#in my head it’s a bunch of people arguing over his dead body on whether he was a pretty boy guys he’s bleeding out

[aeriondripflame]

underrated funny discourse is when people were fighting over whether jon snow is hot or not. guys i think we have a bigger problem here look he’s not breathing

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 3

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This fanfic now has a Pinterest Board and a playlist! The vibes of this fic were just begging for them.

I get dumped on the cooking table, back at main camp.

"Somebody run down to the RV! Med-kit's in there!"

This table is for buttering toast and chopping veggies, but now, it's for me, and it's not a cooking table, it's a hospital bed.

"What in the world is going on?" Dale's hurrying over, shaking his head.

My Daddy yells, "Gimme that fuckin' rag! Now! C'mon!" 

"Where's the disinfectant?"

"A little help, over here! Hurry!"

I feel like someone's put me in a box and they're shaking it as hard as they can, tryna scramble my brains. I'm crying. Everyone's shouting at each other. Nobody in camp has ever been dying from a dead person's scratch, before, so the shouting just goes in circles and circles and circles, 'cause even though they're all adults, they don't know what to do. Nobody's taught them. I'm scared. They're scared. Everyone — Rick, and Daddy, and Shane, and everyone else — all one camp, now. All scared, together.

"Rick's woman!" My Daddy calls out. "Gimme your hands! Right fuckin' now! Somebody get me a flashlight!"

Lori comes running over, 'cause everyone's running everywhere tonight, and she's whiter than paper, and she's saying that she's so, so sorry, but nobody wants to hear that right now, not yet. Not 'til they've done everything they can. Not 'til they know. My Dad and Rick grab at her hands, and they hold her fingers up to the light, and all three of them argue over whether or not the black gunk they see underneath her nails is my blood or not. Rick thinks it's dirt, and Lori can't be sure, but my Dad bullies them into changing their minds, 'cause if it's not my blood, then that means I got no chance at all, and a kid in this camp is gonna die, and it's gonna be his. 

Glenn skids into view, waving a med-kit around. "Med-kit! I got it! Who needs it?"

"Over here!" Jacqui sticks her hand in the air, and she catches the little med-kit mid-air like a football.

Then Jacqui and Miranda and Glenn are all poking me and pouring acid on my arm and fumbling through all the different types of bandages in the med-kit. They keep dropping the sachets everywhere and cussing at each other, while the others argue, pace, and clutch their heads. I can't keep track of anything. Where'd my Daddy go? I think I say it out loud, to Glenn. I think he's too stressed to answer proper, so he doesn't answer at all. Over his shoulder, the crowd all blends together 'cause it's just a bunch of bodies and heads and eyes, all watching us, but then, there he is. My Daddy, he's here again, and he's still shouting, and breathing all hard, like a big, angry bull, pushing past people. He's got yellow cables in his hands, now. He reaches the table and loops them under my armpit, once, twice, three times, and then he knots them like a shoelace. He knots them real, real tight. They're so tight that I'm crying all over again, and he's sorry, baby, but he can't do it loose.

He tells me that we gotta do this so the germs don't spread to the rest of my body, 'cause that's where all my most important parts are, like my heart and my lungs, and he wants to keep them safe. He says people do this when they get snake bites. It's what an old-world doctor would have said, but old-world is all they got. 

"Daddy, it hurts," I'm being loud, which is dangerous, and dangerous is stupid, but nobody tells me to stop. Not even my Dad, and it's his rule.

"I know it hurts, baby. I'm sorry. Be my brave girl, okay?"

"Oh, God." Someone puffs, sick.

The cables are done, and then... Well, that's it.

After the acid and the bandages and the cables, the chaos hits a wall, and there's nothin' else anybody can do for me.

I sit there, dying, on the cooking table.

Dale must be thinking 'bout his dead niece. Shane must be thinking about our trip to the lake, today. The Grimes family are holding onto Carl. Morales' family is holding onto Eliza and Louis. Carol holds Sophia. They all look like photos that belong on a fireplace mantle, in a nice house, and I'm jealous, but only for a second. I think Rick and Lori and Morales and Miranda and Carol are all very scared for my Dad, like they're all friends, even though they ain't know a thing about him. When people are parents, no matter where they're from, or what they look like, or how they talk, they all have the one, same worst nightmare, and that nightmare is happening, tonight, for my Daddy.

