#acab au

[possibilistfanfiction]

Been thinking about an au where ava is an abolitionist anarchist who is in court for punching a cop, and bea is their defense attorney… Assigned Cute At Birth au 😏

i just want you to know that i’m OBSESSED with this, i’ve just been tragically busy & then tragically exhausted. but sometime soon i’ll at least write a few scenes. ava IS an abolitionist anarchist!! acab (au) forever

[castle-dominion]

au where beckett is an investigator bc of her mom's case (maybe she's a lawyer by day idk idc),

& she hired Esposito into her one-run company bc he's ex-military & like "what now? the military sucks & cops suck too but these are the skills I have".

& then ryan is an ex-cop like Jet Black (Cowboy Bebop) & realizes cops are awful & (spoilers 5x18) right after he's released from his undercover op he quits the force & somehow is also hired by beckett in her little PI organization now,

& they solve murders & ofc Castle is still the same, he was a mystery writer who joined up except ig it couldn't be in the exact same way bc the mayor can't force beckett to let him tail her... ig maybe he proves himself useful & beckett was a fan so she keeps him around? or maybe he-- Ooh! So he keeps hiring them for cases meaning he's paying them & automatically involved in the investigation bc he's the employer/client! & when some of them are working normal cases & he's there with a case that he hired, he happens to help out so he keeps coming back & eventually he's just one of them & nobody notices that he's not necessarily hiring them on cases anymore.

& Montgomery is lestrade from bbc sherlock, a real cop who uses the consulting detectives...

Yeah!

this is a great acab AU!

& this way caskett (& rysposito) would be able to have a relationship w/o breaking rules, ecxept it's like when you're in a band & then you break up but the band stays together & then you write a hate love song & you're singing it onstage staring directly at the person it's about &-- sorry what? Yeah Castle AU right.

I kind of forget what made me think of this in the first place.

[hotdogstandz]

My Lust tale. A story following a group of monsters living in a world in which humans and monsters have always coexisted side by side. Sure, everyone is above ground, but that doesn’t mean everything is easy. In this world, monsters face extreme classism, racism, and just general systemic oppression from the government. This story specifically follows the lives of a suffering but strong community of monsters doing their best to survive in a run-down city with a corrupt system not made for them.

We’ve got the aged-out foster skeleton brothers- drag queen Sans and security/accountant Pax (government name Papyrus) who co-run the hit club, Lust Tales After Dark, located on Snowed In Street.

Directly across from their building is a small rundown cafe run by the lovely Miss Toriel, and occasionally her eldest two children, biological son Asriel (15) and adopted Chara (16). She has another adopted kid, Frisk (7) that the eldest watch frequently as well. Pax and Sans (dubbed Sansy by Frisk) spend most of their off time either with the kids, running rehearsals, or working the food bank that Lust Tales After Dark and Toriels cafe run (along with several other monster owned businesses) for the unfortunate monsters and humans living on the streets in their city.

Chief of police, Asgore is what you could expect. A power hungry, corrupt, and selfish man willing to throw his own family away for the sake of success. I will reveal more about everyone’s dynamic soon enough.

Last bit….and I want you all to REALLY look me in the face and listen to every word I’m about to say.

DO. NOT. SEXUALIZE. ANY. OF THE CHARACTERS. WHO ARE. MINORS.

This is a story meant to raise awareness for real life problems. I am planning on using this series to educate younger people in this fandom about safe sex practices, consent, and the wide variety of sexualities, as well as SA, domestic violence, and STD awareness. As someone who read the original comic as a young teen, it was incredibly damaging and confusing. So, this is meant to be used as a tool. A comfort. Lust and sexuality can be really really scary for some. I hope to make it less scary. More educational and lighthearted.

If your intention is to come on my page and twist my content into what the original LustTale was or draw harmful art that you KNOW could damage someone, get the FUCK off my page. Unkindly.

That’s all :] thx for reading bbys

[seeminglydark]

Werewolf AU part 1! Where everything’s the same except Caro doesn’t know John and he gets to be there during the GasCo Era and also he’s a fucking WEREWOLF. There’s um….a lot more. But I have other things to do so I’ll be back. Aroo!

Otherwise known as ‘flirting in the YouTube comments actually worked and now he doesn’t know what to do…’ (yes John has tech in the one!)

Caro and not Were!John are from my comics Mil-Liminal and Seemingly Dark.

[sharpace]

89. Standing Ground

Roughly based on how my now-bestie and I met. Our mutual acquaintance managed to describe the other as the epitome of things we hated in a person. We did NOT like each other until we started politely chatting independently and came to realize we were actually one in the same with similar backgrounds. Turns out it was the mutual was the outlier and did a terrible job at describe the other one.

