes of quiet, Jason scoffed, defeated.

“Is that all you got for me?”

“What do you even want me to say?”

“Man, you’re awkward as fuck for a super villain.” He grinned, voice bubbling with laughter. “It’s kinda cute; you. The kickass Vex. You turn this whole fucking city on its head and you get all shy and nervous when a guy like me, a hero, says you look hot.”

“Fuck you, Jason. You just had to ruin it, didn’t you?” You chastised him meekly, though a fond smile still lingered on your lips. A teasing smirk quirked his own.

“Why don’t you fuck me yourself, hmm?”

You took that as an invitation, spreading your fingers above the restraints around your wrists, feeling the rush of power leak from your fingertips. It cloaked your body like a thin veil, and before Jason could open his mouth to ask what you were doing, his body jostled forward involuntarily, his lips landing firmly upon yours. 

A soft noise of surprise caught in his throat as his hands caught around your thighs for purchase, the stiffness in his shoulders slowly melting with a content sigh. His fingers pressed tightly into the dress and the fabric squeaked under the pressure. A gasp flitted through your mouth at the dull ache of your thighs underneath his nails.

The kiss was simple, yet adoring. Jason’s lips moved cautiously against yours despite how passionately molten and enthusiastic your kiss back inside the ballroom had been. He was being careful with you; taking it slow and easy to let you adjust to him of your own accord. 

His palm rose to hold the side of your face as he tilted his head slightly. His tongue lapped coyly at your lip. Just a light stroke. Subtle but noticeable, and it made your breath knot in your chest. You pulled back with eyes still closed, air skipping sharply past your lips. The handcuffs rattled against your wrists as you wiggled them.

“Come on, untie me.”

Jason’s response was to silence you with another kiss as a playful but disapproving hum rumbled in his throat.

“Not happening. Remember, you’re still in trouble—” your short, annoyed huff of breath cut into his voice before he continued, “—doesn’t matter how cute you are. Your ass is getting a spanking for being such a naughty naughty girl.”   

His hand came down to slap lightly against your thigh as a smirk curled the corner of his mouth. You gave a one shoulder shrug, your own lips reflecting the upturn of his.

“Then I don’t need to tell you, for that to happen, you kinda still need to untie me.”

“Nice try, smartass. But I appreciate the effort.”

He leaned in close, mouth parted and only a hair breadth apart from claiming yours. His eyes sunk to the swollen flush of your lips.

“Think you can keep up with me if I up the speed a bit?” His voice came low, challenging. 

His heated breaths brushing over your lips were inviting you, daring you to succumb. He had slipped back into his competitive self again. He understood you well; knowing only that could bring the cutthroat, courageous side of you to come out and play with him. 

“Do your fucking worst.”

And his lips were back upon yours once again. Rough and demanding, Jason’s soft moans leaving him more freely now. His hand held the side of your neck as he smiled into the kiss.

“You look sexy as hell tied up like this. I should try gagging that filthy mouth, too.”

“I swear to god—”

Your threat was cut short as he bit your lip and you gasped loudly. He breathed out a chuckle.

“You’re so cute when you’re trying to act all tough with me. Fuck.” His growl made you shudder. ”It makes me wanna eat you right up.”

The veil of power began circling you again with a small movement of your wrist, the invisible halo buzzing with intensity and it struck Jason forcefully. A sharp exhale fled through his mouth as his body gave a jump and a groan vibrated in his chest.

“Fuuuck.” He whined quietly. “How the hell did you do that?”

You could feel the swirl of heat weaving through his thoughts. Head pinned to the brimming focus of the sudden spike in his heartbeat. His breaths came short and uneven. Your firm, yet unseen hold pawed at him between his legs; the grip of warmth clinging tightly around him. His knees nudged against yours as his thighs twitched aimlessly. The flimsy cage of his legs surrounding yours slowly falling apart, and you clenched your fingers to send him another jolt of shock.

He moaned shamelessly, the movement of his lips upon yours faltering as he tipped his head back with his eyes still closed. 

“You little devil. You dirty fucking little devil.”

His complaint was futile, though. None of his powers could hold your probing touch back, albeit guised in merely unseen swallows; the carnal sensation was very much present. If it weren’t for the rapid spiral of his thoughts which practically thrummed along to his heartbeats, the twisted contours of his face were a dead giveaway of his mounting arousal.

“Should I stop?” You said, briefly halting the flow of your powers. The sudden vacancy caused Jason to topple backward, as if he was repelled by another force. 

“No.” He said immediately. “Keep touching me. Please.”

And he was drawn back to you upon the return of the powerful veil that embraced you. Jason shifted his thighs, hands gripping onto the edge of the couch as his head lolled back on his shoulders. A stifled groan tore through his lips before he sucked them into his mouth. 

It was unfair, though. You wanted to touch him. Actually, truly touch him. And all these layers covering your bodies were very well in the way of that. What else – Jason had completely taken his hands off of you to claw at the firm cushion beneath him. The small offer of touch he’s been giving you only instances ago lost to his own rising need for release. 

So, you stopped again, and the force drove him back against the backrest. His lidded eyes finally bore into yours, chest heaving as his lips remained agape but quiet. You could hear the pleas and the noises that failed to break past them, nipped into silence before any managed to completely form. 

“Why did you stop?” He almost whined. 

“You give and you take, dumpling. That’s how it works.”

His eyes immediately narrowed into slits upon the mention of the nickname. “Don’t call me that.” He said quietly, voice low and gritty. It woke goosebumps on the back of your neck.

You grinned. “Stop me if it bothers you so much.”

“I should bend you over my knees and spank you just for that fucking attitude.”

“Oh, we both know you’re all talk, Jason.”

He bounced forward, hands outstretched and with intention to grab you, but you flicked your wrists again to let your powers take a hold of him. He stopped completely, arms falling limp down to his thighs as a loud moan escaped him. 

You didn’t relent this time, quickening the invisible grip around his cock before it gave him a chance to collect himself. He reclined against the backrest again, arching his back as he fisted your knees with urgency. 

“Oh, my god. Fuckfuckfuck! Slow down. Slow down. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep—” His words waned into a loud gasp before he cried out when you refused him. “(Y/N)! Please!”

You giggled as you finally stopped and Jason let out a drawn-out moan, sucking in long calming gulps of air. His fingers loosened around your knees as his posture turned straighter, the rise and fall of his chest slowly steadying. 

When he met your gaze again, his eyes were lidded with desire and held a daring glint within them. Your lips hung ajar, trembling wordlessly. This time, you didn’t stop him as he surged forward to capture your lips against his own, so roughly he managed to push your chair sliding back across the carpet. You whimpered against the warmth of his mouth, muscles tensing until Jason took hold of your thighs again. 

“I can think of something you can call me, sweetheart,” he whispered in between kisses. “If Jason’s too much for you, Daddy should cut it.”

You could only moan in response, your core enlivened with a shock of heat at the sound of Jason calling himself that of all things.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me hear you say it.”

You bit your trembling lip. “Daddy…”

“Atta girl.”

His lips left yours to travel down along the side of your neck, teeth teasing the sensitive skin. His kisses were feverish and consuming. Growling filthy promises under your ear, paired with the flurry of images running rampant inside his head, he easily managed to coax a trail of desperate moans through your clenched teeth.