He's hiding his face in my hair, 'cause Dixons don't like people seein' them cry.

"Come on," Jacqui murmurs.

I get to sleep in the RV, tonight. It's because I'm dying, and dying people get special things.

But I don't wanna get special things. I just wanna be alive again.

My Daddy used to be a mechanic, like Jim. Our mornings always went like this.

Being a mechanic means you gotta get up real early, so that's what Daddy did. His boss was a hard-ass, and he needed Daddy at the shop at seven in the morning, on the dot, every day. Otherwise, he'd fire him, and Daddy would have to go back to working three jobs again.

My Daddy would roll out of bed, dressed in his green-plaid pyjama pants and lamb-skull tank top, which was almost always covered in crumbs, and if I didn't spend the night in his bed, he would come creeping to my door and knock on it to wake me up. Then, slowly, the smell of mini sausages would stink up the house. I'd hear him messin' with the fold-out laundry rack, and cussin' to himself when it fell apart. I'd hear him switch the TV on, and then I'd hear the newsman talkin' nonsense. I always got up just in time to eat. My Daddy said I eat as much as a teenage boy, 'cause he likes sayin' things that make me angry. He said he can tell because he used to be one.

Then, he'd pull on a hoodie, grab Tank from our overgrown yard, and we'd all go for a walk around the trailer park in our pyjamas.

The sky was always white-ish, like water mixed with milk, and there was never anybody around. That means whenever Tank shat on Miss Burdette's lawn, Daddy didn't have to pick it up, and we got to watch the sprinklers come on. Sometimes, I'd ride beside him on my bike. He'd tell me how good I was gettin' at riding without my training wheels, and then he'd dare me to do a trick, like peddling without holding the handles. If I ever fell, he'd tell me I was an idiot for listenin' to him in the first place. Then, we'd reach our porch again, and the morning was over.

I miss our mornings. I think Dad does, too. This morning is very different to our old ones. The sky is still white, and my Daddy's still here, but we're in the back of Dale's RV, and there's no Tank or sausages or bike rides, anymore, and I might be dying.

I don't think my Dad slept at all, last night.

Every time I woke up, he stopped staring at the wall and hurried to palm my forehead. He asked if I needed the bathroom, and if I felt hot, or dizzy, or faint, or even just a little bit sick. I shook my head every time. I asked him to take the cables off, but he never did. Then, I fell asleep again, and we repeated it all twenty minutes later, on a loop. I ain't stupid. I know he's waitin' to see if I start gettin' sick. He's waitin' for my skin to start goin' hot, for my cheeks to go red, and for my fingers and toes to go numb. So far, the only thing wrong with me is that I keep throwing up in the RV toilet.

When I wake up again for the tenth time since last night, tucked into his side, it's morning time, and Dad's still staring at the wall.

He feels me moving and sits upright to palm my forehead. "You need to go, chicken?"

Halfway through the night, that question started including the need to vomit up the clear stuff in my stomach, as well as peein'.

I shake my head.

"You feel faint?" He asks, feeling my neck, now. "Dizzy? Like you're gon' pass out, or sum'?"

I shake my head again. "Dad, what's gonna happen to Amy?"

Amy died last night. She got a big, nasty bite on her hand, and nobody even noticed until after they were done fussin' over me. I haven't seen her, but I know she's just outside the RV window, going cold in the dirt. Poor Amy. She was nice, but even nice people die, sometimes. She used to let me borrow her hair lackeys. I'm wearing one of them right now. I slide it off my ponytail and chuck it on the floor. She's dead, but the dead people germs haven't reached her brain yet. I know, 'cause I ain't heard a gunshot, yet.

That's what you do with sick people. You shoot them. I wonder if my Daddy's gonna have to shoot me.

"Don't worry 'bout Amy." Daddy grumbles. He grabs my purple water bottle and hands it to me. "Three big sips," He orders.

I do what he says, and then I pick at the cartoon sticker on the side. "Amy. Sophia's Dad, too."

Lots of people died last night; people I didn't even know. I wish I did, so I could miss them. Everybody deserves to be missed when they die.

