#the tics take no prisoners

[archieimagines]

antidote | chishiya shuntaro

Summary: A doctor is a lifeline. In the Jack of Hearts game, Chishiya strives to be yours.

yeah, i took the physician reveal and ran with it. i tried to get into his head to portray him as well as i could in writing this and accidentally fell head over heels. let me know if i did him justice? warnings: large helpings of anxiety, chishiya-esque emotional manipulation, though affectionate. mentions of sex, fwb setup, my attempt at sounding medically educated. word count: 2741 requested by: anon (thank you so much for this brilliant idea, i loved getting stuck into it. i don’t write smut, but i hope this still gets you a little riled.) written by: archie support me on ko-fi

It’s human nature to fuck up. He should’ve known to expect it from you.

It was beginning to wear him down, your constant knee bouncing and nail biting since the third hour of this game. All he needed to do was watch. He was wildly curious to see how this would all play out, and he knew he was safe. Knew you were safe.

All things considered, it was a low-risk game: only trust was required, and he’d scored that easily by taking you under his wing. However, The idea of the Jack of Hearts was a poison injected into the bloodstream of the prison’s population. The symptoms of distrust and paranoia would migrate through the ranks, and the masses would spiral and die.

It was a simple game. The key was to not let your protector get infected.

But the symptoms were visibly taking a hold of you. The cafeteria table shook with your anxious tics, the water in your bottle sloshing enough to disrupt his attention on the surrounding cafeteria. He wouldn’t complain though. You weren’t annoying, no, but you could soon put him on edge if he let you spiral like this, and then he’d be infected too.

“Chishiya,” you called softly, clearly nervous to disrupt his spectating.

He didn’t tear his eyes from the scheming girl in the dress. She was particularly interesting in this setting; and by his deductions, not likely to be the Jack. “Hm?”

Your voice came meeker than normal. “What’s my suit again?”

He turned slowly, a brow quirked over a relaxed eye as he finally gave you his attention. “You forgot?”

“No. Just tell me.”

He sighed silently through his nose, calculating your thoughts. To ask this after he’d told you twice already, you must’ve been anxious about one of two things. One, that your addled mind would fool you into speaking the wrong suit. Or two, that you couldn’t trust him.

“Heart,” was all he said.

And you nodded. Your eyes hardened, clearly visualising the shape before your eyes. ‘Heart,’ he could practically see your mind reciting. ‘Heart.’

Or… Was that a calculating look? He flexed his jaw. Were you possibly tallying up the likelihood that he’d lied to you?

He focused on the accidental downturn of his lips. He shouldn’t be double reading you like that - his own intuition was the only concrete thing he had. He’d never been wrong before. He’d kept the both of you alive for this long based on his skill alone, and he’d not let your lives slip away in a measly Jack’s game.

With a slow blink, he made the conscious choice not to chip away at his own trust in himself, as was undeniably the Jack’s aim in this game.

Chishiya’s gaze lowered to where your fingertips danced on the tabletop. A heart shape. Over and over. Frantic, disturbed. You were slipping.

Against his better judgement, he reached out a hand to clasp over your fingers, quietly amused when those sweet, round eyes fixed on his face. You were so scared, so anxious, and the part inside of him that felt for you lit a soft smile on his lips.

You’d never been good at heart games with that anxious disposition, but that was why he’d kept you by his side. You were an easy window into the minds of his surroundings with how easily he could read you. Your distress on the outside showed blatantly the fear of the people in this game. Everyone under the roof would be feeling it. Even the Jack… Especially the Jack.

Chishiya had found you early on in the games-- only the two of you had survived the Six of Hearts. You were entirely integral to his methods of survival that day, so he stole you away to the Beach and was sure to never let you have a game without him. Losing you as the key to his readings would surely damn him someday. Yet somewhere along the line, he grew… fond.

It must’ve been your consistent proximity, he’d reasoned at first. How your constant being around became a sense of ‘normal’ for both he and Kuina, how your raw, unapologetic humanity was a refreshing shift in his life, how you were a brilliant vessel in the games.

He’d protect you, and you’d provide him the opposite perspective as the control in his readings where everyone else was the variable. The perfect symbiotic relationship in this land.

And perhaps that may have been the case. Perhaps that was the foundation for which he felt appreciative of you, the foundation for a so-called friendship. But it didn’t explain how you’d developed into more for him.

His hold on your fingers tightened, gaze fixed on them as he recalled how they’d thread through his hair, night after night. How they’d unzip his hoodie at the Beach. How they’d scramble to tug the sheets over your naked body when a militant barged through the unlockable door to call him into an executive meeting. He couldn’t help the huff of amusement at the thought. Your eyes were as sweet and panicked then as they were now.

But it wasn’t the same. There, you had the safety of the blankets in his room. A sanctuary. Here, you must’ve felt so exposed to the Jack’s poison. Knee bouncing beneath the table and water bottle gripped tight in one hand, what he could swear was a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You were really losing your nerve, and he needed to be your antidote.

“Follow me,” he murmured, his interest in the room’s population dissipated. With a gentle nod in a moment of reassurance, he let go of your fingers to let you take up your bottle of water and led you from the cafeteria.

His hands burrowed into his pockets as he walked. He took his slow time, sure to register his surroundings in his peripherals even as he gazed straight ahead, effortless as ever.

Your distinct footsteps followed close behind, audibly unsure and glancing around to the others as you tagged along. He knew you had no clue yet. You were playing it blind and suffering for it.

He took you aside into one of the prison’s meeting rooms where once upon a time, a board of directors would’ve gathered. They’d have administered handfuls of men’s fates, and they’d have considered them less than rats. Now this was where Chishiya would administer your own fate, purely because he held you dear.

He opened a palm to gesture to the end of the table. “Take a seat,” he spoke, ever relaxed, and watched you hop up onto the end of the table. It was rickety, chairs kicked and strewn about, the room only lit by the game-master’s searchlights that shone into the windows.

You looked far from comfortable perched up there, the glare lighting half of your face, and he found himself silent. He just looked at you for a moment. How beautiful you were.

He’d noticed many times, of course. The flutter of your lashes as you looked over his features in a fruitless attempt to read his face. Your parted lips channelling the oxygen that fuelled your body, though your lungs delivered it all shaky and uneven. You were stunning to him, even in the worst of times. Even when you were drenched in the crimson of lives you outlived.

But… There was something in this moment. Something about how right now, he was your lifeline. He held that beautiful existence in his hands and this time, he had the power to choose his method of helping. No supervisors to end your life with a swift letter, no list of priority to bump you down. Or at least, you were the priority.

“What is it?” You jerked him from his thoughts, your ankle bouncing once more where it swung below the table. “Chishiya?”

He gifted you a smile, but it didn’t soothe you.

Your eyes narrowed instead. “What are you hiding from me?”

A soft hum of laughter as he took slow, deliberate steps closer until he stood directly before you. A pinkness on your neck caught his eye and his head tipped in curiosity. He reached to slip a finger into your collar, lips pursed in question as he felt the irritated heat of your skin underneath. “Mm? Do you have a latex allergy?”

“Lat-? No.”

He pulled gently on the band at your neck, stepping even closer to peer at the line of irritation from the garment. It wasn’t until he finally removed his hold that he noted the moisture on his finger-- your sweat. The salt must have caught in the material and rubbed you raw, leading to irritation and the slightest blood spots beneath your skin.

“You’ve been pulling at the collar.”

“It’s tighter than when we started.”

Chishiya knew that wasn’t true. His was perfectly fine - comfortable, even - but he didn’t give a thought to argue. Your stress was having physical implications, making everything even worse for you. Anxiety really is a bitch, he mused.

“Water.” He held a hand out to the bottle and you placed it in his palm. His eyes fixed on yours as he opened it up-- and only at this point did he realise quite how close he was.

Your knees put a comfortable, familiar pressure on either side of his hips, his face uncommonly close to yours without the presence of a bed, but he had no intention of moving. He just took the space and owned it, relishing in the slightest hue of red that dusted your cheek, sure to notice it deepen as he raised your chin between his finger and thumb, guiding you to lift your face.

“This will be cold,” was all the warning he gave before trickling the water down your neck.

You hissed and jerked back, likely from the cold or the sting of the freshwater on your salted wounds. “Shit, Chishiya.”

He simply chuckled inwardly, lips hitched in a humoured smirk as he rinsed your skin. He let the little stream of water run across your throat, taking his time to work towards your other ear. His touch on your chin remained delicate as a doctor’s touch, directing you to look the other way for his ease.

This intimacy, he pondered. So rare in the home world. It was one thing to be a physician in a hospital, and another to use basic, opportunistic materials to heal someone who depended on him so wholly. A patient may fight to survive on their own accord, but here, in this game, with you… Everything rode on his word, on his actions. Everything.

A strange magnetism in his chest drew him ever closer to your skin, until his lips soon met the human warmth beneath your ear. It was a slow kiss, tender and deliberate, and he relished in how your body naturally leant into his.

His closed eyes let him hone on the quickened beat of your pulse, the ghost of a thrum against his lips. Your blood pumped the cortisol of your anxiety through the roof, and he remembered his mission to bring it back down, to calm you. He clung to this as a reason to retract from you. If this reaction was from his unsolicited affection, he should know better than to drive your adrenaline too high. 

“Don’t touch it anymore,” he prescribed, voice level and cool, giving no hint as to how hard it was to lean back from you. “The irritation will lessen and you can focus more.”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m focusing on,” you spat in a whisper, uncommonly callous with your words despite the pink to your cheeks as you watched him close the bottle cap once more. He’d seen you panic before in many a heart’s game, but not like this, not after his sparing affection. This game really was frying your nerves.

“Focus on keeping your head,” he murmured, the slightest snort slipping out after. “In every sense of the word.”

“Shut the fuck up, Chishiya.”

It was endlessly amusing to see you like this. The fire that came from your lips right now had never been rivalled before, and any regret he’d had at choosing a Heart’s game for you quickly dissipated. Fascinating to see you lose your mind.

But, he couldn’t toy with you too far. He allowed you to hear his chuckle, low and rumbling in his chest, only audible with the proximity he kept. “Sincerely. Focus on staying calm. All you need to do is trust me.”

“Not so easy in a place like this.”

He took the chance to look surprised. This was his opening to seal any of his own concerns about you. “You think I’d feed you the wrong suit?”

He paid careful attention to how you hesitated, watching the thoughts dance their patterns behind your eyes. You were looking at him without seeing him, close enough that he could see his reflection in your irises. Calculations, calculations, ones that you so visibly struggled to work out. Would he dare tell you the wrong suit? Would it be out of choice or pre-emptive, lest you try to end him first, purely because you’d worried?

Moments passed, and the longer it went on, the more his worries tugged at his thoughts. He needed to prove himself to you to save his own skin. Both of your skins.

His hands settled lightly on your lower thighs, set snug on either side of his hips, and he gave a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to worry,” he murmured, voice low and soothing as butter on a wound, “We’ll survive this together.”

That endearing little tug between your brows encouraged him on, and he couldn’t help but take your chin in his hold again. To hold that sweet face, so trusting, so impressionable. He watched the hope shine in your features before turning your face the slightest degree, exposing your ear once more, to which he leant in. His breath just tickled your lobe as his nose nudged on your shell, words slow and deliberate. “I know who the Jack is.”

The change in your body language was instant. You jumped back to peer at his face, brows high and eyes wide, no longer slouched and dejected. Your hand gripped at his white jacket, fisted into the fabric to keep him close as you murmured, “Really?”

A slow nod. Relaxed eyes and knowing smirk shone in the searchlight, and he planned his next words carefully. He didn’t want you to know who his suspects were, in case you gave anything away and steered the game from its natural course. “I have two suspects, it’s just down to seeing which fails first.”

The elation in his chest at seeing your relief was disorienting. The way you sighed out with almost a laugh, head thrown back to let it escape you… It was an image he wouldn’t forget for a long time. The serenity of his antidote, saving you from the Jack’s poison.

His brows shot up as you snatched his shoulders into a tight, relieved hold, thighs tight on his waist and arms looped around his neck. Your face pressed into the junction of his shoulder, nestled against his hair. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, edging on tears. “You worked it out? I should’ve known. I should’ve!”

He didn’t say anything, only astounded that you might be so liberal in your affections outside his hotel room. But then, he did bridge that gap first. And there were no regrets. He allowed himself to indulge in it, his own arms finding their home around your waist and his nose in your hair. Of course it was a trick of psychological conditioning, but if he focused just right, he could almost smell the residue of chlorine from the days at the Beach.

He indulged in splaying a hand across your back, rubbing soothing circles over your form. This body… He knew the ins and outs of it. He knew where every mole dotted your skin, he could estimate the length of your lower ribs without flaw. His thumb pressed slow pulses in the flesh between the back of your ribs, imagining that he’d place his stethoscope there.

What a sound he’d hear. Each breath, the source of your survival.

Would it be too arrogant to consider himself such a thing too?

[my-darling-boy]

It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

[thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask]

Just curious in the prison AU how did the character yk react when being arrested? I’ve seen a few videos and some people like yk resist arrest or like make it difficult for the cops to load them into the car and others just kinda let it happen? I’m just curious on how much of a struggle did the cops have when trying to arrest the proxy’s/pastas

THIS MAY INCLUDE SPOILERS FOR FUTURE PARTD OF THE PRISON AU, IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE, SCROLL PAST.

I like to think the proxies got raided, so I'm going to take some inspo from my Insane Asylum AU

Maybe Toby left a piece of evidence that led the cops right to them. For this mission, the Proxies were staying in a motel. It was the middle of the night, Toby's watching lord knows what, Hoodie's looking at some photographs he took of the victims, and Masky's smoking outside. But, as Masky's smoking, he sees bunch of cop cars in the distance. He'd run inside and tell them that they gotta leave now.

However, they got caught. Hoodie would probably be the most willing. Hoodie's the most logical of the group and he knows damn well that he isn't going to get away unless they all have a plan. He'd have the most annoyed look on his face but he wouldn't do anything.

Toby almost gotta away. Toby's had so many run ins with the cops, starting back when he was a late teenager. He would've gotten away to if his tics didn't start to act up like crazy. He'd be screaming, maybe bite a cop or two, they wouldn't definitely put a muzzle on him because he'd been sent to jail before, as mentioned in Part 1.

Masky is similar to Hoodie where he's more so annoyed then anything. But, I can see him being extremely paranoid about what the Operator and Slenderman are going to react, not even Kate has gotten caught and she works alone. He'd curse out the cops, but during the car ride, he'd be mumbling to himself, and maybe even have a panic attack.

Now to everyone else!

Ben, Jeff, and EJ were also caught together. They were all hanging out in a cabin where Jeff killing the current residents. However, Jeff had left a piece of evidence at one of his old crime scenes that led the cops to them.

EJ was dissecting one of the people Jeff killed with Ben looming over him, smoking a blunt while asking him hundreds of questions. Jeff would come over and now all of them are looming over this dead guy's body, his stomach cut open with his kidneys ripped out.

I just wanna note that these guys were the hardest to find because they're not always together, EJ eats the evidence, Ben's killings rarely leave a mark on the real world, and Jeff is good at what he does.

When the door got kicked in, the cops stared at the three in horror.

Since Ben was high as hell, he'd start laughing while saying they were fucked. Might I add, if Ben wasn't high, the three of them deadass could've escaped no problem because the cabin had a TV.

Ben was caught first and he'd be laughing, yelling "Fuck the police" while spitting on the floor. The most unserious motherfucker.

EJ killed a good chunk of the cops, but then his hunger kicked in. He ended up eating a cop, but he was able to get knocked out because of it.

Jeff got carried away and got knocked out as well.

Liu's arrest was actually recorded on live TV.

After going on a minor killing spree in a city he was in, he was seen in the background of some guy's livestream.

Liu's identity was roughly unknown by the police, and they had a few sketches of what he might look like, and unfortunately for him, they had one that was really close.

When Liu realized he was being followed by a helicopter and a few police cars, he booked it. The entire chase was live, and in broad daylight too.

He ended up cornering himself after he ran into an abandoned building. When he realized he was caught, he just sat down and waited for the cops to catch up.

When the cops walked in, they saw him sitting on top of a crate, his head facing the floor as he spinned a knife in his hand, humming a lullaby to pass the time. Tbh with you, he let himself get caught. When Jeff found out, he was so fucking pissed off. When he saw him enter the inmates ward, he yelled and playfully hit him for 30 minutes straight, Liu couldn't care less tho.

[automaticmercy]

Anyways something I’ve been musing for a while is ES Megatron being accidentally extremely charming. When he’s not his usual angry, tyrannical self, he’s so well spoken, and as of recent he’s been trying harder to be nicer, more patient, with the ones around him.

He’s even learning to be nice ! It’s a start.

It’s a rough idea where the former Decepticon prisoners and the Autobots call a temporary truce , and room together at the former Ghost headquarters - cue ridiculous harem-trope scenes ofc ofc.

Megatron , completely by accident , feeding into exactly what everyone needs - whether they know they need it or not.

Shockwave who is struggling with his feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty in, well, everything, vs Megatron who has been practicing giving out praise where it’s due.

“You made this? It’s brilliant, Shockwave.”

And Megatron doesn’t say it in that sappy, kiss-up tone, he means it when he says it , and Shockwave just kind of. Stares at him. Expressionless as he is , you wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance , but he is just SO pleased. And confused. He tries to ignore it and push the feelings down, but Megatron just /keeps/ complimenting him and praising him + Shockwave just slowly getting used to it and even seeking out his praise. Megatron is the first to see any new scientific discoveries he makes , and showers him with well earned praise. All the while Megatron just thinks he’s making up for old wounds, and being a good friend, meanwhile Shockwave is experiencing what the organics call ‘butterflies’ in his midsection.