He hummed. You could practically hear the cocky smile in that soft throaty sound that vibrated against your skin, tickling your ear. Your fingers ached to dig into his strong shoulders, but they only furled and unfurled helplessly behind you as Jason’s rogue ones sought the heat between your thighs.

Air hitched in your chest as the warmth of his fingers just barely caressed your cunt over the fabric of your dress. You didn’t mean to squirm, absolutely didn’t want to. But anticipation bubbled deep within you; from every kiss he pressed to your skin to every word he breathed against your ear, you were whelmed with need, and every bit of you was sensitive to his touch; your body only responding to him the best way it knew how.

Your head fell back, lips parting to free a breathless moan as Jason palmed you, the heel of his hand gently pressing onto your clothed clit, his mouth continuing the spiral of wet kisses down your neck – now descending to the strap of your dress sitting right in the soft slope of your shoulder. 

His teeth hooked beneath the crimson-colored band, pulling it up and then releasing it playfully, letting it snap back against your skin. You huffed a laugh, feeling Jason’s mouth also tug into a smile on the curve of your shoulder.

He moved his hand more persistently on your cunt, fingers sliding between your folds from on top of your panties, prodding in ever so slightly. You gasped and writhed, skin prickling with goosebumps as Jason chuckled under your ear – lips now sucking your earlobe between them. 

“You want my finger deep inside your pretty pussy, baby? Can I fuck you like that? Make you cum all over my fucking hand. Fuck. You’re so wet for me already.”

“Shit. Yes, Jason. Please. Just fucking do it.”

“Wrong, baby.” He growled, dark and menacing. 

Fuck. “Sorry—I’m sorry. Daddy. Please, I need it.”

He hummed vaguely against your ear, the tip of his finger slowly slithering into you. You gasped a moan, shoulders lifting off into the air. His finger – that single long, thick digit buried knuckle deep inside you, brimmed you deliciously, making your walls sting and stretch. 

His hand began a lazy rhythm, pumping in and out of you steadily, curling his finger every now and again to hook over that sweet spongy bit of flesh inside you. You’ve touched yourself before, but this was truly different. Jason could make you whimper with only one finger, fill you wholly and completely, barely leaving room for a second one.

Your pussy burned in protest as the pad of another finger began toying with your already full entrance. Jason pried carefully, listening for the slight hitch in your breath as he slipped his finger in bit by bit. The stinging warmth soon gave way for pleasure as both fingers curled once inside you. Then twice and once more; and his pace has already picked up, the rough pad of his thumb coming to sit against your swollen clit as well.

The sounds breaking past your lips were bold and loud now, hanging above the room and the obscene wet noises between your thighs, filtering through the gentle buzzing of the television behind you. Jason’s mouth was pressed to the side of your face, breathing heavily against the shell of your ear.

“You feel good, baby, don’t you?” He smiled at the immediate moan that slipped off your tongue. “Oh, I bet you do. If my fingers feel this nice, imagine my cock, hmm? You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill you up—” You nodded fervently; lip bruised under your teeth. “—I need a yes, sweetheart. I need you to tell me you want me to give it to you.”

“I want it, yes. Just fuck me. Please.”

He cooed, almost mockingly. “My needy baby girl wants my cock inside her? My hard ass sweet little villain. So fucking perfect for me,” his voice swooped deeper, riding on a single-note rough rumble in the back of his throat as he continued, “God, I wanna fucking ruin you!”

Your breath stuttered, goosebumps breaking upon your skin. Jason’s free hand pressed onto your thigh, kneading the soft flesh between his long fingers. His tongue wormed out to lap along your face, tracing a long slow line against your jawline before his teeth nipped playfully at the skin. 

Your hands shifted involuntarily behind your back, the need to touch him burning on the tip of your fingers. A whine toyed upon your lips, body twitching against your will.

“Wanna—I wanna touch you, too.” You writhed helplessly against your bounds. “Can I please? Ca–can I?”

The finger Jason had resting idly against your clit began moving in slow wide circles around your cunt, tracing a halo of warmth that steered clear of the flushed bundle. You swallowed back the noises threatening to spill again, fists closing tight around air. 

“Please, Daddy?” You asked sweetly, and from the small halt in the rapid rush of his thoughts, you knew you managed to get through to him. 

Though, nevertheless, he continued the exploit of his torturous hand upon you wordlessly, drawing loose circles around and away from your clit. Your hips twitched instinctively, futilely bucking into his touch for a more fruitful friction, but it only made him pull away.

“If you think this is gonna be easy for you,” he clicked his tongue, pulling his face along the side of your cheek, offering you a generous feel of his stubble against your skin. “Spoilers, darling; not happening. You’re gonna pay for being a cheater,” his palm landed against your thigh. Hard enough to leave a dull sting in its wake. “And you’re gonna pay for being a fucking troublemaker.” His hand grazed your skin again, the impact coming harsher this time. “So, you better behave yourself, pretty girl. I can play nice or,” his chin lowered and his lidded eyes, now peering into yours, glimmered dangerously. “I can be real fucking rough. And you know damn well how badly I wanna stretch your tight little pussy with my thick cock.”

Your chest heaved with a wavering sigh, body fighting against the shiver rushing down your back. You only managed a pathetic whimper to which Jason grinned at; the innocence of his dimpled cheeks an uncanny contrast to the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

He lifted his glistening fingers to his mouth, eager tongue taking in the wet taste of your arousal. A satisfied groan fled him, the deep sound vibrating pleasantly in your chest and cutting through to your bones. 

His thoughts – such deliciously filthy thoughts that continued to surprise and delight you the more this night went on – they swirled like a thick smoke inside his head; all for me. All wet and sweet just for me.

“I just gotta taste you, baby.” He said breathlessly. 

He slid your chair back then, only slightly, to leave a gap where he could kneel between your spread knees. He looked up at you; eyes bright and round beneath the cheap florescent light. His hands curled around your calves, cheeks flushed, kiss-swollen lip rolled back between his teeth. 

“You let me do it? Wanna get you to make a mess all over my fucking face, sweetheart. I’m dying to get a taste of your perfect pussy.”

“Please… yes.”

“What a good girl,” he crooned. His fingers crawled up your legs to find the band of your panties before pulling them down slowly. “What a good fucking girl for me.”

His face buried beneath the skirt of your dress, his warm mouth hovering so close to where you needed him most. When his tongue finally claimed you, your back arched before you could hold from it, lips parting into a silent moan. 

He groaned against you, mouth cupping around your yearning bud more boldly, sucking it harshly between his lips. His one hand gripped at your leg, fingers bruisingly tight, another returning between your soaked folds. His tongue fluttered rapidly along your sopping cunt, his breathless whine hitching with the brisk movement. 

He plunged two thick fingers inside you again, coaxing a high-pitched gasp through your teeth as he quickly furled their lengths into you repeatedly; pace fast and unforgiving in pursuit of your orgasm. And the high was coming so quickly to you, goaded further by Jason’s growly demands against your pussy.

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me. You can fucking do it. You wanna cum for Daddy, right, baby? Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Mere instances later, you cried out his name as blinding pleasure enveloped your senses, white flashes flaring across your vision. Jason worked you through your orgasm, mouth still clinging persistently to your spent cunt. You squirmed and whimpered your protest, thighs shifting around his broad shoulders. 