"Don't worry 'bout him, neither." Dad complains. "I'd kill him, if I could. 'Sides. It ain't your job to worry, chicken. That's my job."

"But Sophia," I mumble. "She got no Dad, now."

I'm already sad, but if I had no Dad, I would be very, very, very sad.

"Harley, baby. We ain't talkin' about this."

He takes the water bottle offa me, and then he picks the lackey up off the floor, and starts re-doin' my hair.

I don't really wanna talk about it, neither, so I say nothin'.

I think about Uncle Merle. Yesterday, they found his hand on a roof in the city. The rest of him weren't attached to it. I start feeling guilty all over again, 'cause when I first heard this story, I ain't even feel bad. I just felt like I got told that five plus five equals ten, and, well, I already knew that.

"And yer arm?" Dad asks, his fingers scraping through my hair to gather it all. "How's that feelin'?"

I shrug to get a better look, and prod the big, plastic square of bandage taped there.

"Stings a little."

"Well, you tell me if that changes." He mutters. "It gets worse, you tell me. It gets better, you tell me. It turns rainbow, you tell me."

What? Me? Rainbow? That's silly! Only rainbows and unicorns can be rainbow.

"It ain't gonna go rainbow!" I burst out in giggles.

His fingers stop moving. He's silent behind me.

But then I hear him chuckle, just a little, like he's decided it's okay to be happy. "Yeah. That's an order, Harley Dixon."

I tip my head all the way back, and I can see his upside-down face smirkin' at me, with that lil' mole by his mouth, and I giggle even more.

He nudges me upright. "Quit bein' silly, girl. I'm tryna do sum' here."

He twists all my hair into a knot at the bottom of my neck. I giggle even harder, 'cause it's ugly as Hell.

The door to the RV opens. Dale pokes his head in, and he looks like he's happy to see me and my Dad smiling. 

"I hate to interrupt," Dale says, "But we're about to have an important conversation, and I thought you might want to be there to hear it, Daryl."

My Dad's face is all sour again. He pinches my cheek, and sighs, and then he forces himself to his feet and he leaves.

They plod down the steps. The door shuts. I'm alone.

Suddenly, I can't remember why I was giggling at all.

I pull the hair lackey out and chuck it on the floor.

A few minutes later, I hear a loud, loud bang, and then Andrea crying.

I'm stacking dominoes in the RV dining booth, while I eavesdrop on the adults outside.

"I heard they started cookin' somethin' up at the CDC when things went sideways." Shane says. "It could be a good option for us."

"I heard the same thing." Dale agrees. "On the radio, they were talking about a cure. An honest-to-God cure."

"You really think we'd all still be stuck in this shit-hole camp if this 'cure' really existed?" Scoffs Jim.

"It could save Harley's life." Rick scolds, harsh, like the bark of a dog. I can imagine him frowning. "That's all we gotta know, here."

They're tryna figure out whether or not we should leave the quarry. They say that here, we got clean water, and fish, and we got tall trees that cover the smoke from our campfires, and we got stability and routine, which is good for something called morale. They also say they've got a dying kid, and a duty to do everything they can to help, and they're not just gonna stand around and watch — They're gonna do something.

"This could all be for nothing. We're not even sure she's infected." Argues Jim. "It's fifty-fifty."

"And we'll pray to God she isn't," Agrees Rick, but with a catch. "But for her own safety, we're gonna act under the assumption that she is."

"Hey, man. All I'm thinking about is how much gas this thing's gotta cost us." Jim sounds like he means something else, but he's not saying it.

"Really, man?" T-Dog tsks.

My Daddy pipes up for the first time, and I can hear him smack the hood of a car. "It's gonna cost you yer life, if you ain't careful."

Rick puts on his police-man voice. "Hey. Nobody's saying the gas isn't worth it. We just need to be smart. That's all."

"Well, if that's the case, then you best see this guy out," Dad sasses, "'Cause he's stupid as a bag'a bricks."

"Seriously?" Jim laughs. "I got a hill-billy calling me stupid?"