Soundwave , all bitter and angry and doing his best to be detached vs Megatron who’s very patient and attentive etc. One time , Soundwave couldn’t find Ravage. He looked all over HQ and she was still nowhere to be found. Only for Megatron to appear with her in tow, explaining they were both eager to stretch their legs , and had gone for a walk. Soundwave who only glares and walks away with Ravage, not even sparing a word to his former leader.

But Megatron doesn’t take this as a deliberate insult - Soundwave has always been a less-than-talkative mech anyway. Anyways, he keeps going for walks with Ravage , and sometimes even Frenzy and Laserbeak join them . Soundwave who gets all possessive because who the hell is Megatron to be attending to /his/ cassette’s needs ?

Soundwave eventually joining them on their walks and finding he actually really enjoys them. For the first two outings, none of them say a word. The third time though, Megatron is the first to break the silence, and eventually Soundwave warms up to one word responses. Megatron, who is thrilled to have his former TIC talking to him again, begins to talk… a lot. And Soundwave just listens. Sometimes even offering up not one, not two, but three word responses ! Eventually their outings become a routine, and at some point, the little cassettes stop attending and it’s just Megatron and Soundwave, walking along a cement path as the sun sets in the distance. Megatron making some half-thought out comment that Soundwave is a lot like the moon, gleaming and silent - its usefulness and beauty often underappreciated. Etc. and Megatron spewing out an apology for underappreciating Soundwave in the past - being all sincere and genuinely sympathetic. Though, most of his words are unheard, seeing as Soundwave is short circuiting because Megatron just insinuated that he was beautiful.

And Starscream, too, will fall victim to these silly harem tropes. I’ve been thinking he takes way longer to even look Megatron in the optics - watching from afar as he ‘shamelessly flirts’ with the rest of the former Decepticons , insisting that he himself won’t fall for such obvious tricks and lies.

Anyways, Starscream who still gets all nervous in Megatron’s presence, though he swallows this all down and hides it with his impressive anger. Vs Megatron who just sighs and relents, keen to leave the little seeker to his lonesome etc. lest he invoke his wrath and ruin what little semblance of peace they harbored

Hashtag, just wanting to help ofc ofc , keeps setting up moments for Megatron and Starscream to meet ‘accidentally’. She’d seen it in a movie , when two friends are fighting and yet keep accidentally meeting, eventually learning to their reconciliation.

It doesn’t end so well the first few times, ofc, but they’re slowly getting somewhere!

One of the times, they end up in an elevator alone, and Starscream is glaring holes into the floor buttons. Hashtag had synced into the HQ’s WiFi and activated every button. Damn this place for having so many floors.

“So…” Megatron begins and Starscream holds up his servo in a ‘stop’ motion. Telling him not to even start. That he wont fall victim to his lies too, that he isn’t as much a fool as everyone else is.

“They may believe you’ve changed, but I know you - I know you haven’t changed a single thing, besides the insignia you bear.” And Megatron just stands there stupidly for a while, mulling over a thousand responses. His first instinct is to argue and defend himself but Starscream clearly doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to listen to that. When the elevator dings it’s on the second to last stop, Megatron sighs. “I’m sorry, Starscream.”

It’s a shitty apology, yeah, but it’s a start. “Save it.” Starscream would snap , and as soon as the doors slid open, he’d storm out of the elevator.

And from that moment on , every time Megatron runs into Starscream, he already has a speech of an apology ready. Starscream, at first, just gets angrier and angrier every time he hears that pathetic word drip from his former leader’s vocalizer. As if ‘sorry’ would fix anything !

But eventually , ofc , it starts to work. Starscream who lingers just long enough to hear the end of Megatron’s speech of atonement, but leaves without a word.

Around the fifth apology though, Starscream asks “how many times are you going to try and trick me with this ‘apology’?” And grumbles something about never, ever forgiving Megatron. That no mere apology would ever atone for everything. And Megatron just hums. “I dont seek your forgiveness, Starscream. I will apologize as many times as you like, for the rest of my life cycle if you’d like, and you dont ever have to forgive me even a little bit.”

Starscream just cant understand why his former leader would sink so low, this was a humiliating performance, and yet… it was charming in its own way.

Anyways, I have not fully fleshed it out but some stupid, cheesy scene where Starscream trips and falls next to Megatron but before he can kiss the floor with his pretty face, Megatron catches him - by the waist. And when he resettles Starscream on his pedes, his touch lingers, and Starscream's processor seems to fizzle out of coherency.

Agh, big, dumb, charming Megatron is my weakness I tell you. I want nice Earth spark Megatron. Someday, I'll get around to writing this hehe.

[yandere-wishes]

𝟙:𝟘𝟘 𝕒𝕞 Dottore x reader

Synopsis: Dottore isn't the best at words, especially when it's past midnight and you both have an assignment due first thing in the morning. Yet as the clock tics onwards, he grows a bit bolder. 

Notes: I'm trying a new writing style so please let me know what you think. 

Editor: The wonderful @tealyjade-libran

💙🔹💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹

There's blood on his hands again. Just like yesterday and the day before that. Limp body drowning in a sea of half-done lab reports, and suicide notes, and love letters. Desperate words scribbled on warn notepads come to life to haunt him. 

The dorm light overhead scorches his eyes. He thinks it's divine punishment on the utmost microscopic level. He feels so sick of playing mortal. So sick of the Akademiya that treats them like feeble rats.

 and still, he calls it home, 

Dottore's gaze lingers on your hunched figure. Matted hair and clouded eyes. Scrawling away at another assignment that's due upon first bell. 

There's an unspeakable fatigue that lays heavily on your bones. Something that neither sleep nor furlough will fix. 

You're tired

So is he. 

1:30  am

There’s blood under his fingernails from clawing away at beakers and graduated cylinders. Desperate to have something to show, when morning comes. Something cohesive enough that his dreaded professors may finally see that his frantic hypotheses hold some bearings. 

your wry eyes stare at him like he's an archon, a primordial deity. Like he's death frozen in a prison overrun with blooming life and wildflowers 

The desk you two share is a mess. Border blurred between medical science and sociology. Where does the human body end and the mind begin? Where does logic decay and love take over? 

What's the purpose of a heart anyway?

To sustain or to guide?

He wonders if you love him.

He doubts it.  

2:15 am 

There's blood slipping from between the cracks in his flesh. 

You cradle his palm in your hand. Wrapping a cloth around the wound. 

He wonders if you could do the same for the lacerations he hides behind sharp comments and blood-red eyes. When you touch him so tenderly he remembers he has a name, a body, a soul. 

He remembers he's not just rogue fragments of past lives haunting a walking husk. He's Zandik, he's Dottore, he's everything you need him to be. 

He tries to kiss you. 

You turn away. 

2:55 am 

there's blood slithering down his lips, his chin, his throat.

You grasp at his heart, molding the darkness in your likeness. To him you are light. Not that he's seen the sun in days. 

"You're beautiful" he mutters, hoping you hear him as you lay on the bathroom floor. 

Ice-cold water sprinkles along his flesh as he tries to wash away the blood, the stress,  the stubborn ache caught between his muscles. 

This is intimacy, right? Not quite love, but a speck more than friendship. 

You laugh at him from behind the blue shower curtain. A haunted, hollow noise. "Beauty doesn't matter much around here" you replied as you hand him his towel. 

You switch places. Cold showers keep the sleep away. Or so you've heard. 

"You're beautiful" you call after him.

Dottore thinks he hears you say something. Or maybe it's all the memorized data finally getting to him.

3:30 am

There's blood on his lips as he kisses you.

He wonders what you see him as.

A lover or a killer.

It's late and there are too many emotions to keep track of. 

So you kiss, the final solution to an otherwise unsolvable query.

Deep and desperate. Teeth clashing and hearts melting as you both hopelessly search for the answer to all your woes.

Dottore leans down to kiss you again, he tastes of dying stars and burning metal.

somewhere a santoor plays a lone tune. Haunting the dormitory halls. 

Dottore watches as you dance. Some botched replica of your eon-long traditions. He thinks it's funny how you're the prettiest girl in Teyvat. He thinks it's funny how he's the most monstrous thing to crawl out of the abyss. 

You kiss again. This time with precise calculations and perfect time. 

'I love you'

you both long to say.

4:00 am 

There’s blood on his tongue, in his mouth, in his lungs. All he can think of is how much he needs you. How much he wants you. 

There are so many pieces of you that he's been preserving inside himself. 

Enjoying the sensation of glass entering skin as he impales himself with your shards.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. Tugging to try and make him feel your pain. 

The Akadimiya is no place for love, you think as Dottore kisses the veins on your arm. Do you want him or do you need him?

There's still a lab report on the effect of neurological suppressants on vision wielders to complete. 

There's still a four-page essay on the effect of broken cultural ties on Sumeru's populace to complete.

4:30 pm 

there's blood on your dormitory floor. Pristine royal red and something more. Yasmin is the first to find it and you wonder if that makes all the difference in the world. You beg her to stay silent and she's too scared to decline. The pool of maroon evidence of some sort of love declared between two exhausted university students. 

You like to think of it as a promise ring. 

You can't deny Dottore of anything. Be it love or anything else, not in the mornings when you're semi-lucid and definitely not at night when you're too muddled to care about anything. 

Dottore is destined for misery, not enlightenment. Knowing this you'll be sure to let him drag you down if he so desires. 

He may as well fall into the abyss and you'll leap in after him. 

You think the two of you confessed last night. Kissed until the breath in your lungs and fire in your loins had been exhausted. You're too exhausted from today's lectures to recall fully. 

Still, you're heart races as he enters the room. Steps in the puddle and trudges towards you. Firm hands on your shoulders as you kiss again to the beat of the afternoon sun. 

This is love you think as your eyelids grow heavier. 

This is love he thinks as he spills his research into your veins. 

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vod'ika! Congratulations for the followers!

An idea au medieval + mystic au: the jedi are sorcerers, the sith idk warlocks and the kaminoans alchemists who made the clones as mythical "extint" beings (unicorns, dragons, basilisks, rocs, kelpies, thunderbirds, griffins, amphithere, cerberus, phoenixes cofcofnobodydiesinmydreamlandactuallyallarephoenixesaucofcof, pick your poison, etc). So much races there is NOT almost two clones of the same races and they have to teach themselves about their "tics", soul/mates, powers.

...Actually all this was coming to ask you something romantic diabetic angsty soulmatey loveyoubutdontwannahurtyou maybe smutty with some commander but. chop. I let myself happy in the chimerical knighty knights angsty tall dark handsome beings and its 5am I've been awake for more than 32 hours and I wanted to share the idea.

Immortal Flames

Summary: Your life has always been rather…normal. Average, even. You go to school, you go to your internship, you go home, and that’s it. The only thing special about you is how average you are. And yet, three years ago, you were kidnapped from your life by a Sorcerer who calls himself Sideous. And you’ve been his prisoner ever since. Luckily, you’re not alone here.

Pairing: Commander Thire x F!Reader

Word Count: 2407

Warnings: Spice, suggestive

Prompts: Mystic AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I didn't follow your prompt to the letter, but I think I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you like it too!

Over the last three years, you’ve learned how to view your cell as your home. When you first arrived, the room had a bed, a wardrobe, and an attached bathroom and that was it.

Since then, you’ve managed to gather things to make your cell more homey.

Books about the world that you live in now. Broken trinkets that you pulled from the trash and repaired to use as decoration. Maps of this new world. Some plants that had been tossed for not thriving, but seem to be doing well enough under your care.

You’re not happy.

You can’t even claim to be content.

But you’re okay.

Well, as okay as you can be seeing as you were kidnapped and enslaved by a sorcerer.

Absently, you flip through one of your many books. Carefully, because the pages are falling out, and have been since you found it, you flip to the section dedicated to the variety of magical creatures that are common.

Phoenixes, Dragons, Harpies, Selkies—

Creatures you never thought existed, and yet, over the last three years, you’ve met all of them.

In fact, you even work with some of them.

Marshal Commander Fox is a dragon, though he rarely takes his true form. He can’t due to the cold iron manacle wrapped around his wrist. He told you that it traps him in his human form.

Commander Thorn is a Selkie, or so he told you with a wry little smile. He also admitted that Palpatine stole his coat to keep him in his human form, claiming that his selkie form wasn’t useful enough.

Commander Stone is a Harpy. His wings are stunning, longer than you are tall (and while you’re no Amazonian, you’re not petite either), and the most stunning tawny color. Tragically, his wings are clipped on a bi-weekly basis so he can’t fly away.

You asked him, once, if having his wings clipped hurt, and he just smiled at you and tugged on your bangs, without answering.

Which, really, is an answer in and of itself.

And finally is Commander Thire, a phoenix. Like Fox, he’s stuck wearing a manacle keeping him from transforming. Unlike Fox, however, there are some aspects to Thire that are clearly magical.

Like his eyes, which alternate between vibrant orange and glittering gold, depending on his mood. And the way that he’s always warm.

You’re not ashamed to admit that you’re closer to Thire than you are to the others, largely because he doesn’t look at you with pity. Fox always looks guilty when he sees you, Thorn and Stone look at you like they’re at your funeral.

It doesn’t make for an easy friendship, to put it mildly.

You look up from your book when there’s a knock on your door, and then it swings open. A small smile lifts your lips when you see Thire standing in the doorway.

“Morning, cyar’ika,” He says cheerfully, his golden eyes shifting to a flickering orange color. 

“It’s not morning, Thire.” You reply as you close your book to slide it back into its place on the rough-looking shelf, and then get to your feet, “You just got stuck working nights, so your sense of time is skewed.”

“I prefer working nights, it means I don’t have to deal with anyone.” He steps into your home and shuts the door behind him. Absently he flips the lock.

After a year of your imprisonment here, you were allowed some modicum of freedom, in the sense that you are no longer locked in your cell at night, and you have the right to lock the door when you want to sleep.

You’re grateful for the privacy, even if everything else sucks.

Thire walks over to you, pausing only long enough to set his helmet on the table, and he slides his arms around you in a loose hug. He rests his chin on the top of your head and you slide your arms around his waist.

“How was your day, cyare?” He asks.

You press your cheek against his chest plate, able to feel the warmth of him even through the metal, and you shrug. “Uneventful, I guess. Dooku was here, and you know how exacting he is.”

Thire’s arms tighten around you slightly, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Palpatine would never allow it, you know I’m his most prized possession.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your voice, but you’re completely serious. Palpatine’s acquisition of you involved a, seemingly impossible, feat of magic.

After all, how else would he have been able to kidnap a college student from Manhattan, when Manhattan doesn’t exist in this world?

Thire sighs and you feel his lips press against the top of your head, “You’re not a possession.”

“He disagrees.”

“Yeah, well. Palpatine can take his opinion, and shove it up his—”

“Thire!”

You feel his chuckle, and he pulls away so he’s able to look at you. There’s something soft on his face, and, when he brings his hand up to cup your cheek, you lean into his touch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask.

“Like what? This is how I always look at you.”

“Is not,”

“Is too.”

Slowly Thire leans in and bumps his forehead against yours, and his free hand moves to cradle your cheek as well.

“Thire?”

“I promise,” He murmurs, “I will get you out of this.”

You blink at him, honestly surprised, and then you sigh and press your hands over his, “I don’t want to go anywhere without you and the others, Thire.”

He sighs, and his breath fans across your face, “Cyare,”

“I have no idea how to survive in this world, Thire. I need you.”

His eyes close, and a laugh, almost helpless sounding, falls from him. “We have so many brothers who can help you. Who can take care of you—” He tries.

“No. I want you. Only you.”

You’re surprised when you see his eyes change color, speeding through a wide variety of colors before settling on a vibrant blue. Vaguely, you remember your old science teacher telling you that a blue flame is one of the hottest flames out there. 

“Thire? Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re eyes turned blue,”

He looks surprised for a moment, and then he lightly bumps his nose against yours, “That makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” His smile is still soft, “It does.” His thumbs smooth against your cheeks, and he scans your face for a moment, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Your face heats, and you avert your gaze shyly, “I’m not sure why, I’m just me.”

“Just you is just perfect.” Thire murmurs, he gently pulls your gaze back to him. Quickly, he glances at the clock sitting on the desk next to his helmet, and then he leans in and catches your lips in a soft, almost chaste, kiss. 

You lean into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he breaks the kiss, and then dives right back in to kiss you again and again.

“Let me love you, cyare.”

And, really, how could you say anything other than yes?

Every touch of his hands against you is reverent. Thire slides your clothes off and drops them to the side, his gaze never leaving your face, as if he doesn’t want to see anything other than the look on your face.

When he drags his lips down your throat, he whispers how much he loves you, how much he wants you to be his.

When he lays you down in your bed and positions himself over you, and you thread your fingers through his hair to pull him closer, he kisses you as if he needs you to forget everything that isn’t him.

And when you’re both bare and he’s easing himself inside you, and you gasp out that you love him and never want to leave him, he smiles at you and threads your fingers with his own. 

He keeps himself flush against you, not leaving any space at all, as he breaks you down and remakes you, over and over.

At the end of the night, as he spills his release deep inside you, and gasps out his love for you against your lips, there’s a minor burning in your wrist, where yours is pressed against his.

The birth of your soul mark, a golden phoenix taking flight.

Thire has an identical mark on his wrist. And, even blissed out as he is, there’s no mistaking the look of guilt on his handsome face.