“Mmm, ‘s sensitive.” 

He finally heeded and pried his mouth off of you, chin wet and glistening with your arousal. His lips were pulled into a wolfish grin, eyes twinkling with an unsatiated need that made your core clench with desire again despite how soon ago you have just come. 

“Fuck. You sound so damn pretty, you know that?” His eyes softened then, head tilting to the side with a questioning look roiling the previous lust within them. “You still wanna do this with me? I know I said all that—” he made a lazy wave of his fingers in the air, “—but you don’t gotta just cos I said so.”

“Jason, stop talking, please. I need you to fuck me right now.”

His glowing smile returned to his face before he nodded quickly, rising on his knees enough to pull his sweatpants down. He looked painfully hard, practically straining against his boxers, and he groaned in contentment as he freed his cock from its restraint. 

The sight of the flushed, already leaking tip of his cock was intimidating enough; and when he fisted his thick shaft, slowly dragging his fingers along his length, it was almost as though he was taunting you with it even though you knew that wasn’t truly his intention. 

You swallowed thickly, raising your eyes to his. He smiled down at you, lifting his folded knuckles to caress the apple of your cheek. 

“Let Daddy take care of you, alright? I’ll go nice and slow, and if it gets too much, don’t be shy to tell me.”

You nodded, watching him lift your leg by the back of the knee and up to his side. His throbbing cock glided upon your inner thigh as he moved closer, smearing his precum all over the skin. You sucked in a sharp breath, biting your lip as the head of his cock prodded at your entrance.

Jason’s eyes bore into yours; soft, yet determined. His lips, a hair breadth apart from yours and parted, as if he wanted to kiss you, but they only brushed coyly over your lips. His breath hitched into a strangled moan as he pried slowly between your weeping folds. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. Mmm, shit. I can barely make it in.”

Your walls began to sting in protest once again, stretching slowly to let Jason in – and fuck! He was big. So big, your lips quivered with a whimper, shoulders growing tense. He stopped immediately upon hearing the sound, eyes growing rich with concern. 

“Shit. You okay, sweetheart? I’ll just leave the tip—”

“No. Keep going.”

The broken moan that flitted through your lips lit up a glint in Jason’s dark eyes, pupils visibly blowing wider if that were anymore possible. He nodded, searching your face for a moment before he began sliding farther in. 

His lips pressed to your cheek, hot uneven breaths feathering over the feverish skin of your face as he moaned – a deep satisfied sound that came from the back of his throat and roused goosebumps down your neck. 

A curse rolled off his tongue as he paused to catch his breath, his cock now burrowed deep inside you. Air knotted in your throat, your pussy already clenching around him. He molded you so perfectly, filling you to the brim; and you could only imagine how heavenly he would feel once he’d start moving.

Jason’s face fell to the crook of your neck to press a soft kiss, hips slowly beginning a steady pace. His grip on your thigh was firm, thick fingers pressing and claiming the tender flesh, and it became even firmer as his thrust grew in confidence and certainty, mouth parting for his fervently turned desperate moans to flee. His choked noises caressed your skin in a string of harsh pants, all but laced with a whiny undertone. 

He raised his head to kiss your lips, the gesture slow and lazy, even faltering briefly along with the movement of his hips as your pussy gripped around him tightly again. He moaned against your mouth; his last kiss withering halfway on his lips before he could press them to yours.

“Oh, you take me so fucking well. You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing me like that.”

The familiar knotting heat was coiling tighter and tighter in your core once again, the need for release rising in a trail of ticklish warmth up your chest, flooding your throat and bursting over your lips in a chain of whimpers which Jason swallowed with his own. 

You arched your back as your orgasm drew ever closer, the peak just within reach now, and it scratched your walls with a persistent heat promising to consume you whole. You moaned heartily, nails digging into your palms, air weaving in and out of your throat in sharp gulps, and you finally came undone with a quivering cry of his name.

Jason groaned as your pussy fluttered around him, your slick heat bringing him closer to the edge as well. His cock plowed in and out of you – quick and harsh, the momentum rattling the cheap wooden chair on its legs as he sought desperately after his own climax.  

“You wanna make Daddy cum, don’t you?” A moan hummed deep in your throat in response. Jason muttered a thick “fuck” before he continued, “I bet you do, baby. I bet you fucking do. Come on then, you can do it. You can fucking do it for me. Please, baby, make me cum. Give it to me. Pleasepleaseplease–”

He cut himself off with a high-pitched gasp right as you moved your wrists one final time to offer him a giant delicious jolt of your powers. His erratic hips faltered with a trembling sigh, and he spilled his warm seed between your swollen folds – his voice rising in octave as he let his head back to moan loudly and eagerly into the air.

A content “mmm” bubbled in his throat as he began to slow down, his harsh breaths leaving him more calmly as tiny whimpers tipped off his lips. He carefully pulled out of you, wincing at the way your pussy still clung to his sensitive cock even now. 

The thrumming adrenaline in your system soon gave way to exhaustion, and you slumped against your chair, mind slowly coming to the dull ache of your wrists where the handcuffs still dug mercilessly into your skin. 

Jason beamed at you; lips pulled into a surprisingly bashful smile. His fingers rose to scratch at his neck as the tinge of pink across his nose deepened into a darker shade. As his mind slowed down to a more comprehensible speed, you began to realize the reason for his sudden shyness. 

This was the turning point neither of you could come back from. Two rivals – enemies with twisted emotions for one another. This was bound to complicate things between you. Yet, you couldn’t help tease him about this.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked with a smile of your own.

He rolled his eyes. “You damn well know what.”

“This does change a lot between us, doesn’t it?”

“We don’t gotta worry ‘bout that now,” he gave a small shrug. “Let’s figure out first how we’re gonna fix the mess you made tonight.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as Jason scoffed a laugh. However, the cheeky light in his eyes turned sharp as his phone began ringing on the coffee table. He reached over the armrest, took hold of the device; and as soon as his eyes found the glowing screen, his brows furrowed deep. “Shit,” he muttered before lifting the phone to his ear.

The conversation was mostly silent on Jason’s part – filled only with his occasional words of acknowledgment and absentminded nods. His troubled eyes flickered to yours once he hung up, face distorted with a confused frown.

“What’s up?” You finally asked, the question coming barely above a whisper from your lips.

His mouth opened and closed futilely as if he wasn’t certain how to respond before he shook his head.

“They—they caught the villain… of—of tonight’s incident—explosion thing… I just got the call to go down to the station for the interrogation.”

“What?” You spat with incredulity. “But… I’m here!”

[impalementation]

Hey, firstly I really want to thank you for the buffy analysis you're providing. I'm just now emerging into the world of writing and am utterly humbled by your comprehensive media analysis skills. I'm really curious how you got there. My question is related to s5 and its dichotomy of self. If Dawn is supposed to represent Buffy's inner child or human aspect of her personality, then is it fair to say that Glory represents Buffy's slayer identity and consequently her shadow in particular? I recognise that they, for the most part, have a foiling relationship in the narrative, but Glory's interactions with Buffy have always seemed a little "shadowy", obviously not in the same way as Faith and Spike, both of whom actively tried to bring out parts of Buffy she tried to conceal, but more in alluding to Dawn(human side) as Buffy's vulnerability I.e. the thing that stops her from being as strong as Glory way, if that makes any sense. The visual resemblance between the two really drove it home for me as intended mirroring. I could totally be misunderstanding the concept of the shadow, so forgive me if this is a stupid question.

