#i am half a soul divided

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours I modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

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Chapter VI: Landslide

Summary: As your band, Dragon Dreamers, start to take off, you find yourself in the middle of a foul divorce with one of your bandmates; guitarist, singer and songwriter Aemond. After spending 3 months apart, only communicating through solicitors, you reunite to go on your first ever national tour of Westeros. To boost sales, your management suggest you perform some of the new songs from your upcoming album Rumours. Heartbroken, you've channeled your grief into writing. So has Aemond.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, smut, tags to be added for each chapter; angst, feral lovemaking (P in V), stalking, allusions to attempted sexual assault

Word Count: 4500

A/N: No, this isn't a Rumours song either! Sue me!

Dividers by Saradika

You dismiss another call from an unknown number with an annoyed flick of your finger as you continue to read the document in front of you, fingers dragging over the screen of your phone as your eyes scan the deed poll forwarded to you by your solicitor. 

Back to only carrying your maiden name, Targaryen officially removed from your legal name. 

It’s strange, like the marriage never happened. You can’t decide if the thought is comforting or devastating. But now it’s official. 

You’re not family anymore. 

One year ago, you’d never thought this day would come. A day where you wouldn’t be married to the love of your life; by his side through thick and thin. 

Aemond’s voice is hushed as he speaks to his grandfather out on the balcony. He’d asked you to wait in the living room as he took the call, but not being by his side made you feel restless. You knew Otto would be ruthless; stooping impossibly low in order to make Aemond rethink his decision to leave the firm to pursue the band full time. 

He finally emerges from the balcony, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and face hollow. You shift your body slightly on the sofa, bringing your arms out so he can sit down next to you and fall into your embrace. 

He does exactly that. 

Your fingers come up to comb through his hair as you gently inquire, “What did he say?”

Aemond just sighs as he moves to hide his face in the crook of your neck, arms leisurely placed around your waist. 

You already know the answer. That he was ashamed of having a quitter of a grandson. That he’ll never amount to anything without his grandfather. That he’s too intelligent to think that pursuing a band could be a viable career path. 

“What do I do now”, he mumbles defeatedly against your skin. You tap his cheek lightly with the tip of your finger to make him look up at you. 

As your eyes lock, you place your hand on his cheek and gently stroke your thumb over his cheekbone. 

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other”, you reassure as you lean down to kiss him. He eagerly reciprocates, arms coming up to either side of you as he pushes his body up to hover over you. You sink further into the sofa cushions as he surges down to kiss you again. His kisses are slow yet fierce, nearly sucking the soul out of you, leaving you breathless. 

You soon find yourself in your shared bed, Aemond arms still wrapped tightly around. He lets his forehead down to rest against yours as he gazes into your eyes. 

His stare is almost manic as he whispers, “You’re my everything”, sheathing himself fully inside you. His hips start to roll against yours, sending pleasurable sparks through your body.

It feels so good all you can do is moan, one of your hands coming up to grab a fistful of the hair at the back of his head, smashing his lips against yours in a messy kiss. 

The only sound in the room, in the entire flat, is your matching breaths as you entwine pants and moans, kissing sloppily; lovingly. 

You can hear how wet you are each time Aemond pulls out, the sound spurring him on further as he goes harder. You can hardly form a coherent thought as each thrust makes his pelvis press against your clit. “Don’t come yet”, he breathes into your mouth as he kisses you again and you nod obediently. 

He turns you so that you're on your side and lays down right behind you. His large hand caresses the smooth skin of your thigh before grabbing the meat of it, draping your leg over his hips as he begins to rut into you, a bit harsher than before. 

You can’t help but moan, letting him know how good he feels. Your hand searches his, still on your thigh, and you hold onto it for some stability as your body jolts forward with each harsh snap of his hips. 

He goes harder, thrusting into you while his face is pressed to you cheek, mumbling in your ear, “feel so fucking good, baby”. You moan in reply as you move your face slightly to place another wet kiss on his cheek. His cheeks are flustered and the top of his ears are almost red as his face is set in a look of stern determination. 

Using his arm for leverage, he lifts his body slightly, fucking you harder and harder. Your body gets pushed into the mattress and you find yourself on your stomach, one hand sneaking down under your stomach to circle your neglected clit. Aemond grunts as your walls clench down on his length, his face now shielded in your hair. 

“I’d fucking die for you, you know”, he grits out through clenched teeth as he continues his merciless pace. 

Though your peak is nearing rapidly, rendering your brain almost useless when it comes to focusing on anything else but the intoxicating pleasure he's giving you, you feel like something’s not right.

He sounds angry. 

You turn your head from where it’s pushed into the mattress in an attempt to face him. He looks deranged, hair falling in front of his face and pupil blown wide, eyes filled with something you can’t really decipher. It’s not purely lust. 

You call his name and bring your hand up to stroke his cheek, searching for eye contact. His eye is observing your body intensely, but not meeting yours. 

“Are you okay?”

He grunts, but slows down as his gaze finally finds yours. Was he upset? You’re not sure what’s going on, all you know is that you want to comfort him. 

Staring into his seeing eye without blinking, you console him, “I love you too, Aemond”. 

His expression falls and he suddenly seems sad. 

It makes you sad too. Why wouldn’t he just tell you what made him like this? Why does he refuse to open up to you? 

The movement of his hips falters and he says nothing, only breathing heavily. 

The hand you have resting on his cheek slowly travels down to his chest and you push him gently, gesturing for him to lay down on his back. 

He follows you silent instructions without protest, laying down on his back. 

You turn around and swing one of your legs over him so that you’re straddling him, hands resting on his chest. You slowly sink down on his cock, feeling whole again as it stretches you out in the most perfect way. 

You moan and throw your head back, setting a steady pace. Your hips move up and down, front and back. 

Aemond’ hands squeeze your hips and he continues to meet your rhythm by bucking up into you, losing himself to pleasure once more. 

“You feel so good, baby”, you moan, your pace never faltering. “No one could ever make me feel as good as you do”. 

He moans, one hand moving from your hip to your breast, cupping it and pinching your nipple between his fingers. You sigh in pleasure and lay down on top of him, hands moving to cup his face. 

“You’re mine. And I’m yours”

You kiss him and he harshly grabs your body again, arms wrapping around your waist as his cock moves frantically in and out of you. 

The pleasure is too immense, and you abruptly peak with a high-pitched cry, triggering Aemond’s release in the process. He groans as he cums, tucking his face in the crook of your neck again, just like earlier in the evening. 

He holds your body securely against him, making you immobile. After a while, you try to pry his arms away and get off him, but he just mumbles, “No, please” into your neck. 

You lay your head back down and close your eyes. Aemond is deadly silent but you feel his breath against the skin over your collarbones, wetness sliding down the hollow of your neck. 

Two days since your live show in Winterfell and your phone won’t stop buzzing with incoming calls from unknown numbers. You know they’re from journalists hoping to get a comment from you about the performance in Winterfell and your new song, the drama of it clearly being about your ex husband fueling their thirst for a good headline. 

You’d spent the time since the concert in isolation, essentially doing nothing else but watching films and eating a large variety of takeaway in your hotel room. 

You left Winterfell yesterday, boarding an overnight flight to Oldtown for your next show tomorrow. 

Today, you finally found a reason to not spend all your time off in the hotel room, looking around the vintage shops that are scattered across the narrow cobblestone streets of the quaint town. 

You’d spent nearly an hour in your favourite boutique; a hidden gem a few minutes away from one of the more famous shopping streets of the city. 

When you and Aemond first started dating, you'd joined him when he went to visit his mum here. She’d opted for going back to her hometown after her husband passed away, seeking some familiarity. 

Alicent seemed to thrive in Oldtown, showing you around all the places she’d frequented with her friends as a young girl. 

Aemond had shown you his favourite spots as well; bookstores, record shops, organic coffee shops ‘cause he was convinced organic products would prevent him from ever falling ill.  

You try to shake your head in a feeble attempt at erasing the train of thought you’d been on. You need to make new memories here now. 

Memories not tainted by him. 

Most of the shops are closed by now, the last rays of sun for the day shining through the gaps between the ancient buildings cramped together on the streets. 

You pull out your phone to type in the address of the hotel you're staying at, still not quite so familiar with Oldtown that you can navigate it without assistance. The map on your phone shows that it’s a 15 minutes walk along the water to your destination. 

The street lights illuminate your path as you enjoy the calmness of the rather large city. Most people have retreated home by now as darkness envelopes the streets. 

As you turn to walk down the wide avenue leading towards the hotel, you feel a hand on your shoulder, pulling you out from your thoughts. You abruptly stop and turn around, meeting eyes with a man you’ve never seen before. 

He still has his hand on your shoulder as he asks “Aren’t you the singer from Dragon Dreamers?”, voice low as a small smile appears on his face. 

“Yes”, is all you reply as you're left somewhat dumbfounded. You’ve been approached by fans on occasion before, but never alone in a somewhat unfamiliar city.

“I’m a huge fan. This might be a bit forward, but could I take you out to dinner?”, he asks as the hand he has placed on your shoulder squeezes your flesh over your jacket. He’s stare is intense and his voice is slightly strained, adding to your already uncomfortable state. 

“Thank you, but I’m on my way back to my hotel, and-, I-, I need to get back”, you answer hurriedly, hoping that the stranger will understand your discomfort and leave you alone.

“Oh, where are you staying?”, he inquires as his eyes light up. “I can walk with you”.

“That’s kind of you, but not necessary, I’m okay. Thank you”, you politely dismiss him, praying that he’ll take the hint and leave you alone. You turn around to walk away, almost stumbling over your feet as they move quickly over the cobblestoned streets.

The man doesn’t say anything else but you notice him in the corner of your eye, walking behind you at a few metres distance. 

Is he going to hurt you? Force himself into your hotel room? 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as panic washes over you. There is a small group of people walking ahead of you and the man following you. 

What would he do if they weren’t here?

The pace of your steps grow quicker as you walk towards the hotel. You glance at your phone; still a 10 minutes walk away. The man behind you speeds up his footsteps as well, matching your pace but still staying a few metres behind you. 

You’re too scared to look behind and properly face him, but he remains in your peripheral vision. The small group of people walking ahead of you look like they might turn into a sidestreet at any moment, and fear pierces your heart at the thought. 

Then you’d be alone. With him. 

Maybe if there’s a corner shop or something around here you could pop in and hopefully shake him. Or call someone to come and meet you. 

Looking up at the buildings surrounding you, you realise that you recognise this street. 

This is only a stone's throw away from Alicent’s flat. 

Maybe he’s staying there?

Before you can think any further, your fingers press on the screen of your phone, going into settings, unblocking the familiar number before pressing the little telephone icon.

You hear two signals before the call is cancelled. 

Fuck! Now he ignores your calls? 

Your fingers move quickly as you type out, “sorry someone’s following me I’m walking home please pick up”. 

Barely a second passes before your phone buzzes. “Hi! Yes, I’m just around the corner, can you see me yet?”, you ask in a way too hurried tone, ruining your own attempt at sounding casual. Your voice is loud and high-pitched as you try to signal to the man behind you that someone’s coming to meet you. 

“What street are you on?”, Aemond asks. You can hear him shuffling around on the other side. 

You look up at one of the buildings, reading the name of the street. “Yes, I’m standing on Gardener Avenue, where you told me to meet you”, you continue to babble, hoping the shadow behind you will finally stop following you as it appears you’re set to meet someone. 

“Do you remember the way to the apartment?”, Aemond responds and you hear the rattling of keys as he speaks. 

“Yes”

“Walk towards it, I’m coming out to meet you. Stay on the phone with me”, he instructs, his voice calm yet carrying urgency. 

“Yes”, you repeat, not sure what else to say. You’re not really on small-talking terms, so trying to fill the silence between the two of you proves tricky. 

As you walk in silence with Aemond on the other end of the phone, you feel the man behind you come closer when the group in front of you eventually turn down a side street, leaving you two alone on the avenue. 

Your heart is beating so fiercely your chest hurts. Is Aemond coming? Maybe if you pretend to see him, you’ll finally be left alone. 

“I think I see you!”, you abruptly exclaim as cheerily as possible in order to scare the man that’s following you away, but he seems to be drawing closer still. 

Suddenly, you see the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders appear in quick and confident steps around one of the corners of the many stone buildings surrounding you. 

The man behind you seems to retreat in an instant, though it doesn’t stop Aemond from calling out “Were you fucking following her?”

But as quickly as the man had appeared, he’s gone. 

You try to take a few deep breaths to sooth yourself, still feeling dazed from what had just happened. 

You close your eyes and do the breathing exercise your therapist had taught you to stay grounded and terminate any possible panic attacks that could be triggered by the stress of what just happened. 

Breathe in. Hold three seconds. Breathe out. Hold three seconds. 

“Are you okay?”, Aemond asks. 

You don’t open your eyes. You can’t look up at him, knowing that the flicker of hatred in his eye as he regards you will push you over the edge, push you to release the tears that have been waiting to spill from your eyes since the strange man first laid his hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, just need to get back to the hotel”, you mumble as you inhale deeply once more to ground yourself. It doesn’t help, not really. The lump in your throat feels like a painful stone blocking your airflow as you swallow. 

You feel Aemond step closer to you, tenderly placing a hand on your elbow as he silently waits for you to continue. 

You reluctantly open your eyes to look up at him, surprised to find his face reflect gentle understanding. The unexpected act of kindness pushes you over the edge and you let out a shaky breath as you feel tears beginning to spill from your eyes. 

“Sorry, it’s just-, I mean, nothing happened, but…”, you start, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears that slide down your cheeks. 

“Something could’ve happened”, Aemond finishes for you, tone stoic though you can sense the hint of sympathy there. 

“Sorry for calling you so suddenly, I shouldn’t have-, I didn’t know who to call”, you say, words tumbling out of your mouth ungracefully, matching the hurried pace of your still frightened heart. 

“Don’t apologise”, he commands softly as he squeezes your elbow in reassurance.

You know there is no room for argument so you just nod in response. 

“Come back to mum’s place with me”, he says. “It’s just around the corner”

“No, really, I’m fine! Nothing happened and I need to rest before tomorrow’s show”, you explain as more tears slide down your cheeks. 

Fucking stop crying! 

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. Come up, just for a cup of tea to calm your nerves. Please?”, Aemonds persits, voice more gentle than you remember him capable of. Again, you reply with a silent nod and let him lead you towards his mother’s home.

As you step into Alicent’s lavish flat, you're hit by nostalgia so potent it makes more tears well up in your already damp eyes. Everything smells the same; looks the same. 

“Is she here?”, you inquire, voice small and unsteady. 

“She’s out having dinner with Cole”, Aemond replies as he takes off his shoes in the hallway, neatly placing them on the shoe rack. He moves to the kitchen to fill the kettle and you follow closely behind, discreetly sweeping the back of your hand against your cheek to wipe away the tears that keep sliding down. 

Fucking pull it together!

Aemond flicks his hand towards the chair by the small, round table in the corner of the kitchen; the breakfast nook where Alicent would serve coffee and fresh bread in the morning whenever you stayed over. 

It’s all so familiar, yet being here feels so different; almost taboo. 

You sit down and place your hands on the table, nervously tapping your fingers against each other as you wait for Aemond to bring the tea over. 

He places the flower-patterned cup with gold details by your restless hands and sits down in the chair opposite yours. 

“Drink”, he encourages as he takes a sip from his own cup, seeing eye watching you intensely. 

You pick up the cup, experimentally sipping, letting the hot beverage warm you from within. It’s comforting. 

“Do you really tell yourself I never loved you?”

Aemond’s sudden question takes you by such surprise, you nearly choke on your tea. Your eyes dart up from watching the cup in your hand to watch him. His expression is as calculated as always; not letting you in on what he’s thinking, though his voice is still gentle. 

“I-”, you begin, trying to come up with an answer to his absurd query. Why is he asking you this now?

“I mean, sometimes it felt like you didn’t love me”, you answer truthfully, carefully observing his reaction. 

He gives nothing away as he hums in response. 

“You seemed miserable being with me”, you add, wondering if this is the long overdue heart-to-heart you hadn’t had a chance of having before. 

“Sometimes I was”, he replies matter of factly. You’re not surprised by his response, not really, but having your suspicions confirmed allows you to prod further. 

“I guess I just wonder whether you loved me, or just the idea of me?”, you ask as you meet his eye. You know you’re poking a resting bear, but you can’t help yourself. You need to know what he thinks about all of this. About you. 