But before you can ask him what’s wrong, he kisses you and tells you that he loves you, and soothes you to sleep with the gentlest touch of his magic.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Thire’s voice, “I love you so much, cyare. And I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Commander Wolffe has been having a bad time over the last five years.

First, there is the problem of the war. Second, there’s the fact that his twin, and several younger brothers, have vanished and no one knows where they are. Third, there’s the fact that there was a strange surge of magic three years ago that, apparently, still hasn’t caused anything.

Needless to say, Wolffe has been in a perpetual bad mood for a while now.

“Hm,” He glances at his General, a Wizard named Plo Koon, who seems to be watching the forest around them with no small amount of interest, “Commander, I think we are going to stop here.”

“Here? Why?” Wolffe asks. 

“I have a feeling that this is where we need to be.”

Honestly, Wolffe just wants to go home and see what, if anything, Cody has learned about Fox, but he’s not about to go against his General. “Fine. I’m going for a walk before I bite someone’s head off.”

“Of course, Commander.” General Koon replies kindly, before he turns to another one of his brothers, Comet, probably. Based on the minor sensation of static that makes his hair stand on end.

Wolffe shakes his head and heads into the forest, following the scent of fresh water. If nothing else, he can soak his sore feet in the water.

He slows to a stop as he approaches the lake.

A woman is kneeling next to the water, and though the water almost drowns out all noises, Wolffe can hear her sniffling and her muffled sobs.

He takes a step closer, his sharp gaze taking her in. 

Her feet are bare, though he can’t smell any blood, so she’s either been careful to avoid briars and rocks, or she hasn’t been out here long. Her skirt does have dust on it, but no mud, so she couldn’t have been out here for more than a night.

It rained two nights ago.

The wind shifts, blowing her scent right into his face, and Wolffe freezes. 

She smells like Thire and, more faintly, like Fox, Stone, and Thorn.

He moves to approach her but carelessly steps on a branch, causing it to snap under his boot, and she whirls around. Her eyes are wide with terror and rimmed red, and there are tear stains on her face.

She scrambles to her feet and backs away from him.

And Wolffe sees, clear as day, that if he lets her run off he’s never going to see his twin again.

“Wait! Wait, wait.” He holds his hands up, showing that he’s unarmed, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Now that she’s standing, Wolffe can see clear signs that she must have been a slave somewhere. That, or she was a hostage. It would explain her terror.

She takes a step back, her eyes darting from one side to the other.

Wolffe holds his hands out, and then slowly, without taking his eyes off her, tugs his helmet off. “My name is Wolffe, I think you know some of my brothers.”

Her lower lip wobbles and her tears return with a vengeance.

Kriff.

“It’s alright. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.” Wolffe says as he approaches her, and thankfully, this time, she doesn’t run.

Quickly, he ushers her back to the camp and all but shoves her on General Koon, who is much better equipped at dealing with emotional women, especially emotional, traumatized women, and he makes a tactical retreat.

Later, several hours later, after the woman was tended to, and was allowed to tell her story to General Koon, Wolffe returned to his General’s tent.

The woman is asleep on a spare cot, bundled up in several different blankets, with her soul mark clearly displayed on her wrist.

General Koon gazes at the slumbering woman for a moment, and then gently ushers Wolffe out of the tent. They say nothing for a time, and then General Koon looks at him, “Do you remember the burst of magic three years ago?”

“Of course. But it didn’t seem to do anything.”

“The magic brought her here, to this world.” General Koon says quietly, “She won’t tell me her name, but she said that she’ll tell us what she can about the man who kidnapped her.”

Wolffe is quiet for a moment, “And my brothers?”

“According to her, they’re being held together. She thinks that they worked together to get her out.”

“Why?”

General Koon is quiet for a moment, “Thire is a phoenix, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You saw the marking on her wrist.”

Wolffe exhales slowly. Her being Thire’s chosen soul mate would encourage them to help her escape. Only—

“She was crying.”

“Yes. Thire used magic to make her sleep and then smuggled her out. She’s rather upset about it. Enough that she won’t talk about it.”

“She’ll help us get them back?”

“I think that nothing would make her happier.” General Koon pauses for a moment, “I need you to send word to the Council. Tell them about what we found and what she’s willing to discuss with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

General Koon nods once, “I have to go back to watching over her. She’s been a slave for the last three years and isn’t from this world. She’s going to need help.”

Wolffe watches his General retreat into the tent, and then he turns to send word to Cody. For the first time in years, he has hope that he might see his twin again.

[heyitsmirae]

Nanami, it’s time [JJK fanfic]

Chapter Title: Time to go Word Count: 1,960 Synopsis: We all know that moment when Kento Nanami gets torched by Jogo, and you know what comes next… well I know we all want to turn back time and undo that moment. This is a retelling of that part in the story, with something different added to it. Nanami has a wife (you!) who is also a Jujutsu Sorcerer with a unique power, and they both want out of the Jujutsu Society forever. Pairing: Kento Nanami x Reader Content Warning: none YET, but in the succeeding chapters, there WILL be smut, I’m warning you all because I’m writing this while I’m ovulating lol horny JJK fans unite Notes: I had help from ChatGPT to generate a unique JJK-verse Cursed Technique without it being too OP or copying from an existing character, so thank you chatgpt lol, see the end part for a detailed explanation of the technique

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NANAMI’S POV

A minute ago, I, Naobito Zenin, Megumi Fushiguro, and Maki Zenin were all standing on a beach, the domain of the Cursed Spirit Dagon, watching the new arrival of a strong, frenzied man who had zero Cursed Energy, who was beating the daylights out of the domain owner.

The next thing I knew, we were back in the station at Shibuya, staring at the lifeless body of the octopus creature whose domain obviously crumbled upon his death at the hand of the man in the sweatshirt.

The same man who is now walking towards us with a glint of madness in his eye.

“Is he on our side...?” I thought, mentally preparing myself to battle this man in case he wasn’t.

Suddenly, two things simultaneously happened.

The man wearing a sweatshirt suddenly dragged Fushiguro-kun and flung him out the window, and another Cursed Spirit with an insane amount of Cursed Energy appeared without warning next to the corpse of Dagon.

He looked odd, almost comical, with the shape of his head looking like a volcano, complete with the top billowing off small amounts of steam. But we all knew he was dangerous.

“Dagon, I’ll take it from here. Leave the rest to me, we’ll meet again in the wastelands, one hundred years from now. Now then…” the Cursed Spirit said, turning to face all of us.

In a split second, he was by my side, touching my abdomen and glaring at me.

I barely had time to register what was happening when suddenly, I felt the familiar presence of a Cursed Energy, one whose presence I had not wanted to be in this place at all, not especially in this moment.

Time seemed to slow down as I saw my wife running towards me, worry evident in her light brown eyes.

“Y/N, my love, why are you here? Weren’t you supposed to be in Osaka? It’s dangerous here!” is what I willed my mouth to speak, but the words aren’t coming out.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. My mind can’t process it that quickly, but somewhere, somehow, I knew this was the power of her Cursed Technique, Chrono-Warping.

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READER’S POV

I read and reread Principal Yaga’s text message to me, sent about an hour ago.

Y/N, you should come to Shibuya as soon as you can. It seems we will need all hands on deck to handle the Special Grade curses wreaking havoc. You may join your husband in the rescue mission to retrieve Gojo, who was sealed in Prison Realm. Resume your current mission once this crisis is averted.

I willed the bullet train to go even faster, bouncing my knee up and down in a nervous tic as I run a hand through my hair.

“Knowing Kento, he’ll probably do his best to protect the students and his kohai, Ino. He might even get hurt from that chivalrous attitude of his.” I muttered under my breath.

Which is one of the things I love and hate about Kento Nanami.

It’s not that I don’t trust his abilities to get him through the battle at Shibuya. It’s that I know how overprotective he is of the younger Jujutsu Sorcerers (and of me), he’ll always go above and beyond to protect them at the risk of his own life.

The next stop, Shibuya.

“Fucking finally. I’m gonna age from waiting in this damn train.” I said, apparently rather loudly, since the couple seated in front of me turned to look at me with their eyebrows raised.

“Eh, who cares what they think. I’m used to the stares and the discrimination.” I thought.

I was a foreigner, half Japanese, half (your nationality), in fact. Despite my living here for almost three decades and speaking Japanese with a perfect accent, my features will never be Japanese enough for me to be treated the same as the “locals”.

It was one of the things that brought me closer to my husband, in fact. Standing 6 feet tall and with obvious Western features, he certainly stood out in the crowd. The locals here do not like individuals who stand out, so we both experienced discrimination of sorts, even within the Jujutsu society.

While I wait for the train to arrive at the station, I let my mind wander at a conversation Kento and I had before we were married.

“How does it not bother you, Kento. That old man was just downright rude to you!”

“I remind myself that they do not personally know me and that anything they say or do to me is based on a prejudice they have preconceived in their minds. Since they do not know the real me, nor do they have any special meaning to me, I do not let their words and actions affect me. It’s a waste of time.”

That man is wise beyond his years. His words back then struck a chord in me, as someone who’s always let other people dictate my mood and let their words affect me. I’ve always been like a sponge that just absorbs all the positive and negative things around me. Kento has taught me so much, both as a jujutsu sorcerer and as a person.

Due to an unexpected issue at our next station, the train will now be stopping. All passengers are requested to leave the wagon with their personal belongings and follow the station superintendent, who will guide you to the nearest emergency exit. I repeat… due to…

This is bad, bad enough that the Shibuya station is closed.

Once the train doors were opened, I jumped out and ran as fast as I could, ignoring the gasps of the people as they saw me jump down and run onto the train tracks.

“Please be safe, please be safe, oh gods please be safe.” I said as I ran, clinging onto these words like a lifeline.

I sensed so many powerful Cursed Spirits and Cursed Energy in the station ahead. Willing myself to concentrate on the one Cursed Energy that I’m very much familiar with, I stopped running and closed my eyes.

There he is! A few hundred meters below me.

I hurried towards the emergency escape ladder and onto the B2 level of the train station platform. Then I saw them. The Cursed Spirit standing over the body of another Cursed Spirit, my husband, Naobito-san, and two Jujutsu High students.

“Chrono-Warping Technique: Temporal Manipulation!”

Time slowed for everyone else, except for me. I only have a few minutes until my body gets taxed from using this technique, or until I accidentally create a time loop, so I have to make good use of it.

The volcano head Cursed Spirit moved too fast; in fact, it was already in front of my husband by the time I got there. I’m not a Cursed Tool user, so I don’t have any weapons, but I think my hands are enough.

I grabbed the volcano head spirit and flung him together with that man who was holding onto one of the students by the collar.

Quickly switching their positions, I half carry, half dragged back the kid to the position where the Cursed Spirit was, and snapped my fingers to let the regular flow of time back.

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NANAMI’S POV

Blinking, I stared down at Megumi Fushiguro in confusion, who was looking just as confused as I was.

“Nanami-san…?” Megumi asked dazedly.

“Kento!”

Her voice is like breathing in fresh air after staying in the sewers for a long time, or like seeing the ocean stretch endlessly over the horizon at dawn after a long year without vacation.

She was a force of nature, this woman. My radiant sanctuary that keeps me anchored, a beacon of love and resilience in this unforgiving world of curses, her presence a soothing balm to my battle-weary soul.

“My love, what are you doing here? Weren’t you – ” I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence as I rest my cheek on her head, breathing in her scent and wrapping my arms around her body.

“Principal Yaga briefed me on what was going on here. He said all hands on deck were needed. Of course I had to come here, love.” she murmured. Her hands were patting my back gently, but then she broke off the hug to look at me sternly.

“Look at you, your favorite shirt was ripped. These cuts, I can’t…” She reached for her pocket and brought out a small handkerchief, wiping the cut on my forehead as her brow wrinkled into a frown.

“It’s nothing, look, love, we all aren’t safe here yet.” I said, trying to appease her worry by making light of my current physical state.

A loud AHEM startles us both.

“Yes, ahem, well, if you both are quite finished being lovey-dovey, I should very much like to leave this station and get my arm treated by Dr. Shoko.” Naobito said gruffly.

We turned to look at the others, who were all averting their gazes from us, looking shy and embarrassed to witness our moment.

I cleared my throat as well, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks as my wife gently tended to my injuries, ignoring everyone else stoically.

“We won’t do much good to anyone, much less rescue Gojo and all the non-sorcerers here in Shibuya, if we’re injured. Let’s go find Ieri-san and get treatment for our wounds.” I said in a deadpan tone.

I could feel a different energy radiate from my wife, and I felt a sweat drop from my brow.

“Is she mad that I got this much injured? Is she scared? What is it?”

No matter how many years we’ve been married, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand how my wife’s mind works.

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Chrono-Warping

A rare and balanced ability known as "Chrono-Warping" surfaces. This power enables its possessor to manipulate the flow of time in localized pockets, introducing a unique set of advantages and challenges.

Key Features:

Temporal Manipulation: The user can temporarily accelerate or decelerate time within a specific area. This can be employed defensively to evade attacks, strategically to gain an advantage in combat, or to provide brief moments of respite amid chaotic battles.

Time Echo: The ability to create echoes of the immediate past or future within the user's perception. These echoes offer glimpses of upcoming events or recent occurrences, granting the user enhanced foresight and the ability to react more effectively.

Temporal Distortion Fields: By creating localized distortion fields, the user can disrupt the normal flow of time for themselves or others. This may result in altered perceptions, making it challenging for opponents to predict the user's movements or react appropriately.

Chrono-Infusion: The user can infuse their cursed techniques or physical strikes with controlled bursts of temporal energy. This adds an element of unpredictability and surprise to their attacks, as opponents struggle to anticipate the timing and impact of each strike.

Limitations:

Temporal Strain: Manipulating time is mentally and physically taxing. Prolonged or frequent use of Chrono-Warping can lead to fatigue, disorientation, or even unintended consequences such as momentary time loops.

Temporal Anchoring: The user cannot manipulate time on a large scale, and the effects are limited to specific areas or targets. Attempting to alter significant events or manipulate time across vast distances is beyond the scope of this power.

Vulnerability During Temporal Manipulation: While manipulating time, the user is vulnerable to attacks. Distorting the temporal field requires focus, and disruptions can leave the user momentarily defenseless.

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Hope you like this first chapter! Not much fun but I personally had fun retelling this part of the Shibuya Incident. Stay tuned for more!

[kusagrasskusa]

An Eye for an Eye, 'Til the World goes Blind

Chapter 4- Meething Them Part 1

Intro, Cha1, Cha2, Cha3, Cha4, (Chapter Selections!)

Side Note, Toby is said to be 5’8 by the age of 25 and that’s gonna be the age I’m putting him at. And just for fun, Masky will be 6’ and Brain will be 6’2. Just saying, it was creepy af trying to find the actors’ heights (there’s no info for it btw) but the websites that have their info were getting too personal with it lmao

Summary- She wakes up to meet a man. Luckily she planned ahead.

I just want to be yours, loved only by you. I can’t fucking breathe when I'm around you. You can hurt me, manipulate me, fucking break me, ruin me. Just give me your heart so I never have to worry again.

The world spun all around as her eyes fluttered open to the dark space in the dimly lit room. Litten only by a small red light on the opposite wall next to a door. The smell was horrible- like the smell of a rotting body that had been there for far too long. Perhaps more than one body, too.

The air was cold and stung on her bare flesh, a familiar feeling from all those years ago. She remembers Martha locking her in the car on a cold winter day to take Mateo ice skating, and how the cold stung her like this. Martha died in jail for what she did to little Y/N by the other prisoners; mothers who would do anything to see their child or stepchild again. And these mothers didn’t like meeting a woman so cruel to her stepdaughter that she’d lock Y/N in the car on hot summer days until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

What drives a woman to do that? It’s no wonder Y/N always gets hot and nervous in a vehicle with a heavy heart each time. A fear of cars is something she may never get over.

Sometimes Y/N swore she could see her mother in this room. Sometimes, I say, as if she hadn’t been awake for only 5 minutes. Disillusioned and staring into space, flashing images of once was or can be popping in and out. Five minutes felt like forever for some reason. She was so cold in nothing but her undergarments; although the thought of where her clothes were never registered in her mind.

Chloroform doesn’t knock people out that fast unless it's laced. Whatever they used would remind her of how she felt after surgery when the anesthesia was wearing off. When she had surgery after trying to cut her arm off and nearly dying. Why did she do that again?

“Good morning, woo,” a masculine voice called out, followed by a random noise. A tic.

When did the large shadowed man lean in front of her? The room was too dark to see his face, but she could see his silhouette from the light shining behind him.

“Good morning,” her weak sound whispered back. “Where am I?”

“Somewhere nice, little Y/N, woo,” his voice ticed once more, “a nice little place of business. And me and you are gonna talk.”

“Oh, I’m not in the force yet,” Y/N smiled softly, cocking her head at the man as he chuckled. “You’ll have to talk with my brother about police business.”

“No silly, not about that. No… We have something more personal to talk about later,” he said kindly. “For now, I just wanna look at your beautiful face. You look so peaceful when you’re sleeping.”

“Hehe, how sweet,” she softly replied, not registering what he even said in her mind. She heard him say something else- although, her tiredness made it hard to pay attention and keep her eyes open.

“Not a thought going through your head- woo- then, and not a single damn thought now. That’s okay. Enjoy your high while you can, pretty girl.”

By the time her eyes looked back up at the man, he was gone. But she didn’t feel his presence leave.