Thank you!! Honestly, and not to be glib, I just got here with the usual combination of time, practice, and passion for the subject. I started reading and writing media analysis at a young age and never stopped. I also don't want to overstate my authority or anything. I'm often wrong or uninformed. I miss things all the time. I appreciate that people respect my arguments and opinions but I also hope that they're taken as interpretations to either be persuaded by or not, rather than as a definitive statement of ultimate truth or anything. While I take my writing seriously, it’s still something that I’m mostly doing for fun (or more like, because I can’t help myself). It’s riffing I’m doing to try to figure out this thing I like so much, and it makes me nervous when stuff I wasn’t making an effort to properly argue for is taken too authoritatively. 

Anyway, not to barf my anxieties all over your ask. Hell yeah the season five dichotomy of self. I actually agree completely that Glory is associated with the shadow side of Buffy, but I also want to be careful about what I mean by that. People often seem to mis-use the concept of the shadow (no doubt I’ve misused it myself, since it’s only in the last year that I’ve actually begun the work to understand Jung properly), when what I think they’re actually looking for is the concept of a foil. You already seem to understand what a foil is, but for anyone else: A foil is a character that has things in common with another character, but then diverges in a way that illuminates the other character's traits. So Kendra in season two is a foil for Buffy, because both of them are Slayers--they have that point of commonality--but they react to being the Slayer in different ways. Which highlights Buffy's traits like rebelliousness and independence. In general, the villains of each season always tend to be foils for Buffy. The Trio in season six are foils for Buffy and the Scoobies for example, because like them, they are young people new to adulthood and struggling to grow up. But while Buffy and the Scoobies ultimately choose to do the hard work of growing up even though it’s painful and relentless, the Trio cheats with things like crime and violence.

So, Glory in season five is a foil for Buffy because she is a superpowered being who feels that her human half, Ben, is a weakness. Ben is similarly a foil for Buffy because he is a human being who feels that his superpowered half controls and has destroyed his life. Together, they represent Buffy’s dichotomy of self that you’ve already pointed out. Throughout season five, Buffy feels weak in the face of human problems like a boyfriend who leaves her or a mom who gets sick. Moreover--as you’ve said--Dawn, who is her human, child, self is Buffy’s point of vulnerability all season. She is seemingly what makes Buffy weak, because Dawn can’t protect herself. On the flipside however, her superpowered half is also what makes Buffy afraid that she is cold and disconnected from her humanity. The two halves are seemingly incompatible, and seemingly destroying the other half.

So one of the reasons I say that Glory is associated with the shadow side of Buffy is that Buffy’s shadow side is frequently associated with the supernatural, especially in season five. In my videos I’ve discussed how the Hellmouth can be seen as metaphor for the unconscious in general. It is this gaping wound beneath the town, that everyone ignores, and which specifically attracts supernatural beings. I also discuss in more depth in episode two how vampires are presented as “other” early on, representing the way that Buffy sees the shadow side of herself as “other” at that point in the show. In other words, vampires and the supernatural are associated with the shadow firstly because they’re associated with the unconscious, and secondly because they are an element of the unconscious that Buffy rejects. Vampires are scary, soulless monsters. How could you be a vampire?

Over the course of the show, Buffy’s primary shadow self becomes steadily more monstrous--first Cordelia, then Faith, then Spike--as she delves deeper and deeper into her unconscious. One of the reasons I think season five is so marked by the dichotomy of self is because it is the season in which Buffy begins to truly address the shadow part of herself, which means that the shadow becomes markedly opposed to her humanity. The fact that it seems villainous and incompatible with her Self becomes explicit, a problem that is now on the surface. I see Glory as linked to Dracula in the first episode, who taunts Buffy with her dark side and tricks her mother and Xander (both associated with Buffy’s humanity), or Harmony in the second episode, who is also blonde and “bitchy” and kidnaps Dawn just as Glory will kidnap her. I think it’s purposeful that Buffy describes Glory as “kinda like Cordelia, actually” and Glory has a bath scene that parallels Faith’s in “Who Are You?” There’s also the fact that Buffy is shown irritated by Glory being a “super-strong little women who [isn’t] me” (the line is in reference to April but clearly includes Glory), and by the suggestion that Glory could be “prettier” than her, which is similar to Buffy’s feelings of rivalry with Faith.

Of course, the point is ultimately that Buffy’s shadow is not incompatible with her humanity, and this is why I see Spike as Buffy’s true shadow-self--instead of merely associated with Buffy’s shadow side, as Glory is. Unlike Glory, who threatens Buffy’s humanity, aka Dawn, Spike actively safeguards it. Like Buffy and Glory/Ben, Spike has a dichotomy between monstrousness and humanity. But unlike Glory/Ben he is eventually able to achieve that same thing that Buffy does: a mix. Like Harmony and Dracula he is a vampire, and therefore aligned with the scary supernatural “other” shadow. But unlike them, and like Buffy, he comes to protect Dawn out of love. In other words, while Glory might represent Buffy’s fear or perception of her shadow, Spike is the character that actually represents Buffy herself. He is her actual, personal shadow, which is why Buffy needs to integrate with him and not with Glory. This won’t happen completely until the end of season seven, but does happen in a partial form in “The Gift” by her choosing to let him into her house. Ie, into her Self, given how Buffy’s house (as I bang on constantly in my videos) is the the recurring symbol of Buffy’s Self.

In general, I’d say that although Buffy’s main antagonists each season may be foils for her, they do also seem to be associated with Buffy’s shadow side too, the way that Glory is. Even if Glory, as you mention, is particularly “shadowy” because of her similarity to Buffy’s previous shadow-selves, and because season five is particularly concerned with Buffy’s inner dichotomy. Buffy’s villains all represent some negative way of solving a problem that Buffy is struggling with. People often use the term “shadow” in a narrative sense rather than Jungian sense to refer to a negative foil this way. But in the Jungian sense, you could also say that they represent a path that Buffy is tempted by, and is afraid she could go down (a side she might go down if she doesn’t confront it, ie if it remains unconscious). Therefore it’s a side that Buffy thinks she has to repress or reject when she encounters it in herself--hence her antagonistic relationship with her more personal shadow self figures.

[gch1995]

Hi! I've read almost all your SW posts and I'm curious why you still engage with anti Anakins and/or Kenobists as you call them? I've read some of their posts. Even the dialogue in the adoption post. And I found myself losing braincells from the lack of reading comprehension and empathy. I'm not a SW fan, just an Anakin and Luke fan, and it still hurts. How do you do it?

I’ve been in the OT and PT SW fandom for the past nine months now, and while I was initially more willing to jump on their posts to give my opinion, even stooping myself to their level on occasion when they defended the Jedi on issues of their treatment with Anakin and their recruits that were downright offensive, it’s not something I’m entirely proud of, and I have recently been trying my hardest to avoid the Kenobists, Republic apologists, and Jedi apologists.