I think my Dad swings at Jim's head, then, 'cause I can hear lots of hey, hey, hey and boots crunching on pebbles. I scootch over to the curtains and sweep 'em aside, 'cause I can't stand not lookin', anymore, and I wanna see Jim get punched. All the men of the camp are huddled around a map that's been flattened across the front of Shane's Jeep, and I see T-Dog and Glenn yanking my Dad away by his shirt, 'cause I was right, he took a swing at Jimmy's head. Rick's got himself between the two of 'em, with his hands on their chests.

They've settled down, now.

"Jim," Rick warns. "I think it's best if you just sit this one out, if you're not gonna have Harley's best interests in mind."

Jim spits on the ground. "I think it's best if I do."

I watch, and the group watches, as Jim walks himself back into the heart of camp.

"You wanna talk more 'bout my daughter, you sum'bitch," Dad yells after him, "You can talk into the barrel a'my gun!"

Jim disappears into a tent.

Rick rubs his forehead, 'cause his brain must be sore on the other side. They're all prolly thinkin', God, what an asshole.

They get back to business. They talk gas, and mileage, and they use three different pens and five different pencils, and they trace about a million different squiggly lines all over the map. They poke it and hum over it and turn it left and right, and they cover it in circles and crosses, and at one point, T-Dog comes back with five more, littler maps, and they study those ones, too. They have my best interests in mind. After a while, they seem to come to a decision. A good, solid decision. Rick gives a confident nod.

"All in favor of the CDC?"

Every last one of them raises their hand.

"Let do this thing, then."

We're goin' to the CDC. It's a real important building in the city that might save my life.

After Shane shares the news, everyone starts gettin' busy.

My Dad's taking down our tent, and folding down our chairs, and kicking dirt in our campfire. He's real ready to leave.

Glenn, he's real sad, 'cause his new car is getting torn to shreds for parts and gas that we're gonna need. He's a good sport about it, though, 'cause he's Glenn, and he's a good sport about everything. Rick's helping tie ropes around all the food and slotting it all into the RV's storage, and he doesn't complain one bit, 'cause Rick doesn't complain 'bout nothing, ever, 'cause he's a goody-two-shoes. Shane's handing out walkie-talkies and coachin' people on what channels to use, and how to use 'em. Andrea's sayin' goodbye to her sister's body.

The camp is slowly shrinking in on itself, into bags and trunks and pockets. We're really leaving. I wish we weren't. I wish I didn't have to go and get scratched. I wish we could stay here forever, and eat fish feasts, and build a tyre swing, and catch frogs in the lake.

Carol and Sophia come visit me and my Dad, while he's half-way done scrunching up our sleeping bags on the ground.

He catches wind of them before they're even close. "Hell you want?"

"Shane told me to pass this onto you," Carol shrugs, holding up a walkie-talkie as they come down the hill. "And Sophia would like to talk to Harley."

Dad stops messin' with the sleeping bag. He squints at the pair of 'em. "That right?"

"Mm-hmm," Carol hums. "If that's alright with her, of course."

Dad sends me a look that asks, Do you want me to shoo them away?

I'm not friends with Sophia, 'cause you can't be friends with someone you've never talked to. But I know she wears headbands that make her ears poke out, like a little mouse, and her favorite subject at school was spelling. We held a fake spelling bee 'bout a week ago and she won by, like, a million points, and she got a candy bar. I was never that good at words or numbers. My favorite subject was sport. But I got a candy bar, too, anyway.

I squirm a little on the picnic blanket I'm sitting on. I set down my crayon. "Okay," I say.

My Daddy goes back to working on the sleeping bag, and Carol talks to him 'bout the walkie. Sophia sits across from me.

Her Mom said she's got somethin' to say to me, but she's not sayin' a whole lot of anything.

Then, she mutters, "I'm sorry you might be dying."

Oh. I'm not sure what to say.

"My Mom told me you got scratched." Sophia's twirling her grubby shoelaces. "And that you might die. And that it was my Dad. I'm sorry."

I've gotten stares, and frowns, and tears, and I even got a pat on the shoulder from Glenn, but I haven't gotten any sorries. Not to my face.

"Don't be sorry," I say, 'cause sorry is only for when somethin's your fault. "I might not even be infected. It's fifty-fifty."