Aemond doesn’t blink when he answers, “I don’t know”. You feel that all too familiar lump in your throat reappear. “It was all so new to me, caring about someone so much. Someone who’s not family. I didn’t know how to handle those feelings”, he admits and you have to stop yourself from letting the astonishment you experience from his confession show up on your face. 

You’re silent for a moment, taking in his words, before speaking up again. “I really want this to work, Aemond. The band, I mean. It’s all we've left”, you say, your own words stabbing at your heart. 

Aemond hums in response again, finger tapping rhythmically against the top of Alicent’s kitchen table. “I agree”, he replies after some time of silence. It almost feels official in a way, the fact that you’ve finally agreed with each other that the band comes first; even before your own broken hearts. 

The silence persists as you continue to sip your tea. You feel a strange mixture of emptiness and melancholy inside. It all hits you at once; the divorce, removing his name from yours, continuing on as nothing more than business partners. 

It starts as a sting in your chest, but blooms out into a suffocating ache. He doesn’t want you anymore. And you don’t want him; you can’t want him. Because no matter how wonderful it had been at times, the pain of the heartache you caused each other weighed heavier.

The performance in Oldtown is just as exhilarating as the previous live shows had been. The crowd is loving every second, the venue is packed and you feel alive.

This is it. 

This is what matters.

Your biggest hit from your first album, Landslide, was a permanent feature in any show you played. You’d written it from the sidelines, watching as duty tore the person you loved most into every direction possible. 

Tonight, as you stay on the stage with Aemond when your band members retreat backstage, singing Landslide suddenly feels different.

You shoot him a quick glance before approaching your mic again to introduce the next song to the audience. They’re shouting your name, shouting Aemonds name, and you think you hear someone yell out ‘the sound of the woman that loved you!’. 

Speaking with Aemond earlier today, when you agreed you’d prioritise the band over any dispute you had, has left you nostalgic, and singing Landslide feels like offering a piece of your heart, the heart he had held in his palm, to him once again. 

“I wrote this song about a boy who had to grow up too fast”, you say as Aemond starts to pluck the strings of his guitar.

‘I took my love and I took it down’

‘I climbed a mountain and I turned around’

‘And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills’

'Til the landslide brought me down’

You’d never told Aemond you wrote this song about him and his grandfather. You never felt the need to, convinced that he already knows it’s about them. You can’t help but to look over at him; at the way his hands move gracefully over the guitar. 

‘Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?’

‘Can the child within my heart rise above?’

Leaving his grandfather’s firm and subsequently leaving the path his entire life had led to, had been tough for him, even with you by his side. And now he’d have to navigate this new course alone. You still find yourself worrying about him; for the boy robbed of his vision, forced to grow up faster than most. 

‘Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?’

‘Can I handle the seasons of my life?’

‘Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you’

He’s had to adapt; had to rethink and relearn everything before. He will be fine. 

Maybe you just worried about him because you hoped, somewhere inside, that he wouldn’t be fine without you? A selfish wish for him to need you. 

‘But time makes you bolder’

‘Even children get older’

‘And I'm getting older too’

It was time to let go. 

For the first time since the beginning of the tour, you don’t feel an urgent need to escape to the solitude of your hotel room as soon as the show is over. So you move unhurriedly backstage, gathering your things and looking over your stage outfits, pondering over whether you’d wear the same flowy, trumpet-sleeved top for the next performance. 

You see auburn hair flash by as Alicent Hightower enters the backstage area, throwing her arms around her two children as she loudly gushes over how incredible the show had been. 

You continue to inspect your wardrobe with your back turned to them, feeling slightly awkward with your previous mother-in-law in the room. 

You hadn’t seen her in months, not since before the divorce. 

You hear the chatter behind you die down, the clicking of heels closing in behind you. 

You know she’s standing behind you, one gentle hand coming up to lightly tap your back. 

You turn around with a forced smile on your face. 

How do you act around your ex-husband’s mother?

Alicent’s large, warm eyes glitter as she looks you over, grabbing your shoulders to pull you in for a hug. 

“Darling, what a wonderful show! You were absolutely fantastic”, she compliments, smiling wide. You smile back at her.

“Thank you, Alicent”

“How are you holding up?”, she softly asks as her hands stay on either side of your shoulders. 

“I’m good”, you reply shortly, not really sure whether you should confide in your ex-husband's mother or not. 

“I’m so glad you can put your differences aside and continue to work together”, she says sympathetically, but her choice of words make you flinch slightly. 

“And now is your opportunity to be brave. You’re both such wonderful artists. Focus on the music, alright?”

“Yes”, is all the reply you can muster as her words send a pang straight to your heart. It’s all so final. It’s all over. 

You look into each other’s eyes, a thousand words said within mere seconds as you feel your eyes well up with tears. 

Alicent offers you a sad smile before embracing you in another warm hug. 

Silent, hot tears slide down you cheeks as you mumble into her hair, “Will you take care of him?”

She pats your head, hand sliding down to stroke your hair lovingly. 

“Thank you for loving him”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this series and letting me know you thoughts! I appreciate your support so much! ❤️

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nockerin @yazzzmints @mooncalvin @persephonerinyes @bellstwd @toodlesxcuddles @nsr-15 @daenerysqueenofhearts @aquakaris @targaryenmoony @ainhoamunson @wintrr13 @julczimozart @moonlightfoxx @sweethoneyblossom1 @boofy1998 @snh96 @iloveallmyboys

Bold; couldn't tag!

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen drabble #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond stannies #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #my fics #Spotify

[wise-tortoise]

Hi! i’m new to chengxian. so i was wondering, do you have any recs please? preferably long one shots (10k+) and set in the original location (i don’t like modern aus mostly as they are based in the us or uk). sorry for all the stipulations!

HELLO ANON AND WELCOME TO CHENGXIAN!!

I am DELIGHTED to be a source of fic recs, and I have JUST the fics for you.

First of all, I highly recommend checking out the various ao3 collections of past chengxian events, such as Chengxian Happy Ending Fest, or Chengxian Minibang 2023, Chengxian Week 2020, Chengxian Week 2021 , Our Meeting is Inevitable or The Chengxian+ Collection, which are a goldmine of wonderful fics. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding something to your taste among them!

Now, on to my personal recommendations, under the read more because this got LONG.

Based on what you said you'd prefer, the fic all my dreams have come and gone a half a million times by iri_vail sounds like something you'd enjoy. It's a lovely post-canon shuangjie reconciliation fic, 10k words, with wonderful art. There's frogs too!

consider rivers by Lirazel, 9k, canon divergence fic with no war that rewrote my brain chemistry. Jiang Cheng wants Wei Wuxian to marry Jiang Yanli: lots of yunmeng trio feels, lots and lots and lots of pining.

after the sun sets by Artemis1000, 12k words, it's an amazing fic set during sunshot campaign, lots of hurt/comfort, lots of love and understanding and softness between our two favorite miscommunicators.

electricity between both of us by zyprexd is an absolutely incredible series of two fics that make me go feral. Past w4ngxian, tentative shuangjie reconciliation with long overdue communication, lots of feelings aknowledged and accepted, Wei Wuxian introspection.

Turn Back, Dull Earth by groundwiremantaray, 8k, canon divergence, a whole lot of fluff (with a delightful twist). Though not a oneshot, if you like to read happy times with chengxian, this is absolutely the fic for you.

this love that I most fear by Runespoor, 25k words divided in three chapters, in which a coreless Jiang Cheng has to aknowledge Wei Wuxian as his bastard brother in order for him to become sect leader, with all the relative implications. An angsty delight!

Little Sesame by Rurtle, which is an absolute must read. In which the summoning ritual goes wrong and Wei Wuxian reincarnates into a dog. Shenanigans ensue.

born of waters like blood by Artemis1000 (same Artemis as before) which is one of my absolute favorite fics of all time. Chengxian baby made of resentment and lake waters! Chengxian being dads! An unspecified number of eyes!!!! This fic is a bit shorter than the others I've recced, but absolutely worth reading.

letters from inside the storm by serein, in which everyone has a very bad time (not me though, I enjoyed this IMMENSELY), double whump with a very tentative reconciliation.

if tomorrow would ever come... by Midori_99, 17k, a reincarnation fic in which Wei Wuxian after his death reincarnates into a playful little fox and, despite his best efforts, finds himself once again in Lotus Pier, beside Jiang Cheng (and, really, there's no better place for him to be). The good, GOOD, cathartic angst right here, good food for the soul.

If you'd like EVEN MORE chengxian fics, my bookmarks are open and the fics are all ready to receive lots of love (and of course, if you like, there's my fics too, but they're only open to registered users)

Alright, that's definitely not all the fics I would like to rec, but that's about all I can fit in a single post before it becomes too long.

I suggest of course that you check out other works by the authors I listed, as they are all incredibly talented (and I really really wish I could put more of them here but I tried to contain myself with word count and setting as per your request)

Thank you for the ask anon, I hope you'll enjoy your stay in the chengxian side of fandom and I wish you a wonderful day!!

#mdzs #chengxian #xiancheng #yunmeng shuangjie #cql #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #the untamed #anon ask

[itsgrimeytime]

Maneater (Part One) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Dialogue Prompts: "Don’t play friendly with me." + "Try me."

Summary: You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, a touch of abandonment, grudges, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: y'all ever heard of TENSION?? Or enemies to lovers??? Because I'll tell you what, I have :))) Lowkey, you have a good reason to hate Rick, but like... you'll see. also I am living in delusion for what Rick looked like in the Alexandria timeline, so just know I picture the gif, okay? Thx <3 ]]

Before you go thinking this is another long series, this is just a two/maybe three-parter. There was more to this idea than what I felt I could naturally convey in one one-shot. So, let me know if you want to be tagged for the continuation.

"Shit."

This really, truly, was never supposed to happen. This was the worst-case scenario, the kind of thing that plagued your dreams with things that were so not probable they shouldn't be scary. And yet here you were, in nightmare territory.

"Y/N? Really, is that- is that you?" the familiar face spoke -Glenn, you realized now.

God, it had been so long, you'd thought for sure at least half of that group had vanished.

Well, maybe they had. You weren't exactly sure, but Glenn hadn't really looked worse for wear. He suited the lifestyle well, actually, which you were a little impressed by -the pizza delivery guy had come a long way.

"We thought you..." he faltered off, still a bit in disbelief.

"Died? Nope," you finished, bitter, sure, but you'd never really had the chance to get over it, "-despite your wonderful leader's best efforts, I remain unscathed."

Glenn frowned.

The joy from moments before dissipated in the now fairly tense air between the two of you -others you recognized weren't there, but you imagined they were wherever he came from. Which you were currently trying to keep in the very back of your mind -you'd never follow him to them, you just couldn't.

"I should've..." he began, words seeming to come to a stop, "-Any of us should've stuck up for you. It wasn't right."

There was a bit of pleasure hearing that, somewhere deep in your chest, you appreciated it. But while the idea was good, it was very much too late. The resentment that had developed in your chest, had only solidified there -unbreakable and set in stone. You hadn't trusted a soul since, not fully anyway.

This world was filled with broken hearts, and yours was one of them.

And that was something Rick and his group had to live with, whoever they were now because that... was their fault.

You hadn't meant to hate Rick Grimes specifically, above everyone else, but the words came out of his mouth.

'Get out of here, we can't... we can't have a group this divided.'

You could still see him now in your head, clean-shaven and dressed in his uniform, taking the world by storm despite not knowing what the fuck he was doing. You were different then, scared but ready to do what you needed -hell, the first time you'd ever even held a gun was against a walker. It was with that group, they'd taught you.

You swallowed down the bile in your throat, and pushed through the rubble -your feet ached from being on the move for so long. You couldn't remember the last time you slept, or even sat down.

You couldn't not in this world, it was all about motion, about survival, about getting through the next few hours at a time.

"Look, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be," Glenn began -following you close behind, "-but we have a place... It's safe, you could sleep. You could eat. There are houses, hot water-"

You froze in place, the idea spreading a sort of warmth in your chest, something you'd forgotten somewhere along the path. Hope. Yet, there was still a sting there -deep under your skin, "Glenn-"

"It doesn't have to be forever," he added, and now that you looked at him, he did seem clean -his clothes washed and the desperation that dusted your skin was so distant you could hardly see it, "-just for a few days."

Feet frozen to the spot, you exhaled -the breath shaking you to the root, it had been so long, but how could you trust him? How could you trust any of them?

You remembered Glenn had looked hesitant, that day, his own suspicion drawn in his eyebrows but it hadn't gone farther than that. He hadn't said a word. No one had. But now, he was here offering solace, safety. And you knew it wasn't just out of pity.

The world had enough of that on its own. You had enough of that on your own, your story spilling to listening ears -they'd all been the same. Still, you could use a break.

And as much as you didn't trust the group, whatever it had become, you knew that if anyone had survived this long -they'd been skilled. Skilled enough for you to breathe, for you to close your eyes and sleep.

You sighed, wiping the sleep from your eyes, or rather the lack of, "Just a few days?"

"As long as you need," Glenn reiterated, somehow conveying that you never had to leave, it was a small thing. But comforting.

"I get to decide when to leave?"

Glenn frowned, his own body almost shrinking in on itself, disappointment. You'd never thought you'd see this, someone from so long ago -the regret, the remorse, "Yeah, of course."

And you were thinking about it. As your joints ached and your throat burned for water, the breeze felt cold against your bones, and you truly couldn't imagine it getting any warmer. The sun setting only meant it could get colder, and you were currently without a roof.

"Okay," you quietly agreed, despite the churning in your stomach saying otherwise.

That was when one of the others, neither of which you knew, spoke, "But, didn't Rick say-"

"Shut it," Glenn exhaled, tone icy and you suddenly realized maybe they were new to him too.

The walk was long, not grueling since Glenn had known exactly where he was going -he'd always had that sense of direction though. You remembered the early days when he'd been the one to volunteer to go back to the city, he'd known so much. Maybe he was just made that way? Or it was some sort of thing they'd invented. It had been a long time.

"There's a few of us that'll be happy to see you," Glenn spoke, casually walking beside you as the other two paired off behind you.

You swallowed the tensing of your shoulders, the last time you'd been in a group it hadn't ended well, and every time before that too actually. You didn't meld well with groups, let's just say that.

"I don't think so," you hummed, remembering so far back in your brain that day -the eyes all set on you, strong and decisive. You couldn't imagine who else survived other than Rick Grimes himself. Because this world wasn't what you expected, you shouldn't have survived more that a week... but here you were.

Glenn didn't say anything else, you assumed he noticed your more pressed tone -as the opposite of an invitation to keep talking. It stung a bit, watching the man's face solemn considerably, but there was also a sick part of your brain that had been waiting for this day.

As you approached the new community, Glenn spread out his hands -with a voice close to an announcer, "Welcome to Alexandria!"

Alexandria was big, bigger than you thought really. When you pictured the homes, there was bordered up windows and broken glass -blood stained into the wood. But these?

They were almost pristine.

Your head spun as you made your way through the gate, Glenn casually guiding you through the space without much forethought. It seemed he'd known this daze, he'd experienced it himself, maybe?

You knew how this world was, Alexandria seemed to be a new wave of something fresh.

Actually, you'd seen signs once or twice but never pursued it. Things like that didn't quite work in this world, you were scared of what it may truly have been. But Glenn had brought you hear with the promise of a bed to sleep in, so you assumed whatever kinks were there had already been worked out.

Or maybe you hoped they would.

In your haze, you hadn't noticed the two other members bump ahead -headed straight for a particular place, you assumed. Nor did you really notice Glenn kind of easily navigating in front of you.

Until, you heard the voice you'd vowed to never hear until the day you died.

"Glenn?" the drawl was deeper now, older and a touch more dangerous, "-The others told me you brought someone back, I thought we talked about-"

"Rick," Glenn interrupted, voice steady and calm -he had been prepared for this, "-it's Y/N."

There was silence there, as you trailed your fingers along the trim of the house ever-so-gently -the dirt stained into your fingertips didn't need to smudge there. It would've ruined it.

"What?" His voice was low, and despite how much you wished you could understand the tone, you couldn't -you didn't know him.

He could be angry, in disbelief, in shock. You had no clue, instead focusing on the ivy running up the sides of some of the houses -rubbing the leaves with your thumb, muttering, "Wow."

"Y/N?"