The back of her mind began to finally recognize the world around her. That she had slept enough for the day, that she wasn’t in her bed, and that she was hungry. Her mind trailed back to the thought of kissing her date the previous night, forcing a weak smile on her tired face as her head tilted to the side of the table she was lying on.

“Mmm,” she silently whimpered as her eyes registered the giant light looming above her, too bright to handle in a drugged state. Slowly observing the dark room, her mind was finally putting the pieces together of what was happening. What was happening…

“What the fuck…” Y/N grumbled as she lifted her head from the table, before halting when her shoulder muscles couldn’t move her forward. On top of that, she was barely clothed. Her breathing quickened alongside the beating of her heart as she looked around the dark room, slowly recalling the previous night’s events. Tim was taking her home, and then… then these two people came in, but one of them had Tim’s hair and build so-

“Tim! Tim you fucking asshole, where are you!” She screamed out, adrenaline filling her veins as she pulled against what was holding down her limbs. Ropes tied against her wrists made her wince in pain as she pulled; her arms were held above her head and tied against the legs of the table. Her legs were in the same state, tied against the table legs.

Her muscles fucking ached in pain after constant minutes of pulling and tugging at the ropes combined with heavy breathing. It just hurt so much more on the inside too because she was really starting to like that guy. The feelings of fear, betrayal, and rage burning into her skin more than the tightening ropes didn’t even hurt as much as the thought of what her brother must be thinking.

She was feeling far too mature to tell her brother where she was going to be. Fucking idiot mistake.

Y/N firmly placed her head against the table, overcome by the feeling of helplessness. She didn’t even notice the tears rolling down her face until now. Nor the light sweat that built up from when she was struggling, combined with the humidity of the room. Wasn’t she cold earlier? Why does she recall a different room? And why did she recall the voice that said-

-“woo, the first ten minutes are always my favorite. You see all five stages of grief in one sitting, hah hah.”

Her head turned to where she heard the voice, although her vision was too blurry to see the face of the man who just walked out of the shadows as if it were a 1940s horror film. “You,” she whispered, blinking away the tears the best she could, “who are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking the questions first?” He replied smugly as he walked over to the table, leaning over her. He brought his head uncomfortably close to her face, narrowing his eyes as he took in her look of pure horror.

He looked young, perhaps in his early 20s. Large orange goggles around his eyes and a mask pulled down to his chin, revealing his cocky grin and a giant hole on his cheek. Her eyes quickly went to stare at his teeth and flesh from the hole, making her shiver and grow uncomfortable. It reminded her of the uncomfortability of being nearly naked. Did he take off her clothes?

“That’s what I thought. Now, we got some things to talk about, pretty girl,” he chuckled maliciously as he brought a hand to her face, caressing her cheek and watching as she contemplated what to do. He knew what she was thinking: should I pull away from his hand, or will he get mad? What if he hurts me? Oh, but I just don’t wanna be touched by this scary man, but what could I do when I’m so helpless?

It made his grin grow wider as he pulled away, reaching for his pocket and pulling out her wallet. She gasped as she noticed it. “Why do you have that?”

“Well, woo, if you wait a minute, I’m about to get to that.” His hand twitched as he unzipped her wallet and looked through the many cards and hundreds of dollar bills she had stashed in there. “Are you Mr Ismael Ramirez? Or a Mrs. Jamie Burningham? Oh, or a lovely Danielle Iowa? Because, sweetie, you don’t look like any of these people.”

Y/N’s heart fucking dropped. She quietly gulped, feeling her palms get sweaty and the room seemed to be a little warmer. “I… I don’t-“

“Yeah, didn’t think so. And I don’t think they could’ve given you their cards after they died either, huh? I know that Danielle almost escaped me, but I think a hatchet in the heart then proceeding to rip her open a little more should keep her too dead to pay you, right?”

Danielle Iowa was the daughter of the family she saw two nights ago when her brother called her in for help. She was in her room on her back, bruises on her arms and a giant open hole in her chest.

Y/N’s eyes widened as stuttering out slowly, “You killed them?” Her body started to shake, her chest heaving as her mind wandered to what he could do to her if he had the stomach to do other awful things to people.

“Oh, come on now, don’t look so scared!” the man laughed with a hint of annoyance, “you’re no fucking better! You also have exactly $853 in here, exactly as much as- woo- she had in her little jar in the room. How are you any better than a killer if you’re gonna steal money from the dead right next to their bleeding fucking corpses?”

Sins in the form of goosebumps trailed up her skin all over, her head turning away from him as an escape from the situation. She felt embarrassed, weak, and most of all, guilty. Fucking guilty.

“Yeah, and that’s the first time you’re facing it, huh? Didn’t feel so bad earlier, right, when you went out and bought that coffee? Or when you went- woo- out shopping the night before? Why does it feel so dirty now, Y/N?” The man laughed, setting his knee on the table to lift himself up and set his arms on either side of her. He looked down at her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look back at him from above.

“But hey, ‘ion gotta kill ya for your sins. I ain’t the devil or God. But I will make you work for your freedom.”

His neck snapped as he smiled down at her, ticking once more. Naturally, him being on top of her while she was barely clothed made her worry about what he could mean- what he was going to do to her. Rape her? Torture her like this was a Saw movie? Sell her into slavery?

“I-Is that so,” she said in a low voice, a shaky breath following.

He hummed in response, chuckling to himself. “If you wanna live and keep all your dirty money, well, I recommend you give me what info you got about the police force. Otherwise,” he paused as his neck snapped following a tic. A sudden cold metal pressed against her bare stomach, making her shudder. “I can cut you open for Mateo to see, pretty lady. And that cute little look of fear on your face would look so fucking ugly when it gets skinned off, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N agreed, nodding her head with a quivering lip. “Or-”

“Or?” The man widened his eyes with mild shock, cocking his head as he placed the hatchet a little more firmly against her stomach, causing Y/N to suck in a little.

“Or, you let me willfully help you with all the data I can provide, and then some, in return for help,” she said softly, a small smile appearing on her face as if her fear had just vanished.

“Woah, woo,” he chuckled, his grin growing large on his face as he pulled away. He pressed his hatchet even harder against her skin, causing her breath to hitch. “I have never seen that before. I’mma have to let the other guys know about this, hah hah.”

He got off of her and stepped back down onto the floor, sticking his hatchet back into his little holder.

“Wait, so, what’s this “and then some” thing supposed to mean? And what makes ya think that whatever you can provide is worthy of not just your life, but also something more in return?” he asked rather threateningly as if he was annoyed. No, pissed off.

“You know, I’m not just some dirty detective or thief,” Y/N replied cautiously, furrowing her eyebrows. “You think I didn’t notice all the girls looked like me? You think I didn’t notice I could be next? What if I took extra steps in case something were to happen to me?”

“Attitude out of nowhere like ya have any power over the situation,” he replied aggressively, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t like it when things don’t go his way. He swiftly grabbed his hatchet back out and set it on her stomach, before crouching down and reaching for the ropes tying one of her hands down. Anxiety pulsed through her veins but… she knew what she was doing.

The rope burns hurt her wrists as it got free, her hand feeling better from the return of circulation. The man placed her arm down the table forcefully, holding it down as he grabbed his hatchet again, placing the blade on her fingers. Instinctively, she gasped and tensed.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said before ticcing, “you’re gonna give me a good counterdeal that’s just so much better than mine. And if you don’t, I’m cutting these off one by one. Got it? Or do you wanna just take my deal instead?”

Y/N quivered, narrowing her eyes at him before taking a deep breath. “Okay, listen… I could do two things. I won’t ever give you the police info if all I get is life and dirty money, and whatever happens to my brother. So you’d have to kill me and be left struggling to get the info yourself. And, let me promise you, it’s not easy.”

She took a quivering breath as the weight of the man’s eyes caused more anxiety to trail through her.

“However, I could also help you. Not just info given to you, but I can also lead the investigation in ways that would keep you and whoever you’re working with safe. I know the ins and outs of everything that goes on there, and I’ve tampered with info before on cases. That’s how I get away with stealing,” she says hesitantly, guilt in her words.

“I could give you info computer bases don’t have, I can steal, I can lie, and I’m very good at staying hidden. I know this might not seem like a lot, especially given that I don’t know your plan, but I can tell these aren’t your first murders or kidnappings. Surely having someone who can log into police bases across this country could be helpful to you, right?”

The man raised a brow, cracking his neck before huffing, “Yeah, yeah, so you can make things easier for me, I expected that. Coulda summed that up quickly, y’know. Now tell me what you wanted in return.” He tapped his hatchet against her fingers impatiently.

“I want to come with you guys,” she breathed out quickly, a look of desperation on her face. “I know you and whoever you work with have been across the country, possibly the world, and committed similar crimes. I’ve studied family murders that looked just like the ones here from other states- and I admire it! I would do anything to be a part of what you guys do.”

She bit her lip in embarrassment, realizing how stupid she must sound right now. The silence that followed made her recap how she was tied up, nearly naked, with a serial killer threatening to cut off her fingers after threatening her with death. She then boldly decided to reject his offer and made her own, and now just asked to be a part of a killer group as if she was trying to join a Fanclub.

“Interesting,” the man slowly replied awkwardly, squinting his eyes and cocking his head at her. “You’re weird.” His hatchet began to pierce the skin of her fingers, making her gasp and lift her head from the table defensively.

“Fuck, if you do that, you’re gonna fucking regret it!” she yelled out, her hand shaking. The man chuckled, pausing as her fingers began to bleed.

“How come?” he asked amusingly.

“Tim has a tracker in his truck, connected with a camera and audio. It picked up anything that happened around it- and the data will be sent to my brother unless I stop the message in time.” Sweat built up on her forehead from the extreme nervousness she felt. But damn, her reasoning worked.

“Ugh, you fucking would make this difficult,” he huffed, sticking his hatchet back in his holder. He ticked, pulling his mask back up to his face before leaning into hers, caressing her cheek, and whispering, “You’re pretty, but you’re nothing special. I’ve seen plenty like you before, so don’t think- woo- you got your way yet.”

With that, he ripped his hand away from her face and grabbed her arm to tie her wrist back to where it was. A long, deep sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, placing her head back against the table. He mumbled things under his breath as he finished up, walking out of the room. The noise she heard indicated that he opened a door and walked out- leaving her alone in the room.

What a fucking experience.

--------

Hey guys! Just btw, if you aren't satisfied with this chapter or wish it could have been a little different, feel free to let me know! I'm contemplating rewriting it since I'm not totally satisfied by it- but, if you guys feel it's good enough, I don't wanna waste time rewriting a whole new chapter that most people aren't going to reread.

...but! If you feel like I could touch up on this rather than rewriting the whole thing, do let me know as well. I just really need feedback 🤣

[haikirii]

Whenever I think about q!Cellbit's past, my mind quickly wanders to the time when he participated in the war alongside q!Badboyhalo.

I know it's already confirmed, at least in q!Cellbit's lore because he mentioned this to both q!Bbh and Richarlyson. So it always makes me question how old he was when he entered in the war. The messy timeline of his lore is something that lets the imagination run wild, leaving plenty of room for theories about his current age.

I mean, he's been through a war; a prison; a heavy rehabilitation; involvement with the occult and a slight hint of detective work, how old is he now? But this is other point that would be nice to discuss later – as I've already spent a few hours discussing it with friends.

The point is: whenever I imagine q!Cellbit in the war, I can't help but imagine him as a bit reckless, prodigy teenager who went killing everyone in front of him and was very energetic. Anyone who watched the HG videos knows he was mainly know for being very fast, so in lore I imagine a 14 or 15 year old boy running around with a tired q!Bbh behind him trying to stop him from killing yourself or something like that. Like an old veteran taking care of a small combatant – which makes it ever funnier since some people told me that the q!Bbh is a century-old demon, so imagining him taking care of a teenager in the middle of a war is not only interesting as well but also very cute.

I really like imagining the reaction and feelings that formed when seeing that 15 year old boy he fought alongside showing up several years later on the same island as him, with many more scars, tics, addicted to coffee and a few outbreaks from time to time in a while. It's a dynamic that I find very interesting.

**Tradução pt-br abaixo**

Sempre que eu penso sobre o passado de q!Cellbit, minha mente vaga rapidamente para a época em que ele participou da guerra junto de q!Badboyhalo.

Eu sei que é algo já confirmado, pelo menos na lore do q!Cellbit visto que ele já citou isso tanto para q!Bbh quando para o Richarlyson. Isso sempre me faz questionar quantos anos ele tinha quando entrou na guerra. A linha cronológica de sua lore é algo que deixa a imaginação voar muito, dando muito espaço para teorias sobre sua idade atuamente.

Quero dizer, ele passou por uma guerra; uma prisão; ma pesada reabilitação; envolvimento com ocultismo e uma leve indicação de trabalho como detetive, quantos anos ele tem atualmente? Mas isso é outro ponto que seria legal de discutir mais tarde – como eu já passei algumas horas discutindo com amigos.

O ponto é: sempre que eu imagino o q!Cellbit na guerra, não consigo deixar de imaginar ele como um adolescente prodígio e meio inconsequente que saíra matando todos pela rente e era um poço de energia. Quem assistia os vídeos dele sobre HG sabe que ele era principalmente conhecido por ser muito rápido, então em lore eu imagino um menino de 14 ou 15 anos correndo por aí com um q!Bbh casado atrás dele tentando impedir que ele se mate ou algo do tipo. Como se fosse um veterano mais velho cuidando de um pequeno combatente – o que torna ainda mais engraçado já que me contaram que o q!Bbh é um demônio centenário, então imaginar este ser cuidando de um adolescente no meio de uma guerra não só é interessante como também muito fofo.

Gosto muito de imaginar a reação e os sentimentos que se formação ao ver que o garoto de 15 anos que ele lutou ao lado aparecendo vários anos depois na mesma ilha que ele, com muitas mais cicatrizes, tiques, viciado em café e alguns surtos de vez em quando. É uma dinâmica que eu acho muito interessante.

[frenziedslashers]

The Walking Dead Masterlist

I will be including all of my Walking Dead works here! If you have a character you would like me to write for that is not on the list, feel free to ask!

Feel free to send in requests. Whether it be headcanons, NSFT alphabets, Oneshots/Imagines, or just to talk about the characters! I am super invested in this series right now haha

Slasher Masterlist || Borderlands Masterlist || Request Rules/Characters I Write For

(Before interacting: If you are 17 or under I will be blocking your account. I do not want to feel like I am providing for minors, if that makes sense. I hope y'all understand!)

Daryl Dixon:

I Love You, And I Don't Say It Enough (pt. 1) (Smut - AFAB! Reader)

Daryl Dixon returns to his S/O after escaping Sanctuary when Negan took him from his family. When he comes back to you he's hurt, but he needs you. A happy little reunion between the both of you quickly turns into a lot more.

Baby, It's Okay (pt.2 - AFAB!Reader)

After the little reunion that turned into an intimate moment. Daryl's S/O later finds out she's pregnant due to the help of Carol. She planned on waiting to tell the man so he wouldn't worry about her, or react poorly to her being pregnant. He's ecstatic over the news though, even if it did come as a surprise.

NSFT Headcanons (GN!Reader)

Just as said. Some NSFT Headcanons for Daryl from an Ask Game

Open Up Your Heart For Me (GN!Reader)

Daryl found you back when this all started and he took a liking for you from the beginning. When Rick comes back into the picture, though. Shane gets a little desperate and tries to seduce you, but you aren't interested one bit. Daryl keeps you close, and makes sure you're safe. Later on at the farm he's losing it over Sophia and you're there to comfort him. He understands that you're the person that he wants to survive for. It isn't until the prison that he finally opens up and lets you in, though.

You Know You're Right

Daryl finds a scared stoner and takes them under his wing. After taking him with him to hilltop about a month later. He shows him he was listening to everything he told Daryl by showing up with a battery-operated CD player and their favorite songs. A little weed later, and feelings are being shared through actions.

No Happy Ending

A little Drabble where Reader gets bit and Daryl has to deal with it. Sort of a writing practice but I'll like it here if y'all wanna read it.

Dirty Secret

You're Glenns younger sister and Daryl winds up having a thing for you. You take notice to it and go out of your way to try and initiate a relationship with the archer. With the help of Carol and some of the other girls at the camp, of course. This is set in S1 and I am working on a part 2.

Reader with Vocal and Motor Tics

General Head canons on Daryls reaction to a reader with tics. Could be Romantic or Platonic.

Rick Grimes:

NSFT Headcanons (GN!reader)

NSFT Headcanons from an Ask Game

Hey there, cowboy (MALE!READER - smut)

Rick had been checking you out for months, and the tension between the two of you only seemed to grow. You're a previous rancher and he wants to know more about ranching, even if there isn't too much you can show him. After you dropped your hat though, and he puts it on. You inform him of the "Hat Rule." He seeks you out after Maggie and Daryl inform him on what that Rule means.

Jealous Rick Headcanons

How I depict Rick would react when jealous.

How Rick Acts Before and After Getting In A Relationship(GN! Reader)

You are Daryl's little sibling and Rick is slowly discovering a love for you. These are headcanons on how he would react to discovering that he likes you, and how Daryl also reacts to it.

You Drive Me Crazy (GN!Reader)

A jealous Rick x Reader fic where Rick does not like the way Spencer looks at you. The two of you had been dancing around feelings for months and after you all get to Alexandria you finally convince Rick to let loose and pretty much be your date for the party Deanna and the others were throwing for you all. Spencer gets a little touchy and makes you uncomfortable. Rick is fast to sweep in and save the day. Leading to a little more when he finally gets you back home.