Last night, I was gettin' nightmares about Sophia's Dad. I saw his rolling, wet eyes and his nails — the ones that are the reason I'm half-dead — digging through my insides and throwing them over his shoulder, like he lost somethin' at the bottom of my organs and he was tryin' really hard to rip it out, snuffling like a warthog. I was sweatin' and screamin' and cryin' and my Daddy had to lay me on my stomach and lift my shirt up, and pet circles into my skin to get me to calm down.

It was real scary, but not Sophia's fault.

"Well, I'm— I'm still sorry." Sophia tells me, anyway.

She's eyein' the cable-knot on my shoulder. At least I'm fifty-fifty. Half-dead, half-alive. Sohpia's Dad, he's dead and gone, forever.

"I'm sorry 'bout your Dad," I try to smile.

Now, Sophia's not sure what to say.

"Don't be sorry." She decides on. "I don't think I miss him."

"You don't?" Aren't all Dads supposed to be missed? I'd miss mine. Real, real bad, every day. "Why not?"

"He was mean. He hit me."

Oh, that's nothin'. "My Daddy hits me, too."

Her eyebrows go shootin' up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Sophia's Mom calls her name, with her hand held out, and she says they're heading back to camp, now, so say goodbye, and hurry along. Sophia glances at me, and she mutters another sorry. Then she scampers away, and she reminds me of a little mouse, again. My Dad's finished with the sleeping bags, now. He throws them in the bed of the truck and then all that's left is the blanket I'm sittin' on. He tugs on the corner and says, c'mon, girl, get. I pick up all my crayons. He folds the blanket like a giant piece of paper, and then he pins it under his arm.

"You ready to leave, chicken?" He holds out his hand, like Sohpia's Mom did.

I take one last look at the trees, and the campfire, and the spot my Uncle Merle's tent used to be. I say, goodbye, to the quarry in my head.

Then I grab my Dad's hand, and we walk away. 

Author's Note. It might not seem like it, because there's only 3-5 scenes in every chapter I write, but I spend so long on them 😭 This one, overall, took roughly eight hours, plus editing. I almost don't believe it.

I hope you enjoyed sassy Daryl handing Jim's ass to him, ahah. He used to be such a menace in the early seasons.

This chapter didn't go out with a bang, which I prefer over milder endings like this one, but that's what the story called for! I don't choose. I just write. In the wise words of Michelangelo, "The sculpture is already in the stone. All I have to do is chisel it out." Haha.

Also, sorry Amy. She just couldn't escape her canon death.

As always, thank you so, so much for reading and commenting. I hope you take a look at the playlist, but the Pinterest board especially. I really think I managed to find the perfect pictures to represent this fanfic, which makes me so excited. I hope you look forward to the next chapter! :)

[sweeterthansammy]

Undercover || Stucky

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes; The reader is Bucky and Steve’s girlfriend.

Summary: Despite their protests, Y/N goes undercover during a mission, leaving her boys astonished nonetheless.

Genre: Random

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Mentions of killing, mild arguing, sexual innuendos, sad Bucky (if you squint), mild language, and me using Google Translate for French dialogue :)

Word count: 2.5k+ (with translations); 2.4k+ (without translations)

A/N: I wasn’t sure as to whether or not I should put smut in it but let me know if you guys want a part two with smut! Divider made by yours truly 😌

“You’re not going and that’s final.”

Once in a blue moon was Bucky stern with Y/N, tonight being one of those blue moons. Y/N fought and fought and fought. She wasn’t a little kid, most certainly not his, and she thought that she was making that clear. Same with Steve. It was beyond infuriating, having the two constantly babying her.

“I am going to complete that mission and you can’t stop me. Nor can you.”

She looked at Steve who seethed of irritation, big arms bulking out of the tiny black tee. As Bucky opened his mouth to protest yet again, Steve stopped him.

“Let her go. She wants to do it, so let her do it.”

He kept his eyes on her the entire time, stalking her like a predator.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I found you in pieces,” he grumbled, crotch pressed right up to her behind with his nose nuzzled into her hair.

She scoffed, elbowing him in the ribcage before proceeding to pack her clothes. He simply chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest once again.

“If that’s how you plan on taking anyone down that isn’t me, consider yourself dead.”

She looked back at him, eyebrows furrowing as she forced herself out of Steve’s grip.