You blinked out of your haze, stilling at the direct contact with you -it felt odd, hearing your name out of his mouth. So familiar yet, so so far off. Yet, the sting still burned deep under your skin -it would probably never go away.

Without turning around, you acknowledged him simply -direct and without much other force, "Rick."

Then the space grew even quieter, the tension laying thick into the air -you could feel it set the prickling of goosebumps on your skin.

With a heavy breath, you turned around -equipped to set your eyes on his skin.

He looked... different. His hair was much longer, curled at the nape of his neck, and he had a beard -now littered with grey. It suited him, he'd been too uptight back then, now though, he'd seemed more adjusted.

"Y/N, I-" he began, and you could hear it -the pity, the 'I'm sorry'. You couldn't take it, not from him. Not now.

It was too late, it made you want to rip your hair out. And thrash and cry and scream. Scream for all you'd lost, scream for the fear you felt that day, pushed into the woods -separated.

You spoke, pushing back the bite in your tone as much as you could, "Don't play friendly with me. I'm here for a few days, at most."

Rick's mouth snapped shut, jaw setting. He seemed frustrated, but that was hardly your problem, the whole thing was his really. He could die with that regret, aching to give an apology for his wrongdoings... and you would let him.

The area, which you now realized was slowly filtering people in, eyes all beginning to focus on you and Rick. Questioning, mostly, but you figured any pushback on Rick and you'd end up dead. So, you pushed back -the strength of your tone settling and the brush of the cold warming.

You didn't need to make enemies.

And then you heard it, a familiar voice, older than you'd expected, you'd known that voice younger... what was-

"Y/N?"

Your breath stuttered, as you spun on your feet and there he was, taller and older, "Carl? Oh my god-"

You hadn't even thought about it, that where Rick was Carl would follow. You had less than high hopes that he'd even survive this far, and yet, here he was right in front of you.

You'd known Carl early on in the group, he had been so young. Lori needed help sometimes, and she'd grown close to you, so, pretty quickly, she'd trusted you with him. In the early days, he was stuck to your side -playing games with the sticks and rocks you could find nearby, giving him comfort when his Mom seemed too far to touch -she was often like that. Her eyes were far, and her mind farther.

Without much less of an introduction, he ran to you with ease, despite the filth you must've been covered in. Especially compared to him, who seemed to be as perfectly clean as the rest of them. He ran into you, arms wrapping tight around your figure -and god, he was so much taller. You bit back a sob, how much had you missed?

"I thought you were dead," he spoke, muttering into your shoulder and his hands gripping desperately at your shirt.

You remembered the tiny version of him kicking and screaming, 'Why do they have to leave, Dad?!' He had been crying so hard his body was shaking, they practically had to tear him off you. You'd told them you'd leave in the night when he was sleeping, so it wouldn't be so hard on him. He couldn't put up as much of a fight if he wasn't there.

"You've gotten so tall," you laughed, pulling back and wiping at your eyes -gesturing to his stature.

Carl laughed too, wiping away his own tears.

You forgot for a second where you were, and how long it had been. Only reuniting with someone you cared tremendously about. The moment was bittersweet with the eyes of many sliding across your figure, the scar detailed across your arm, or maybe the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd had some run-ins, but you'd taken care of them with what you could.

The next few days were a bit stuffy, the doctor (who you didn't bother to learn the name of) had been keeping a close eye on you -consistently telling you to rest and sticking the one and only sheriff on you when you resisted.

Apparently, she thought that it was the best idea.

The single thread that didn't have you running out of this place wore a sheriff's hat and seemed to relish in your arrival. Carl had been by your side frequently, introducing you to practically everyone (including Glenn's wife, Maggie, what-) -which you had originally been strictly against, but the kid was your soft spot.

You'd felt more at ease after a run-in with two familiar faces, Daryl and Carol. They both did similarly to Carl, and you couldn't seem to fault them too much. Not at that moment anyway. It was midday and Carl had run off with some people his own age, which you refused to separate him from that. It was important, he needed it.

And you needed something too.

The space felt cramped, with someone constantly looking over your shoulder and someone else always in your area. It was a far cry from your previous loner life where your days fell to silence and the slice of whatever your blade was echoed through it. Before Glenn, you hadn't spoken out loud in months.

So, with new energy from the hot water and regular meals, you'd found yourself roaming the streets towards the fence. Just for a sense of normalcy, you needed to taste the adrenaline, feel the blade in your hands, and the urgency in your movements. Dancing with death.

Trying to watch your back, you kept your eyes behind you -ducking behind some of the unused houses that you'd scouted out earlier in the day. It wasn't like you were leaving forever, just a few hours that's all you needed.

"And where are you going?"

You jumped, turning to the sound in front of you, and because god simply hated you it happened to belong to one Rick Grimes. His eyes leveled with you, standing confidently in your way like he'd expected you. And shit, maybe he had.

Stammering, you regained your composure, "Where's Carl?"

"Asleep," he responded with ease.

"Look, I'm not-" you groaned, "-Why are you keeping me here like a prisoner?"

"Doctor told me to keep an eye on ya," he answered, once again too prepared, it infuriated you to no bounds, "-you don't think I'd notice you scopin' out an exit?"

"That's not-" you straightened your posture, pressing your lips into a thin line, "I don't have to explain myself to you. So, kindly, if you would get out of my way, I'll be back in an hour."

Rick chuckled, not in a really joyful way either, neither of you was quite joking, "Yeah, not happenin'."

"Rick," you echoed, tone ice and hand tightening on where your blade rested on your hip -a handmade hilt someone had made you a long time ago, "-move, or I'll make you."

He paused, licking a line across his teeth, and slowly making his way into your space. Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed strong in your place -eyes set on his and shoulders set in place. He didn't speak until his face was right in yours, a breath away, and his expression remained unchanged -his eyes only betraying the heaviness of his words, "Try me."

Rick didn't reach for his gun, which sat with was at his hip -inches from his hands. You knew he wouldn't pull it on you, it wasn't in his character, but there was a chill in his tone -something new.

What happened to him?

You washed out the worry that settled under your skin for a second, that didn't need to be there. He'd abandoned you -they all had.

Setting your jaw, you exhaled -pulling back and letting your hand fall to your side, "Look, I just need an hour."

Rick stared at you, you couldn't read him -years of age, and most likely tragedy by the missing faces, gracing features you once knew. And even then, he was new -you hadn't known him.

"This place is-" you faltered off, looking back to the houses, where most lights were switched off in the dark -except for just a few spare ones, "-suffocating. I've been on my own for so long, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body fucking experience here. This isn't... I need something familiar."

He still hadn't said a word.

"So," you began, strong, before deflating, "-just let me kill some of the dead, yeah?"

Rick pursed his lips, before sighing deep and heavily, "Okay."

You opened your mouth to rebuttal, before the words set in, "Okay?"

"Just let me tell Michonne and Daryl I won't be around for a bit," he continued, seeming to waltz on past you, and then those words hit you.

"Rick, I don't need a babysitter," you answered, that lick of bitterness slinking through your skin again -your mouth opened before you could stop it, "-you weren't worried years ago, were you? Why now?"

He stopped in his motion, frozen solid by your words. A part of you felt vindicated, he deserved it -it may have been years for him, but that was the way your way in this world had started.

You hadn't expected him to speak, but he did.

"You can't do that."

A flash of frustration hummed under your skin -burning hot and bright -who was he to say anything to you, "I can't do that? Do what? Talk about what you did to me? The day you kicked me to the curb at the beginning of the fucking apocalypse...?"

"I've been tryin' to apologize since you got here-" he started, tone angry in the way of hands shaking not voice raising, "-you won't let me."

Something in you snapped.

"So what?" you started, tone shaky and you'd say it was for rage but you could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, "You think I want an apology from you?"

Rick looked lost then, and something in you begged to keep going. The dam was cracked now, and the water could flood out -who better than the man who hit the nail in the coffin, "What...?"

"You, you don't get the resolution that would get you. You don't get to sleep well at night because you said sorry, no."

He didn't speak.

You laughed, the tears were free now, years of being locked behind something as thick as the shell you wore after that day -your breaths were ragged and you felt like maybe your heart would be out of your chest, "I never wanted to live through this."

"Y/N-"

And there was something there in those words, heavy and gravelly against the cool night air. But you couldn't dwell on it. You had too much to say to him, to all of them really, but just him would do.

"No," you exhaled, taking a deep shaky breath in, "-Rick, I just need to know one thing."

He opened his mouth, assumedly to answer your question, but you still couldn't let him speak. Your brain was going so fast, you had to keep up.

"Did you ever ask them why?"

Rick spoke then, slowly, "Who?"

"Shane," you spoke, the air seemed to get heavier, "-and Lori. Did it never seem odd to you that it came out at the same time? That they'd both seen me that exact same day?"

Rick stilled, and his jaw seemed to set.

That was what had gotten you kicked out, Shane and Lori had alleged you'd taken more supplies for yourself -stolen from everyone. You weren't sure of the specifics, whether it be an extra graham cracker or a tissue to wipe your busted lip, as you didn't let them get too far into it. They'd been egging him on, Shane on some sort of masculine level and Lori using their love as a pawn -you'd seen it clear as day. Rick hadn't.

"I was going to tell you," you spoke quietly, barely a brush over the wind of the chillier nights.

He didn't have to ask what. He knew you assumed he had known pretty much immediately after you noticed their absences. Something had happened, maybe not long after you'd left. You could only assume so much.

"I didn't know," he echoed out, his voice strained in a way you'd never heard from him -pained, regretful.

Without much else, you turned back the way you came -voice steady and strong across the space between you two, "I know."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #twd twoshot #does that make any sense? #maneater #twd oneshot #angsty

[ashensgrotto]

Hey I was reading your yandere Azul fanfic for like the 50th time and I had this idea for a request:

Can you do the other overblot boys in similar situations?

Also when are we going to have Azul's redemption arc when we get trapped in Scariba?

Have a lovely day/night/morning/afternoon

Why, greetings my dear anon! I’m happy that you enjoyed the ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’ to read it that many times - and I apologized that I haven’t been able to get started on the Scarbia segment yet (between that and Raison D’être plus work & other stories… and GloMas, I really need to get my priorities straight seriously -_-). However, I do intend on working on it as soon as I can so I can get it out sometime this month or in December - I mean, I think that would be the most logical since that one takes place during holiday break, right?

Now, for your request - I hope head cannons are alright for the time being. I’ll try to come back to them and do short stories for each of them that follows the same concept design as “Am I Feeling Love?” - which is the first installment of the Yandere!Azul series. I'm also going to divide this into two parts - about halfway through I realized I hadn't posted anything in a while and thus, I want to make it up to all of you for not writing or posting anything for some time.

Part 1 (Here) will feature Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, and Jamil Viper

Part 2 (Here) will feature Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, and Malleus Draconia

***

Riddle Rosehearts:

Yandere Riddle is more of the controlling type - that much is certain. While during his youth, he came across a story about ‘soulmates’ - and the idea of someone made for him took root like a weed in the rose garden. Although his mother ordered for him to dismiss the idea as nothing but a fairytale, Riddle could not push the idea away and it slowly became a source of comfort and drive - if he could stand out both in academics and athletics, surely his soulmate would recognize him as their other half. (There really was no way for him to search for his other half while trapped under his mother’s unwavering gaze, especially after the tart incident.) 

When he saw you in the mirror chamber for the first time many years later, he was awestruck by your grace and beauty, reminding him of how the queen of heart once was long ago… the problem was your impeccable timing. You had the worst sense of direction as well as time - quite literally to the point that he had to give you several (and I mean like five to ten) different watches to have on your person so you wouldn’t run late for your scheduled tea time and after school lessons with him (which he made a priority to keep an eye on your movements, especially with the way you hang around the ADuo).

He likes that you have a favorite tea flavor, but hates that you drink it. All. The. Time. (“There are other teas, you know?” he tells you softly, trying to reign in his urge to yell at you for drinking your tea when you should be drinking the green tea with honey that is required following a lesson with him.)

He recognizes you for your hard work - often watching you from the shadows when time permits as you paint the roses red, care for the hedgehogs, feed the flamingos in that pink attire he provided for you, and assist with the dorm’s random tea party celebrations. Riddle also enjoys your conversations - even though he would like it better if you opened your mouth and stopped speaking so quietly (“Look up, speak nicely. AND DON’T TWIDDLE YOUR FINGERS! Turn out your toes, curtsy, open your mouth a little wider and always say, ‘Yes, Housewarden Riddle.’" He’s constantly reminding you.)

The one thing he can not stand though: your friendship with Duece and Ace and the furball menace. He has added a new rule to the roster: ‘Rule #687: (Y/N) is to always be supervised by either Trey Clover or Cater Diamond when not in the presence of the housewarden.’ (It’s for your wellbeing, after all. Trey and Cater are much more reliable than those two annoying freshmen and fire-breathing direbeast.)

However, his real breaking point is when you side with Ace and Duece following the ‘collaring’. He wouldn’t have dreamed in a million years that you would’ve sided with them over him. He was only trying to look out for your best interests… the best interests of the dorm… He was supposed to be the one…

Leona Kingscholar:

Yandere Leona is more of the… dependent type. During his youth, one lazy afternoon, his older brother was talking to him about how he read in his studies about a certain smell that would allow him to know if his soulmate was nearby. Leona had at first shrugged it off, not really caring - after all, he wasn’t going to be king… why should he worry about finding the right one? He didn’t need annoying little brats running circles around him like his nephew did already… what a pain.

That changed the moment you entered the mirror chamber. Your scent wafted through the air and tickled Leona’s nose like a call of a hornbill to its mate. Leona could feel a need rising within him - a sudden need to protect and lay claim to you as his. And when the mirror turned you away, Ruggie was surprised when he stepped forward, offering a place to stay in Savanclaw.

It was no surprise to anyone that Leona decided to make you his personal gopher (although he knew that he couldn’t rely on you 24/7 as you weren’t allowed to attend the school - not that he cared much anyway for classes). During practice, you would bring water and snacks - the housewarden always scruffing the top of your head and messing your hair up, offering a cheeky grin that no one had seen before. In the dorm, you would sit with him and look over his homework and studies - Ruggie nearby to help you understand what was being taught, considering that this was something far beyond your understanding - especially since you had no magic ability either.

Speaking of which, Ruggie was the only other person - besides Leona - that was allowed to get close to you. Any other student that attempted to get within a foot of you would suffer under Leona’s frightening stare before choking on ‘King’s Roar’ until they begged for mercy when you weren’t around.

When the spelldrive tournament came up - and you unknowingly found out about the plan to hurt another student - you confronted Leona about it. Leona tried to play innocent - pretending not to know what you were talking about, Ruggie assisting with the typically ‘innocent until guilty’ look that he often gave you.

His last straw was when you and Jack warned the others of Savanaclaw's plan - the housewarden of Heartslabyul and his students effectively coming to your aid. Leona thought he could trust you… that you would respect him and love him as the king he was supposed to be…

Jamil Viper

Jamil is your typical stalker type - wanting to know about your every move, it’s ingrained in him after all. During his youth, he - along with the other servants of the Al-Asim home - would watch over the young masters as they grew up, one eye always on the lookout for danger that could befall the family. Kalim - as sweet and carefree as he was - would often spend time in Jamil’s presence, chewing his ear off with stories and such, Jamil often ignoring what he said or taking everything with a grain of salt. However - the story of the Scalding Sands princess and the thief never completely left his mind. Legends stated that the two were fated to be together - and the land had been prosperous during their reign. Jamil would often turn the story over in his mind a handful of times, but tsk at the idea of soulmates. It was only a fairy tale… right?

That changed the moment he saw you in the mirror chamber - your eyes wide by everything that was different and strange to you. If Jamil was honest, he thought back to the story of the desert princess and the thief right then and there - he imagined himself as the thief and you as the princess, and the longing that filled him had to be the same as it was for the thief when he had seen the princess’ beauty for the first time. It was easy to persuade Kalim to let you stay in Scarabia, using ‘Snake Whisper’ to charm him into allowing the headmaster for you to stay. Once within the safe confines of the dorm, Jamil offered for you to assist him with taking care of Kalim (“Trust me, my little desert flower,” he tells you, “things aren’t always as they seem. You will get what’s coming to you.”)

Speaking of which - like Azul’s pet name of ‘Angelfish,’ Jamil refers to you as ‘Desert Flower.’ When you asked why that was, Jamil would cough and say something about how you reminded him of the flowers back in the Scalding Sands - particularly the Desert Hyacinth (which is a parasitic plant, oddly enough).