Crank It Comics  |  Leave a tip! (Ko-Fi) | Store |  Twitter  

[anarchist-art]

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 8

Hope you enjoy <3 comment and tell me what u liked about it :D it gives me liiiife

masterposst

Of course, getting into the town would be the first issue. Considering how coldly the guards had treated him earlier, attempting to casually paddle into the settlement would probably end up in disaster.

Thankfully, he wasn’t trained by Batman for nothing.

Damian stalked along the seafloor, flattening his sail and trying his best to avoid looking flashy. He kept a close eye for any patrols or wandering farmers, but the field was empty except for crops. They had likely turned in for the day, which worked out just fine for him.

Floral smells blanketed the field in a deep haze. It was oddly familiar with how vegetables smelled on land: verdant and pastoral, comforting. If he wanted to, he could probably pluck the greens growing on the edge of the field and bring them back to Phantom.

But there was likely even better food in the town proper, and medical supplies, and weapons.

So Damian pushed on. He absentmindedly nibbled some produce on the way, replenishing the energy he had squandered in his attempts to hunt. The crops were tall enough to completely obscure his body even if he were upright.

By the time Damian had crossed the fields, it was fully night time, and the field was cast with pitch black darkness, the moon obscured by cloud cover. The only light came from tiny windows out of the Atlanteans’ homes. Excellent. The cover of night was the best time to perform illicit activities.

Damian watched as the guards from earlier exited what was likely their barracks, alongside other guards. The building stood about three stories tall, with reinforced mud and stone lining its outer walls. The men and women filed out of the of barracks, armour half-undone and spears loosely gripped, laughing amongst themselves.

“The sirens trade to make another play at us. Some scrappy kid demanding shit. Could you believe it?” The man from earlier said. A chorus of laughter erupted. Damian turned his nose up at them from the rooftop he was perched upon.

Good thing about being underwater is that you didn’t need any grappling hooks to get up onto tall places. The locals didn’t either, which is why Damian kept a finger on the pulse of his lateral line, letting it warn him if anything came near.

Damian mentally noted its location, and continued. Most of the night patrols seemed to focus on covering the outskirts of the town, while Damian was already inside and in little danger of being discovered. After another brief search along the rim, carefully flitting between shadow to shadow, Damian found the jackpot. The storehouse.

It was a small mound dug into the rock with two large wooden doors and a lock. His nose picked up the same scent heavy in the area as out in the field, meaning that was likely where they stored their food.

Damian sensed no other people in the area, so he went to work. Unsheathing his claws, Damian set to work on the lock. He’d never picked an Atlantean lock before, but he was trained by Batman, so it posed little threat to him. With a click, the lock came open, and he pushed the storehouse doors just enough for him to slip inside, before closing it behind him.

Immediately he was assaulted by fragrancies and delicate flavours from every direction. Off to one side piles of crops were stacked up in neat rows. On the other side, hooks suspended the carcasses of fish.

Suddenly, Damian was made very aware of his lack of pockets.

Right, time to reroute, then.

Damian’s spine tingled. He dashed to the top of the storehouse, just as the door swung open and a pale blue light shined in.

“Hello? Anyone in here?” The soldier asked. He was a different one from the pair he had encountered earlier. This one was a bit older, a bit deeper in the voice. His posture was surprisingly relaxed, given the circumstances.

Damian could practically trace his gaze moving upward. Blast. Humans usually neglected to consider the verticality of their environment, and he could not afford to be discovered.

Damian descended up on the man. He gave a brief yelp, before Damian brought the Anti-Creep Stick upon his head. In swift fashion, the Atlantean crumpled up on the floor, still.

Maybe there was such a use for a blunt weapon anyway.

Dragging the Atlantean and tying him up in the corner, Damian set about on his task. Checking for any other interlopers, he quietly snuck out of the storehouse. It took him no time at all to trace his steps (his fin-strokes?) back to the barracks.

Careful to stay to the shadows, Damian landed on top of the barracks. The windows were small enough that a regular Atlantean could not squeeze through, but Damian’s meagre size could. Through the window, he took a peek. The room was empty. It seemed like an office of some kind, full of cabinets and paperwork.

Stalking the perimeter of the building yielded similar results. Of course the armory would be a little more secure than out in the open next to a window. There were about two guards in the entire building, which was perfectly fine by him. He’d broken into much more guarded places.

Tucking his fins flat against his scales, Damian squeezed through the window into an unoccupied hallway. The doors on the far right and far left, he had already seen. There were three more doors in the middle.

Sniff sniff… No scent coming from the first door. His lateral line tingled briefly, but the signal was weak, so it was probably detecting the residents of the building on a different floor.