“That’s what this about it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m strong enough to actually anyone down.”

“No-”

“That’s exactly why you don’t want me to go!”

“We don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” Bucky interjected, looking back and forth between his two lovers.

“I don’t need either of you to watch over me like a fucking child and that’s the last time I’m reminding you,” she spoke quickly and quietly, packing the remainder of her clothing into her suitcase before zipping it up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

“The mission isn’t until tom-”

“I didn’t ask you,” she sung, making her way up to Nat’s floor.

“And then Steve goes ‘if that’s how you plan on taking anyone down that isn’t me, consider yourself dead,’” she quoted Steve, deepening her voice to her best ability to mock the captain. “And then Bucky has the audacity to deny it, like, dude, I know that you’re undermining my skills!”

Natasha was dying of laughter as Y/N recited the quarrel she had found herself in with Steve and Bucky. She eased up, face red and cheeks aching as she held onto her stomach.

“Oh, jeez,” she muttered, shaking her head as she felt the laughter dying down. “I mean...it’s unbelievable. I can’t believe they still do that even after being with you for over two years. Hell, what do I know? I’ve been on and off with Clint for plenty of years and I have to yell at him for being so protective over me.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her own relationship, reflecting on the many times that she’s actually scolded Clint for babying her. He may act like a hardass around the crew, but he was far from that - he was a huge softy for Natasha.

“Thanks for letting me stay up here with you, though. I probably would’ve ended up killing them if I spent another second in there,” Y/N giggled, placing her suitcase in a corner that wouldn’t disrupt anything of Nat’s.

“Anytime,” she started, offering a lopsided smile. “Besides, we haven’t had girl time alone in forever.”

Girl time suddenly became girl time including Bucky. He was there for all of the movie-watching, doing facemasks with them, painting their nails. As much as the two girls loved Bucky with all of their hearts, they couldn’t just let loose. Natasha had to bite her tongue down to refrain from gossiping so many times just because Bucky was there.

If he heard half of the things that they spoke about, not even the latest gossip, he would more than likely be traumatized. So kicking back with Natasha, they whipped out nail kits and face masks, Nat’s huge collection of snacks, and they picked The Notebook, getting ready to spill all of the tea and unleash their younger selves for the first time in months.

Not even one full night into staying with Natasha that they were brought out of their zone, a sturdy, rhythmic knock on the door, bringing Nat to her feet.

“Don’t die,” Y/N called after her, throwing her arm over the armrest, eyes pasted to the screen.

“Natasha, I’m not stupid. I can literally smell her, she’s sitting in the living room.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, the sound of Bucky’s voice causing her to stand up from her seat and go over to the door.

“What do you want, Buck?”

“You. Come back to the room please, we’re sorry.”

“I don’t see Steve anywhere, so, you’re sorry. Bucky, go to bed, it’s late. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Nat watched as Y/N closed the door on him, his entire demeanor slumped.

“Don’t sleep in front of the door either.”

She wasn’t going to lie, she felt guilty dismissing Bucky, but she wasn’t giving in to either of them that fast.

Her night spent with Nat had flown by within the blink of an eye, the two girls using the power in their legs to travel up the ramp into the Quinjet. Y/N took a seat next to Nat, smiling at Sam who sat directly across from her.

“Not sitting with your lovestruck puppies?” Sam snickered, looking to his right to see them coming up the ramp. “Speaking of the devils.”

She chuckled as she shook her head. Her eyes followed Sam’s, the red rimming of Bucky’s eye bags notable. He didn’t sleep…just because she wasn’t there.

“You’re staring,” Nat muttered, gently kicking the back of Y/N’s heel with the tip of her boot.

Y/N smiled up at Bruce, who took the free seat to her left. She didn’t miss the deadly glare from Steve, shaking it off as she began to buckle herself in. The flight was quick as per usual, landing in Paris, France, in only a couple of hours. Nat couldn’t wait another second on the jet before taking off, running to the facility at which they were staying at.

“Holy shit, that’s ours?” Y/N asked, jaw hung open from pure amazement as they stood in front of the primarily glass-made building.

There were many floors to it, way more than their home base in New York. She gratefully pounced on Tony as he handed her the key to her own floor.