Regardless, Jamil enjoys spending time with you - when not chasing Kalim around. In the evenings, when the dorm is asleep, he finds the evenings quite relaxing in your presence; playing Mancala on the carpeted flooring after having his feet rubbed in oil to alleviate the tension and pain from all the hard work he did. When he asks if there’s anything he can do for you in return, you simply smile and shake your head, explaining how you’re thankful for his kindness and generosity for keeping you company in the late evenings when you both know he should be getting rest.

However, as the holiday season approaches and the rest of the school heads home for the holidays, Jamil notices your disappearance one night - making him frantic to know where you had disappeared to. That fear turns into seething rage when you return with an octopus and two eels in tow - Jamil demanding to know what the meaning of this is. Out of the goodness of your heart, you explain that you sought help for him and Kalim - especially with Kalim’s strange mood swings making you more and more nervous with each passing day. The presence of the scheming octomer and his twin pals makes Jamil more on edge than ever - watching from the shadows as you and Kalim turn to your new allies. It would seem… desperate times call for desperate measures.

The look on your face when it’s revealed that he was the one behind the changes in Kalim’s behavior was enough to shatter Jamil’s heart into a thousand pieces - like a glass lamp crushed under the weight of stone. The fear… the anger… the resentment towards Kalim has become centerfold - but Jamil could never hate you… his little desert flower. If only he was headwarden… if he was in charge… none of this would have happened… it was all Kalim’s fault, after all…

#annonymous asks #ask box #tw yandere #yander x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere jamil viper #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere idia shroud #yandere malleus draconia #headcanon #yandere headcanons #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

[plussizefantasia]

Eat, Sleep, and Breathe

Flufftober Day 9: Love Confession

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

AN: At the time that I am writing this, I have reached 100 FOLLOWERS!!! I am so incredibly grateful to all of you! I think that after Flufftober is over I'll do a belated celebration for us! if you have any ideas of something you might want to do let me know. As always, if you liked the story please reblog! I'll see you all tomorrow.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

When you and Eddie became best friends he had never expected that you’d become such an ingrained part of his life. He’d never really had a best friend before, other than Gareth, and even then, their friendship was only because of DnD.

Eddie walked into the trailer he shared with his uncle after a long day of school followed by an even longer shift at the record store and saw you making dinner in his kitchen while joking around with Wayne. 

“Poor kid couldn’t even look at a banana for a month.” Wayne chuckled and your melodious laugh followed. 

“Now that you say something, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat a banana and I’ve known him for four years.” Eddie didn’t know if he liked the idea of the two of you ganging up on him like this. But he also couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest when he saw just how well the two most important people in his life got on.

He hadn’t said anything when he had entered the trailer but you had become so finely attuned to Eddie over the years that he didn’t need to. You always seemed to just know where he was and how he was feeling. It was almost spooky sometimes when he would get a call late at night when he couldn’t sleep because you’d felt that something was wrong and wanted to check in. 

“Hey Eds, how was work?” You didn’t even turn to look at him when you asked the question. That didn’t mean that Eddie couldn’t hear the smile in your voice or that he didn’t notice the way you stood up straighter when you turned back towards the stove.

He didn’t know what you were cooking, he usually didn’t until it was on a plate in front of him. But he trusted you with his life and you had started insisting that you cook for them given that you had seen the kind of food Eddie was capable of making.

“It was good, we got the new order in and the manager seems to have taken some of my suggestions about branching out in terms of genres in the store.”

“That’s great Hon! I’m glad he trusted you, you know what you’re talking about when it comes to good music.” You never stop focusing on what's simmering on the stove and Eddie thanks whatever higher being there is that you can’t see the deep flush covering his cheeks.

“Thanks, pretty girl,” it's a whispered appreciation that flows through the air and settles into your mind like a sweet flog. Eddie has always been flirty with you, you genuinely can’t remember the last time he called you by your actual name. It was always some sweet nickname, a compliment wrapped in endearment and tied with a bow of amusement. You had drawn the line when he had jokingly called you snookums last week. Since then pretty girl has been his go and you don’t think you’d be able to deal with it if he started calling you by your name again.

Eddie moves thoughtlessly throughout the trailer, changing out of his work clothes and into the well-loved Black Sabbath shirt you had gotten him for his birthday two years ago. He never stops listening to you and what you're doing. You’re not speaking or making any noise intentionally but your unconscious little humming is the song that calls to his soul and he looks forward to hearing it every time you come over.

Eventually, he returns to the little kitchenette that's somewhat separated from the rest of the trailer by a half-wall. Your call of “dinner’s done come and get it” spurs both himself and Wayne into movement. 

Wayne takes the packed dinner that you’ve already placed into a bag for him knowing that he was taking the evening shift that night. He says nothing but the small smile on his face and the shoulder pat he gives you is proof enough that he appreciates your thoughtfulness. Eddie does too.

Seriously he has no idea what he would do without you. Without you there to lift him when he just wants to stay down. Without you there to take care of the small things, making sure he has a pencil before he needs to take a test, or that time you pulled a brand new comb out of your bag for him in the middle of lunch because he couldn’t find his. 

Overwhelmed with the sudden feeling slushing through him and tipped over by the sugar-sweet smile you give him when you place his bowl into his hands, Eddie can’t hold back anymore. “God, I love you.”

Everything freezes. Eddie wants to crawl into a hole and berate himself for the rest of his life because of his lack of filter and your whole body just kind of stops.

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s because you're trying to figure out if this is actually one of those dreams that you have where he valiantly declares his love for you and the two of you ride off into the sunset forever happy, or if this actually just happened.

It isn’t until Eddie starts stuttering out nonsensical sounds and doing his best impression of a scratched record that you break out of your stupor.

“What did you say?” your question is soft and wondering, your eyes have almost doubled in size and Eddie really wishes that he was able to tell what was going on in your head before he responded so that he didn’t dig himself into a deeper hole.

“I said I love you.” His response is equally as quiet and if you hadn’t been waiting for those exact words you don’t think you would’ve really understood them with the way he rushed them together.

It only takes three seconds for you to move in front of Eddie, and then another two to put your lips on his. However, it takes Eddie a solid six seconds to catch up with reality and eagerly begin to respond. 

His hands land on your hips and he pulls your soft body into his. Your hand grips the back of his neck and starts to play with the small curls that are hidden behind the rest of the large mass. 

The two of you enter into something close to a dance, pulling and pushing and waiting for the other person to cue you. 

Eddie wishes more than anything that he didn’t need to breathe. That he didn't need to pull away from everything that was you just for something as ridiculous as oxygen. He would breathe you, he thinks. For the rest of his life, he would eat, sleep, and breathe you if he could.

When Eddie pulls away you’re not exactly sure what to do next. You want to kiss him again, want to go in for another taste of him but you know that eventually you’d need to talk. Eventually you; 'd need to reassure Eddie that his feelings are reciprocated. That you love him too, that you have for a very long time.

But for now, standing in his kitchen, just the two of you was enough. There would be time for talking later.

#plus size reader #plus size!reader #fluff #x reader #fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au #wayne munson #flufftober

[mamayan]

YAN MY BABYGURL CONGRATA ON YOUR MILESTONE!

I am here to give my try for your Russian Roulette. Can be nsfw or not (your decision and how you feel like 💋)

9, 37, 46, 61 either with Kyojuro or Kokushibo ❤️

BANG! … no bullet was shot—

Kokushibo

“Let me hold you?” || Sleep || Tangled hair || Soulmates

tw: Suggestive • NSFW • Suggestive Angst

wc: 618

“Please…”

He should kill you.

“Let me hold you?”

If he allows this to continue any longer, you’ll surely infect his mind further. You, an enchantment no doubt, have haunted him for months with that sweet scent and earnest gaze. A weak creature not meant for the night like he, yet you so kindly embrace him despite his monstrous appearance and wicked deeds. His desire for strength and achievement shudders beneath your fingers.

He should kill you.

You who sleepily wraps your arms around his neck as he lowers himself over you, brushing his lips against your own while you invite him into your bed again. You should know better, he has warned you many times in the past. You aren’t very obedient, but he hardly cares when you part your lips for him to taste you. His kiss is sensual, slower and gentler than usual. He’s savoring you, the feeling of you close to him while his blackened soul writhes against the clean half you possess. Your soft figure beneath him is the most right he’s ever felt in over four hundred years and he knows you are his own personal punishment for his sins against humanity. You don’t listen when he tells you to run, but you open up so willingly when he slots himself between your thighs. His hands greedily tracing your figure, squeezing you almost painfully as he assures himself once more you are real and not a figment of his lonely mind.

He should kill you.

Except his mind goes blank as he sheathes himself inside you, your body warm and welcoming for him as you mewl in pleasure. Your tight entrance is wet enough he hardly needs any force to sink to your deepest parts. He loses the fight immediately, succumbing to your eyes devoid of anything but complete adoration and acceptance. He loses the battle when you moan his name and beg for more, “Michikatsu, harder please—.” A great warrior crumbling before a mere human, seduced and destroyed.

His hand wraps around your delicate throat, other arm braced to lean himself over you so he can watch. All six eyes he detests normally but feels grateful for now trained on you, watching every little reaction as he softly holds you down while his hips work to throw you into ecstasy. The way your eyes water but never leave his face, lips parted and gasping for breath his cock keeps stealing from you, he watches in fascination and anxiety.

He could kill you.

You wouldn’t even resent him. So much unfathomable understanding in your eyes, it’s a wonder you still hold the compassion that you do. The trust you place in him, a demon no one could love, yet you do the unthinkable effortlessly.

“Michikatsu, I’m—,” he can feel your body tightening, trembling below.

“I know.” He loses himself again, in your pleasure and softness, in your arms which hold him gently. His hair spills, tickling your neck as he lets his canines lightly graze over the sensitive skin where your pulse races. “Go ahead, break for me.” His guttural tone is all you need to fall apart, clinging to him tightly as he finds release inside of you too. Your name on his lips as he loses again.

He should kill you...

Your hands tangle in his hair, sweaty skin making you glow in the low candle light. “I love you,” it’s nearly inaudible but he hears it. Your smile is more radiant than the sun he can not bask in.

He should kill you… before you make him forsake his own immortality to die with you.

You’re asleep before he whispers the words aloud.

“I love you too…”

post dividers/@cafekitsune

#500 Event #kokushibo #kny kokushibo #Kokushibo smut #demon slayer #kny smut #kimetsu no yaiba #kny michikatsu #kokushibo x reader #short drabble

[unbidden-yidden]

So here I am, unable to sleep again, because of the horrifying attack on Israel.

The stories keep coming out and for every new detail I find out, another part of my soul shatters.

[***massive trigger warning for the rest***]

I feel like I'm living in a parallel world to everyone who is not affected by this situation. It's been surreal to go about my work day and regular life as if the images of blood-soaked cradles, burned corpses, raped and wounded women, captives of all ages being taken away on vehicles, video of a small child being taunted for crying for his mother, body bags lined up in rows on the ground, torched cars and homes, and the raw grief of the surviving family members aren't burned onto the backs of my eyelids.

One account I read from a family member of the deceased was that she was beaten, raped in multiple ways and sticks shoved into each place, and left for dead. Another I came across spoke of a small child being forced to watch his parents tortured, killed, and hacked apart. Still another I saw was a report of several children bludgeoned to death so as not to "waste the bullets."

How can I possibly begin to process this?

These people look just like the people in my communities and the friends I've made across the sea. They have my Hebrew teacher's hair, my rabbi's cheekbones, they sound like the shinshinim kids we have each year. They look like the baby nephews of my fellow congregants. I could have davened next to any of them and never known. It is only sheer dumb luck that I don't personally know someone who has died or lost close family.

There has been a pit of dread in my stomach since Shimini Atzeret that will not go away. I find myself on the verge of tears at all times, yet have not been able to actually cry (which is not a good sign; an inability to express sadness in tears is a known post-trauma response for me) and I cannot rest normally. Sometimes I can distract myself for a bit, but the pain and grief rush back in immediately when I remember.

I can feel, in real time, this Jewish cultural trauma sinking into my bones.

And you might think I might be able to separate myself from it since I'm not there and don't have family there. But I can't, because I don't want to. I can't, because some tether bound me forever to the land as soon as my feet hit the ground there, and some part of my soul stayed behind when I left. I don't want to, because these are my people and so they are my adoptive family, even if I do not know them. I am my brother's keeper.

And so here I stand, half a world away from the danger, nervous and scared and grieving, searching our perfectly blue sky for signs of missiles that are not falling here and being startled constantly by the normal and unbroken landscape. The lush beauty of Midwestern autumn woods is juxtaposed in my mind with Middle Eastern walls painted in the blood of my people and their broken bodies beneath them. I see it in the waking light of day as clear as anything in front of me, and walk around like a person divided, in both places at once yet not being fully present in either. I cannot unsee it.

How can I possibly explain this? To myself? To the people actually having to live this nightmare? To the other people removed from the immediate physical danger but who do have blood relatives and/or other family there that they're just praying stay safe and come home at the end of the day? That they are constantly checking their phones for updates or even minimal signs that they're still alive?

The words fail me, but I the closest thing I have to an answer is love. I love my people and I would rather absorb this pain with them and carry it in my soul forever than look away from Jewish suffering. That is a promise I made by joining this people, that my fate would forever be bound up in the collective fate of klal Yisrael. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you stay, I will stay; your people shall be my people, and your G-d my G-d. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus and more may Hashem do to me if anything but death parts me from you.

אַל־תִּפְגְּעִי־בִ֔י לְעׇזְבֵ֖ךְ לָשׁ֣וּב מֵאַחֲרָ֑יִךְ כִּ֠י אֶל־אֲשֶׁ֨ר תֵּלְכִ֜י אֵלֵ֗ךְ וּבַאֲשֶׁ֤ר תָּלִ֙ינִי֙ אָלִ֔ין עַמ��ֵ֣ךְ עַמִּ֔י וֵאלֹהַ֖יִךְ אֱלֹהָֽי׃ בַּאֲשֶׁ֤ר תָּמ֙וּתִי֙ אָמ֔וּת וְשָׁ֖ם אֶקָּבֵ֑ר כֹּה֩ יַעֲשֶׂ֨ה יְהֹוָ֥ה לִי֙ וְכֹ֣ה יוֹסִ֔יף כִּ֣י הַמָּ֔וֶת יַפְרִ֖יד בֵּינִ֥י וּבֵינֵֽךְ׃

[רות א]

I do not take that lightly, and I feel it in my bones. Some core part of me shattered at the same time as the rest of my community.

I cannot, and I will not look away. I will not close my heart or shield myself from this tragedy. And I will not forget.

עַ֥ל נַהֲר֨וֹת ׀ בָּבֶ֗ל שָׁ֣ם יָ֭שַׁבְנוּ גַּם־בָּכִ֑ינוּ בְּ֝זׇכְרֵ֗נוּ אֶת־צִיּֽוֹן׃ עַֽל־עֲרָבִ֥ים בְּתוֹכָ֑הּ תָּ֝לִ֗ינוּ כִּנֹּרוֹתֵֽינוּ׃ כִּ֤י שָׁ֨ם שְֽׁאֵל֪וּנוּ שׁוֹבֵ֡ינוּ דִּבְרֵי־שִׁ֭יר וְתוֹלָלֵ֣ינוּ שִׂמְחָ֑ה שִׁ֥ירוּ לָ֝֗נוּ מִשִּׁ֥יר צִיּֽוֹן׃ אֵ֗יךְ נָשִׁ֥יר אֶת־שִׁיר־יְהֹוָ֑ה עַ֝֗ל אַדְמַ֥ת נֵכָֽר׃ אִֽם־אֶשְׁכָּחֵ֥ךְ יְֽרוּשָׁלָ֗͏ִם תִּשְׁכַּ֥ח יְמִינִֽי׃ תִּדְבַּֽק־לְשׁוֹנִ֨י ׀ לְחִכִּי֮ אִם־לֹ֢א אֶ֫זְכְּרֵ֥כִי אִם־לֹ֣א אַ֭עֲלֶה אֶת־יְרוּשָׁלַ֑͏ִם עַ֝֗ל רֹ֣אשׁ שִׂמְחָתִֽי׃

[תהלים קלז]

#personal post #not trying to claim that I am in any way affected at the level others are #most other people are way more directly affected than me and I don't intend this to take that focus away from them #this is more of a diary post than anything #but I'm posting it anyway because I suspect others feel similarly and I do think it's one (of many) conversations that should be had #ארץ ישראל #jumblr

[thetriplets3]

15 with matt?