The door was unlocked, which only sank Damian’s already low opinion of these people, and revealed a storage room, full of cabinets, and more paperwork.

Rubbing his hands clean of the stench, Damian investigated the second and third doors. Still nothing. He’d forgotten how much he missed Oracle’s intel. When was the last time he’d gone into a building solely off his own info?

Damian wiggled out of the window he’d come in. Time to do this the hard way.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to find the armory. Atlantean floor planning conventions were completely different to anything he’d ever imagined. He had some close calls with the two guards, which was embarrassing because it was only because he was about ready to pull his hair out looking for the damn place.

Eventually, on the toop floor (because of course it was the top floor), Damian found his prize. In one room, medicine, painkillers, bandages and splints practically spilling out of shelves and drawers. In another, scores of swords, bows and arrows, spears, as well as more magical water-bearers lined the walls. More importantly, bags and satchels. Damian wasted no time slinging two bags over his back, carefully minding his sensitive sail, and one satchel around his waist, and helping himself to whatever supplies he could gather.

It was as Damian was securing the last of his loot that a shrill scream sent every fin on his body standing straight up like goosebumps.

“S-S-S-s-SIREEN!” A young man’s voice cried out. Damian whipped his head around to see one of the guards staring right at him, his body quivering in terror.

A piercing alarm rang out. Dammit.

Damian bared his teeth at the man. Almost immediately, the guard passed out. At least that’s one problem solved.

Squeezing out the windows was more difficult this encumbered, but Damian had to be quick, or else the heightened security would pin him down. He gave his surroundings a once over. Guards were beginning to pour into the entrance of the barracks, giving him a moment to pull the last of his ill-gotten gains through,

“Hey you, stop!” An Atlantean ordered from overhead. Damian charged the wrist ray and fired two shots at her. One hit her shoulder and knocked her back. With her line of sight broken, Damian dove for the shadows.

Ducking and weaving between buildings, Damian found the streets crawling with search parties. He was forced to turn different corners, squeeze into boxes, and jerk out of the way before search lights could fall upon him, all as soldiers shouted orders and call outs.

It was positively nerve-wracking. Finally, he returned to the food storehouse, now with two soldiers poking their heads in. That won’t do at all. There was no more time for stealth.

Damian rushed up to one of the guards, and bashed his head in. The other one cried out, and pulled out a conch shell, but Damian blasted it out of his hands before he could sound the alarm. The Atlantean thrust his spear with both hands, but Damian was much faster. The Anti-Creep Stick slammed into the man’s helmet. The helmet vibrated back and forth with a dizzying ring and the guard went down.

The small siren boy rushed into the storehouse and stuffed whatever he could find into his bags, and rushed out. Meat, vegetables, fruit, he cared not, for he had no time to.

Bright light briefly blinded him.. “There he is! Get him!” Five patrol guards. Too many. Time was up. The patrol guards alerted more with a conch shell. They held spears at the ready. “Surrender now and we won’t have to take this any further, siren!”

Hah! They underestimated his tenacity.

Damian’s tail, which had been carrying him for hours now, was so sore it felt like it was about to fall off, but adrenaline animated it with supernatural zeal. He fired the wrist ray at will. The guards were forced to scatter as Damian dashed for the bounds of the settlement. Spears shot out, one almost nicking him in the tailfin, but Damian learned from Phantom’s tactics and kept low, zig zagging to throw off their aim. Soldiers poured out of the streets, firing arrows and spears at the young boy. Soon Damian was outside the limits of town. He dove underneath the field of crops, hoping the lose the soldiers.

The guards scattered out above him. His lateral line went crazy, pinging every single soldier in close range and putting him on high alert.

“There, in the seagrass!”

A spear narrowly missed his sail.

Damian recalled Phantom’s tactics. He flipped himself and swam belly up. With a clear shot, he began to pelt the guards with continuous shots from the wrist ray. An arrow sailed right for him, but Damian saw it clearly. He knocked it away with a flick of his sword. Another guard cut him off in front. The man lunged for him with arms outstretched, but soon learnt how bad of an idea engaging him in stabbing range was.

Before long, Damian had exited the field, and was rapidly approaching the ravine. The guards came hot on his tail, but as Damian descended into the depths, the narrow passageways and foreboding darkness meant that he was alone.

All in a god day’s work for Robin.