Yeah, they were victims, but many of them also were and/or became perpetrators of horrendous systematic abuse, crime, and oppression “for the greater good,” too. So was Anakin, but the only reason why he gets called out on it by most of the fandom, even when he’s not at fault, he’s not the only one at fault, or he shouldn’t be held at fault at all, while the Jedi and Republic of their time don’t, is because they know he becomes their enemy Darth Vader. If he hadn’t become Darth Vader, his only enemies were the ones who Obi-Wan, Yoda, the Republic, and the Council approved of, and/or he only ever victimized people and species outside of the “greater good” of the Jedi Order and Republic, neither they nor the Jedi apologists and Kenobists would care. In fact, they’d probably totally woobify Anakin by pretending he never did anything wrong and was this perfect hero all along, in spite of being deeply screwed up, much like they do with Kenobi and the Order itself.

Anyway, the reason why I broke my own blog rule and ranted at that Kenobist canichangemyblogname and thatbitchformerlynamedkenobi who invaded @wingletblackbird’s post about the valid concern of the consent issues in Luke and Leia’s adoption is because they were being assholes who were picking a fight on her post by insulting both her and those of us who were agreeing with her perspective. At first, I thought canichangemyblogname was at least trying to debate in honest good faith by bringing up a point that Naboo was Palpatine’s home planet, but then when I tagged her in my response to her response on the OP’s post, she went into a very condescending, long, and rude lecture to attack both the OP, me, and every one of us who agreed with her by saying that we were “edgy” fans to pick up on problematic implications in Bail Organa’s “adoption” of Leia, rather than just blindly buying that this was a completely legal “closed adoption,” in spite of not seeing any evidence to suggest that in either canon or Legends. Then, she went on to insinuate that those of us who would have wanted to have seen evidence to buy that Leia and Luke’s “adoption” was legal, lacked intelligence and basic reading comprehension skills.

However, I’m an English major, and one of the most important elements we learn that is essential to good writing is to show don’t tell. It’s especially true in creative writing/storytelling. Thus, canichangemyblogname is wrong. The audience or reader wanting to have evidence shown to them in a narrative or essay in order to believe something to be true or false about a character or message that the writer is trying to convey, for better or worse, is not “a cancer on media” or bad writing. It’s good writing that needs to be done more.

She also said she thought it was ridiculous we were so against the idea of Obi-Wan Kenobi being an “Asian-coded” or “African coded” white male character, even though he looked down upon other species and cultures he considered “weak” and “pathetic” outside of the Jedi Order much of the time in canon.

Before I blocked her, that Kenobist did actually respond to my rant against her on her own blog by gaslighting me through saying that I “misinterpreted her completely and she never meant to offend.” However, she very clearly did intend to offend me and all of us who supported wingletblackbird. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have invaded the OP’s post, or gone into an insulting lecture against me when I tried to civilly point out that I saw where she was coming from about the twins potentially being in danger from Palpatine on Naboo, but I still saw legal/consent issues in Leia’s “adoption” by Bail Organa because nothing in canon or Legends had proven me it was a legit closed adoption.

I thought about responding to her apololie, but I was really just exhausted with canichangemyblogname, all of the hardcore Jedi apologists, Bail Organa apologists, and kenobists mud slinging on @wingletblackbird’s post that made a valid point about the consent issues in Luke and Leia’s adoption.

Every argument with them comes down to them being narrow-minded who insinuate that you’re stupid, insult you, inaccurately and irrelevantly virtue signal with comments like “racist,” “Holocaust denier,” “abuse apologist,” “DV apologist,” “anti adoption,” “child hater,” “afab who just wants to fuck Anakin,” ableist comments, slurs, and so on.

The most galling thing about a lot of the Kenobists and Jedi apologists, such as canichangemyblogname and all of those other ones on that post, though, is that, much like their faves, they can never admit that they are wrong. When confronted by those of us who try to call them out on their shit, they always play the victim by gaslighting us through saying that they weren’t trying to offend us, that we’re overreacting, or that they didn’t mean it that way.

Don’t fall for it when you call them out on being an asshole, and then believe it when they give you some bs about how they “didn’t mean it.” They clearly did. People like those Jedi apologists and Kenobists deserve being insulted and blocked. At least the people on our side are honest about it if we do insult them. Just like their faves, the JAs and Kenobists constantly ignore blatant canon that does not suit their preferred headcanons, deflect, and gaslight to play the victim.

@tragicfantasy-girl

@fanfictasia

@fanfic-lover-girl

@rogue205

@mynameisanakin

[poisonousquinzel]

https://lady-ha-ha.tumblr.com/post/160715688748/is-that-comic-before-the-reboot-and-which-one-is

(I have not read this comic) Is this true? (if so, ivy deserves someone better).

Post

Kay, first off both of those people are Jarley shippers so take everything they say with a grain of salt and then some, cause no. that part isn't about how much Harley loves Joker and will always choose him over Ivy. Literally you can tell ops don't know what they're talking about cause her whole thing in those issues is going to kill him for years of graphic abuse but ultimately falls back with him once she’s face to face with him.

Like wow, congrats on missing the fucking point again but not surprised from people who ship her with The Fucking Joker.

also, ffs, can anyone please have basic comprehension skills and realize that Harley and Ivy are both fucked up sometimes because they’ve got issues and that’s not comparable to Joker’s long ass history of graphic and disgusting abuse.

Harley and Ivy are villains, they're not a wholesome cookie cutter, White Picket Fence, super vanilla ship with no bad moments. They're both bad guys with a fuck ton of trauma that they both have to work through, and have done so at this point. 

Gotham City Sirens was published between 2009 - 2011, Harley and Ivy weren't blatantly romantic at this point nor had they had anywhere near the development that they’ve had at this point.

Like don’t go into Harlivy content expecting them to be the perfect wlw rep with no flaws during their arcs from BTAS to current time cause that’s just not realistic. They’re both deeply flawed people who’ve got a fuck ton of trauma that they need to (and have) worked through. 

I have talked about the BTAS issues here and this post is good at explaining them too. 

X

X

Harlivy is not and has never been a purely wholesome, goody-goody ship. They’re messy, they have issues, and they have bad moments sometimes, but they both worked through their seperate trauma and came out stronger and better because at the end of the day, they care about each other. 

Harlivy has messy, toxic moments sometimes, but they’re not, and have never been, abusive. There’s a difference between unhealthy moments and a ship being abusive. 

That’s completely different to how Joker acts Constantly, because he does not care that his actions towards Harley are abusive, because he doesn’t give a shit about her. 

He enjoys hurting her. He enjoys ruining her. 

Jarley has always been intended to be written and shown as a domestically abusive relationship.

This is also the first instance where it's directly referenced that there's something more than platonic between her and Ivy, other than the reference in Batgirl Adventures. 

Gotham City Sirens is also not connected to any verses.

This didn’t happen in the timeline we’re in rn with Harley Quinn (2014)/(2016)/(2021).