- 🫧

ahh my first emoji anon hi make yourself at home 🏡

☼ beautiful boy ☼

trope: idiots to lovers

Affection isn’t foreign to us. We’re all affectionate people, we’re constantly close to one another, it's just normal for us. Lately, my affection towards and from you feels different than it does with your brothers. Not in a bad way, I can’t explain it, it just feels different.

A simple hand on the shoulder, head against the shoulder, brush against the back, arm draped over the shoulder feels more meaningful when it’s from you. I unconsciously gravitate towards you, being around you brings me such comfort and peace. You’re the first face I look for in any room, the one I want to be there with me when things get hard, the one who is always down for an aimless car ride at odd hours of the night. You’re the first person that comes to my mind, no matter what.

No one was in the mood to do anything or go anywhere so we all agreed on a movie night. Our attention was divided, the movie was more so background noise as we all hung out and messed around on our phones. Nick and Chris are on one side of the couch taking turns showing each other funny tik toks. I was on the other end of the couch, half laying half sitting, mindlessly scrolling through my phone. Looking up from my phone I’m met with your smiling face as you point a drink in my direction, I can’t help but smile back because you brought me one knowing I’d want one soon enough. Gratefully accepting the drink, you place yours on the table and point at the cushion next to me, silently asking if you could sit there. Nodding as I crack open my drink I’m quickly met with your head sideways on my lap as you face the TV. Instinctively, my arm goes to rest on your shoulder. Your left hand makes quick work finding mine, like muscle memory.

I drift in and out of consciousness, clearly long enough for Nick and Chris to finish the movie and retreat to their rooms. Sensing a change in my breathing, you turn your body to face towards me.

“Good to see you enjoyed the movie” you chuckle, knowing I always fall asleep during movies.

“I very much enjoyed it, definitely a top favorite” I joke back.

A comforting silence falls over the dimly lit living room, beautifully illuminating your features. I watch as your eyes dance across my face analyzing every inch of my face, my eyes mirroring your actions. My hand goes to your hair gently brushing it out of your face and raking my hand through your beautiful brown locks. My eyes land on every small feature of yours taking in and remembering their beauty.

Your crystal blue eyes that I could get lost in forever, the lines under your eyes from your messed up sleep schedule, the small scar that graces your face from when Nick burnt you, how pronounced your cheekbones and jaw are, the gentle slope of your nose, and that smile. The smile that makes me feel like everything will be alright, the smile that makes me smile even on my worst days, the smile that belongs to you. You have me entranced.

Your eyes gently close as my fingers work their way across your scalp, relaxing you. “I love moments like this, just you and I, I wish we got to do this more. This makes me happy” you softly whisper.

“I love this too. It brings me peace” I say as a silence falls upon us.

I continue circling my fingers on your scalp massaging it as the other hand brushes the stray hairs from your forehead.

“You’re beautiful Matt” slips off my tongue.

“You’re saying nonsense,” you mutter.

“No I’m serious you are. You’ve got the most beautiful features, the most beautiful personality, the most beautiful smile that makes my heart do backflips, and you have a beautiful soul. There’s something just so comforting about you, you make me feel safe, I see you and I see my home. That’s special, not a lot of people can do that. You’re a beautiful boy, inside and out, anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. I know I am. I love you Matt” I ramble, in awe of you, slightly embarrassed.

“You must’ve read my mind because I was gonna say something similar. I see how you are with Nick and Chris and it’s different than it is with me. I love having you in my arms and close to me, it just feels right. I’m so glad you’re in my life and I hope you’re in it forever. I love you I mean it” you say.

You grab my hand from your head and place a sweet kiss on it. “We should probably go to bed huh?”

I’m barely on my feet for 2 seconds before I’m being thrown over your shoulder and carried to your room, giggling and patting your back along the way. Reaching your bed you plop me on to your soft sheets before making your way to lie next to me. Your hand comes up to my hair to brush the loose hairs away from my face before resting it on my cheek.

“For the longest time now affection with your brothers has felt different than it does with you and I think I know why now. I always hoped your touches meant something else. I uh, I really like you Matt”

“Looks like both of us felt that way then. I really like you too” you say as your eyes dance between mine and my lips, silently asking permission to kiss me.

With a slight nod, sparks fly. “I love you beautiful boy”

Taglist:

@d0wnt0wnstu4n1ol0 @im-a-matt-girl @iluvmatt @stxrniqlo @antisocialties

#🫧 #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #readers pov

[jilixthinker]

embryos

☆ MASTERLIST ☆

PART 1 PART 2

pairing: felix × jisung

genre: angst, supernatural, smut

summary: "purity. those who possess it can have the access. it's like a key. only the pure souls who die in your world can enter in mine. the only requirement is a body. flesh in exchange for the eternal sun".

word count: 5.5 K (in part 1)

content warning: depression, death, mentions of suicide, pain and sufference, parallel universes, smut, jisung and felix are so in love it hurts, eventual happy ending

a/c: i wrote this a few years ago and never finished it, but i cared so much about the idea itself that i forced myself back to finally put an end to it. i still don't know how many chapters i will divide this into, but i guess it will be 3/4 maximum. please, enjoy it at least half as much as i did ♡

I have never been a diamond. For as long as I can remember, I have always sided with the useless. Many have tried to make me face who I am, and still, the only thing I could see were black eyes and no intention to exist. Even after years, when I look in the mirror, my image continues to show me something I do not recognize as myself. I never wanted to shine, I was always at the bottom of a hole. Never a diamond, just a lightless opal. Strings pulling a puppet without someone to maneuver it. A reflection.

Jisung wakes up the way incongruents do. He opens his eyes, blinks twice, maybe three times. As the light overbearingly invades the room, he curses and swears at everything around him. If he knew more than one language he would probably curse in that one too. He throws his legs off the bed and slowly stretches them. He arches his back like a cat and feels his vertebrae snap as if they were moving away from each other.

The first foot on the icy floor is traumatic, as always, and the second is certainly no better. With shuffling steps he makes his way to the window, the cause and fault of all that light, and behind the wide-open sashes he finds a busy Seoul, more alive than ever. Jisung snorts contritely and pulls the small rope that holds the blinds up. Only when the room stagnates in a lazy half-light, he lets out a sigh of relief. He takes two steps toward the mattress and for a few seconds he thinks about throwing himself back on it, fuck all commitments, classes, university, and fuck his phone that just decided to ring.

Groping around, with his eyes still half-closed, he slips an arm under his pillow and looks for the cause of all that noise. He brushes against the cover of his cell phone, which slides a few inches forward, slipping from his fingers. Oh, that's perfect. Thank you. When he finally manages to grab it, he unlocks the call without even looking at the screen.

"No".

From the other line he ears a grunt and a cough, then an overly deep voice.

"No, what?"

Jisung rolls his eyes and sits on his bed, crossing his ankles and shaking his head.

"Minho?"

"No, your majesty the queen. I won't take a no as an answer from anyone, especially not from you".

More noises in the background. Jisung thinks he hears a slap, another grunt, and the squelching sound of a kiss.

"Jisung? Sorry, that animal took my phone from my hands while you were answering me".

Another voice, much more graceful and alert than the previous one, rings inside his ear. Jisung barely pulls the device away while looking up.

"Do we want to continue with all this whining or are you going to tell me why you called me? I'm quite busy".

"Busy? Are you jacking off? Anyway, I heard you answering no. And you know I don't accept a no as an answer from anyone, especially from..."

Jisung stands up from his bed and stumbles over a slipper. Not that balance has ever been his best quality.

"Did you and your boyfriend decided to talk the same way to irritate me endlessly? Because you always do it without even trying, just for you to know".

The voice squeaks in a distinctly offended tone, and Jisung can imagine his interlocutor's lips curving into a grimace.

"Han Jisung, if you don't get your ass out your house and get ready in twenty minutes, I swear to God I will set fire to your life and everything I can find in it. You cannot miss another class. That is mandatory".

The sound of the closed signal wakes Jisung up from the morning fog. He runs a hand over his sweaty face and, with the phone still wedged between his shoulder and head, he whispers.

"Good morning to you, Chan".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

After twenty minutes and many other curses, Jisung is standing outside of his elegant building. His lace-up shoes, combed hair, and an off-white shirt shine as if lit by stage spotlights. He glances at the expensive watch he wears on his wrist and he thinks that, if impressions were always right, then he would be a spoiled daddy's boy with a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life. Instead, he reflects bitterly as Chan's car pulls up in front of him, he is a daddy's boy who hates his privileged status, with no one beside him and a nuclear explosion always about to burst his brain. But there is no need to worry. Impressions are everything.

"You have awful dark circles".

Jisung slips into the back seat of Chan's expensive car. He tosses his shoulder strap and smiles sarcastically at Minho.

"I wouldn't worry about other people's dark circles with an ugly face like yours".

Minho bursts out laughing, slowly driving back into the lane. Jisung leans toward the seat in front of his, hugging the backrest.

"Someday you will explain to me why you always let him drive your car".

Chan turns to look at him and pinches his nose. He does this on purpose to make him nervous because he knows how much Jisung despites physical contact.

"Because I can recognize my limits, unlike you. And don't try to deflect the topic. You missed a week of classes, the professors were starting to get impatient, and I couldn't take notes for the three of us. Can you explain what the fuck were you doing?"

Jisung shakes off his best friend with a vacant stare.

"The three of us?" He asks, sidestepping the question.

"You know that this animal", Chan reaches out to point at Minho "does everything but paying attention. However, an answer would be more than welcome".

Jisung huffs and crosses his legs against the seat in front of him. He does not want to answer. He has no reason to justify his absence from classes. He did absolutely nothing during that week. He procrastinated everything that could be done, ate very little and showered even less. He spent all his time lying on his huge bed in his huge house, alone, looking at the ceiling and thinking about how his life was going in a completely unfamiliar and negative direction. Starting with the university that had been chosen by someone else, his house that had been delivered to him already furnished, and all the relationships that he had that now seemed false, distant, and unattainable. Jisung felt like his essence was been split against his will and another person was living his life. His real self was behind a mirror, imprisoned and motionless, watching him silently, without uttering a word.

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to the junction of his nose.

"I had a fever, I couldn't get up".

Chan sighs. He doesn't believe him for a moment, but insisting with Jisung is like yelling to a mountain to get up and walk.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Minho pulls over near the curb to let Jisung and Chan off. He said that he will not join them. He has an interview with a colleague of his parents who may decide to take him as an intern. Chan places a kiss on his boyfriend's lips. A kiss that, according to Jisung, lasts a little too long considering they are not alone, and then he runs into the cafeteria next to the university to get them two iced americanos. Jisung picks up his briefcase and smooths out the creases on his blue cigarette pants.

"You are not well".

Minho is looking at him as people may look at an underfed dog on the side of the road.

"Why do I feel like this is not a question?"

Jisung gets out of the car and closes the door, then walks over to stand next by the other boy and he scrutinizes him for a few seconds. Minho works as a model, it's inevitable for him to be attractive. He has muscular legs, fair skin, and big eyes. But Jisung knows that's not the reason he was hired. The truth is that Minho knows exactly what he wants, from everything. From his job, from his relationship, from life. He has a very strong determination that is impossible not to notice in his gaze.

Jisung instead, and he turns around to look at his image in the rearview mirror, has the gaze of someone who does not even want to be noticed.

"It wasn't. It was an observation".

"I don't need any help".

"I know. You and I are the same".

Jisung bursts out laughing, his laugh drained of any sort of amusement.

"You and I have nothing in common, for your luck".

Minho smiles at him accommodatingly as he places one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear. Jisung steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

He looks at his reflection on Chan’s shiny red car. He can barely recognize the lips he was so proud of, even if it’s ridiculous to think about it now that it seems like centuries have passed. They are a lurid, wispy copy of what they used to be. He has absolutely no recollection of how long it has been since he last kissed someone with that mouth. There is not a single time he can look at himself without a sense of nausea pervading him from head to toe and forcing him to look away immediately. Despite his best efforts, however, his image haunts him wherever he goes and whatever he does.

A rather violent push wakes him up from his thoughts. Minho is still in front of him, huffing because the light is still red and preventing him from moving forward. Jisung turns his head to see where the push came from. He catches a glimpse of the back of a boy who is quickly walking away.

"Hey!"

He yells at him loudly enough so that the latter can hear him above the infernal noise of the traffic, but the boy keeps walking fast, almost quickening his pace.

Jisung moves forward and decides that no, he absolutely does not want to be ignored like that by someone who has just run into him.

"Hey!", he repeats, and starts running until he finds himself behind him. A few meters behind, the green light finally lets Minho turn on the engine.

"I'm not saying you have apologize, but at least you could turn around".

Jisung grabs the arm of the rude stranger who quickly walks into the crosswalk, dragging Jisung with him. He doesn’t even give him a glance and doesn’t turn around.

Jisung opens his mouth and now he is sure that he will not continue to be so kind if this guy is going to avoid him. He absentmindedly hears Chan's footsteps coming out of the cafeteria and he's about to tell him to wait for him just a moment, just long enough for him to clear a few things up with the stranger who has, he's pretty sure, hit him on purpose.

Instead, his ears catch only the sound of the two coffee cups slipping down from his friend's hands and a shrill quiver. He just has the time to turn his head and see Chan with his mouth wide open and his eyes terrified, standing motionless on the sidewalk, with one hand extended in his direction.

"What..."

But he does not have the time to finish the sentence because he feels a tug from the stranger he is still grabbing by the elbow, and then a dull pain.

The last thing he senses is an immense red stain in front of him, smell of burning tires irritating his nostrils and a loud ringing noise in his ears. Then nothing.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

beep beep beep

-Jisung-.

Jisung hears a familiar voice calling him. Jisung? Was that the right name? His ears do not react. Another low sounding voice echoes around him.

"Jisung. Come back. We won't let you go".

Something touches his face, very lightly. A deep breath. Jisung tries to figure out in what position his body is placed. He feels forced into something even though he is almost certain he is lying down. He seems to be missing a piece, a part of himself. There is a strong foreign smell of disinfectant alcohol. He tries to open his eyes but cannot find the right muscles to do so.

"Please".

The first voice, the softer, more familiar one, continues to speak to him. He feels a hand caressing his face and eyelids. Once he feels that pressure, he finally identifies where his eyes are and manages to blink once.

"He is waking up".

It takes him a few moments to bring the scene into focus. There is too much white and the light is glaring. He sees, first blurred and then increasingly sharp, three faces leaning over him. Two of them he recognizes, one of them he does not know to whom he belongs. He closes and reopens his eyelids several times until he completely focuses on his surroundings.

"Where..."

He tries to speak but his voice is unfamiliar, as if he had just finished working in the mine. He coughs and regrets it bitterly a second later. Every breath causes him a painful twinge in his chest.

"You are at the hospital".

Chan speaks to him with shining eyes. Jisung turns his head and sees several tubes attached to his arm.

"What?"

Minho curls an arm around Chan's waist and pulls him close. The doctor, the man whose face he did not recognize, checks the IVs and the monitor beside his bed.

"Talk and move as little as possible. The more you try to rest the faster we can discharge you".

He gives him a smile, then looks apprehensively at the two boys next to him and leaves the room.

"What", repeats Jisung panting. His breathing quickens as he realizes where he is.

"You had an accident". Minho squeezes Chan tightly as he speaks. "You crossed the street all of a sudden, I was too close. I tried to hit the brakes but you were..."

He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes. He tightens his lips as he tries not to fidget like his boyfriend.

"Jisung", continues Chan. "I came out of the cafeteria and I saw you crossing the street with someone. The light was green, Minho was a meter away from you, he couldn't stop on time. He literally drove all over you. You were in a coma for a week. I, we thought ..."

His words are interrupted as he begins to cry his body shaking violently.

One week. One week of coma. Jisung's eyes are wide open and he feels his heart stop.

"We thought you wouldn't make it".

Minho's voice is terribly serious. It is obvious that he feels responsible for what has happened.

"What do I have now?".

The voice seems not to belong to him, as if it came from miles away and he heard only its distant echo.