Rick Grimes - Breeding Kink

General Headcanons of Rick with a Breeding Kink

Rick Realizing He Likes Men - (Male!Reader)

Headcanons of Rick discovering his sexuality

Why Can't You Be Mine Already?

This is a continuation of the headcanons "How Rick Acts Before and After Getting In A Relationship". You are Daryl's little sibling and when you get into Alexandria - after months of you and Rick beating around feelings - Rick finally starts taking the reins on whatever your guy's relationship is. He gets jealous over how Spencer is talking with and looking at you. Stuff finally goes down between the both of you after you yell and ask him exactly what the hell you two are.

The Supply Closet - (FTM!Reader/NSFW)

You and Rick go on a supply run to one of the nearby towns from the prison. When you both get there Rick is in utmost awe for you when he realizes you were getting supplies for his kids and looking out for their interests. He's tired of beating around feelings and teasing, so he pulls you into a supply closet and things get a little heated.

Love Letters (GN! Reader)

Super Angsty fic about Rick dying and killing Negan and the letters he left to you and a few of the others. Sort of a fic I used to just get some emotions out.

Safe and Sound

Rick finds out that Deanna sent you and some of the others on a supply run with Aiden and Nicholas. His blood is boiling and he hates that she's sending his people with others that he hardly knows let alone trusts. How does he react when you come back hurt? Not well.

Reader with Vocal and Motor Tics

General Head canons on how Rick reacts to a Reader with Tics. Could be Platonic or Romantic.

Glenn Rhee:

[photo here]

Reader with Vocal and Motor Tics

General Head canons of Glenns' reaction to a reader with tics. Could be Romantic or Platonic.

Eugene Porter:

Hold Me Please - Reader is Maggies little Sister

Negan Smith:

Eugene and Reader are stuck hanging out in the library while everyone else is falling asleep or already asleep. An innocent conversation and an innocent gesture soon turn into a little more. Eugene finally gets to see if you feel as soft as you act, and you get to kiss the brainiac that slithered his way into your heart. Like everything else, it doesn't last for long.

Aftercare Headcanons

Just as it says. Aftercare headcanons with Eugene.

C'mere, Honey-Bear(GN!Reader - Alludes to sexual themes, nothing graphic)

Negan is finally reunited with you after years of not seeing you. He lost you before the world went to hell and due to Rick's group you're safe. You're on your knees at the lineup, and due to seeing you. He lets the others go and you come with him. Both of you expressed how much you missed one another.

My Two Favorites (Transmasc! Reader - NSFW

Negan picked you up and took you to the compound towards the beginning of all of this. The two of you have been around each other a lot and trust each other more than you would care to admit. You have walls, and don't know how to feel when he's finally starting to talk them down brick by brick. After he denies you the ability to leave the compound on your own an argument breaks out between the both of you, and things get a little heated after feelings are told.

Negan Reacting To A Pregnant S/O - AFAB! Reader

Just as it says. Very wholesome content that I enjoyed writing for. Papa Negan is my favorite.

Father of Mine - Pregnant!Reader

Negan and Reader were together before he started killing people for sport. When Rick comes around she helps the sheriff take him down in promise that Negan stays alive. When they get to Alexandria she lets him know of a little surprise she was keeping back.

Rick and Daryl Poly Stuff:

General Poly HC's with Rick and Daryl

Just some Poly Daryl and Rick Stuff. Probably won't write anything more for them since I'm not the biggest fan of writing for Poly relationships (Nothing against them! Just not my cup of tea to write for.) So this may be all you get from me, chums.

Playlists:

(These are playlists for characters of songs I think they would listen to, feel free to suggest bands or songs for me to add to them!)

Negan Smith - Oldie Country music, Classic Rock, Hard Rock, Grunge, and a couple Nu Metal songs.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.

Chapter 2: "Second Impressions Are Tougher"

This chapter has some of our first bits of research to go with it! I'll be posting the footnotes separately, but if you'd like to see them integrated into the fic directly then you should read it on AO3!

--//--

WEST YUNPING CITY — APARTMENT BLOCK 四

Jin Guangyao is rethinking how willing he is to tend to Lan Xichen until his father arrives in the morning. They’re out of East Yunping and shacked up in the stuffy little apartment Jin Guangyao had once called home for a very brief stint in between leaving prison in Italy and officially entering into Jin Guangshan’s dubious employ in Lanling; in the wake of the adrenaline rush of a narrow escape and now in such close quarters, Lan Xichen is…distracting.

For one thing, he’d taken his cardigan off when Jin Guangyao had removed his own suit jacket, and though Jin Guangyao has the cast-iron excuse of needing to cook dinner to explain why he rolled his sleeves up, what’s Lan Xichen’s excuse?? And since when do primary school music teachers have arms like that?!

For another thing, now that he’s taken off his outer layer Jin Guangyao can smell that he’s wearing some sort of probably-expensive cologne, something absurdly nice and masculine without being overbearing, which is just really not fair. In some sort of attempt to combat such an underhanded move, Jin Guangyao makes something for them to eat with as much diced onion and sliced truffles as he can cram in the pan, despite the fact that he’d been planning to save the truffles for something nice (just for him) tomorrow before he leaves for his next assignment. Lan Xichen wrinkles his nose at the smell but he doesn’t pass comment other than to compliment Jin Guangyao on his ‘refined palate’, which is just so…it’s so..!!!

“Yao-ge,” Mo Xuanyu pops his head in the door to call for him. Jin Guangyao pretends not to see the way Lan Xichen’s eyes light up to learn more of his name and, likely, the fact that he and Mo Xuanyu are related. The typical Jin features are strong; they look similar enough that the ‘ge’ is clearly familial rather than simple camaraderie. “He’s here.”

There’s only one ‘he’ who’s relevant at the moment, and Jin Guangyao feels sour anxiety curdle in his stomach even as he wonders if this means the moment he can wash his hands of the very pretty teacher crowded over his little card-table to eat his dinner has arrived earlier than anticipated.

Jin Guangyao sighs and cuts the gas to the burner with a deft flick of his wrist. He tosses the dish towel in his hands over his shoulder as he wanders down the hall to his cozy little living room, his old flowery apron (gifted to him by the auntie next door some years ago now) still tied neatly around his waist.

Jin Guangshan, Jin Zixun, and the goons they’d brought with them for an extra dose of intimidation do an admirable job of ignoring him for a few long moments as they all stare at the radio currently crackling through a repeating broadcast from earlier in the week from the Americans, some drivel about how they’re dedicated to protecting all the ‘good’ people and eradicating all the other ‘bad’ people, blahdy blah blah. Everyone knows where the wind really blows there, and Jin Guangyao is pretty sure his father is only pretending to pay attention to it so he can have a tool to try to make Jin Guangyao squirm, somehow managing to forget that he wouldn’t be his father’s best agent if he were that easy to rattle.

“I trust that Lan Xichen was helpful enough to be worth the trouble?” Jin Guangshan eventually asks without taking his eyes off the orange glow of the tuner on the front of the radio. Jin Guangyao whips the towel off his shoulder again to grip it tightly in his clenched fists, hiding the tic neatly in the motions of seeming to dry his hands off.

“You were correct, Lan Qiren will be your best bet to track down Wangji.”

Jin Guangshan finally deigns to turn away from uselessly watching the radio to give him an indulgent look that somehow manages to be a scathing judgment as well. It’s a combination Jin Guangyao has come to thoroughly detest.

“That’s it? That’s all you got out of him?”

Jin Guangyao hides his next sigh in whipping the towel over his shoulder again with a sharp snap when it hits the silk back panel of his waistcoat. “Lan Qiren is currently in Yiling, ostensibly to do a bit of community service and to look after some small land holdings the Gusu branch of the family managed to hang onto when they lost their main estate at the start of the war. What he’s probably actually doing is dealing with the Yunmeng Jiang siblings to try to get in touch with Lan Wangji. Yiling sits on the north side of Yunmeng, up the same branch of the river that eventually cuts through Gusu, which makes it a good low-profile meeting point between the Jiang and the Lan for anything that needs doing without getting too much attention. You know Lan Qiren’s location, his immediate intentions, and you have his beloved nephew Lan Xichen to use as leverage to get him to talk. Is there anything else that you require of me?”

Considering Jin Guangyao has actually provided more than the outlines of his briefing for this assignment had specified, the answer to that should be, ‘No, son, your job is finished. Go get some rest after such a difficult and fraught extraction, well done.’. But this is Jin Guangshan he’s talking to, so there will be absolutely no acknowledgment of his accomplishments whatsoever, nor will he likely be allowed any opportunity to rest.

“We already knew all of that!” Jin Guangshan retorts, which is a lie — the bit about Lan Qiren dealing with the Jiangs directly is new and he only learned it tonight in the truck on the way here because of a slip-up from Lan Xichen about his uncle’s most likely travel motivations, followed by Jin Guangyao doing a bit of extrapolating of his own from there. Jin Guangyao manages to keep this argument behind tightly-pressed lips as he steps further into the living room in response to his father’s beckoning wave so he can stop from craning his neck around to see him in the doorway. Jin Guangshan clicks the knob on the radio to ‘off’ with a thick clunk to give Jin Guangyao his full attention for his scolding. Lucky him.

“Don’t get smart with me, either! Your job is finished when I say it’s finished, boy, of course there’s more!”

Jin Guangyao tries to clench his teeth against the argument still burning on his tongue, but he’s had a long and stressful evening, which means his filter to deal with more bullshit is pretty much shot.

“You told me this would be a simple extraction, in and out and I’d be done,” he grits out.

“And it should have been! I didn’t tell you to light up half of East Yunping, you brought this on yourself.” Jin Guangyao ignores Jin Zixun’s unflattering snort of laughter at his expense only thanks to plenty of practice.

“They–” Jin Guangyao doesn’t bother to specify who, he doesn’t need to –”were waiting for me.”

Jin Guangshan snorts at him then and Jin Guangyao has to pat down his apron a few times to keep from balling his hands up into tight fists. “Don’t flatter yourself boy, they follow everyone doing anything remotely in their interests. Besides, Wen Ruohan isn’t stupid, he’ll have figured out how valuable Lan Xichen is as well, this is only to be expected. All that matters is that we got there first.”

“Does Wen Ruohan send his genetic experiments to follow everybody?” he demands, incensed by the casual disregard of his life even though it’s definitely old hat by now. “What they sent after me was barely human! Father, you should have seen it run —“

“Grow a spine, boy!” is Jin Guangshan’s sparkling retort, beginning to grow truly irritated around the edges. Jin Guangyao loses his battle against curling his hands into fists, though he at least plants them on the back of the sofa to lean on and hide how much he’s shaking. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, this family is not in the haberdashery business!” Jin Guangshan gives what he can see of Jin Guangyao behind the couch (which unfortunately includes the flower apron) a scathing up-and-down look that clearly communicates what he thinks of the son he’d never wanted.

“I don’t think you understand,” Jin Guangyao tries again, because his father never understands but Jin Guangyao always finds himself trying to make him every single time, “it tore the back off my car.”

Jin Guangyao feels his anger deflate and crystallize into something cold and hard in his chest when between one blink and the next Jin Guangshan visibly loses interest in the conversation, his scolding delivered and his patience apparently run out. “Remind me again — how long were you supposed to rot in that prison for?”

Jin Guangyao chews on his answer with a flutter in his jaw and doesn’t give his father the satisfaction of repeating for him what they both already know.

Jin Guangshan stands and drifts closer to look down his nose at him. “You owe me five more years, boy. I know you’ve been…taking care of yourself on the side, any fool could see that — I certainly don’t pay you enough to be putting imported truffles in your dinner. But don’t you ever mistake my willingness to look the other way for indulging you as I would Zixuan.” Jin Guangyao clenches his fists so tightly his nails bite into his palms. Jin Guangshan finally turns his back on him to head for the door, Jin Zixun lumbering to his feet to join him. “You’ll report for duty tomorrow morning at 9am sharp, and I’d better see a better attitude. Don’t forget your place in this organization.”

Jin Guangyao stays where he is as his father’s usual entourage files out of the apartment after him, the entire space feeling marginally less stifling once they’re gone. Mo Xuanyu pokes his head in the living room, his expression a cautious, ‘Are you alright?’. Jin Guangyao is in no position to answer that at the moment, so he just waves his brother’s concern off with a tremulous smile.

“A-Yu?” he calls, struck by a thought just as Mo Xuanyu is about to disappear down the hall after the rest of them.

“Yes, Yao-ge?”

“Get me everything you can about Wen Ruohan’s pet giant, will you? I’ll read it in the morning after you come fetch Mr Lan.”

“Sure, ge, I’ll see what I can find. Goodnight.”

Jin Guangyao returns the sentiment with an admonishment for his brother to go get some well-deserved rest at whatever nice hotel all the Jins are staying in this evening, which he agrees to with a tiny, apologetic smile. 

Mo Xuanyu shuts the front door softly after himself, the lock turning a moment later. Jin Guangyao allows himself thirty seconds to breathe through the hatred for all of this burning a hole in his stomach before he returns to the kitchen to begin cleaning up the dishes, his appetite thoroughly gone. Lan Xichen is just finishing up what Jin Guangyao had served him, so Jin Guangyao takes his empty plate away to replace it with his own portion without a word.

“Thank you, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen says quietly, so quietly that Jin Guangyao pretends not to hear him as he turns to scrub the dishes clean (perhaps a little too aggressively) in a blatant attempt to hide his face.

“I have work to do early in the morning,” he tells Lan Xichen a few quiet minutes later when he feels like he can open his mouth without screaming and/or cursing Jin Guangshan for his next three lives. “Agent Mo will be returning for you at half-past 7, he’ll be taking you somewhere safer, though you’re not in any danger here tonight, of course. The bedroom down the hall is yours for the evening, I suggest getting plenty of sleep. Today was…more stressful for you than I’d hoped it would be.”

Lan Xichen sets his spoon on his plate with a quiet clink and scuffs his chair back from the table. Even under the overpowering smell of their curry, when Lan Xichen joins him at the sink there’s still that maddening hint of cologne cutting through truffles and pungent spices. Jin Guangyao does not take a deeper breath in to get more of it, he just…yawns. Sort of. Only through his nose.

“Good advice. I’ll go to bed now, then. Goodnight, Meng Yao,” he says and Jin Guangyao shuts his eyes against being called his old name so gently. There probably isn’t a soul alive who’s said his name like that, considering his mother always called him A-Yao, and by the time he was old enough to make his own way in the world she was already dead.

“Jin Guangyao,” he corrects for his own sake, the name like acid on his tongue, sharp and nauseating — a necessary reminder to himself of what he is these days. “My real name is Jin Guangyao.”

“Mm. And mine is really Lan Huan. Goodnight, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao washes the rest of the dishes in something of a daze, and once he’s shut off the lights in the rest of the apartment he slips down the hall to stand outside the cracked-open door to his bedroom and listen for a few moments. He reassures himself with the sound of Lan Xichen’s deep, even breathing — a slow drag in and a short little puff on the exhale — before he slips back down to the living room to bunk down for the night on the sofa.

Fucking hell what a day.

... -.-. . -. . / -... .-. . .- -.-

YUNPING CITY INTERNAL BORDER [WEST SIDE] — RIVERSIDE PARK

At 9am sharp, Jin Guangyao strolls into the area of a quaint little riverside park where Jin Guangshan is waiting, poised too stiffly to be casual on a bench looking across the sluggish water at the wall that divides Yunping City into unequal halves. At Jin Guangyao’s greeting, his father hauls himself to his feet to stuff his hands in the pockets of his raincoat in some stupid show of casual indifference that no one else is paying attention to anyway. Jin Guangyao keeps one hand tight around the handle of his big black umbrella to ward off the misting rain and the other resolutely clenched behind his back as he obeys a jerk of Jin Guangshan’s chin, a silent order to fall in at his father’s side as he starts strolling along the pedestrian walk that rings the park.

“Look at them all,” Jin Guangshan sighs with a gesture at the others around them — a young mother pushing a toddler in a stroller, a few men scattered around different benches reading the morning newspaper, a group of aunties on a flat, grassy spot down by the water doing aerobics. Jin Guangyao watches them all go about their lives with a sort of envy he’s careful to keep off his face lest his father see.

Their strolling brings them to a sharp bend in the pathway that loops around a bright green, European-looking public restroom. It’s a weirdly art nouveau structure of the sort he’d grown familiar with during his brief tours in France and Germany, and Jin Guangyao amuses himself by paying the odd structure more attention than his father as the man continues.

“All these blissfully ignorant people going about their day while we work tirelessly, day and night, to save their miserable lives. And not even a thank you!” Jin Guangyao fights down the urge to yawn from his long day/late night/early morning triple combination — the latest of many in a long string of them, all in service to his father’s interests. “I tell myself that it’s all for the greater good, you know, and that it’s not their fault they can’t help but..languish in the dark. They just don’t have the drive or the intelligence to do what I do, hm?”

Jin Guangyao turns to face Jin Guangshan and his self-satisfied smirk that it’s really far too early in the day to be dealing with, his entire face hopefully projecting a (polite) ‘will you please get on with it’ sort of energy — a request he already knows will go unheeded.

When Jin Guangshan makes it clear that he will absolutely not move on until Jin Guangyao plays along, he forces himself to unbend enough to say, “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Are you feeling tired this morning, father?”

“Wouldn’t you be, if you’d been up all night cleaning up your mess?” he fires back. Jin Guangyao is relieved that his father chooses that moment to turn and ascend the pair of steps into the weird restroom, since it gives him a chance to glare daggers at Jin Guangshan’s back and imagine nice big streaks of blood staining his stupid cream wool coat in the few seconds before his father twitches his fingers at him in a clear instruction to follow him inside.