Comic timelines and shit are stupid and make everything more confusing and awful and I hate it sdfjdksksdkjsd

-

this is gonna be a long post since ops wanna just cut and paste random bits of the issues like jarley stans always do (cause jarley never has good moments that aren’t entirely surrounded by him abusing her) I’m going to show them in full context. *added a keep reading cause it is a lot

(All panels shown are from #15, #18, #19, #20, #21, #23, #24, #25)

So, Harley's entire thing at this point in the GCS comic in that she's been triggered by flashbacks of Joker's abuse and she breaks into Arkham with the intent to kill him.

The entire thing in these issues is showing her smarts and how she knows people's trump cards to get under their skin so she can break into Arkham. 

She’s trained to identify these things in people and she's fucking good at pushing people's buttons. 

this is also just one of my fav Harley covers so I wanted to show it jsdjksdks

“Trump cards. Everyone has one. Places where the armor we build around ourselves is weakest.” 

She’s right. And it’s now shown that Harley’s willing to use those below the belt trump cards if she has to.  

And frankly, I’d say this is worse than what she says to Ivy. And I’m not surprised she did it. She didn’t want to, she tried to get him to just open the door - 

“Don’t make me do this, Aaron. There are some secrets that should stay hidden. Things you should never learn about your own life.” 

but she’s also entirely fueled by rage and the desire to kill Joker. She came here for a reason and she’s not leaving until she’s done it.

“I’m going to kill you. For everything you’ve done to me. All the times you’ve made me feel useless and small. For all the times I will never forget. For all the things I can never forgive. All the memories -”

“Hello, Harley. I’ve missed you.” 

“Memories. That’s all I have left. The past is gone and all I have is... memories. 

Memories.

Memory. 

Gone.

I guess I too have a trump card.”

“Oh, Ivy. You know exactly what my answer is going to be. But you’re hoping you’re wrong, aren’t you?”

She’s also right about this, they already mentioned this in #18.

“How did I become the bad guy?”

“You’re the one choosing a man over her girls.”

“Are you kidding me? You would never say that to Harley, and we both know she’d dumb us in a flat second if Joker called her.”

“Hey! That’s not fair-- Actually, that’s probably true.”

“The difference is, she can’t help it. You can. And she’s working on it. You’re not working on it.” 

“Too easy, Ivy. Too easy. I know your weak spots. Now I just need to push.”

This is exactly what she’s been doing since the starting point of this post. She’s still in that mindset and she knows she can’t beat her on a regular battle field. Neither of them can. 

“Like I said-- You beat me in any level playing field. But I don’t fight on those fields.” 

Harley’s biggest strength as a villain is her ability to completely mentally stall her opponents and learn their weak spots. She wouldn’t win against the majority of the Big Bads if she didn’t fight on a different field than they are. 

so, like yeah, out of context what she says to Ivy seems awful and completely screwed up, and it is, but it’s also built up really well and it’s completely in character for her at this point in her fall during these issues. 

Is what she did fucked? absolutely. It’s not painted that it’s not. 

Ivy Literally Goes To Kill Her For It.

In the end of this all three of them are recaptured by Catwoman and Batman and that’s where we’re starting off at again. 

“Oh, Harley.

The only human I’ve ever called a friend.

To what lengths will I go? Where are my own limits? She is the Strangler fig. And I am the tree, choking underneath. 

Without me, she could never grow. 

But without her, I would fall if I grew too tall.” 

“Will she ever stand by herself? 

Will she ever be ready? 

She is in throes of madness. She sees him, her brain flooding with adrenaline, it makes her excited, nervous, then the feelings start to fade, and she needs more. And more. 

She sees it as passion. She sees it as love. 

But it’s not. It’s addiction. And she’s relapsing.” 

Ivy is well aware of the nature of their relationship. She’s not stupid and she’s been shown already to know that it’s something that takes time. It’s not a one off break up and it’s over. That’s not how abusve relationships work. 

What do I do?

I could use my pheromones to alter her brain chemistry.

I could leave her behind abandoning her to the wilds of her own mind.

I could kill her right now.

Show her how red Nature can be.

There's one other option.

It would require patience.

Even love.

Maybe I'm more human than I want to admit.

"You have one chance to answer this."

I know, if she agrees, she'll be doing it for revenge. For him.

"She put us behind bars."

But maybe if I get away from this place, if I give her something else to think about. Maybe she can break the cycle. But it has to be her choice.

"I'm going to kill her. Come with me."

So yeah, it’s definitely not a just “Harley hurts her and runs off with Joker and it’s just a plain ol’ her choosing him over everyone and that’s that.” 

Jarley shippers love to just reduce all her scenes and arcs down to their “epic love” and shit, but that’s taking away literally everything about her and reducing it down to the 3 panels that they’re “cute” in. Her arc in this part is fucking heartbreaking to read.

And Ivy damn well knows what’s going on with her. She’s smart and she’s the one that’s been there throughout all of this. She found her in the park after he shot her out of a rocket. 

And she knows it’ll take time for Harley to get over and through his manipulation, that’s just how it works with abusive relationships. 

But she’s also not forgiving at first, she’s mad and rightfully so, until she sees the sate of Harley’s cell and realizes how bad her addiction is at that time.

A lot of the unhealthy moments on Harley’s side when it comes to them are directly caused from the effects of being in an abusive relationship with Joker. Because she’s always in this area of her journey in those moments. She’s never fully over him or emancipated. 

And that’s realistic. It’s hard sometimes to be friends with someone who’s in abusive relationships like theirs, having to watch them return to that person time and time again and it’s frustrating after a while. 

I know from personal experience, it’s really hard to watch someone you care about go back or forgive someone that continues to hurt them. 

But abuse victims desperately need a support system outside of their abuser. It’s a crucial part of being able to escape, because when they do try to get out they need someone there or they’ll literally have no where to go but back into their abuser’s arms.

It’s heartbreaking and it’s really rough for everyone effected, but that’s just how it is most of the time. Especially in their case, as they’re not just regular folk dealing with this. 

If she doesn’t have Ivy, Harley has no one else to go to but Joker, on more than just an emotional level. 

She’s lost her job. Her income. Her home. Her livelihood. Her everything.

Most of the time she has no other choice but to return to a life of crime after she’s released from Arkham because she can’t get a job, she’s a notorious criminal and she’s got a lot of issues that don’t just disappear with a bit of therapy. 

She has no other choice but to return to Joker because the other alternative is the streets. At least she knows what to expect with him. 

And that’s not even getting into the manipulation, gaslighting and degrading abuse that he drills into her constantly. 

He’s made her believe she’s not anything without him. That she’s not smart or useful or anything. 

And that’s why it’s so damn important for her to have a support system and why he’s so damn against Ivy. 

Because Ivy is the good voice on her shoulder telling her he’s wrong and that she doesn’t deserve that. 

-

And on Ivy’s side, she’s aware she gets very near cutting off all parts of her humanity. 

She’s a plant goddess, she’s insanely powerful and she feels everything through the green. Frankly, she’s not even on the same playing field as these villains. She’s significanty more powerful than Harley and Joker. 

Her connection to Harley is what keeps her humanity in tack, because despite everything, she does care about her. She was the first person she let in, the first person Ivy called a friend. 

The person that was able to get through to her in #14/#15 when she was losing herself. The one that was able to get through to her that the dude was manipulating her. 

“Ivy, I know you think you love this guy... but you’re just gonna end up strapped to his rocket!”