"You have nothing, that's what no one can understand. You should have your pelvis broken, together with all your ribs, arms and legs. You should have a head injury. You should be dead, really. They did all the checks on you as soon as you got here. Nothing came up. In fact, you weren't even really in a coma. It was like you were asleep. No one has given a plausible explanation, Jisung. It seems like a miracle".

At those words, Chan detangles himself from his boyfriend's protective embrace and collapses on Jisung, crying on his neck and caressing his shoulders and all the parts he can reach.

"I will never be able to forget the noise the car made when it crashed into you. Never".

Minho lowers his head and begins to tremble as well before slumping down in the chair beside the bed. Jisung just lifts his arm to let it rest on Chan's head and stroke his hair. The movement costs him immense effort.

"It's not your fault, Minho".

Minho sinks his hands into his hair and a few tears line his cheeks.

"Yes it is. I should have gone slower, I should have tried to stop earlier, I should have..."

Jisung raises a finger to silence him and shakes his head very slowly. No, he mimes with his lips, it's not your fault. Chan seems to recover and looks up at him.

"I don't think I've ever been so afraid in my life". he whispers and caresses Jisung’s sweat-soaked forehead.

Jisung closes his eyes. He feels his head bursting as if he had a crowd of people inside of it, jumping and banging their feet on his brain.

A week asleep in something which is not even a coma. Nothing broken, no repercussions. Like it never happened. It seems so unreal to him that he thinks he's going to wake up in his room, with the alarm beeping annoyingly and no will to go to class.

Then, in a second, a thought hits him on the spot and he stiffens.

"There was another person. There was another person with me".

It’s little more than a hiss, but Chan and Minho hear him. The two boys look at each other, and Jisung clearly sees something snap. He can almost hear the sound of it when Chan takes his right wrist in his hands, gently.

"The other person died".

Jisung does not sleep that night and neither does the following.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is discharged three days later.

His parents called him from the US. The line was bad and he couldn't say much. Not that he had much to tell, he couldn't remember anything, and he wouldn't have wanted to hear their voices anyway. Their son could have died in a car accident, and they didn't even care enough to take a plane to visit him. But he expected it after all. In fact, he is not even that disappointed when he finds out that Chan and Minho were the only ones staying with him during the days he was unconscious.

Jisung decides not to ask the other boy's name. He simply cannot. And even though he does not believe in the existence of God, he thanks him. He thanks him all the way home, with Chan and Minho attached to him, afraid to let him move. He thanks him for seconds, minutes, hours. He thanks him, but not for being alive. He thanks him because he didn’t see his face. If he had, if the boy had turned around when he grabbed his arm, his face would have been sculpted in his mind like a firebrand.

But he didn’t see it, and that allows him a sort of detachment, some dignity. It spares him some pain. That’s why he is grateful to a God in whom he doesn’t even believe. Maybe Jisung will be able to move on without the remorse hunting him, reminding him that if he hadn’t chased him, if he hadn’t screamed and touched him, the boy could still be alive. alive. alive. alive.

"Jisung".

Jisung looks away from the buildings flowing behind the cab window. Chan smiles at him. Minho, two days earlier, confessed that he destroyed the car. He would never be able to get into it again after the accident.

"I'm fine". he answers to the unspoken question.

In fact, it's not even a lie. He is fine, he feels no pain whatsoever and he is able to move perfectly as nothing ever happened. But then he remembers the nape of that neck, the slim waist, the thin arm he grabbed, and he realizes that no, he is not fine at all.

They get outside of his building a few minutes later. Jisung stares at it, standing imposingly in one of the most luxurious parts of the city, and inside he knows he doesn't deserve any of that.

"I'll walk you upstairs".

Chan takes his hand and tries to open the door, but Jisung pulls him back and forces him to sit back in his seat.

"No need. I can go. You guys go and rest".

"Jisung, I will not leave you".

Chan crosses his arms over his chest and looks at him seriously, with a worried frown in his voice.

Jisung knows he just wants to protect him, but Chan doesn't understand how much he needs to stay alone with himself and his thoughts.

"But I need to be alone".

Minho nods understandingly and holds his boyfriend against his chest.

"Call us if you need anything. You know we are here".

Jisung forces a smile. Minho looks at him and he knows it's not spontaneous, but he appreciates that he tried despite everything.

"I know. Thank you".

He gets out of the cab with his small bag containing his clothing, medications and tranquilizers, plus a prescription for a psychologist session that he is certain he will not use. The vehicle behind him disappears into the traffic.

Jisung looks around and everything seems so strange, unnatural, and different, almost frightening to him. With a sigh he crosses the threshold of the building and walks down the hall feeling everyone's gaze on him.

Before anyone can speak to him, however, he steps into the elevator and leans his back against the polished wall. He looks up and tries hard not to think about when, an instant before the crash, he pulled the boy against his chest.

When he enters in his apartment, it almost seems that time did not pass. Everything is still as it was the day of the accident. When Minho came to get his clothes he evidently did not touch anything else, and Jisung mentally thanks him for that. Jisung faces the bed, which is still unmade, and throws himself on it carelessly. The mattress bounces under his weight.

The window is closed, but Seoul's afternoon light filters inside from the large living room balcony. Jisung curls up and closes his eyes trying to silence the voices in his head, and he thinks that somewhere in the universe someone must really hate him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

He wakes up that it is barely dawn. A dim ray, too weak to really disturb him, hits his sleep-wrinkled face and softens his forehead. He has been tossing and turning in bed all night. Not that he thought he was going to sleep, but he hoped that his head would give him at least a few hours of rest before starting to replay in slow motion the full dynamics of the crash. He listlessly gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator in search of something to eat.

He picks up a jar of yogurt, but when he looks at the expiration date he tosses it into the dumpster. A black banana falls into his hand. Jisung shudders because he only eats unripe fruit, and he throws that too. Eventually he finds a box of rice cereals buried on the top floor of the pantry. He begins to eat it leaning against the peninsula of the table while chewing slowly and looking out from the balcony. The city has woken up before him, as far as he can hear from the sound of the engines and horns coming from outside. Living on the top floor of a building in Gangnam is irrelevant if you can't have some peace, he thinks.

When his stomach seems to have calmed down, he decides to take a shower. Maybe that will wash away the horrible feeling of heaviness, together with the hospital smell he has been carrying around for days.

He is about to take off his shirt and pants when he hears his phone ringing insistently.

"How are you?"

Jisung lowers his pants and boxers in one swoop while he puts his phone in an impossible position on the crook of his neck.

"As I should".

"And that is?".

"Like shit, Chan".

He hears a soft snort from the other line. He can imagine his friend pacing up and down in his apartment, trying not to wake up Minho.

"Do you want me to come over? You won’t have anything to eat. I'll bring you lunch later".

Jisung takes off his shirt too and stands naked in the half-light, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

"Thanks but it's not..."

Chan interrupts him, the angry tone clashing with his pain.

"Han Jisung, don't tell me it's not necessary or I swear I'll kick your ass. I'll just bring you lunch. And don't you dare not to open the door. I spent the night thinking about you, all alone in that huge thing you call home, so I expect you to eat whatever I’ll get you. Did I make myself clear?"

Jisung remains silent a few seconds, waiting for his friend to finish his rant.

"You have made yourself clear. But now get a couple of hours of sleep. When I said I feel like crap I didn't mean I'm going to jump out of a window. Okay?"

"Not at all. See you later".

As usual, the sound of the line makes Jisung wake up completely.

"See you later". he murmurs to himself.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The water is warm and reddens his skin. Jisung stands still and looks at the ceiling. For a moment he forgets what did happen up to that moment. For a second he is just Han Jisung, he is twenty-three years old, a law student who has two very good friends, a beautiful house and no problems. A normal guy. Everything looks so right inside that steamy cabin where everything exists in its proper place, perfectly set in every corner of his head.

However, when he slides the transparent door open, everything reverts to its disordered state and evaporates along with the drops of boiling water. Jisung absentmindedly observes the skin of his stomach. There are no marks left to testify the accident, and the IV holes are disappearing from his arms. Perhaps time will heal his thoughts as well.

He takes a towel from the closet next to the shower and he vigorously rubs his hair and face. He has no idea about the conditions of his face, to tell the truth. He has not looked at himself for more than a week.

He places the spongy fabric on a shelf and he approaches the mirror. He crinkles his eyes and thousands of black dots appear in front of him, blurring his vision. He staggeringly leans against the sink and waits until he can see everything clearly again. The lights above the mirror are too bright, and Jisung quickly thinks he needs to replace them.

"I must look terrible". he murmurs to himself, laughing dryly.

"You do not".

A voice clearly resonates inside the room.

Jisung turns icy, motionless. A meaningless echo rumbles with the quick realization that someone is there.

Someone broke into.

Into his house. Into his bathroom.

Jisung breath quickens. He keeps his gaze on the sink, trying to figure out where that voice might be coming from.

No one has the keys to his apartment, he thinks disconnectedly. Only Chan knows where he hides them. But a break-in seems unreasonable to him. His apartment is on the 25th floor of a building which is under constant surveillance.

Then who, how, why

"Who are you?"

His voice gushes out rather controlled compared to the nuclear bomb that has just exploded inside his chest. Jisung barely straightens his back and, from the corner of his eyes, he looks behind him, searching for a shadow that would give him a hint of where the stranger is hiding.

"Look up".

The stranger's voice is calm, gentle. A simple observation.

Jisung straightens up a bit. The voice is not coming from behind, he is sure.

"Who are you?" he repeats.

This time his mask of fake strength cracks blatantly. He takes a fleeting glance at his hands and he is not surprised to find them shaking.

"Why don't you see it by yourself?"

Jisung's brain makes a space-time jump. He is no longer inside his bathroom, but in his parents' house. In the living room, to be exact. He is sixteen years old, with fairly long and neglected hair, and an uncertain smile on his face. His brother is sitting in front of him. He is talking to him.

"When you find yourself in an uncomfortable situation", he tells him, "and you can't make the right decision, you have to consider everything you see as a dream inside your imagination. A dream you are living as the protagonist. You think you don't know what is going to happen, but the only one who decides the fate of the ending is you. Even if you don't know it. Even if the events make no sense. You are the only master of your dream and the only director of your life. So, take a breath, open your eyes and observe. Don't get carried away by your emotions. Watch everything as if it doesn’t affect you personally. Because, at the end, it’s just a scene in the movie you are filming. Twists and turns are inevitable, but if you pay attention you will see that there are small discrepancies between the reels that you change. You just have to watch and breathe. Just that, Jisung. Watch and breathe".

Watch and breathe.

Jisung hears those words blowing in his ears. He lifts his head and, somewhere far away, he hears the ticking of water drops falling on the floor.

In front of him there is still the same mirror framing in perspective the bathroom where he is standing. Watching and breathing.

Jisung watches and breathes.

He watches the reflection of a fair body in front of him, a body with a small chest and narrow shoulders, eyes large and expressive, hair blonde, long and neat.

He breathes what must be liquid oxygen, because he feels it flowing differently inside his lungs, it cannot be just air.

He watches a pair of red lips, a small nose, and milky skin adorned with freckles. A face that almost seems to glow under the light of the bulb. He breathes sweat, and he feels as if it rests on his body in a veil, enveloping him completely.

He watches a shy smile, not bold or opinionated. A smile which is just overwhelmingly sweet.

He watches a face of a stranger he has never seen. And he breathes, breathes blood bubbling unsteadily under his enlarged veins.

The reflection in the mirror is not Jisung. The reflection in the mirror is everything Jisung is not. Because Jisung has a tan body, a broad chest and broad shoulders. Jisung has sharp, dull eyes, wet hair, and pale, wispy lips. His nose is bigger and his skin is dull despite of being damp from the shower. Jisung does not smile under the light bulb. Jisung has something that prevents him from pulling his facial muscles and curling his mouth. Jisung is naked in front of the mirror, yet he is wearing a mask. Jisung doesn’t shine, above all. He doesn’t shine.

The boy behind the mirror watches him and breathes. He watches him and breathes in a way that is the same of Jisung, but so much different that it almost hurts. So he reaches out his hand and rests it on the surface of the glass, as to reassure him.

And that’s when he speaks again, when his voice echoes inside that room, that Jisung knows that he is really what he will never be.

"I have always been here". he says.

Then all the lights turn off, or perhaps it’s Jisung himself that is turning off. He closes his eyes and it almost feels like an abomination because he was finally seeing a light.

The last image he sees it’s a hand on a glass in a bathroom, in a building, in a city whose name he cannot remember.

But that's okay.

Because Jisung believes him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #lee felix #felix #skz angst #skz supernatural #skz smut #han jisung smut #felix smut #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagine #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids smut

[gaslightwestern]

Hello! I'm Carmen. A 33 year-old queer writer known as gaslight on AO3. You will find original and fan works (Red Dead Redemption, my beloved) here. I write historical fiction, westerns, noirs, and mysteries and reblog related content plus classic film and video game posts. I am tag/ask game friendly, read across all genres, and would love to hear about your WIP!

—— Style: Non-linear, 3rd person past tense, playing with genre conventions, relentless and deeply troubled characters, humor and action to balance out dark themes, and trying to make the reader feel like they are watching a movie.

—— Tropes: Mutual Pining, Power of Friendship, Anti-Heroes, Found Family, Roaring Rampage of Revenge, Black-and-Gray Morality, Two Mysteries One Story, Organized Crime, "Retired" Bad Ass, Battle Couple, Disaster Bisexuals

Works in Progress

Blackwater - John Marston hires Private Detective Arthur Morgan to look into the death of Heidi McCourt, a friend who he suspects was the victim of foul play rather than suicide. His investigation leads them into the escalating war over West Elizabeth’s bootlegging industry between two powerful gangsters Arthur happens to have unpleasant and unfinished history with.

—— Status: 40% done Chapter 32 | Chapter 31 posted Nov. 2023 —— Links: Read on AO3 | Intro | Excerpts | Tag | Inspiration | Fan Art

Hell's Half Acre (When Sins Haunt Prequel) - When death comes to Fort Worth and strikes her new circle of friends, Charlotte O’Shea resolves to hunt down the culprit before they kill again. Murder isn’t the only mystery in the air however. Sam and Thomas Quinn, father-and-son ex-cowboys who happen to be her colleagues and partners-in-crime-solving, are determined to uncover what made the socialite run away from New York and why she is no stranger to firearms.

—— Status: Outlining —— Links: Tag | Backstory Drabbles → Education | Rivals | Love

When Sins Haunt - When Warren Howard destroys her life again, Charlotte O'Shea goes after the outlaw and his vicious Cobalt Gang. Jack Cadwell, an old friend, crosses Charlotte's warpath when the journalist flees the wrath of a New York crime boss. To survive they must stay a step ahead of their growing list of enemies as Charlotte blazes a trail of vengeance across the American West.

—— Status: Second Draft (On Hold) —— Links: Intro | Side Characters | Tag | Update

Completed Works

Brothers (Pre-Canon AU) - Arthur struggles with the responsibility of being an older brother, particularly being looked up to, as his own actions cut away at his soul and his self-worth continues to erode. He teaches John different things along the way and strives to protect him from harm. This is easier said than done, as is Arthur's desire to prevent the kid from becoming like him. [ x ]

Among the Smoke and the Stars (Epilogue AU) - Most days the urge to run and roam coursed hot under his skin but maybe Beecher’s Hope would change that. Determined to pay off the loan for his new home, John heads to Gaptooth Breach in search of the sixty-five dollars on Esteban Cortez’s head. The thing is John isn't the only one after that bounty. [ x ]

Image Sources

Sunset Clouds - Dewang Gupta (Unsplash)

Blackwater Banner - rollawayyourbones

When Sins Haunt Banner - Sweetwater (2013)

Untitled Banner - Original Picture by Susan Fox

Red Dead Banner - Rockstar Games

Divider - @evansyhelp

If you have read this far, thank you! Please feel free to ask any questions or tell me about what you are working on. :)

#writeblr #writeblr community #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writeblrcafe #writeblrgarden #writing blog #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #amwriting #wip directory #writing community #Hell's Half Acre

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

I saw this post going around and got really curious as to how OP came up with their numbers because I could not replicate them at all.

I was going to reply directly but it was getting very very long and I didn’t want to wade onto someone’s post with a bunch of my own stats bc it seemed rude, so I’m putting my response here.

I’m going to preface this by saying that I’m fully in the camp of “write because you like writing, not for an audience response” because if you don’t like the process of writing, there is no level of audience response that will make writing worth it. But. I’ve seen a lot of folks agonize over Ao3 stats and get stuck in the weeds on Ratios™. And I think there are a few really common misconceptions around what these numbers mean.