Jin Guangyao folds his umbrella with a little shake to dislodge the worst of the water droplets and hangs it off the lip of the circular bank of sinks just inside the doorway, watching warily as Jin Guangshan nudges all the stall doors open with lazy flicks of his wrist.

“Are you…looking for anything in particular, father? Or just..looking?” he asks. If at all possible he’d really like to go back to his apartment and rest up for the day before he has to pack his things and head out again on an emergency reassignment his brother hadn’t been available to take, but he imagines his father is looking to punish him some more for the fiasco that was retrieving Lan Xichen, so he’ll just have to bear it.

He wrinkles his nose a little in distaste when Jin Guangshan steps over to the urinals along the other wall with the sharp zziiip of his trousers unfastening.

“What I’m about to feed you, Guangyao, is going to be bitter—” not the most reassuring thing to hear, especially given the current urinal-related circumstances “—but you’re going to have to swallow it.”

“Where are you going with this?” Jin Guangyao can’t resist asking, impatient and irritated (though his voice stays relatively smooth in the interest of self-preservation). There’s the faintest breath of displaced air against the back of his neck, and under the ubiquitous ‘public restroom’ smell assaulting his nose there’s a sudden whiff of something strong, perhaps gunpowder, and when he turns around the monster from last night is right behind him.

Definitely still being punished for that, then.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue had expected to find Jin Guangshan inside the standalone structure tucked away at the back end of the park. Wen Ruohan had informed him that he’d be meeting with the sleazeball head of the Lanling Jin today, and that Nie Mingjue is responsible for making sure he’ll actually attend the meeting instead of slipping away at the last minute as he’s apparently so fond of doing when they meet anywhere besides Lanling.

What he hadn’t quite anticipated was fucking Jin Guangyao to be accompanying the man, and the startled look in his eyes when he whips around to look up at him is enough to tell Nie Mingjue that Jin Guangyao hadn’t expected to see him here either. Still, it’s not like he’s going to waste an opportunity as good as this now that he’s got it, so he doesn’t bother giving Jin Guangyao a chance to recover his wits before he tackles him into the nearest stall with all the grace and poise of a charging bull and the loud crack of wood splintering.

Jin Guangyao yelps in his ear in a way that only scratches the surface of soothing his anger over the way things panned out last night (Wen Ruohan had to come get him out of the holding cell personally, which is the last thing anyone wants), so Nie Mingjue continues his attack with relish, going heavy with his fists and using his bulk to his advantage in the confined space. Jin Guangyao gets his metaphorical feet under himself quickly though, and soon enough Nie Mingjue finds himself with a tiny little monkey on his back, hands wrapped tightly enough around his throat to choke him.

He shoves down the natural human instinct to panic when his airflow is disrupted and sets about fixing the problem by making a quarter-turn and slamming Jin Guangyao hard enough against the partition between their stall and the next to smash through the painted boards with a satisfying crunch and a soft oof! of all the air escaping Jin Guangyao’s stupid tiny lungs all at once. Nie Mingjue uses the distraction to unhook the man’s hands from his throat and attempt to turn around to keep pummeling him, but Jin Guangyao swings around with him only to grab some of the exposed pipes on the wall behind and above the toilet to get enough leverage for a solid kick to the center of Nie Mingjue’s chest, and this time it’s his turn to fall through the next partition with another loud crunch and clatter.

Jin Guangyao comes after him rather than making his escape, teeth bared and something wild in his eyes that throws Nie Mingjue off-rhythm for only a heartbeat — but that’s just long enough for Jin Guangyao to get behind him and curl his entire arm around his neck this time and swing up onto his back once again. The crook of his elbow locks at the front of Nie Mingjue’s throat and his legs are wrapped tightly around his waist to cling on even as Nie Mingjue attempts to flip his infuriating little hanger-on over his head with the intent to finish this by breaking his fragile spine over the dark green toilet bowl.

Despite his best efforts, Jin Guangyao’s grip is inescapable and so they just end up awkwardly hunched over for a single sharp breath before Jin Guangyao kicks off the wall behind the toilet to send them both careening back out into the central area, nearly bashing Nie Mingjue’s head off one of the sinks before Nie Mingjue finally manages to get him off of his fucking back and put him in a kneeling headlock on the tile floor. He digs his knees into Jin Guangyao’s calves to hold him pinned as tightly as he can as he attempts to return the choking favor as good as he’d gotten. Jin Guangyao’s hands scrabble uselessly at his arm and Nie Mingjue bares his teeth, pleased to have won but far too keyed up to smile like a civilized human being — Wen Ruohan has personally seen to it that barely qualifies as one anyway.

He’s too locked up in his victory and watching Jin Guangyao’s nails dig fruitlessly into the thick leather of his bomber jacket to notice Wen Ruohan slipping in through the offset entrance to the toilet until the man himself speaks up.

“Guangshan.”

Jin Guangshan, still standing over the urinal and looking thoroughly unimpressed, just nods back at him and zips up.

“Улаан Ир.” Nie Mingjue looks up sharply at his boss, who so rarely bothers to speak to him in Nie Mingjue’s own tongue. “Алив, эхний өдөр шинэ хамтрагчаа бүү ал.” Wen Ruohan punctuates the admonishment with a barely-perceptible squint and a little shake of his head that promises punishment should Nie Mingjue disobey (what else is new?). Nie Mingjue forces himself to shove Jin Guangyao away, adding in a little kick to the other man’s feet for good measure as he collapses forward on his hands and knees to get a few deep breaths in, wheezing and coughing on each exhale.

“What does that mean?” Jin Guangyao pants when he can.

Jin Guangshan’s gaze practically burns with disdain from what Nie Mingjue can see when he looks down at his son from where he’s washing his hands and says, “He said ‘Don’t kill your partner on the first day’.”

“I know what he said,” Jin Guangyao snaps, which is…interesting. “What does it mean?”

“It means your father and I are putting our differences aside long enough to pursue shared interests,” Wen Ruohan answers while Jin Guangshan dries his hands and settles his coat more comfortably on his shoulders. “Come, there is much to discuss.”

Nie Mingjue, just as thrown as Jin Guangyao seems to be by this turn, stands and stalks out of the bathroom on Wen Ruohan’s heels, leaving Jin Guangyao to sort himself out as Jin Guangshan keeps pace, the three of them (and Jin Guangyao trailing behind) heading for the open-air café nestled into the next bend in the river.

... -.-. . -. . / -... .-. . .- -.-

YUNPING CITY INTERNAL BORDER [WEST] — RIVERSIDE CAFÉ

“As you’re both well aware, every major organization in the world has currently got its eye on nuclear technology,” Jin Guangshan says around the rim of his coffee cup, sounding as simultaneously bored and pompous as ever under the background hum of the rest of the patrons seated around them enjoying the morning breeze as they nibble on pastries or sip at their own cups between their murmured conversations. Jin Guangyao doesn’t touch the coffee set in front of him but instead stares down into the brown-black surface of it, mentally running through every possible reason why they’re here, now, having a conversation with Wen Ruohan and his secret personal pet, who is without a doubt the best agent in Qishan.

He doesn’t like any of the options very much.

“Luckily, for the most part we know pretty well where everyone stands. There are only so many ways to make a missile, after all, and we all know how to do it…in theory, naturally.” Jin Guangshan laughs with calculated breeziness that Jin Guangyao is sure no one in present company is foolish enough to fall for; after all, hadn’t the entire country recently celebrated the detonation of 596? There’s nothing theoretical about it, that’s sort of the point of this worldwide Cold War. “There’s only one man besides Lan Wangji that we know of who’s on the cusp of doing it both quickly and well, and no one is happy to have such important knowledge so…restricted.”

Jin Guangyao refrains from rolling his eyes with a massive amount of effort. Everyone at this table knows that the Yiling Laozu and his groundbreaking research are the goal here. They were all involved in acquiring Lan Xichen last night simply because of his somewhat tenuous connection to his brother who may be connected to the Yiling Laozu in some way, so why the dramatics of this ‘reveal’?

Wen Ruohan chooses that moment to cut in, sounding as impatient as Jin Guangyao feels and clearly eager to get to the heart of the matter. “The Yiling Laozu has streamlined the process of refining the uranium necessary for the nuclear devices he prototyped during the war, and out of everyone researching nuclear weaponry, he’s the only one we haven’t managed to pin down and keep our eye on. For all we know, the methods he’s developing will make it child’s play for anyone and everyone in the world to develop their own atomic bombs freely, and then where will we be?”

Jin Guangyao darts a glance up at Wen Ruohan to find him frowning thunderously, scowling in a way that might have once made Jin Guangyao afraid of him, before his father taught how to stop fearing anyone else but him. Even a man as powerful and ruthless as Wen Ruohan can’t possibly hurt him in the ways Jin Guangshan can, so what is there to fear? In that same vein, he wonders in a detached sort of way if he should worry about the fact that he no longer cares if the entire world is blown to bits by any of these idiots and their nuclear prick-measuring contests.

His dour musings are interrupted by Jin Guangshan slapping a folder down in front of him hard enough to slosh his untouched coffee, though it doesn’t quite spill over into the saucer. Jin Guangyao dutifully flicks the folder open to the sight of a monochrome candid photo of Lan Xichen from the shoulders up and looking a little windswept, an enigmatic smile on his lips as he gazes somewhere beyond the camera.

Under the clinking and chatter of the rest of the café patrons, Jin Guangshan takes over narrating his little story again.

“Our key to finding the Yiling Laozu is still going to be Lan Xichen, but now we know that Jiang Shipping — which on the surface has no remaining connection to the Lan family as of a full decade ago — may not be quite as innocent in all of this as they’d like to appear. Before the war, there was a rather precocious young man closely aligned with the Jiang family. After the younger generation’s introduction into Jiang Fengmian’s social and professional circles, this boy was frequently seen at events alongside the Jiang heir and heiress, though the family has always been notoriously tight-lipped about his origin and his importance to them.”

Jin Guangyao slides the photo of Lan Xichen aside to study the next photo in the stack: a posed shot of three elegantly dressed young adults, barely out of their teens, at what seems to be a celebratory event for Jiang Shipping judging by the small bit he can see of a nine-petal lotus logo emblazoned on the banner above their heads. The Jiang heiress is in the middle, smiling sweetly with deep dimples in her cheeks and tasteful jewels dripping from every available spot on her wrists, her neck, her ears, even the delicately curled end of her braid draped over one shoulder. She’s flanked by two men in flashy evening wear that flirts with the visuals of Western black-tie, clearly aiming for fashion statements rather than elegant or tastefully understated convention. Upon closer inspection, he realizes he recognizes the man on Jiang Yanli’s left as one of the auxiliary men in the photograph of the Yiling Laozu and Lan Wangji in Yiling that he’d shown Lan Xichen just last night. The other man is circled in thick red chisel-tip, the alcohol bite of the fresh ink tickling the back of his nose.

Jin Guangyao flicks idly to the next photo down to see the circled, unnamed man featured again dressed in the same attire as before, this time hanging off a thoroughly unimpressed-looking Lan Wangji whose expression is impassive, perhaps bordering on unhappy. From what Jin Guangyao knows of Lan Wangji (as told by his contacts within the research department of Jinlintai during the past few years of his reluctant employment), he’s notoriously standoffish and uninterested in any sort of social contact with his coworkers; Jin Guangyao can’t imagine that a younger and even more tightly wound version of him would be thrilled to have a long, lanky imp of a man clinging to one of his arms with a grin bright enough to rival the sun.

Jin Guangshan continues, “Before that…unfortunate business with the Lan estate at the start of the war—” alright, so they’re all just going to pretend that said ‘unfortunate business’ wasn’t the direct work of Wen Ruohan’s pyromaniac sons under the cover of the confusing early days of the conflict, most likely carried out on their father’s orders “—the Lan heirs made it their business to ingratiate themselves to others in high society circles, including the Jiang. Lan Wangji in particular was often seen with this..ward of theirs, though information varies on how well they got along. Either way, the boy disappeared early on in the war upon leaving for Europe, and was written off quickly as a casualty of the conflict overseas. Quite a tragedy for the Jiang to lose such a bright mind from their little empire, though perhaps a bit too conveniently timed. He disappeared a mere three months before the sudden appearance of the Yiling Laozu with his brilliant schematics and devastating prototypes, most of which were used in direct aid of the Jiang family’s interests both during the war and after the fighting was over.”

Jin Guangyao fights back the urge to yawn as Jin Guangshan leads them clumsily through information that Jin Guangyao himself had gathered the majority of on his father’s behalf weeks ago. He’d gone to fetch Lan Xichen for a reason, after all.

Wen Ruohan must also be getting tired of Jin Guangshan’s monologuing because he once again interrupts a little crisply. “We believe Lan Xichen is going to be even more instrumental in finding and stopping the Yiling Laozu than originally thought. If the man single-handedly responsible for the last few years of major leaps in nuclear technology is not working alone as we’d thought and is instead supported in secret by the Jiangs, then they may be helping him hold Lan Wangji captive until he gives up the information he’s acquired in the course of his research in Lanling. It’s imperative that we do everything in our power to stop him and keep the others safe before Lan Wangji’s resolve weakens enough to supply them with the information they want.”

Jin Guangyao hides the urge to laugh out loud at the hypocrisy of it all with a single tap of his fingertip on another photo from the same party the Jiang siblings had attended, about halfway through the stack of documents in the folder. He tilts his head a bit to better study another candid shot of Lan Xichen, this time caught when he was laughing at something with his icy brother at his side, his eyes as warm and sparkling with kindness as his little brother’s are cold and disinterested.

“The Jiang family lost nearly everything at the start of the war, though unlike the Lan they were able to build themselves back up from nothing to thriving once again in just a few short years. It would seem recently that they’re willing to accept help from the Yiling Laozu to help them continue to rebuild…in return for their services to get his goods anywhere they need to be smuggled. Due to the loss of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan in an…unexpected raid on the main Yunmeng complex—” another Wen job his father blatantly brushes past; Jin Guangyao can’t quite manage to keep from rolling his eyes while nobody’s watching him “—Jiang Shipping is now being run entirely by the heir and heiress, Jiang Wanyin and his older sister Jiang Yanli. From what we can tell, Jiang Wanyin isn’t really much of a concern. He doesn’t so much as sneeze without asking his sister for her thoughts on it first; we’re positive she’s the real driving force behind the family’s unexpected success. A lethal combination of delicacy and charm all wrapped up in perfect manners and social connections with every important family this side of China — she’ll be the one to watch out for.”

Jin Guangyao returns to the photo of her with her brother and the man they believe could be the Yiling Laozu, taking note of the way the two men curl around her much smaller frame, arms thrown over her shoulders and postures protective as she smiles sweetly at the camera. She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly, in all honesty, but Jin Guangyao relies on the exact same camouflage to do the things he does and repeatedly get away clean, so he knows precisely how little that can really mean.

“All of this to say: we believe the Jiang siblings are responsible for Lan Wangji’s disappearance at the Yiling Laozu’s direction, and Lan Qiren’s sudden holiday to Yiling when he’s been in Gusu for years slowly rebuilding the Lan name can’t possibly be a coincidence. Now — imagine the consequences if the Yiling Laozu, previously an isolated threat, suddenly gains access to not only all the resources that the Jiang siblings have at their disposal, but Lan Wangji and the remains of the Lan library as well. He could easily build the most effective atom bomb the world has ever seen for the highest bidder, whoever that may be.”

Wen Ruohan stirs from contemplating the river to reach for his coffee, the movement snagging Jin Guangyao’s wandering attention.

“We have no choice but to work together on this,” Wen Ruohan says with an air of resignation. “Your mission is to infiltrate the Yiling Laozu’s organization through the Jiang siblings, and to retrieve Lan Wangji along with their combined research. It should be on a computer disk just like this—”  Wen Ruohan withdraws from within his jacket a Jin-patented disk, the delicate magnetic tape protected in a round case of soft blue plastic and glinting metal “—and whoever has that disk will become the most powerful force in the world.”

“You, boy, are to investigate Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli,” Jin Guangshan grunts as if irritated that he has to address Jin Guangyao directly where others can see. Jin Guangyao chances a glance at his father, but as is usual when they have any audience outside of anyone in their own organization, his father won’t look directly at him but is instead studying a spot just above his shoulder in the moment before he turns to shoot Nie Mingjue a sharp glance. “Our friend from Qishan will focus on using Lan Xichen to reach Qiren.”

Jin Guangshan stands then, straightens out his jacket, and across the table Wen Ruohan does the same. “We’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Wen Ruohan says pointedly when Nie Mingjue makes as if to stand and leave with his handler. “Guangshan, give my regards to Jin-furen.”

There’s a general increase in the ambient noise level as every cup in the café is abruptly set down in its saucer and each chair is pushed back. Jin Guangyao turns his head to watch the entire open-air patio empty out in just a few moments as everyone who had been ostensibly having a casual morning coffee follows either his father or Wen Ruohan back out into the park heading in opposite directions and to whatever their next duties may be.

Well, at least that explains why they were so comfortable discussing top secret information so openly.

Nie Mingjue, when Jin Guangyao hazards a glance at him across the table, is glaring at him in the twittering silence around them as intently as he had any time their eyes had met the previous night.

It’s an uncomfortably long few moments of a wordless stare-down before Nie Mingjue sits back and tucks his hands into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, affecting a nonchalance he clearly doesn’t feel.