She had to knock her out for the dude to trust her / not attack them anymore. But Harley got through to her by mentioning how they first met in the park when she saved her after Joker shot her off in a rocket.

And Ivy is understandable turned off towards humans considering her origin and trauma around that. 

She’s got a lot of trust issues.

But both of them work through their seperate traumas over the years because their affection for each other is stronger than the issues their trauma has given them.

-

and also, sometimes, they just have shit writers. that’s an issue overall in comic fandoms. Some writers just fucking suck at getting any of the characters right, let alone LGBT characters, who’re notoriously treated like garbage by DC. 

[love-and-monsters]

Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

[rigelmejo]

Now that I can read a little better I understand a bit more why translations vary so wildly.

Like. On the one hand, if you translate word by word you have so many personal choices to make on which word to use for each thing since there's not many one to one translations. There's deciding to keep idioms or localize them, keep terms and ways of conversing or localize to some degree, etc. And then there's deciding if you cut anything for time it takes to translate and time pressures (I finally get why one guardian translator cut out some of the novel, they were trying to get out the weilan content asap for people). There's also parts where you just won't know how to word it in the language you're translating to, what would be best, and you have to make a decision you don't think is perfect and surely isn't (and maybe there is no perfect decision for translating that line, just many various "Okay but not perfect" choices).

On the other hand. Translation is absolutely a skill. A skill that requires a LOT of practice and is separate from language comprehension skills. Yeah, knowing the languages helps so you don't make foolish grammar or mean meaning errors that machine translations make. But beyond that, so much is you personally breaking down sentences and words and deciding what's a good equivalent in meaning/style/effect in the language you're translating to. And there's no perfect answer, only various "okay" answers that will be biased by translator. Which is why it can be fun to read various translations of one piece, they might all be right but retain certain elements and not others (like when I think of rainbowse7ens edited translations with details added a lot of the emotion/atmosphere of the writing style was retained but specific wording was lost, when I translated some guardian I retained wording amount but wasn't super confident of my word selection and think yuka did better however I felt I retained priests writing style of sentences well and therefore the Effect of it, Yuka did a great job retaining word choice but I think some sentence structure and atmosphere the style created was lost, and meanwhile for modu I think edanglarstranslations did about as perfect a job as one could attempt at retaining mood/style/word choice to the point I could very easily match chinese audiobook to their translation and get a ton of phrase and wording and structure matches). So it's cool to see various translations as every single one will be tinged by translators interpretation of text, strengths and weaknesses, and what they personally valued keeping most and How (cause again there's no perfect one to one way to translate).

I realize the more I learn how much I do value people who do mtls and clean them up, and people who put out "gist" translations that may skimp on details but convey the mood of the text and plot and do it quickly. In both cases, so that either overall words get preserved (as best they can in edited mtl since mtls do tend to shorten and summarize] or so that the overall Feel of the novel gets preserved. So that there's a translation quickly, which is nice when otherwise there'd be none. Or until we hope and wait for a more in depth translator to have the time for those particular projects. Merebear translates is amazing for putting out so many timely dmbj translations which otherwise wouldn't exist at all, Yuka is amazing for putting out a guardian translation that kept the word choice, rainbowse7en was amazing for putting out a guardian translation when there was none and keeping the overall mood intact.

Theres value in a lot of different kinds of translating, along with how each individual one will simply vary by translators own things they tended to interpret/focus on most.

[kozumekenza]

house of memories :: four

:: kageyama tobio x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.3k ::

the last you had heard of kageyama tobio, he was following his grandfather’s footsteps and leaving you behind to join the syndicate. a chance meeting throws him back into your life, along with all of the memories.

tw: mafia elements, profanity, blood, gunshot wound, kidnapping, implied drug use (marijuana)

a/n: posting an hour early :)

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Simple words, and predictable ones, but his heart still hurts. He knew this, he knew it was coming, he knew what you would say, he prepared himself for it, so why does it feel like his world is crashing down? He’s leaving you, but he guesses you’re leaving him first. The thought brings him comfort. He didn’t want to involve you in this, as much as it hurts watching you walk away. He should be thankful that you’re breaking his heart and not the other way around. He should be thankful that you’ll hopefully hold this against him for the rest of his life. He should be thankful that you will never know the cold steel of a gun, the glint of an attacker’s knife. 

You’re long gone by now, probably tucked into bed. He’s right where you left him, although he is no longer staring at the spot where you were standing. Now, he’s watching the moonlight on the water. The world looks cast in melancholy blue; a beautiful setting for his final night and a tearful goodbye.

He is thankful for this last chance to see you; to memorize your features and commit them all to memory. He is thankful for the tears on his face, as he will not be allowed to show them in the future. He is thankful for all the emotions that he is currently feeling; he savors them, knowing that when he wakes up tomorrow, they will be long gone; suppressed forever. 

---

You’re up and running before you even have the chance to fully grasp the situation at hand. There’s blood, so much blood; Miwa’s calling to you, but you can’t hear her. There’s only the pounding of your heart in your ears and the four years worth of schooling you’ve received; racking your brain for any and all useful information. 

“I need all the medical supplies you have; a first aid kit, bandages, forceps, scissors.” You pray that Miwa is listening, that your voice is projecting. “I know we probably can’t take him to the hospital, but if you have a doctor you normally see for stuff like this, call them.”

You press your hands to the wound. From what you can tell, it’s a bullet wound towards the bottom left of Kageyama’s chest. His heart is still beating and his breathing is slow, but steady, and you allow yourself a moment to be thankful that his lung hasn't collapsed. You focus on your next steps: stopping the bleeding, fully assessing the severity of the wound, and stabilizing Kageyama somewhere that isn’t the foyer’s floor. 

Miwa drops down next to you with what you hope are sterile rags. “I called our doctor, she’ll be here soon.” She unwraps the plastic covering and hands you the rags, and you press them to Kageyama’s chest. “If we can just stop the bleeding, he’ll be fine.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. 

---

Kageyama Tobio is used to being shot at, but the bullets rarely meet their mark. Unfortunately, due to his own stupidity, this one does. 

He curses as he runs to his car and jams the keys into the ignition. The fleeting thought that the blood will be a pain to get out of the seats crosses his mind, but he shakes his head and it’s gone. His only goal now is to get back to the penthouse. Miwa will know what to do. 

When he stumbles in, feeling faint, his exhausted brain short-circuits at the sight of you. He falls to the floor as his vision blurs, feeling slightly thankful that if he dies tonight, at least the last thing he saw was you.

---

He knows he’s dreaming, that he’s drifting in and out of consciousness. He dreams of his childhood spent by your side, he dreams of your final goodbye. Even when he thinks he’s awake, he knows he must be dreaming, because you’re here, holding his hand and sitting by his side. He tries to reach out, to brush the tears off of your cheeks, but he can’t. He feels as if he’s failed you again.

---

The doctor is nice, a woman in her late twenties named Kiyoko. She performs her duties clinically, allowing you to help where you can and reassuring Miwa that everything will be fine. When the bullet is finally removed and Kageyama is stitched up, you collapse into a chair next to his bed.

You watch him carefully as Miwa flits around the penthouse, cleaning up and moving around Kageyama’s appointments for the next few weeks to allow him time to recover. You hold his hand in your own and rest your head on the side of the bed.