The rest of this is going to be under a readmore to spare y’all but basically it’s a breakdown of trying to calculate my own percentages like the OP in the original post and then dialing down into why hits != readers.

Here’s the stats from one of my fics as of today, May 1st 2023. I am by no means a prolific or widely known fic writer - I happen to be in a big fandom and writing for for the main pairing in that fandom.

completed multi chapter fic, rated Mature:

So this one has three chapters, 2736 hits, 436 kudos, and 146 comments. Kudos divided by hits is 16%.

“Oh no!” I might say, seeing this. “Only sixteen percent of people liked my fic enough to leave a kudos? Either my stuff is shit, or fic-readers are a bunch of lazy fucks who don’t appreciate the work I’ve put into this. Either way, I’m mad now!”

But (and I say this with a lot of love in my heart, I promise) that’s silly. Not just for the philosophical reasons of writing what makes you happy and not caring about the response. It’s silly because it’s wrong.

On a multi-chapter fic, each person who finishes it is responsible for at least 3 hits but can only leave 1 kudos. Dividing the total hits by 3 gives you 912 hits. So, once you’ve corrected for number of chapters, the percent of people who have hit kudos is 47%.

“Holy shit!” writer-me says, “I’ve published original fiction in my university newspaper, original fiction that I poured my heart and soul into btw, and if approximately half of the people who read it  sent me a little heart emoji, I would have died and gone to heaven. Fic readers are the Nicest, Most Generous, and Most Beautiful readers on the planet and I am so grateful to be in this community with them.”

But! 47% is still wrong. Here’s why.

Hits != Readers

I don’t how other people do this, but my process of reading a fic is often like this (each step is one hit):

open link from someone else's rec, try to click "mark for later"

realize I'm logged out. sign in to Ao3, go back to fic and click "mark for later"

come back to read fic, generating at least one hit per chapter

open a second tab so that I can write a comment as I go (again, generating at least one hit per chapter)

finish fic, create bookmark, and then navigate back to fic to mark it as read so it's taken off my marked for later page

if I really liked the fic, I'll end up opening it back up in a tag many times so I can rec it to people by sending them the link

if I really really liked the fic, I'll come back and read it again (this is doubly true for explicit fic, btw.)

I think I’m on the high end of generating hits, but it only takes a few of me to really dial up that hit counter. And most people are going to do one or two of these things - I’d argue that it’s pretty rare for someone to leave just one hit on a fic unless they nope out of it in the middle.

Formula for calculating number of readers from number of hits:

There isn’t one. And it would take a much better mathematician than me to make one. Because this is way more complicated than dividing by chapters. Most readers leave more than one hit - especially if they like the fic a lot. Short fics and explicit fics are more likely to be read multiple times.

“But what if I crave validation?” writer-me complains, irritated with math-me for not downloading statistics software, shoving a million Ao3 fics into it, and producing some kind of bullshit linear regression. “What if I constantly see people with higher kudos/hits ratios than me? This is all very optimistic but it really doesn’t jive with my deep seated belief that everyone secretly hates me all the time and they’re too nice to tell me about it. Do they hate me? They probably hate me, right? Tell me if you hate me.”

To which I say, listen very closely, writer-me. You can either decide that AO3 stats mean something and lose your damn mind deciphering what they mean, or you can be like that kid who got an avocado for christmas and say “it’s a avocado comment!! Thanks!! :D”

And that kid seemed pretty happy.

#fanfiction #ao3 #my nonsense #I was going to vacuum and then I spent TWO HOURS writing this #whoops

[dmwrites]

“Uh, pardon me, my friend, but you haven’t seen a zombie named Cleo around, have you?”

Scott had seen many odd things on the life series server, but he had to admit, a random stranger standing at the bottom of his porch stairs was new.

“Who the fuck are you?” Scott stared down at the stranger, whose lime green tank top was almost too bright to look at.

“Oh, right! Howdy y’all, Joe Hills here. I would say I’m recording in Nashville, Tennessee, but that’s not exactly accurate, so…”

“Wait, Joe Hills as in Cleo’s Joe Hills?” Scott

Joe wasn’t paying attention, looking over towards the bridge connecting Scott to Cleo, and suddenly started waving with enthusiasm. Scott turned too and saw Cleo walking over.

“Cleo you have a… person looking for you.” Scott called, casually flipping to his axe.

“Hard to miss him with the shirt- hi Joe! What the hell are you doing here?” Cleo put a hand out towards Scott, who put the axe away, and put her other arm around Joe.

“Well, it’s Wednesday, of course.” Joe said, like that was supposed to explain everything.

Cleo sighed sarcastically. “Of course, how could I forget about Wednesday. Joe, I told you I’d be off of hermitcraft for a few weeks.”

“But you did not clarify that crafty hermits Wednesday was cancelled, thus, I am here.” Joe replied smugly. Scott looked back and forth between them- it was like watching a battle of wits or something.

“Speaking of, Joe, how on earth did you even get here?” Cleo looked around. “This is a private server.”

“I walked.”

“Walked?” Scott’s eyebrows arched so much they looked like they were headed on an extended vacation to his hairline.

“Just don’t think about it too much.” Cleo whispered to Scott, but loud enough so Joe could clearly hear her still.

“I mean, I could go if I’m not wanted… but then these iced coffees I got would just go to waste…” Joe sighed over-dramatically, pulling a small cooler out of his backpack and taking out two iced coffees.

“Well we never said you had to go…” Scott said hastily, coming down the stairs of his porch to take a coffee out of the cooler. “Right Cleo?”

Cleo sighed again (this Joe guy seemed to have that effect on her), and took the other iced coffee Joe handed her. “Fine. But it’s your own damn fault if you get kicked.”

“Fantastic.” Joe smiled, and set down his backpack and began to pull things out of it, like a mug of hot coffee, some planks of wood, and a handsaw. You know, stuff that conceivably didn’t fit in a bag so small. “Scott, you’re welcome to join us for craft time.”

Scott and Cleo lounged on a picnic blanket- Scott with some sewing and Cleo with a bullet journal- while Joe did woodworking, which was very loud and disruptive, but in a half-funny way.

“So, you two are soulmates then?” Joe asked in a moment of stillness, dabbing at his forehead with his tank top.

Cleo and Scott exchanged a look they’d exchanged many times by now.

“Kind of.”

“In the ways that matter.”

“Our soulmates are other people, Pearl and Martyn to be exact, but they’re stupid, so we left them and decided to be each other’s soulmates instead”. Cleo explained.

“Huh.” Joe leaned against a tree, looking down at the two with a proud smile. “Defying the laws that fate insisted you have. I like it. Very modern.”

“We’re better off like this.” Scott said.

“Does it ever make you sad though?” Joe came closer, sitting down on the edge of the picnic blanket. “Your loyalties are almost divided in a way, between your soul and your heart.”

“My loyalty is steadfast.” Cleo put down her journal and wrapped an arm around Scott. “You should know that, Joe, considering I haven’t ripped your limbs off your body after all these years of friendship.”

“And I do appreciate that.” Joe nodded.

“I’m not going to some fool who refused to come find me. I’m too petty. And too pretty to be treated like a common fool.” Scott sighed dramatically.

“But what if it comes down to you two, you four, at the end? What would you do? You can’t kill a soulmate without killing one another.”

“Joe, stop being so depressing. We don’t have to think about that yet.” Cleo snapped, eyes flashing.

“Yeah, plus, with the way Pearl’s going, we’ll probably be out first. I swear, she’s trying her best to get me killed.” Scott muttered.

The three chuckled. The sun was bright and warm, and the friends went back to their arts and crafts, but the air felt a little colder now. A little more hesitant. Scott found it hard to look at Cleo for a little while. Oh those pesky what-if’s. But surely it wouldn’t come down to Cleo and Martyn against Scott and Pearl. Surly not.

#August 5 2022 #fic #dlsmp #zombiecleo #scott smajor #joehills #long post

[flordeamatista]

𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕

pairing: Demon!Lloyd Hansen x Reader

concept: There is no breath or glare in the world, but only a faint demonic memory.

word count: 1.1 k

warnings: dark themes, knife play, dreams lust, soft dubcon, kidnapping, nicknames ─ (Sunshine, Cupcake)

a/n: My small daydream entry for @boxofbonesfic Friday the 13th Challenge I had an old wip for a demon and Lloyd decided it was time to write for him.

lovely betas: @lunarbuck

line divider: @s-tarksintern

moodboard and gif made by me but shoutout to @sgt-seabass for giving me the screen caps for Mr. Lloyd!

Masterlist

In him, he is restoring and preserving your soul.

The dull numbness that had struck when a tranquilizer shot you while you were running had mostly dissipated, leaving only a slight burning sensation.

You were blindfolded, gagged, and tied to a chair. 

Your ears pricked, and you listened for any movement from anywhere, trying to control the panic in your body. 

Your only memory was getting on the plane, seeing the clouds, and noticing a stache.

Silence. Silence engulfed the room.

Twisting around, you felt a loose knot behind your back. 

This was it. There’s a window. 

You smiled as you slowly freed yourself from that knot.

While you hurriedly removed your blindfold and gag, you looked around in the semi-darkness, trying to recall the last few hours, but you weren't able to see much.

As you slowly counted to ten, half of your vision gradually returned until you could see definite objects and your surroundings clearly. The roar of ocean waves and water rocking back and forth could also be heard.

“Well, hello there, Pumpkin! The figure spoke as light flooded his face. Your eyes glazed over his diamond-like check polo t-shirt and shiny ring on his finger as he slowly caressed your face, you noticed his blue eyes, lustful eyes. 

Game pieces make up his world, and you are its center

It's that voice. You could hear the demon's voice. It was almost ten years ago, when you were in your twenties, that you sold your soul to this voice.

Demon Lloyd. 

Having known why he was here, you knew  your time was running out. Since you didn't want to leave your lifestyle behind, you were about to deal in a contract with a higher demon to wash away Lloyd.

A smirk spread across his face. Open-mouthed dark-lusted kisses trailed across your jawline until your ear was submerged in his sultry breath. 

Each word he spoke traveled along your ear's shell before biting into the lobe as he gripped the ear. The temperature of his hand at your waist lowered while a sharp cold sensation traveled along your thighs. “I'm collecting you, Sunshine. I've been waiting for you since the first day you came to me."

“I don’t like chasing you,” he said, sliding a knife on your skin. Your skin felt like it was melting. As you looked down, you saw your dress melting under the knife like fire and air, revealing your body to him.

The gasp that left your mouth elicited a sinister chuckle from his throat. 

Your skin erupted in goosebumps as the knife allowed your body to breathe for him to see.

“Sunshine, you are all wet for me. See how close I am to your damp underwear. Have you thought about fucking me from the start? We are destined to be in harmony together. It was meant to be, my sweet sunshine." The way he put the knife handle into your pussy just enough to pass through the fabric of your underwear had you breathing heavily.

He overpowers all the damned with his mischief; you can moan and groan in bliss for him.

Feeling it, you wondered how his mouth and fingers would feel. Despite knowing demons had tails and hearing stories about humans and their sexual adventures with them, maybe you were curious to experience something other than a sharp knife.

Lloyd ground the knife into your thighs, balancing between light and painful.

The demon's only desire was to hear you groan his name as he held you tightly in his embrace.

As he squeezed your throat, kisses fell on your collarbone and the middle of your neck. 

An echoing moan leaked out of your ears pumped blood through your body. 

Suddenly the movement stopped, the blade flipped a second time, and your underwear met the same fate as your dress.

 Lust and desire flooded his azure eyes.

"What should I do, use that smart mouth of yours or let you scream my name for the whole world to hear?” A glittering tip of the blade appeared under the starlight as the knife fell between his fingertips.

My touch will reveal how I will equal you

A moan from your lips fell into his mouth like a sealed contract. He retreated with a smirk that hovered just high enough above your head to escape your grasp. 

Your skin was marked by the wind around his fingers, knife, and kisses.

You could feel it blowing like a plane flying into clouds.

This was not real.

Dreams.

There was a strong wind blowing, shattering windows and tearing apart the wind, even destroying the desire. 

A sudden flickering of lights and screams from your jet caused you to awaken.

Upon waking, you realize everything was a cloudy dream. 

The lustful dream is still clouding your mind when that voice speaks again. You're sure you're not sleeping this time. As you attempt to calm your breathing, you hear his voice. 

A scratching comes from the outside of the plane on the side of the window.

Shadowy clouds are all you see around you, along with the golden ring in the reflection. Your breath becomes heavier, and the air ices over. Slowly turning around, you see him again.

There is no breath or glare in the world, but only a faint demonic memory.

There is a rapidity in his movements. You feel euphoria creeping up in your chest as everything tightens. 

He digs his fingers into your hips, flips you onto his lap, rests one hand on your cheek and slowly runs his lips along yours. He hums, "Such a pretty Sunshine. Surrender yourself to me!"

Lloyd bites your lower lip before tracing his finger slowly down to your pussy.

 As you closed your eyes, he had you. 

In return for a decade of freedom, you gave him your soul for eternity.

 “Cupcake, spread your legs. You’re now going to see my true form.” 

As he licks his lips, he focuses on your bare skin, and you see his tail on your legs.

Your tongue is filled with scorching moans.

As the world flips, desire demon paint greets you in an unending sky

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x female reader #demon!Lloyd Hansen #friday the 13th challenge #chris evans character fanfiction #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x y/n #the grey man #lloyd hansen x woc!reader #lloyd hansen x latina!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x latina!reader #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen one shot #demon!lloyd hansen x reader

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 9

Death's Other Kingdom

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; oral sex; unprotected PIV; heavy angst (very sad y'all); grief; mention of pregnancy. NOTE: this chapter is, I think, the heaviest in the entire story. When I wrote it, it gave me a two-week writer's block. If you are not in a good headspace, I recommend skipping to the first aurebesh divider and reading from there to the end, as the last half of the chapter includes important plot information (the first half is important for characterization, but y'all already know Cerra is straight up not having a good time).

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo and Cerra have an uncomfortable conversation.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

Her thighs spread wide across his broad shoulders as his mouth moved against her. His strong hands gripped her hips and lifted her off the bed, and gods, the rasp of his beard was an exquisite contrast to the smooth, liquid heat of his skillful tongue. He brushed his fingertips across her entrance, and her body convulsed, even as he held her in place with his other hand.

“Fives,” she gasped. “I need you inside me.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, and she jerked in response to the stimulation. “How do you want me?”

“On your back,” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her clit one final, thorough suck that wrenched a loud cry from her throat. He slapped her ass and lowered her to the bed, then rolled over onto his back. “Hop on, darlin’.”

She moved to straddle him, bracing her hands on his chest as she sank down onto his cock, taking him all at once.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted. “Kriff, you’re so gorgeous. Your pussy feels amazing.”

She shuddered as her body adjusted to his girth, and she leaned back for a moment to enjoy the view. Her fingers traced the intricate black lines of the tattoos that covered the copper skin of his chest and arms.

“Gorgeous,” she repeated, dropping forward to trail kisses in the wake of her fingers. She began to roll her hips, taking him deep inside her, stretching her out in the most delicious way. He bent his legs to get a deeper angle, and—oh kriff—his thick cock glided into her sensitive cunt again and again, winding the tension in her body to impossible heights. Her legs trembled with exertion, and he slid his hands up her thighs to grip her hips, pressing her body down as he thrust up into her.

“Fuck, Fives, that’s incredible. I love the way your cock feels inside me. It's so perfect, it’s like…”

“I know,” he said. “Like we were made to fit together.”

Her heart clenched at his words. She gazed into his stunning amber eyes, their faces so close together that they shared each other’s breath. How could it be this good? She had never felt such a connection with any other partner, as though their souls were enmeshed—as though their bodies were one and the same.

“I miss you,” she breathed. “So much. I—”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I’m here now.”

“Tell me you love me,” she whispered. “One more time.” 

He groaned, thrusting harder and faster into her. “I love you so karking much, Cerra. My beautiful, beautiful wife—fuck—” 

“Gods, Fives, that feels so good, don't stop, don’t leave me—”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make all of this worth it. Kriff, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you—oh, shit—I love you, I—fuck! Love you, love you, lo—”

He came with a loud grunt, emptying himself deep inside her. The hot spurt of his release triggered her own orgasm, and she crashed against him with a sob, tears squeezing out of her tightly closed eyes as she pressed her face to his chest. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. She rode him through their shared climax, and as they slowly came down together, his softening cock remained inside her body.