“Obviously I was briefed about you,” he says, and Jin Guangyao realizes it’s the first time he’s heard the man speak. He isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that his voice is sort of…nice. Deep and rich. Steady. “I know of your criminal background, your years spent running from the law..until you were caught and you had to weasel your way out of prison into Jin Guangshan’s gold-lined pockets. How much did he have to bribe the Americans to let you go? Or did he have to buy you off the Italians?”

Jin Guangyao sighs and doesn’t deign to reply when he’s clearly being insulted.

“But I’ll tell you what really interests me about your profile: what could possibly motivate you to then become his most effective agent? I’ve only ever seen men jump through so many hoops when they want to keep their filthy blackmail tucked safely away from prying eyes.” Nie Mingjue affects a smug look of realization that Jin Guangyao would very much like to punch off his face. He carefully keeps his hand flat where it’s resting on the table beside his cup and saucer, though he curls the other into a tight fist where it’s hidden below the table, resting on his knee. “And then I thought ah, of course: it must be to balance out the shame and humiliation of knowing that the man holding your leash, the father who never wanted you in the first place, still had to come buy you and your freedom, just to clean up the sloppy, greedy mess you left in your wake.”

Jin Guangyao breathes through the age-old ache of being kicked around and bought and sold just like his mother had tried to save him from, even if they’d been made into products in entirely different ways, and decides that the best form of defense is a strong offense.

“Shame and humiliation, hm?” he muses with a little smile, the kind that most people find unnerving – particularly when paired with the steady stare he’s giving Nie Mingjue. “I think you understand humiliation just fine, probably even better than I do. Tell me, how does it feel to devote your life’s work to the man responsible for your entire family’s ruin?”

Nie Mingjue’s face goes white, and Jin Guangyao thrills in the adrenaline rush of landing a successful blow.

“After last night I figured I should read up on you, maybe figure out if there was some fringe medical experiments I’d missed out on in the last year or two that would explain how you exist. It was really an interesting story, you know. Your father, head of his own organization, notorious for opposing Wen Ruohan in ways that would get anyone else killed on sight, but he was really a bit of a hypocrite, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he just as ruthless, just as unfair? And then, come to find out in the end he’d driven himself to madness with all his own little nuclear experiments; arguably as dubious as any of Wen Ruohan’s, only your father was better at hiding it for longer.

“How old were you, exactly, when he was publicly shamed and put down like a dog? Thirteen? Fourteen? Were your psychotic episodes lining up with his by the end, perhaps a bit of father-and-son bonding?”

Jin Guangyao knows that he’s likely avoiding death by no more than the foot and a half of flimsy table separating him from Nie Mingjue, but he doesn’t care one bit when Nie Mingjue is so clearly more upset by Jin Guangyao’s words than the other way around. Let it never be said that Jin Guangyao doesn’t return every blow he’s dealt ten-fold, whenever possible.

“Of course one has to admire how well you’ve done in spite of that, I’m the type of man who believes effort should always be recognized. You rose up quickly through Qishan Wen’s ranks after the Qinghe Nie had well and truly collapsed in on themselves a year or two after your father’s execution — straight through the grunt work and into his special forces, all the way up to right hand man and pet assassin! Well done, you. I do have to wonder if it’s your father’s shame that drove you, though, otherwise why fight so hard for the man who pulled the trigger on Nie Fengyi and ruined you for sport afterward?

“Of course there is actually another, more likely reason that I spotted not long after that. Perhaps it’s not as effective as blackmail — or maybe it’s more effective, I don’t know — but tell me: how is your little brother Huaisang doing all the way back in Qishan? Is he being treated well? Or are the rumors true that he’s currently a popular toy for Wen Ruohan’s important friends to play with while you’re busy out here making sure Wen Ruohan’s hands stay clean? Now that’s a shameful motivation if ever I’ve heard one.”

Jin Guangyao deems his job done well enough when Nie Mingjue jerks to his feet and tosses their table out of his way like it weighs no more than a sheet of paper, dishes smashing on the poured concrete floor and the metal table clattering noisily on top of the mess a split second behind. Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at his companion, taking note of his trembling hands, the hunted look in his eyes, and the tension in his neck and jaw before Nie Mingjue stalks off without another word in the same direction the rest of the Wen contingent had gone.

His time finally his own for an hour or two at least, Jin Guangyao stands and picks up his umbrella again to open it with a sigh and take a peaceful, solitary lap around the park. The sound of the wind and the trilling birds in the shelter of the trees that line the paved path are a balm he thoroughly appreciates as he makes his way slowly towards the main entrance, his mind already spinning out webs of plans to make this ridiculous scheme work as best as he can. What else is new, really, when he works for a man such as Jin Guangshan?

With his free hand tucked lazily into his trouser pocket and an old Yunping brothel tune running through his head that he can’t help but whistle as he walks along at his own pace, Jin Guangyao easily passes for any of the locals around him paying him no mind as he goes, and he’s mercifully left alone.

[hectorthedoggo]

hey so i wrote the first part out of 9 for the fic where the prisoners observe/experience some of my es hcs, fugue update idk later (maybe friday if i have time) but i'm not gonna write kazui for this one hence the nine.

under cut. It's in Haruka's perspective, so sorry if i wrote him wrong (never written him before ; ;)

also not edited ima do that later but a little preview here

Haruka had earliersubmitted his order forms. I mean, I don’t want to be a bother to the warden… but Mu said it was okay to ask for things, so I guess?

He really wanted cotton candy. It was his favorite, and was like childhood memories. Haruka remembered telling that to the guard in passing once.

Es had scoffed in response, insisting they had to leave. Were they mad at me?

Why had they been mad at me? Did I say something wrong?

I always do that, don’t I?

He shook his head. I want to visit Mu now. I feel… sad.

Haruka peered out of his room and lightly padded over to Mu’s cell. I hope she’s not mad at me for visiting.

He knocked, and a familiar, warm voice called out, “Come in!”

He lightly opened the door so she wouldn’t get scared. “Ah, Haruka!”

Mu was cross legged on her bed, lifting a fork of crepe to her mouth. She swallowed, and smiled at him, making him blush.

“This crepe is really good! Even if they’re a little bit of a meanie, this guard knows their stuff! Right, what did you request?” She set down the delicacy and walked towards

“C-cotton candy, but, uh, are the requests out?”

She giggled. “Of course they are, silly! How else would I get my crepe?” Oh, I’m stupid.

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine! I’ll walk with you to get your cotton candy!”

“Really?!” He lit up.

She nodded, taking his hand. “Of course, let’s go!”

The two walked through the halls, Mu chattering about drama with Haruka listening intently; the pair made their way to the place to pick up requests. 

Sure enough, his treat was lying there, and he grabbed it excitedly. The warden got this… for me!

He had no problems with it, but Mu took a closer look at it. “Hey… Haruka, I think this is wrong.”

“Huh?” Did I do something?

“It looks like someone took a bite of it.”

He looked at it. Sure, it does look weird, but I think I’ll still eat it.

Haruka brought it up to his mouth, intending to eat it and Mu cringed. “Ew! Don’t eat that! Someone else already touched it!”

Oh… but I wanted to eat it… She grabbed it out of his hand, and threw it away. She sighed, ignoring his sadness. “Who would do that? Amane? Ah, but she doesn’t seem the type…”

She kept mumbling to herself as Haruka tried to console himself about his lost treat.

Mu smirked, going into a wild fit of laughter. Haruka looked down at her, and she collected herself. “I- it’s Es… oh my god, they would, that’s so pathetic; does Milgram not give them their own treats?”

Haruka tilted his head, sounding out the word. “Pa-the-tic?”

“Like you! Being pathetic is what makes you so endearing- sorry, funny. Don’t worry, you’re nicer than them, so it balances out.”

Haruka nodded, a note of uncertainty in his voice. “Ok!” I don’t like being compared.

No, Mu likes me, and I’m not going to be replaced.

[the-whispers-of-death]

happy ending for serial killer!stone at last. yay :)

just ignore the extreme isolation of returning back to life they both feel. idk lets put this smack dab in the middle and say that it took magic user!reader 15 years to bring them back.

imagine asking their lovers about literally anything. "oh i cant find [x] in stores :(" only to find out that oh. it got discontinued. probably 90% of the things they knew are gone now, or changed fundamentally

you know that one news article thing that was like "prisoner sentenced to s lifetime, dies and is brought back to life. argues a lifetime is over and he should be free" thats what i imagine serial killer!stone being like. yeah his story did end in tragedy. but then his fuckass boyfriend went and brought him back so like. does this count as just a new chapter or a new whole story entirely, separate from the first. what.

or maybe something something necromancy being so taxing on magic user!reader's body that theyre now back at square one. just there, unresponsive, not reacting to touch. in the same state he was 15 years ago.

maybe criminal!stone's conflicted about this. yes his boyfriend and his boyfriend's boyfriend are alive again. but at the cost of his other boyfriend probably being bedbound for a few weeks at the minimum, unable to do any magic for even longer. and he cant split himself in three to take care of them all, as much as it kills him.

or. something something kali intigrating himself into the relationship. slowly learning how they all tic and what theyre like. idk how being ghosts affected this all tho. they probably could both see each-other, but seeing the living world? maybe just in small flickers with months in between? glimpses into the lives of criminal!stone and magic user!reader.

sure, reader could probably sense them, but they couldnt interract. maybe reader greeting them at times. "oh, hi kali.. stone." knowing they cant reply. and within seconds, its gone. something something being spiritually bound to magic user!reader? because of the extent they interact with both spirits?

maybe it really was just serial killer!stone's first attempt at life which must end in tragedy. but that doesnt exempt him from me smushing him into the angst blender and putting that sucker in turbo blend mode

idk i woke up like 30min ago. idk how connected any of these thoughts are

~ rusty

The angsty side of me wants to say that Serial Killer!Stone's story still ends in tragedy despite dying once already.

Kali dies again and so does Magic User!Reader. The only reason Criminal!Stone is alive is because the universe is just like "This is not how your story ends." And so now he and Serial Killer!Stone are the only ones left and Criminal!Stone turns resentful towards Serial Killer!Stone because if only he hadn't tried to become happy, then you would be alive.

[starwrittenfates]

PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER!

ALIAS / NAME: Serenity

BIRTHDAY: May 27th

ZODIAC SIGN: Gemini (Chinese zodiac is the Rat)

HEIGHT: 5'4"

HOBBIES: Writing fanfiction (and obviously rping on here), Cosplaying, Reading, acting in indie films or fan films, photography, photoshop, going to conventions

FAVOURITE COLOUR: It varies depending on my mood (but I usually love blue, purple and green.)

FAVOURITE BOOKS: Harry Potter (in Snape voice: obviously), Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine , The Goddess of Nothing At All by Cat Rector, Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente, Sherwood by Meagan Spooner, Doctor Who: Divided Loyalties by Gary Russell just to name a few off the top of my head. I know there's plenty more. I'm like so behind on all my reading.... *cries*

LAST FILM / TV SHOW: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Secrets of Moonacre (Film) and Pixel Perfect (Film).

RECENT READS: I'm still currently on my readthrough of the Harry Potter books with Prisoner of Azkaban. It takes me awhile to get through reading books because of my cervical radiculopathy, but to make up for it I'm also reading a Snily fanfic called Sympathetic Magic and it's SOOOO GOOD!

INSPIRATION: Music, Sunlight, Friends, and also just giving all the obscure or underappreciated characters that authors didn't give love or development to the things they need. I love worldbuilding, character building and understanding what makes a character tic.

STORY BEHIND URL: I was looking for something that could fit a Multi-muse account. I've always had a fascination with astronomy and I love stories involving fate, destiny, soulmates, all that magical stuff, so this blog was made. I used to be known as @starwrittendestinies at one point, but of course I deleted it and then tried to remake it, but got locked out. I like starwrittenfates better anyway.

FUN FACT ABOUT ME: Misha Collins threw a cookie at me during Comic Con. It was awesome (and a really good cookie.)

TAGGED BY: @victoriousfidelity (thank you so muchhhh!!!)

TAGGING: @pctentialbreakupsong, @luposcainus, @torxnn, @dcmoniism & @enchantedxhearts (and anyone else who would love to do the thingggg)

[homosexualisopod]

idk what else to say in here.

Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful

sort, which could only be broken by Love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a

terrible fire breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful

prison, but none prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower

for her true love and true love's first kiss. Like that's ever going to happen. What a loony. Shrek

Beware Stay out I think he's in here. All right. Lets get it! Hold on. Do you know what that thing can

do to you? Yeah. He'll groan into your bones for his brains. Well actually that would be a giant. Now

Ogres, huh, they are much worse. They'll make a soup from your freshly peeled skin. They'll chew

your livers, squeeze the jelly from your eyes. Actually, it's quite good on toast. Back, back beast,

back! I warned you! Right. This is the part, where you run away. Yeah! And stay out. Wanted.

Fairytale creatures. Right, this one is full. Take it away. Give me that. Your fine days are over. -25

pieces of silver for the witch. Next. -Come on. Sit down there! And be quiet! This cage is so small.

You wouldn't turn me in. I'll never be stubborn again. I can change. Please, give me another chance.

Oh, shut up! Next. What do we got? This little wooden puppet. I'm not a puppet, I'm a real boy. Five

shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away. No! Please, don't let them do it! Next. What do you

got? Well, I've got a talking donkey! Right. Well that's good for ten schillings, if you can prove it. Oh,

go ahead fella. Well? He's just a li..., just a little nervous. He's really quite a chatterbox. You

boneheaded donkey! That's it. I have heard enough. Guards! No, no, he talks, he does! I can talk. I

love to talk. I've talked to... Get her out of my sight! -No, no, I swear! Hey, I can fly. -He can fly! -He

can fly! He can talk! -That's right, fool! Now I'm a flying, talking donkey! You might have seen house

fly, maybe even a superfly. But I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly! Seize him! Get him! This way!

Hurry! You there. Ogre. -I. By the order of lord Farquaad. I am authorized to place you both under

arrest. And transport you to designated resettlement facility. Oh really? You and what army? Can I

say something to you? Listen, you were really, really something, back there. Incredible. Are you

talking to... ...me? Yes, I was talking to you. Can I just tell you that you were really great back there

with those guards. They thought that was all over there. And then you showed up and BAM. There

was tripping on over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that.

Oh, that's great. Really. Man, it's good to be free. Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom

with your own friends? But I... I don't have any friends. And I'm not going out there by myself. Hey

wait a minute. I have a great idea... I'll stick with you. You and me in green fighting machine.

Together we'll scare the spin if anybody crosses us. Oh, a, that was really scary. Maybe you don't

mine me saying. If that don't work, your breath will certainly do the job done, 'cause... you

definitively need some tic-tac or something, 'cause your breath stinks! Man you've ??? my note!

Just like the time... ...and then I ate some rotten berries. Man I had some strong gases leaking out of

my but that day. Why are you following me? I'll tell you why. 'Cause I'm all alone, there is no one

here, beside me. My problems have all gone. There's no one to derive me. But you got to have

free ... -Stop singing! Well, it's no wonder, you don't have any friends. Wow! Only a true friend

would be that truly honest. Listen! Little donkey. Take a look at me! What am I? A... ...really tall? No!

I'm an Ogre. You know, grab your torch and pitchforks. Doesn't that bother you? Nope. Really?

-Really really. Oh? Man, I like you. What's your name? A..., Shrek. Shrek?! But do you know, what I

like about you, Shrek? You've got that kind of: "I don't care what nobody thinks of me" thing. I like

that, I respect that, Shrek. You're all right. Uh, look at that. Who would wanna live in a place like

that? That would be my home. Oh, it is lovely. Just beautiful. You know you're quite a decorator. It's

amazing what you did with such a modest budget. I like that boulder. That is a nice boulder. I guess,

you don't entertain much, do you? I like my privacy. You know I do to. That's another thing, we have

in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You try to give them a hint and they

won't leave. And then there's that big occurred silence, you know? Can I stay with you? -What? Can

I stay with you, please. Of course! -Really? No. -Please! I don't want to go back there. You don't

how is like to be concerned like a freak. Well..., maybe you do. But that's why we have to stick

together! You got to let me stay! Please! Please! OK, OK. -But one night only. -Huh, thank you! A,

what are you do... No! This is going to be fun. We can stay up late, swap the manly stories. And in

the morning... I'm making waffles. Where do I sleep? Outside! Oh, a, I guess that's cool. You know, I

don't know you and you don't know me... ... so I guess, outside is best for me. Here I go. Good

night. I do like that half door. I'm a donkey all alone outside. Sit by myself outside, I guess. I'm all

alone, there's no one here beside me. -I thought, I told you to stay outside. -I am outside. Well

James. This is far from the farm, but what choice do we have? It's not... What a lovely bed. -Got

you! I found some cheese. Awful stuff. -Is that you Gordon? -How did you know? Enough! What are

You need to be euthanized I think

[foundtherightwords]

The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 7

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.  

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: semi-public sex (non-explicit), some mentions of violence and death (events that occurred in "Lethal White")

Chapter word count: 4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7 - New Year's Eve

Once the shock wore off, Esme noticed certain resemblances between Billy and the older man, the same dark hair and pale skin, the same shape of the eyes, but she still had a hard time accepting that they were actual brothers. It was in their expressions, she decided. Just like with her and Mum. Regardless of how he was feeling or what he was thinking, there was always sweetness and softness on Billy's face, while Jimmy's remained hard, even when he was smiling. She remembered what Billy had told her about Jimmy—his militant activism, his belligerence, the crowd of girls always hanging around him. Looking at Jimmy now, she could still see how girls might have flocked to him, but whatever charisma he had possessed in the past was now worn thin by his stint in prison, barely concealing the danger lurking underneath.