[softquietsteadylove]

I have another idea (sorry if this is too spammy, please tell me if it's too much) also sorry if this one is a bit dark, my life long love of true crime is showing. so human au, Thena and Gil have been married for years, Thena has a history of mental health problems but specially seeing/hearing things that aren't there so when she starts talking about someone following her that nobody eles can see people are skeptical, until one day she goes missing, the police don't do much at first because she's a grown woman but then letters start showing up from someone who claims to have her, Gil is frantic trying to find his wife and he feels like he's slowly losing his mind, maybe a hopeful yet open ended end with potential to be expanded. Damm this one is long, sorry

Gil crouched down behind the shrubs as another car passed. He knew very well he could get in a lot of trouble for this. Technically, the cops were supposed to be doing this.

Well, the cops were supposed to be investigating his wife's disappearance. What he thought they were doing was instead standing around with their dicks in their hands talking about how 'wives leave their husbands all the time without explanation'. They didn't know Thena. And they didn't know him either.

And he was damn sure they didn't know Kro. He had mentioned that Thena had an abusive ex-boyfriend who was obsessed with her, but they didn't care. All they saw was that Thena had a diagnosis of schizophrenic episodes. It was more than enough for them to write off her reports of being followed as paranoia.

Gil moved closer to the house. He had been watching for days.

If this bastard was going to stalk Thena then he could do the same. He had watched Kro, watched when he left the house--seldom. Watched what he did when he did go places--always for basic needs like food, never anywhere else. If he had a job, it was remote, or he had quit it to become a full time freak and kidnapping felon.

It started with Thena saying she was being followed. And he had tried to catch a glimpse, but he had never managed to get a look at what she had seen. But she said it wasn't a vision, that she knew what those felt like and this was different. She said it was tall, and that it was watching her.

It certainly sounded like Kro at the time, and the letters confirmed it was him, as far as Gil was concerned. They were printed computer paper, generic and untraceable. They said things like 'I have her' and 'she's mine now'. Cops didn't have proof it was from him, or even about Thena.

Gil knew better. It was the way someone obsessive and possessive would talk about someone. It felt like Kro, saying to her now-husband that she was his, her ex-boyfriend's, again. According to the cops, Kro had an alibi which eliminated him as a suspect. They hadn't even held him for 24 hours.

Gil stuck his finger into the crack of the window being left open. He had found a day when they were left open and stuck a twig in the slider to keep it from latching. It sounded insane, he knew. He was behaving criminally. But he didn't care what he had to do to get Thena back.

He pushed the window up, slipping through slowly. He had done his research. He knew that there was no alarm system because he had a creepy looking dog walking around. The dog would trip any motion sensor that was active.

Said dog lifted its head. It looked like a malnourished, mangy thing. Gil pulled the chicken out of his pocket. If this thing was supposed to be a guard dog, it wasn't very well trained. It hadn't even barked before he tossed the dog toy full of chicken at it. It was some kind of special puzzle, supposedly it would keep a dog busy for hours.

He moved slowly and carefully. The house had a basement, there were little barred windows on the front at the base and the rest of the houses on the street did too. If Thena was anywhere, he had to assume she was there.

"Thena?" he whispered. He was pretty damn sure Kro was upstairs doing his remote work in a home office at the far end of the house.

It was almost foolhardy: man kidnapped a woman and was arrogant enough to leave her two floors down from him all day and night?

"Thena," Gil whispered again as gently twisted the basement door handle. It wasn't even locked. He glanced down, it was pitch black, depriving Thena completely of any comfort. His steps were careful, he didn't want to make the stairs creak too much.

He walked down carefully. He had no proof Kro wasn't just sitting down here, lying in wait for him. And worse yet, he had to be ready for what he might find. He didn't think Kro would hurt Thena, but he didn't have proof that he wouldn't.

"Thena," Gil whispered again. He looked around, hoping his eyes would adjust. Those little windows must have been blacked out as well as barred.

"Gil?"

His heart leapt. He reached in his pocket for his phone. Pulling it out he swung it around with the flashlight on. The basement was actually not so bad, at least more than a dirt floor cellar. His gut twisted, "Thena."

She squinted, although he moved the light away from her, just lighting the corner of the basement that was hers. She was handcuffed to a support post, seated on what seemed to be an old mattress. It looked like the blanket she had been given was one for the dog, and the pillow was somehow worse than that.

"Okay, sweetheart, it's okay, I'm here," Gil rushed, kneeling down and immediately reaching for the handcuff. He had looked this up too, purchasing a cheap pair with keys online just in case.

Thena lurched forward, barely able to hold herself up enough to bury her sobs into his chest.

"I'm here, I'm here," he repeated, stroking her hair. She was in the same clothes she had been wearing friday. It was 37 hours later. He must have gotten her right as she was coming out of her office and before Gil had pulled up to the curb. It was such a slim window.

"Gil," she whispered into his hoodie. She dug her fingers into it, but her nails were bloody. She had tried getting the nail to which her cuffs were attached out of the wooden column. "He told me he would let me go if I promised to leave you."