He stroked his hands languidly up and down her back and softly kissed the top of her head, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Very good.”

He let out a satisfied sigh and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Fives?”

“Mmm-hmm?” he asked, his voice drowsy.

“I love—”

Cerra gasped as her eyes snapped open. Her heart raced, and her breathing was shallow. The barracks was dark, and she looked around carefully, spotting the slumbering outlines of Gregor and Fireball. If she had cried out in her sleep, she must not have awakened them, so perhaps there was some mercy in the universe after all.

What the hell was that? 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sex dream. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she thought about sex at all, and yet she could feel the hot, slick arousal on her thighs, and from the way her body quivered, she knew that she hadn’t just dreamed about an orgasm—she’d had one.

Her head ached, tears stung the corners of her eyes, and a sob lodged in her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth, refusing to give it voice. She forced herself to breathe slowly, silently, until the pressure in her chest eased. Carefully, noiselessly, she rose from her bunk and crossed the barracks, sneaking out of the room so as not to awaken the others. She went straight to the communal refresher, blinking in the harsh light as she caught sight of her reflection. Her face was swollen and crisscrossed with indentations from her bedsheets, and her eyes were rimmed with red. She splashed cold water on her face and then took a long drink straight from the faucet. As she dried off, she heard someone enter the fresher behind her.

“Everything all right?” Echo asked.

“Yeah, fine,” she said. Her voice was shaky, and from his expression, Echo didn’t believe her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Definitely not,” she said. She couldn’t imagine a more awkward conversation than explaining to a near-stranger that she’d had an erotic dream about his deceased twin while simultaneously discovering that her sex drive was not as dead as she’d thought. “Thanks, though.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes, and she felt that familiar twinge of guilt again. He wanted to help, she knew, and it wasn’t like she shut him out for fun. It just never seemed to be the right moment to let him get any closer. She sighed, and brushed past him to exit the refresher. To her chagrin, he followed closely behind her.

“Cerra.” He reached for her shoulder, and she forced herself not to flinch away from the contact. “I know that Gregor is usually the one to help you through this, but I have some experience with feeling like you don’t have control of your mind. So if you need to talk about the nightmares, I’m here.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” she said.

“But I heard you crying,” he said, gesturing to his cranial implant.

She froze, every one of her muscles locking up. Heat crept up her chest and over her cheeks as she stared at him with wide eyes. She knew the exact moment that he realized the truth, snatching his hand away as though she’d burned him.

“Oh, er…” he trailed off, eyes darting around the garage, looking anywhere except at her.

“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are,” she said with a forced laugh. “I’m afraid Gregor won’t be able to talk me down from this one.”

Echo looked confused, which was marginally better than the wretched embarrassment on his face a few seconds earlier. “So you and he aren’t together?”

“Gods, no,” she said, aghast. 

The idea had literally never even occurred to her. Gregor and her, together? She would be the worst partner imaginable for him. He needed someone soft and gentle and sweet and patient. Everything she was not. Besides, he didn’t see her that way. He would have said something if he had; the man had absolutely no filter.

“My mistake,” Echo said. “I just thought—Never mind.”

Cerra was happy to drop the subject. It felt wrong, almost disloyal, to think about Gregor while she could still feel the residual wetness from her dream about Fives cooling on her thighs. She frowned. Except it wasn’t a dream; it was a memory, or the twisted, distorted dream of a memory. Now that she was awake, she remembered the moment with perfect clarity. It was the last time she’d been with Fives before Ringo Vinda.

They’d had an all-too-rare week of shore leave together, and they had spent most of it in bed, desperate for the comfort of each other’s bodies after months apart. It wasn’t just about sex, though they did that plenty as well; much of their time they spent simply holding each other and talking, hiding from a cruel and unforgiving galaxy in the safety of their hotel bedsheets. Their last night together, Fives had made love to her for hours, until the bedding was a sweaty jumble, and they collapsed into a boneless tangle of limbs. As they finally drifted toward sleep, he whispered a question that still haunted her.

“Do you think it will take?”

It hadn’t, and she had never seen him again. All of their planning, their hopes for the future, had come to nothing. The next time she saw Kix, she begged him to administer a pregnancy test, convinced that the grocery store kits were giving her false negatives. When his test also showed a negative result, she had refused to believe it. She’d argued with the medic, and when he tried to reason with her, she lashed out.

“You’re wrong!” she screamed. “He’s not gone! He can’t be gone! He can’t be—”

Steady, levelheaded Kix had been so patient with her, far more so than she deserved. He had held her hand while she vented her grief, and when she calmed down, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t believe it, either.”

Not long after that, he had commed her asking if she would be willing to work with him to find out what had happened to Fives, for all the good it had done. Kix went missing mere weeks before the battle of Coruscant, and the rest was history.

Echo regarded her with an expression of acute discomfort. Cerra sighed.

“Want a cup of caf?” she offered. “Looks like I’m done sleeping for the night.”

Rex didn’t return from his mission for another three days. In the interim, Cerra was even more withdrawn than usual, and Echo eventually gave up trying to coax her into a conversation. He and Fireball never did get an opportunity to ask about the mysterious Tup. She threw herself completely into her work on the identifying code, but came up empty repeatedly. She enlisted Gregor and Fireball into her quest, examining their forearms and repeatedly scanning them as she searched for clues as to how the assassin’s code was wiped.

Echo noticed that Gregor was quieter than usual, too. He cooked every meal for the team, and he made sure Cerra remembered to change her bacta patch and take her meds every day. He made endless cups of caf exactly the way she liked, and he reminded her to get up and stretch every few hours. In between, he worked out or sparred with Fireball in the makeshift gym, seemingly preferring to keep his body busy. 

The first time he offered to spar with Fireball, Cerra asked the younger clone if she could examine his forearm before they got started. While Gregor changed into gym clothes, Echo overheard Cerra speak quietly to Fireball, explaining the dangers of Gregor’s head trauma and asking Fireball to be careful where he hit the commando. As it turned out, her warning was unnecessary, since Fireball never managed to land a hit. Gregor may not have regained all of his memories, but he was still an elite warrior, and Echo privately wondered whether Cerra might be overcautious when it came to the commando’s well-being.

On the third day, Riyo arrived with more supplies. She brought her bodyguards this time, and as the Pantoran men unloaded the supplies, Echo stole a moment alone with the senator, tucked away behind a pile of crates. Kriff, she was so beautiful. 

“It is good to see you well,” he said.

“And you,” she replied. “Rex tells me you’ve been busy. Not taking too many risks, I hope?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Besides, I have a good team watching my back.”

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, taking his hand and stroking her thumb across his knuckles. “Every time Rex tells me you’re on a mission, I feel like I can’t breathe until I hear you’re safe.”

Echo’s heart thumped at her confession. Her touch was gentle and warm through his glove, and he wished he could feel the softness of her skin. Without making a conscious decision, he raised his scomp to touch her face, pulling back at the last moment. Was it his imagination, or did the barest hint of disappointment cross her features? Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth almost imperceptibly.

“Riyo,” he said quietly. “I—”

“Senator Chuchi?” a loud voice interrupted.

Riyo jumped, and Echo flinched. They pulled away from each other just as one of her bodyguards rounded the pile of crates.

“There you are, Senator,” the guard said.

“Yes, I’m here,” she replied. “I was just discussing Rex’s mission with Echo.”

She lied with a politician’s ease. Even so, every instinct Echo possessed told him he could trust her.

“Yes,” he corroborated. “I was just telling the senator that we expect him back later today.”

“I’d like to speak with him,” she said. “Will you send me a message when he arrives? I’ll enter my private, encrypted channel into your comlink.”

“Of course, Senator Chuchi,” Echo said formally.

“Very good,” she said with a conspiratorial smile as he handed her his comlink.

“You could stick around the garage until he returns, if you’d like,” Echo offered, hoping to spend more time with her.

“I wish I could,” she said. “But I need to take care of some business at the senate.”

“Understood,” Echo said, pushing down his disappointment.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” she said softly. “Please comm me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Rex returned within a few hours of Riyo’s departure, and Echo sent her a quick message to let her know. The captain called the group together almost immediately. Cerra handed him a bottle of water, which he chugged before beginning to speak.

“My contact was able to confirm that at least one marshal commander has gone AWOL,” Rex said. “Cody has not been seen in several months. There may be others as well, but the Empire is keeping a tight lid on things.”

“What are the odds Cody would join us?” Echo asked.

“Good, if we could locate him,” Rex replied. “But it’s a big galaxy out there, and tracking down a single clone who doesn’t want to be found would be next to impossible.”

“It might be worth a try anyway,” Gregor said. “He’d be a valuable ally.”

“Possibly, but we have another more pressing problem,” Rex said. “My contact also confirmed that the Imperial complex on Balmorra is a prison, and they’re keeping clones there.” He paused as the assembled group exclaimed in outrage and horror, and then he added, “I don’t know how many are down there, but I have confirmation that Captain Howzer is one of them.”

“That settles it, then,” Gregor said, his face grim. “We have to find some way to get him out.”

“Echo indicated that it would be impossible to infiltrate the base,” Rex said.

“Then we’ll find another way,” Gregor argued. “I am not leaving a brother to rot.”

“I don’t think it can be done with our current forces,” Echo said.

“Fireball may be able to help with that,” Cerra interjected.

The group turned to look at the young clone, who had a slightly panicked expression at the sudden attention. 

“Uh, yes,” he stammered. “A friend of mine, Nemec, wants out. He’s a good man, a good brother. He’ll join us if we can extract him.”

“Where is he stationed?” Rex asked.

“He’s been assigned to the new base on Raada,” Fireball said.

Rex shot him a sharp glance. “Raada?”

“It’s an agricultural moon,” Fireball said.

“I’m familiar,” Rex replied. “It could be tricky.”

“Yes, sir,” Fireball said. Disappointment was plain in his voice.

“But that doesn’t mean we won’t get him out,” Rex reassured him.

“Thank you, sir,” Fireball said.

Cerra nudged her shoulder against Fireball and gave him a quick, encouraging smile. Echo could see the young clone relax as she did so.

“Tomorrow, I want Gregor and Fireball to go to Raada and find out what we’re up against,” Rex ordered. “Echo and I will start planning to take on Balmorra. Cerra, what’s the status of your work on the ID number?”

“No progress to report, Cap,” she said. “Sorry. I’m thinking we might need to call in some help on this one.”

“Tech might be able to help,” Echo volunteered. “Shall I send him Cerra’s data?”

Rex nodded shortly. “Do it. I need Cerra back on requisitions. How’s the hand?”

“Fully recovered, sir,” she said, then she winced. “I mean, Rex.”

She gave him a mutinous little smirk, and he shook his head before smiling back at her. “Good,” he said. “I’m going to need your help getting ready for Balmorra, too.”

As the team broke apart, Rex reached out and dropped a hand on her shoulder.

“Echo, Cerra, a word?” he asked.

“Sure, Cap,” she said with an inscrutable expression.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you talk about your feelings,” Rex said with a quiet laugh. “My contact had other news, but I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the full team until we know for certain what’s going on.”

Echo frowned. “What is it?”

“There are rumors that the Empire is building a secret intelligence agency,” Rex said. “Details are scarce, but if my contact is correct, Admiral Yularen is one of the leaders.”

Cerra cursed. “I should have left that fucker to die on the Resolute.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten your shiny medal,” Rex said.

“Because it’s done me so many favors,” she said bitterly.

“Cerra, if this is true…” Rex said.

“Yeah. He’ll definitely recognize me,” she replied.

“You’ll have to be even more careful out there,” Rex said. “We are exactly the kind of operation that this agency will be looking for.”

“Understood,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Echo asked.

“It is,” Rex said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to eat everything in the conservator and then sleep for twelve hours straight. Wake me up if someone dies.”

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #star wars #the bad batch #dystopicjumpsuit writes #sw tcw fanfic #bad batch #bad batch fanfic #star wars fanfiction #Spotify

[superstarfang]

having trouble with therian stuff AGAIN

i was doing more research, and it has come to my attention that most therians i see posting on websites or Reddit feel spiritual connections to their theriotype. but, i don't believe that my SOUL is a cat. i just believe that i am half cat, and half human. i have these memories of being a cat, but that same soul isn't present, as i believe half of my "soul" is human.

basically, i am half human and half cat. not in the sense where my mind is mentally a cat and my body is the human part, but my brain is divided into a human section and cat section. because i deal with gender dysphoria, sensory issues, and other things that cats don't, which makes me believe that my mind isnt all the way cat, yknow? i do have the involuntary behaviors of a cat, but i also have the behaviors of a human as well.

not sure if there is an exact term for this feeling, or maybe im just not a therian and im just weird. please let me know.

any help is greatly appreciated!

#therian #nonhuman #cat therian #therian community #therian things #theriotype #alterhuman #therian culture #therianthropy #otherhearted #send help #therian help

[driftwithme]

what do you think about mako and raleigh's relationship? prefer it romantic or platonic?

I love them a great lot wkdnfkndnfnfnf

I'm okay with almost any interpretation of their relationship, okay? Because not matter what tag a person choose to assign them, all that matter is that the person acknowledges how important they are for each other.

From my point of view, the canon shows that they are more than any traditional category. To try and place them as just friends or just lovers or just family is to cut a great deal of why they are so special. I think I said it before but the concept of being drift compatible is very queer to me. Not romantically or even sexually queer as in attraction, but rather in the sense of being out of the norm. A bond like that doesn't obey our concepts of what two people together can be. If anything, you can call them soulmates, making sure that you are not saying thinking of romance but rather of a dynamic of its own.

To make an example, they make me think of that story from Plato's Symposium:

To explain it in a few words, the story tells of a third kind of being; there were women and men and androgynous (meaning both man and woman). This being has twice the limbs, two faces and was twice as strong and fast.

Scared of these beings, the gods decided to divide them by half, provoking them to live in pain and sorrow at first, 'til one god felt bad enough to sew them as individuals and allow them to exist like that.

It's one of the myths of soulmates. Of course these myth is greater in philosophical terms that I can explain right now. It chooses to say things about biology and sex and energy and nature-- what I am trying to say is that Mako and Raleigh together read as one. Not two on a relationship, but more like one soul divided in two bodies.

Yancy and Raleigh were brothers.

Herc and Chuck were father and son.

The Kaidonovskys were husband and wife.

There's a clear separation. You can tell what they are, define them easily, even if they feel like one, merged at the edges.

But Raleigh and Mako? It's the most strange and wonderful thing. He speaks her native tongue upon meeting her. She studied him for years, his tactics, his behaviour. He knew from just a quick study of character that she was more than she was showing, she wanted more, she expected more.

They didn't need to step on a drift to see the other, to understand each other, to read the other's mind. It was recognition at first sight. It was resonance, matching energies, their souls existing in unison without needing any sort of stimulation.

Look at them!!!!

They are one and the same! They lived totally separated lives and they had totally different experiences. There is no reason for them to feel connected. Most jaeger pilots are friends or family or romantically involved, but Mako and Raleigh had just met! Their personalities are different, they bodies are different, even their ideals are different.

Yet-- at their core, at heart, their essence is the very same.

He calls to her and she answers. It's crazy the way they bloom in each other's presence. He challenges her, she returns the favor. He lets her in, asks about her aspirations, calls her to the mat to spar, speaks her language, defies Pentecost for her, guides her to the drift and out of the drift and holds her afterwards, he takes care of her during battle-- he starts the work, just for her to finish it.

She talks back, jokes back, joins him to spar and on the conn-pod. She follows his voice, feels his pain, listens to him when he needs to talk about Yancy, she keeps him steady on their bond, with the serenity of her mind and the focus of her actions. She fights to be his equal, she shows him she's the only one who can meet him at the middle, she proves that she is the right person, they're made for each other: drift compatible but so much more.

But of course, I'm on the aromantic and the asexual spectrum, so I love to explore their bond and the inherited intimacy of it out of the reach of amatonormativity. Love the idea of talking about how they don't need sexual interactions or romance to be the #1 priority of each other, the most important thing in their lives, etc.

I personally prefer them in that dynamic, in the platonic sense of soulmates wjdnkdnfn.

Hope you like this answer!!!!

#pacific rim #pacrim #pacific rim 2013 #pacrim 2013 #raleigh becket #mako mori