“Enjoy cause you won’t have it when we go back to New York,” he awkwardly pat her back, her arms becoming loose around his neck as she forgot who she was hugging for a moment.

She was so excited. Not only did she have her own privacy, but she was able to stay away from Bucky and Steve. As much as she wanted to see them, she wouldn’t break easily since she wasn’t sharing a floor with them.

Hours passed, dusk was finally closing in on them, signaling them to get ready for their mission. This was her first mission in months so it was nerve-wracking, putting the bullet-proof vest right below her button-up and slipping her feet into a pair of high heels, a garter with a knife strapped right around her thigh, nearly invisible underneath her skirt. The sound of heels clacking on the floor drew her attention from the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room.

“Are we going to a fucking seminar or a nightclub? Don’t get me wrong, you look hot, but you look like you’re ready to give a two-hour lecture.”

Y/N gasped, feigning pain as she placed her hand over her chest.

“What, it’s formal-“

“We’re going to a nightclub, not a class. You need to fit in, and I have just the thing.”

“Nat-“

“No, don’t ‘Nat’ me,” Natasha lampooned, spinning on her heels before leaving Y/N’s floor, hurrying down to her own.

She came back in less than five minutes, bunched up white fabric draped over her forearm.

“You, my friend, are going to look stunning in this. It’ll also catch the attention of your soldiers,” she added with a wink.

She in fact did look stunning in that dress. A white maxi dress with a large slit coming up to the front side of her right hip, straps keeping the dress up just off her shoulders.

“Nat, one blow of breeze and my entire vagina is exposed to French people at a nightclub.”

“Good.”

Y/N left on her strappy black heels, the straps wrapping all the way up to the skin just around the middle of her calves. They were at the club in no time, sweaty bodies, the stickiness of spilled drinks, and booming music filling the environment. The dress in fact was an eye-catcher, everyone whipping their heads around to look at Y/N. She looked like a goddess and anyone would be willing to fall at her feet, especially Bucky and Steve.

“Anyone got eyes on the target yet?”

She was dragged out of her thoughts by Stark’s voice muffled through the earpiece stuffed into her ear.

“Negative,” everyone mumbled.

Their eyes danced around the crowds, looking for none other than Georges Batroc. The clock was ticking and no sight of the man. As they waited out any chance to find him, they sipped on drinks, danced with many strangers as well as each other. Y/N’s eyes were as sharp as daggers, dodging each person until she was looking directly at the blue-eyed monster.

“Bingo,” she muttered.

She scrambled for her earpiece, holding down on the black piece that was discreetly clipped to the strap of her dress.

“I have eyes on the target. I’m moving in.”

“Be careful.”

It was Bucky. She smiled at the sound of his voice, tucking the black piece right under the fabric of her dress strap. She walked over to him confidently, chest puffed out to expose a little more cleavage as her legs stealthily moved over to the man leaning against the bar. That sick son of a bitch.

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she greeted with a pleasant smile.

[Good evening, sir.]

“Bonsoir, colombe.”

[Good evening, dove.]

She pretended to grow flustered at the nickname, looking down at her feet. She swirled the drink in her hand before taking a tiny sip, leaning against the bar right next to Georges.

“Parlez vous anglais?”

[Do you speak English?]

“Pas beaucoup.”

[A little.]

“Ah. Je t'ai vu là-bas et ça m'intéressait...un homme élégant, tout seul. Je devais venir.”

[I saw you over there and I was interested...a smart-looking man standing all alone. I had to come over.]

“Tu es trop précieuse, colombe. Now, what do you really need? J'ai vu vos petits amis s'occuper de moi aussi.”

[You’re too precious, dove. I saw your little friends looking out for me too.]

“Vraiment un homme intelligent, non?” she paused, her eyes locking with Steve’s. “Ils pourraient facilement vous déchirer directement du trou du cul et vous laisser crier à l'aide, mais ce sont de bonnes personnes. Nous ne cherchons que des fils de putes comme vous. Alors donnez-nous ce dont nous avons besoin ou nous le ferons à la dure.”

[Indeed a smart man, aye? They could easily rip you apart right from the asshole and leave you crying out for help but they're good people. We only go after sons of bitches like you. So give us what we need or we'll do this the hard way.]