"It's okay, honey, I've got you," he whispered. Of course this psycho wanted to play some sick game like that. He probably would have let her go, too. Nothing had been proven to link back to him yet, and he knew very well that no one would believe Thena about it.

He didn't have to have her. He just needed no one else to.

Gil rubbed her wrist, which was red and raw from her struggling. He pressed his nose to her hair, "sweetie, did he hurt you?"

"No," she whimpered, to at least some of his relief. "He hasn't touched me. He said he would let me out of here if I told him I never loved you."

Gil had read up on that. Kro was a narcissist, he needed to feel in possession and control. He wanted to know that Thena couldn't be with anyone else the way she had been with him. But they had been married for five years by now, in comparison to the year and a half she had been with Kro, including courtship and the lengthy process of Thena changing all her contacts and moving as far away from him as possible. Only for him to follow her here.

There was no use wondering about it. Gil pulled his hoodie off and wrapped it around her. "Have you been down here since friday?"

She nodded, barely conscious as he threaded her arms through the sleeves. "After work..."

"Did he give you any food or water?"

She shook her head again as he zipped it all the way up. "He would only come down every few hours to check if I was ready to give up."

Gil held her cheeks. He did his best to smile at her instead of crying. "And you never broke. That's my Thena."

She sighed as he kissed her forehead. "Take me home."

"Okay," he whispered. He pulled out a mini bottle of water, just enough to keep her conscious. He also pulled out a baggy with two pills. "Here y'go."

It wasn't an immediate concern, but it couldn't hurt to get her medication into her as soon as possible. Thena took them instinctively.

"Can you walk?" Gil whispered to her. This was the next step he had prepared for. There were a few different actions to take depending on her answer.

She shook her head. Even if he could have gotten her on her feet, she was weak, hadn't eaten or slept, and Kro had taken her shoes.

"Okay," he resolved. He buttoned the cargo pockets of his pants again and crouched down to get Thena in his arms. It was ideal to be ready to fight if he had to, but he wasn't about to sling his wife over his shoulder like old laundry.

Thena pressed her head to his chest as he lifted her.

"Let's get you home, sweetheart."

"You're not going anywhere!"

Gil froze. Thena was in his arms. His phone in his shirt pocket was still the only source of light. Kro was at the top of the stairs. He didn't seem armed, but Kro was 6'5" and decently muscled in his own right. He didn't think he needed a weapon. "It's over."

"It's not," the monster growled at him. He didn't even sound human. "Put her down."

Gil held her tighter as Thena buried her face in his neck. "She's my wife, Kro."

"She's a liar!" he bellowed at them and charged down the stairs to the bottom. "She said she would never get married and she lied!"

Who would want to marry a beast like this? Gil backed up just a step. "That's enough."

"Put her down!"

He really did match the description. Thena had said that a figure had started following her. That it was massive, way higher than six feet, shadowy and lurking around corners to follow her. And none of her visions had ever looked as monstrous as this man did now.

Gil did, but only so he could keep her away from him. He set her down on the mattress again, as much as she tried to cling to him. But he turned around, swinging his fist wide in the hopes of getting him in the face.

Kro did stumble back, but he was far from done.

Gil charged at him. If this was really going to be a fist fight to the death, then he was prepared for that, so long as Thena didn't get hurt in the meantime.

Kro snarled at him as they back into one of a few shelves scattered around the room. Junk and a few loose tools clattered to the ground. Kro clawed at his back but Gil slammed him into the shelf again.

He heard Thena cry out behind him as Kro tossed him away. He tried to stand but Kro sent him into another shelf, this one with paint cans. "I'll kill you!"

"Go to hell!" Gil yelled back at him. He grabbed whichever paint can he could swing, even an empty one. It did the job at least. He scrambled past Kro to Thena. "Go, run, I'm right behind you, go!"

"Gil, no!"

Gil hissed as Kro found his dropped phone and shined the light in his eyes. Next thing he knew, something that felt an awful lot like an empty paint can was colliding with his head. "Shit!"

Kro landed one hell of a punch to his jaw.

"Gil!"

He tried to stay on his feet. He couldn't see and his head was screaming at him. But he came here for a reason: for his wife. "Thena, run!"

His vision was just barely starting to bleed back to him. He could see Kro's massive silhouette. He got his hands up, ready to fight, when a flash of silver arched through his vision.

Thena connected the hammer with Kro's skull so solidly it was audible. She was breathing heavily, probably lightheaded. She looked at Kro's body, watching to see if it moved at all. Then she looked at him.

Gil eyed Kro as well, but he was out like a light. A hammer to the head was hard to beat, he honestly wasn't even sure if he was still alive. He looked at Thean, "sweetie, it's okay."