You were terrified tonight, you’ll admit it. You aren’t quite sure how you kept your cool and focused on the task at hand. You’re thankful that he is still breathing, that his heart is still beating. 

If you hadn’t walked away, would this be the norm for you? Would you be accustomed to Kageyama coming home bleeding and half-dead? You don’t know how you would cope in a situation like that, unsure if Kageyama would come home in one piece or even come home at all. The thought terrifies you; knowing that for these past four years, there were times where he was injured and you had no clue, and that he will most likely continue to get hurt in the future.

Is it better or worse to be here for it, to be aware? Is it better to know and be there for him while enduring the pain of it all, or is it better to be blissfully unaware, back to your normal life where you know his job is a risk, but you aren’t involved?

---

The man is thrilled at all of the information contained in a tiny computer file. Better than he ever could have imagined; giving him the ability to hurt his enemy is the worst possible way - through the people he cares about. 

It’s a low blow, even in this world, but what can he do? He’s run out of options. His enemy’s reign over Tokyo has encroached too far into his own territory, and has been occurring for far too long. 

You’re an easy target; far better than attempting anything with his sister. She has the knowledge and power of the underworld to wield against him, but you, you, are perfect. No skills with a weapon, no comprehension of how things work in this world. 

An innocent, perfect girl for him to corrupt. 

He grins at the thought. 

---

When Kageyama’s eyes finally open in the early hours of the morning, you almost burst into tears. You knew that he was physically fine; the wound would hurt, but was stitched and bandaged and fixed. You didn’t know how it would take a toll on the rest of his body. Some people suffer traumatic injuries and don’t wake up for days, months, years, ever. 

You grin as Kageyama slowly opens his eyes, assessing the room around him. 

“Y/n?” His voice is weak, but he’s awake. Alive. 

“Yeah?” You’re still holding his hand, leaning on your arm as you reach for his forehead to check his body temperature.

“You’re here.”

He’s clearly still a little out of it, and you can tell that his brain is trying to piece together the picture of you before him. You laugh a little before you answer, “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

His face is blank and he’s completely impassive when he says, “Not here.”

Miwa walks in to you laughing at Kageyama, who clearly does not understand why you’re laughing at him. She rushes over to him when she sees that he’s awake, gently hugging him.

“Tobio, thank god you’re alright. I was so fucking worried about you, you little shit.” She slaps his shoulder lightly, causing him to wince. 

You step away to give them some privacy, heading out to get some water and pain meds from the kitchen, but as you cross the threshold of the bedroom, Kageyama speaks up. “Y/n, are you leaving?”

The ache in his voice is obvious, and it sends a pang to your heart. “I’m just going to get some water and medication for you.”

He’s smiling a little when he turns back to Miwa. “Okay, good.”

---

The next few weeks are fine, generally speaking. You spend the majority of your time at Kageyama’s penthouse, watching over his recovery and hanging out with Miwa. Hana becomes a bit suspicious when she notices you’re away from home more than you’re there, but you simply say that you met an old friend at the club that night and you’ve been hanging out with them. It’s not necessarily a lie, and she buys it regardless; she’s so busy with Ushijima and school that you doubt she really notices how much you’re missing anyway. 

Most days, Miwa or Kageyama’s driver picks you up from the university in the afternoon, and you spend the rest of your evening in the penthouse. Sometimes, you sit by Kageyama’s bed and do homework while he rests, which most of the time ends up being a fight to get him to stay in bed while he insists he’s well enough to work. Other days, mostly when Kageyama is too tired to put up much of a fight, you hang out with Miwa, watching movies or cooking dinner together. 

It surprises you, just how easily you fit into their lives. Miwa says so as well, telling you that it has to be fate; there’s no way that someone could adjust to their lifestyle as quickly and as well as you do. You spend a lot of time thinking; you don’t mind being with them, in fact, you cherish your time at the penthouse. Kageyama’s job doesn’t phase you as much anymore. You don’t think about it when you spend time with him or Miwa, instead, you think about how appreciative you are for their roles in your life. 

Most recently, you’ve started helping Miwa with a task she deems “Mission: Impossible”. Apparently, Kageyama is disastrous when it comes to organization, so she’s taking the opportunity of him being bedridden to organize his office and the rest of the house. You don’t bat an eye when you and Miwa categorize what she refers to as the “weapons closet” or even when you come across files of all the hits that Kageyama has ever put out. The only thing that even makes you pause is when you come across Kageyama’s secret stash of marijuana.

“Really?” You hold the plastic bag up in one hand, your other hand on your hip. “Blunts?”

Kageyama just groans, sitting up. “If you and Miwa weren’t going through all my shit, you never would’ve found it.”

“Your shit is a mess! When was the last time you organized anything in this house?”

Kageyama brings his hand up, scratching the back of his hand. “Uh, never?”

“I can’t believe you.” You collapse onto the chair next to his bed, tossing the bag to him. “Now where’s the lighter?”

---

When Kageyama is finally cleared by Kiyoko to go back to work, you think that you won’t be seeing him and Miwa as often. You assume that they’ll be busy with whatever it is they do normally, so it comes as a surprise when you see Kageyama waiting for you after your last class. 

He’s leaning on a black McLaren Artura, turned away from you as he talks on the phone. You stop on the steps of your lab building, pausing to look at him while he’s not paying attention. After seeing him in sweats and t-shirts with messy hair for weeks while he recovered, it shocks you to see him in formal attire again. The late fall chill embraces you as you survey the black jeans and dark jacket, the wind-whipped hair and gold chain peeking out from beneath his collar. It’s times like these when your breath fully leaves you at how attractive Kageyama is. He’s receiving many stares, whether it’s from the boys checking out his car or the girls checking out him. He remains oblivious as always, talking pointedly into the phone until he spots you. 

He hangs up and opens the Artura’s door for you when you approach. You can feel the whispers surrounding you, but you ignore them in favor of sticking your chilling fingers in front of the car’s heat vent. Kageyama starts the car and peels out of the parking lot.

“I’m surprised to see you today. I thought you would’ve been busy on your first day back.”

He shrugs, giving a noncommittal hum. “It was mostly boring shit, meetings and such. I was completely over it by noon, so Miwa took over the last few for me.”

“You’re done already?” It’s only four in the afternoon, and you know he normally works much, much later than that.

“Done for now. I’ll go into the club later tonight to check on a few things, but that’s at least interesting.”

“Hm.” Looking out the window, you notice that you’re not heading towards the penthouse. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you out.”

You choke on air; as someone with Kageyama’s career, this could mean one of two things. “O-on a date?”

“Yeah,” he glances at you, “what else would that mean?”

“You don’t want to know what I was thinking.”

“Damn, y/n, I’m not going to kill you.” The wry smile on his face warns you of his upcoming words. “That would get blood on my seats.”

“Haha.” You roll your eyes and punch him lightly on the shoulder. “But really, you’re taking me out on a date? You didn’t even ask.”

“Well it’s more of a ‘thank you for nursing me back from the dead and helping Miwa’ date, but it can also be a real date, if you want that.”

The slight nervousness in his voice makes you grin. Only Kageyama could shoot someone in cold blood and be afraid to ask a girl out. “Okay.”

You watch as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sly smile on his face. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

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