"Who's this?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Esme and Angua. "You're shagging her? Or is it the dog?"

Heat scorched Esme's cheeks. She stepped forward. "Excuse me—"

Billy turned to her and dropped his voice. "Go home, Esme. Please."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him!"

Billy seemed to regain some self-control. He stood up straighter in front of Jimmy, and asked in a steadier voice, "What are you doing here, Jimmy?"

"That all you have to say? No 'How are you, Jimmy? How's prison?'"

"How'd you get in?"

"I have the keys. It's still my name on the lease, innit?"

"Not if you haven't paid the rent in three years," Billy said.

"Can't exactly do that from prison, can I?" Jimmy looked around the room. "You seem to be doing alright though. How's all that money working out for you?"

Billy frowned. "What money?"

"The Chiswells'. I know they made a load of money off of some painting after old Chizzy popped his clogs. You saw any of that?"

The name Chiswell rang a faint bell in Esme's mind, but the rest of their conversation might as well be in a foreign language as far as she was concerned. What wasn't lost on her, though, was how pale Billy had gone, how tearful his eyes were, and how his right hand had resumed its tic. She grabbed his hand, holding him to her, holding him to reality. "I think you should go," she said to Jimmy.

Jimmy's eyes flicked to her. "You need your girlfriend to fight for you, Billy?"

"I—I don't know what money you're talking about."

"The money they owed us." The danger shimmered, threatening to erupt at any moment. "The money from selling Dad's"—again, his eyes flicked to Esme, with more hesitation this time—"Dad's things. I want my share."

"Please—please stop going on about that, Jimmy," Billy said. "You've caused enough trouble—"

"You were the one that caused trouble!" Jimmy jumped to his feet, and Esme could almost see Billy as a little boy, cowering in front of his big brother. "I told you I'd take care of you once I got the money, but you had to go and cocked everything up! You and that sick story you got in your fucked-up head—" 

"It wasn't a story! It did happen! Only..." A note of uncertainty crept into Billy's voice. "Only it didn't happen exactly how I remembered it."

"See? You can't even get it straight!" Jimmy was positively gloating now. "And how did you know what really happened anyway? Because that bloody Strike told you?" He turned to Esme. "Don't believe anything my brother tells you. He gets mixed up—"

"No!" Billy shouted and spun around to face Esme, his eyes pleading. "Esme, please..."

"It's OK." Esme tightened her grip on his hand. "I believe you." She had no idea what Jimmy and Billy were talking about, but Billy was getting agitated, and she knew she had to get him out of there before anything worse could happen. She tugged him toward the door. "C'mon. Let's go back to mine. Let him stay here if he wants."

"That's right, Billy. Run away again," Jimmy called after them, as Esme dragged both Billy and Angua from the flat. The little dog tugged on her leash, looking like she was getting ready to take a chunk out of Jimmy's leg, so Esme had to scoop her up. Jimmy smirked. "I'll get my money, one way or another. I will."

With her hands full, Esme tried to kick the door in his face, but it was too heavy and didn't give a very satisfying slam. The last thing she saw, as the door swung shut, was the cold marble eyes of Billy's brother, fixed on her.

***

Later, when they were in her flat and in bed, Billy finally told her the whole story, and the entire heartbreaking puzzle became clear.

"Do you remember a murder, a few years ago, of a minister named Jasper Chiswell?" he said.

Now that she thought about it, the name did sound familiar. She never kept up with current events, but Neil or her co-workers might have mentioned the case. "I think I've heard about it, yeah. Didn't it have something to do with a lost painting?"

"That's the one. The whole thing... well, I guess I sort of started it."

"What? How?"

"My dad worked for Chiswell. Jimmy and me, we grew up on their estate."

"What did your dad do?"

Billy's hand vaguely touched his chest and nose. "He built gallows for Chiswell," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Esme thought she'd misheard him. "He built what?"

"Gallows. To sell."

"But I thought they were illegal!"

"They are. But we didn't know that at the time. And he would make me carve the Horse on them, as a sort of marking."

"Oh, God."

Billy was shaking again, and Esme swallowed her own horror to wrap her arms around him, while he continued the story.

It was complicated, and Billy didn't have all of the details, but from what Esme could gather, a few years ago, in the middle of a psychotic breakdown, Billy had sought the help of a private investigator, Cormoran Strike, to discover the truth behind a murder he thought he'd witnessed on the White Horse when he was a child.

"Only there was no murder," Billy said. "A kid did get strangled up there, but he didn't die. I got mixed up. But Mr. Strike said that thanks to my story, he found out that Jimmy was blackmailing Chiswell about the gallows, and it helped him solve the case. He said I was a good witness." His face glowed briefly with pride.

Once Chiswell's murder had been solved and the painting found, Chiswell's daughter, Izzy, had offered to pay for Billy's treatment.

"And that's why Jimmy is mad at me," Billy concluded. "He thought I got the money that was owed us, and he didn't. But I don't know anything about it. Izzy—she just set up some sort of fund for my medications and therapy and things like that. That's all."

Esme's mind was a confusion of thoughts. She wondered what her parents would make of Billy if they knew. Even Mum couldn't make a story out of this, she was sure. It was too dark, too horrific to even think about. And it wrung her heart to think of Billy, so brave, so kind, trying to seek justice for an unknown child, when he himself was going through hell. It made her hate Jimmy even more, for preying on Billy's one weakness and making him doubt his own mind.

"Why didn't you move out of that flat?" finally she asked. "Cut contact with him?"

Billy looked at her for a long moment, his eyes hopeless. "I can't."

"But he's bullying you!"

"He's the only family I have left."

"Sometimes it's better to have no family at all," she said, not caring how cruel it sounded.

But Billy did care, because he untangled himself from her. "That's easy for you to say."

There was a bitter note in his voice, a resentment of her privilege. Yes, she supposed it was easy for her to talk about cutting off families when the worse her parents had done was forget a few meetings with her teachers. The thought brought shame, and with shame came anger.

"I'm only trying to help, Billy."

"I'm not asking for your help."

He turned his back to her. Several times during the night, she thought about reaching out for him, but his back remained against her, like a silent, impenetrable wall, and she couldn't bring herself to breach it. By the time she woke up the next morning, he was gone.

***

It was their first row. Esme told herself that it was normal for every couple to disagree and argue, that it couldn't be all lovey-dovey all the time, but this felt more serious than the usual lovers' quarrel. Everything had started with the visit to her parents, which had seemed fine on the surface, but must have affected Billy in ways she couldn't fully understand. And then Jimmy's appearance had exacerbated it. It was almost as though—yes, as though Billy was ashamed of who he was and found her sympathy condescending. But surely, he would know that she didn't mind any of it and that she truly cared for him, wouldn't he? If she had minded, she wouldn't have gone out with him in the first place.

That irritation of being misunderstood kept Esme from apologizing first. She still checked in with him to make sure everything was fine, but his answers were all short and snappish, and that irritated her more. I haven't done anything wrong. Why am I wrong for telling him to cut off his abusive brother?

But at the same time, she was worried that she had been too overbearing again. Who am I to judge him for clinging to his brother, while I'm still trying to seek approval from Mum and Dad? The only difference is that Mum and Dad are never abusive. She didn't want to follow that train of thought. She didn't like to think that she was just as blind as he was when it came to family.

They had made plans to celebrate New Year's Eve together, but when he still hadn't contacted her on the day, she accepted a last-minute invitation to a friend's party, out of spite. 

She had an absolutely miserable time.

It wasn't just that she missed her quiet nights with Billy and Angua. The friend, Olivia, was one that Esme knew through Neil, and one of the few friends she kept after their breakup, but even though Olivia was tactful enough not to invite Neil to her party, there were still too many of their former mutual friends there for Esme to really enjoy herself. She felt they were all walking on eggshells around her and found their careful cordiality irritating. She knew they didn't mean it—she knew they were being genuinely nice to her, but at the same time, she couldn't stop her insides from curling up in shame when one of them smiled at her or when their eyes happened to land on her empty ring finger.

Suddenly she understood where Billy's anger had come from. She was clear-minded enough to know that the shame was all in her head, but for Billy, who had been looked down upon his whole life, it was natural to conclude that her sympathy simply meant she pitied him.

An hour and a half into the party, Esme made up an excuse about having to go home to check on Angua and left, after sending Billy a text.

Can I stop by your place? I really want to talk.

His reply came quickly: I'm at the studio. Then, perhaps in an effort to sound warmer, he added: No one here anyway. You can stop by.

The woodworking studio was quiet and echoing, the looming dressers and cupboards and hulks of tree trunks stacked along the walls giving it a slightly eerie look. Esme followed the sound of chiseling and found Billy sitting under a pool of light, his back to her, working on something she couldn't see. Hearing her footsteps, he turned around. His eyes brightened at the sight of her, though he tried to look indifferent.

"Hi," she managed. It had only been five days since they last saw each other, yet it seemed much longer.

Billy stood up. He took in her cocktail dress—a black velvet bodice with a low back, and a cloud of white tulle for a skirt—and asked, his voice sullen, "Going to a party?"

"I just came back, actually. It wasn't much fun." She added, in a small voice, "Without you."

He gave her a fleeting glance, that familiar battle between happiness and doubt playing out across his features again. She made a promise to herself that as long as they were together, she would do her best to wipe away that doubt.

"I'm sorry I didn't call," he said. "I wanted to, but—"

The uneasiness in his voice was unmistakable. "Is Jimmy still at your flat?"

"No. He's gone to stay with some mates."

Esme let out a relieved sigh. That's good. At least he's not around to bother Billy anymore. "Listen, Billy." She stepped forward and touched his wrist. When he didn't move away, she took his hand. "I'm really sorry for what I said the other night. It's not my place to tell you what to do about your brother. I overstepped. I'm sorry."

Billy kept his eyes turned away, his other hand fiddling with the chisel he was still holding. "'s alright," he mumbled. "I know you meant well." Though he still wasn't looking at her, his voice was no longer sullen. She gave him a tentative smile and squeezed his hand briefly. She'd been hoping for a more definite reconciliation than this, but perhaps she needed to give him time. Perhaps it was best not to discuss the matter any longer.

Now that the apology was done with, Esme found herself dithering. As she cast about for something to say, her eyes landed on the slab of wood Billy was working on, about the size of a cupboard door.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's for the exhibition."

Esme tilted her head. There was the raised shape of a face carved into the wood, but no clear features yet. "What's it going to be?"

Billy blushed. "Um, you."

"Me?" She looked at the block more closely and thought she could recognize the set of the chin, the hint of a braid curved along the neck and down the shoulder. She looked again at Billy's flushed face and thought of his hands lovingly carving her features, breathing life into that wood. A bubble of warmth burst in her chest and spread all over her body.

"I mean—if you don't mind being a model, that is," he continued, still keeping his head down.

"No, not at all. Right now?"

"Are you busy? Do you need to get home to Angua?"

"No, she's staying with Priya. I didn't want to leave her alone with all the fireworks going on."

"Well, the exhibition's in two weeks, so..."

Esme made a noise of disapproval that her younger siblings would've recognized. "You're leaving it kind of last minute, aren't you?"

"I couldn't decide what to do," he said sheepishly and directed her to a stool next to the work table, under the light.

She took off her jacket and sat down on the stool. "Do I need to strike a pose or—"

"No, this is fine. May I—?" He pulled her braid over her shoulder and stood for a moment, rubbing the tip of her hair between his fingers. Then he finally lifted his eyes to look at her and said, quietly, "You're beautiful."

"Oh, stop it," Esme said, the warmth in her chest now spreading to her face. She tried to hide her self-consciousness with a joke. "Draw me like one of your French girls." Billy gave her a confused look. "Haven't you seen Titanic?" He shook his head. "Oh, dear. We'll have to watch it together someday then, if you don't find the ship-sinking bit too stressful. It's not on my list of top ten films or anything, but it's entertaining enough—" Then, realizing she was babbling again—"Sorry, I'll let you concentrate now."

Billy bent over the wood, chiseling it with a steady, confident hand, without even having to pencil down a rough sketch first. Esme tried to sit still and keep her countenance, but she couldn't stop a shy smile from stealing across her lips as she watched her features taking shape on the wood. Her own hands could cut and stitch and bandage, but she was hopeless when it came to anything remotely artistic, so it was fascinating watching him work. When Billy caught her smiling, he smiled back at her, and the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart grew.

Once Billy finished with the outline of her face, he picked up a finer gouge and started on her features. But here his confidence seemed to fail him. Several times he looked at her, put gouge to wood, then took it away again.

"What's the matter?" Esme asked.

"I can't—I'm afraid of getting it wrong."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

But her words were no use. After watching him fumbling with the gouge for another minute, Esme got down from the stool and approached him. "Maybe you should take a break."

Billy gazed at her. He put a hand toward her face. "Jacob says sometimes we have to get a feel of what we're trying to carve, before putting it onto the wood," he said. "Can I—?"

She wasn't quite sure what he had in mind, but she moved closer until her cheek rested in his palm. He ran his fingers ever so gently over her features, starting from her hairline to the curves of her eyebrows, down her nose, across her cheekbones, along her jaws. As his fingers brushed over her eyelids, she let her eyes fall shut, so she could focus solely on his touch, the warmth of his palms, his calluses tickling her, sending an electrifying shiver down her spine and setting her heart thumping. She hadn't felt like this since they kissed in the greenhouse. It had been over two months, and although they regularly slept in the same bed and kissed and cuddled, she hadn't wanted him again, not as much as she did now.

Then his thumb grazed her mouth, tracing the contour of her lips, and, almost involuntarily, she parted them and let her tongue touch his rough skin. A gasp escaped him. His fingers paused in their exploration. Slowly, Esme opened her eyes and saw Billy staring back at her, his hands still cupping her jaws, his face so close that she could feel his breath, hot and trembling, on her cheek.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

And he did. But this wasn't their fumbling first kiss in the greenhouse, or the frantic kisses leading up to that disastrous first night, or the sweet kisses in the days that followed. This was something deeper, more languorous, an opportunity of exploring, in shape and taste and feel. She pulled back a little, breathing in his warm, earthy scent, like fresh sawdust, before diving back in, mapping his mouth with her own, a bit more confidently this time, discovering all the ways their curves fit together so perfectly, each movement, each tremble of her lips exquisitely matched by his.

Then their tongues met, and the kiss became hungry, intense. His hands left her face, one to clamp on her waist, the other buried into her hair, pressing her close to him as if afraid she was going to slip away. His lips caressed her throat, and the hand on her back tugged at the zip of her dress, pulling it over her shoulders, over her breasts, while his lips continued to travel further down. Her hair snatched on the zip and came loose from its braid, but she didn't care. Heat bloomed on her skin wherever his mouth touched, and a pulse throbbed between her legs, aching, yearning.

"I want you," he panted, pressing his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his beard scratchy on her skin. "I want you so much..."

"You can have me." And then, emboldened by his desperate, almost savage touches, she said, "You can. Here. Now."

His head reared up. His eyes stared into hers, searching, burning. She gave him a small nod.

With renewed frenzy, he pulled her to him, so tightly that she almost didn't notice when he picked her up and set her on the table in front of him. But then, all of a sudden, he seemed to be struck by a bout of uncertainty.

"Are you sure—?" he asked.

She was ready to cut him off with another kiss, but the memory of their first night together came flooding back. She had refused to listen to him back then. She would not make the same mistake now.

"I am," she said. "But if you're not—if you don't—" Please, please, don't let this turn into another disappointment.

"No." He undid her hair tie and gently pulled her hair free of its braid until it was a mass of mahogany over her shoulders and her back. "I am sure," he said, brushing the hair out of her face.

Don't think, just do.

Kicking off her shoes, she wrapped her legs around his hips and unbuttoned his jeans. He reached under her dress, pushing the fabric up to her waist, while his fingers continued their tracing of her body, reaching into other, more intimate places, until the ache became almost unbearable.

He pushed into her. She lifted her hips to meet him, and felt herself filled with heat, with him, as she threw her head back and dug her heels into his calves to hold him close, closer, still closer, because she could not get enough. There was no more fear, no more darkness to hide her shame, nothing else but the feel of him around her, inside her, under that bright, glorious light, until she cried out and the light exploded into a glow of white heat that obliterated everything except for him, as he joined her in that blissful oblivion.

Gradually, colors and details returned to the world. They remained in each other's embrace, the rumpled layers of clothes unable to dull the fire that smoldered between them still.

"Bloody hell," Billy breathed. "I think I prefer this to a kiss on New Year's Eve."

"Don't get used to it," Esme said, trying to sound stern and failing. If she was looking for a more definite reconciliation, this was it and a thousand times more. She giggled. "I feel like we owed Jacob an apology. First we made out in his greenhouse, and now—this—on his work table."

"I'm thinking more of a thank you," Billy said.

Esme's giggles turned into laughter, and Billy laughed as well, a rich, warm sound that came from deep within him. Esme pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling that laugh reverberating through her and all around her, wishing she could distill that moment and keep it forever. This is all I want. All I ever want. Here and now. If I could just have this, I wouldn't wish for anything else.

They reached her flat just as fireworks erupted across the sky. "I know I said I preferred what we did to a New Year's kiss," Billy whispered, as they watched the sparkles blossom and dance, scattering jewels on black velvet. "But can I still have that kiss?"

"I don't see why you can't have both," Esme said and pulled him toward her once more.

Chapter 8

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