Thena stumbled back, dropping the hammer. She looked at him, "a-are you okay?"

Gil dragged himself to his feet. He wobbled a little, his knees being worse for wear (he wasn't young anymore). "I'm okay, are you?"

Thena moved numbly, stumbling into his embrace again, still looking at Kro. "Is he alive?"

"I don't know," Gil stared, even as he pressed his lips to her forehead again. "Let's get you outta here first, okay?"

Thena nodded, letting him herd her towards the stairs. "What do we do now?"

He had committed a crime, breaking and entering to get his wife back like this. Although maybe they could get lucky considering Thena was just defending herself against a certified psycho. Either way, he was leaving with his wife. "I don't know. You don't have to worry about that. We're just going to get you home."

[gravitywonagain]

so i plotted a thing in the shower the other day... idk if i'll write it or not, but i thought it might be fun to share :)

~ working title: Villains in my Mind Doing Time ~

lwj is a detective who only works cold cases (for Reasons that will come up somewhere in the narrative, probably). he’s almost a year and a half into his latest case when he gets a call from a maximum security prison. they say an inmate there has info on his case and wants to share it. lwj is, understandably, a bit skeptical — especially when he sees the 35 year-old inmate who is supposed to have info on his 50 year-old cold case — but he figures he can check the info after and something is better than the nothing he currently has, even if it does send him on a wild goose chase.

wwx, when lwj meets him, is handsome and well spoken, if a bit angry and… kinda weird? but that’s okay. all of these things are workable. so lwj sits down and — after a rather odd tangent about the sensory experiences of murder, some nonsense about being a medium but only for serial killers, and rambling regrets about starting with the most recent cases because it would have been much easier to prove he wasn't involved in murders he wasn't alive for yet — gets what he came for: the name of the murderer.

(wwx is actually a ghost magnet, of a kind. he attracts serial killers, like, from wherever. idk if his mind is the manifestation of some level of hell through which serial killers atone for their sins or something, i honestly have not thought this that far through, so just bear with me, here.)

lwj takes this info home to follow up on and finds that it’s both more and less than he was hoping for. the name wwx gave him is of a man who was close to the family, certainly, but who was dismissed as a suspect after his first interview. nothing particularly ties him to the case, yet he was also not a man who was discussed in the news where wwx might have stumbled upon his name. there is, lwj finds, some merit to the idea that this person killed at the very least lwj’s victim and in all likelihood — and if wwx is to be believed — several more people.

however none of this information is actionable. it is at best circumstantial, at worst some nonsense accusation from a man who is serving life in maximum security. and the man in question has been dead for several years leaving no living family behind.

lwj goes back to the prison.

wwx is pleased to see him again and even more so to learn that lwj actually believes him and wants to hear more. he shares what he knows, but mostly what he has is a head full of memories that are very difficult to get down on paper. he draws some things, but what lwj really needs, he realizes, is to actually go to the scene, go into all the evidence, speak with family and friends of the victim, etc. all of this will be easier and more fluid if he can just take wwx with him so that he doesn’t have to act as some intermediary between the evidence and the supposed ghost.

lwj still isn’t quite convinced he’s not being taken for a ride, but he’s willing to take the risk of letting wwx out on heavily supervised furlough for a better shot at finally cracking this case and giving the family some peace.

wwx agrees to go on the very strict condition that he be returned to the prison that night. lwj of course agrees to this — that was definitely already the plan — and off they go.

during the first outing, the two are able to get a little bit deeper into the mystery, but they are both quite aware that what they are looking for is going to have been long buried and many people are dead, don’t remember, or don’t want to remember. this is going to take more than one furlough. but, as wwx did not attempt to escape or harm anyone (nobody really expected him to, he’s been a model inmate despite the crazy talk and night terrors for years now), the warden agrees to let lwj take him out again and again.

it’s on the third outing that they run into some trouble and have to spend a night away from home. wwx is intensely worried, but they are able to find a solution with the local municipal jail, borrowing a cell for the night for wwx to sleep in while lwj sleeps at an inn. everything is fine. lwj, out of curiosity, asks the municipal jail for the video of wwx at night and finds out that wwx has horrible nightmares, screaming and flailing in his sleep. this follows if what wwx tells him about hosting the ghosts of serial killers is true, but it also follows if wwx actually has a violent past that he is atoning for in prison. they manage to get a bit more info the next day, but are sure to make it back to the prison that night.

unfortunately, the next bit of information is set to take them much farther away from the city. they will need to road trip out to a pretty small town to meet up with someone, taking multiple days just to get out there, and will probably need to stay multiple days to get the info they need. initially, wwx is adamant that lwj can do this one on his own. lwj, however, has grown to rely on wwx’s unique insight into this case and manages to convince him to come along.

they make a plan, calling up all the jails on their way out there to ensure that they can borrow a cell for the night — not allowing wwx to sleep with anyone else in the room. of course, on their way out there, one of the jails fills up for the night and they have to improvise. they book two rooms at an inn and wwx convinces lwj to restrain him, tie him to the bed — sadly, for non-sexy purposes — and to bar all the exits he can. this is not a foolproof plan… but it works. wwx and lwj both have a rough night of it, but wwx doesn’t escape, doesn’t hurt anyone, and doesn’t hurt himself (too badly). they decide this is an acceptable backup solution, should the need arise again.

the need definitely arises again.

one of the reasons they are out here in this remote area is because the person they are tracking down is slated to attend an art festival nearby. the town hosting the festival is small enough that the draw is not huge, but robust enough to handle the influx of tourism for the next few days. this also means that, when the jail inevitably fills up on their last night in town, lwj and wwx have to share lwj’s reserved room. of course there’s only one bed, this is fanfiction.

so lwj ties wwx to the bed. at this point, he’s mostly sure that wwx at the very least knows things about this case that he shouldn’t be able to know. he’s open to some sort of medium-ship, though uncertain as to what that might mean, entirely. and he is pretty sure that wwx has been requesting such specific sleeping arrangements because he is worried about keeping lwj awake with his night terrors. lwj accepts a bad night’s sleep in return for literally any sleep — they got what they came for but it’s been a long few days — and decides he’s going to sleep in the same room as a bound wwx.

the thing about security cameras in police stations and municipal jails is that they are in black and white.

lwj wakes to a room bathed in a soft red glow and fingers wrapped tightly around his throat. the voice coming from wwx is not the one lwj is familiar with after days and days spent working together, spent talking in the car, over lunch, on the phone. it is deep and guttural, then high and sweet, then laughing and manic. all the while wwx’s body seems to fight itself — not quite strangling lwj, but not quite letting him go either.

luckily, lwj is a strong dude. he manages to break free and subdue wwx. the red fades from wwx’s eyes as soon as they blink open again and wwx shrinks in on himself so deeply lwj isn’t sure he’ll ever find him again.

slowly, painstakingly, lwj is able to coax wwx into the same car as him so they can drive back. wwx is quiet and subdued the entire time, eyes flashing to the bruising around lwj’s neck so much he considers stopping to buy a turtleneck despite the summer heat. each stop goes more or less as planned, though one of the jails has to move some people around to accommodate, and they are clearly less than pleased to do so, but wwx plays up the crazy criminal affect and they make it work.

they’re maybe an hour away from home when wwx suddenly jerks in his seat, eyes rolling back in his head — fully white, not glowing red — and trembling like a leaf. lwj pulls off the road, uncertain.

when wwx gasps back to himself a minute or two later, he’s agitated, urgent. he insists that lwj turn the car around. another killer just died, he says, and this time he’s not too late. the killer died unexpectedly and left some victims alive. he never gets this kind of chance, he says, to make a difference, to actually save someone.

they’re close, is the thing. close to the city, close to finishing lwj’s case. and lwj, fresh off being strangled by a possibly possessed wwx, isn’t the most inclined to veer off the path that will lead him first to his very comfortable bed and second to possibly closing his case. and there’s the niggling fear that wwx, having felt freedom and now being very close to the end of it again, has created a ruse that he will use to ultimately escape.

but wwx is very convincing. and, lwj realizes, he trusts him.

lwj turns the car around and heads in the direction wwx leads him. and wwx is right. they get to the compound just in time to save a young girl from starving alone where she’d been kept. the local police ask questions and wwx ends up almost on the hook for this again, but his whereabouts have been very accounted for over the span of time the crimes were taking place. it looks like he might be charged with accessory again, but given that he was instrumental in saving someone, the local police are fine releasing him back to the prison. they know where to find him, after all.

but, of course, they now have to spend a night in a hotel on the way home.

this time, both of them contend with the added factor that is a combination of the sexual tension between them too long unresolved and the adrenaline high of rushing off to save a life and succeeding. lwj hasn’t been this close to action in a long time, and now (?) is when we learn that he had himself relegated to cold cases and only cold cases because his last imminent case saw him hesitating to fire just long enough to get the victim killed, then opening fire on the suspect in retribution. wwx shares that nobody had ever trusted him like this before, not even his foster parents who had him committed to a mental hospital at fourteen.

and with that kind of day, how can they not have sex about it? it’s sweet and intimate and both of them confess things that the other probably doesn’t believe, but under the cover of night, everything feels like a dream. they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

when lwj wakes, wwx is gone—

just kidding, he’s just freaking out in a corner because he actually slept all night for once and what the fuck does that even mean???

they make it back home — wwx to prison and lwj to his apartment. lwj settles the case, finally able to tell a nephew who killed his uncle and give that family some long awaited closure. wwx settles back in prison, chafing a bit at the loss of freedom and at the loss of time spent with lwj, but pleased he’s been able to make some difference for once. or even twice.

then the prison gets a call from lwj. lwj and wwx smile at each other over the table at which they first met, and lwj lays out several folders while wwx closes his eyes to listen to the voices in his head.

[miz-chase]

🍉 🍑 🍋!

🍉 Do you prefer to write short fics or long fics? Multichaptered works or single ones? Why?

I tend to write in the 1.5-3k range because it's long enough to Do Something, but not so long that it consumes me. Usually I struggle with keeping track of multiple stories at the same time, and if my brain has moved on to a different story before I'm done writing the first, it ends up a mess / I get bored

Also I work a job that lets me set my own hours, which means if I'm intensely into a long fic sometimes I sorta.... blow off work. For multiple days at a time. Which can be bad. So again, it's better if I write shorter things. I'm bad at being a grownup.

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

I'm going to pass over the obvious Jane joins the FBI or B&B get a case in Boston Bones/R&I crossover. Obviously I'd be into that.

Also passing over the Rizzles Gentleman Jack AU. Also too obvious.

So this AU I've been sitting on since before the pandemic, even before I started to get back into crime procedurals, comes from a shuffled mix of NK Jemisen's Broken Earth trilogy, a little hint of Dragon Age (which is just BE with shittier politics lbr), and Meliso Caruso's The Tethered Mage. They all deal with magic as a slave caste under full control by politico-religious authorities. BE & TTM especially deals with the complicated, often hostile 1-on-1 bond between magic users and their Guardian/Falconer controller. Mages are a living tool used by their Guardians to enforce law, solve crimes, whatever. Can you see where this is going?

I'm interested in the tension of Booth and Jane using Brennan and Maura as tool-object-persons. Having authority over them, directing their talents, while also polite-society-pretending the relationship is consensual and equal. Meanwhile Brennan and Maura to a degree don't care / aren't putting up a fight / are happy to have a bond / just want to get out and do the work. They share an arguably autistic-flavored focus on doing their science, such that they care more about doing the work well than they care about the political system they are feeding, and how they are being used. How do you build a functional (or even healthy?) partnership when power is unequally distributed? How do friendly, even flirty, social interactions play out between the controller and the controlled? How do you confront "I love you but I could never free you. It's not safe for you or me."?

I like that it takes an undertone, unaddressed dynamic from the source material and amplifies it to an extreme. It's fucked up and messy and discomforting, that's what makes it fun >:3c

(usually it ends with the controlled escaping and making their own way, which forces the controller to confront their feelings and the system they're upholding and then they fight to support the mage revolution blah blah, you know, high fantasy tropes)

🍋 What’s your favorite spicier trope to write?

I'm gonna go with.... praise kink/praise-based dom. "You can take it." "You're so good for me" etc. Pushing extremes while being affectionate and supportive and maybe a little condescending, rather than hostile or degrading, is fun to play with!

ALSO! Bad sex!! It's fun, its funny, it's real. Let them be messy disasters, let them work through shame and trying too hard to be perfect and the mishaps of life

[gracebethartacc]

For the art requests, how about Asha explaining Aster to Dahlia while Simon just kinda stares at star in the background?

I send you a littlе smiley face So you send me back a little smiley face And then I say, "Hey," and so you write back, "Hey" And I say, "'Hey' what?" And you say, "You said 'hey' first" And I say, "Okay 'Croissant emoji', fuck you" /ref

[running-with-the-feels]

Wait so now that nightowlf and Kabal are back to be pals... how does nightwolf react to him and Stryker together? Like I mean I'm sure he doesn't care if he's gay or not but still

Nightwolf: Really? A cop?

Kabal: Former cop

Nightwolf: Once a cop, always a cop

Kabal: Not Stryker, he didn't even wanna join up in the first place

Nightwolf: You did

Kabal: Yes, well, we've established that I am an idiot

[i3utterflyeffect]

Imagine if they try to file a missing persons report from the computer once they start to get desperate

god-- i'm not sure they'd be able to though. they don't really know his address. and like, what. who are they going to talk to? the police?

[karnisalesfinge]

Não beba sem brindar!

[veshialles]

nooo, please let me tell these cops to fuck off, kinggath i thought you were cool what the hell guys

[gay-impressionist]

héhé 😏