“C'est ce que tu veux?”

[This what you want?]

“You know damn well that that’s what I want,” she said through a fake chuckle as he held a silver key right above her head.

“Demandez-le gentiment.”

[Ask for it nicely.]

She scoffed, “Qu'es-tu? Mon père?”

[What are you? My father?]

He chuckled at her snarky remark, his hand remaining above her head.

“Ask for it.”

“Je suis un agent. Pas un super-héros. Ça ne me pas d'avoir un peu de sang sur mes mains, chérie.”

[I'm an agent. Not a superhero. I don't mind getting a little blood on my hands, honey.]

“Pas si je mets ton sang sur mes mains en premier.”

[Not if I get your blood on my hands first.]

“Bien essayé.”

[Nice try.]

Those were the last words she said to him before exposing her thigh, pulling the knife from under her garter, and sending it straight through the skin hovering over his jugular vein. She watched as the blood seeped out of his neck, creating a deep wound in his neck as she dragged her knife down, almost as if she were cutting through a piece of meat, which she technically was. She gave him a knee to the sack before snatching the keys from in between his fingertips.

“Fais de beaux rêves, homme intelligent.”

[Sweet dreams, smart man.]

She winked as his figure slowly dropped to the ground, his hands tight around his throat to succumb to the bleeding. She looked around, seeing bodyguards, most likely his, making their way over to him. She fled into the crowd, a pair of hands falling onto her hips before spinning her around.

“That was so fucking hot,” Steve whispered, ferociously kissing her as if he would never get to do so again.

Her bloodied hand left a trace over Steve’s chest, clad in a tight white button-up. Her hands felt up on his skin, slipping the keys into his back pocket as their tongues continued to dance around each other.

“Y/N? Y/N? Why are you breathing so heavy? Oh my god, is she dead?”

She pulled away from Steve, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.

“No, Stark. I’m not dead. I got the key to the chamber and I killed the bitch.”

“You killed him!?”

She walked hand in hand with Steve, his muscular figure trailing behind her. She was attacked with hugs almost immediately, Nat rambling about how good Y/N did.

“And she speaks French!? Why did I not know this!?” Sam asked, agreeing with Nat as to how amazing Y/N performed.

Y/N was overjoyed. Back on her first mission and she did it, leaving unscathed. She looked around, Bucky leaning against a booth with one arm in his pocket and the other holding a drink, most likely his metal arm as a sliver of it peeked from under his leather jacket. She let go of Steve’s hand for a moment, shimmying past anyone in her way over to the super soldier.

Her hands rested on either side of his neck as his fell to her behind. He tasted like fresh whiskey, his tongue rolling into her mouth, their lips creating a sloppy mess. Their teeth clashed as Y/N’s arms engulfed Bucky’s head, fingers getting lost in his near-shoulder length hair as he hoisted one leg above his hip. Flipping them around so she was being pressed up against the wooden divider of the booth, his thumb circled her hip, completely exposing her right leg as it snuck past the large slit.

“Fuck, hearing you speak French does some shit to me.”

“Ramène-moi dans ta chambre et baise-moi stupide.”

[Take me back to your room and fuck me stupid.]

“Gladly, dove.”

The voice in both her and Bucky’s ears caused them to look back, Steve nodding his head in the direction of the door.

Taglist: @ronbrokemyheart @quxxnxfhxll @eunoia-kth @siriuslyslyslytherin @dracomalfoys-wh0re @rudypankowisdaddy

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Dr John Hamilton

Dr Hamilton was a talented obstetrician-gynaecologist in Oklahoma City. When he met Susan in 1985, they were both divorced with four children between them. Susan was attractive, intelligent and people loved to be around her. John was soon head over heels in love.

The couple married two years later and settled into a privileged life. Susan started working part-time at John’s clinic, but it came at a price. As well as delivering babies, John, 53, was involved with abortions, and it attracted criticism in the conservative state. There were protests, John’s face was put on a ‘Wanted’ poster and Susan received threatening calls.

On Valentine’s Day 2001, John left their house early for surgery, then returned home to exchange cards with Susan before heading back to conduct his second operation of the day. Waiting at the local florist was a huge bunch of expensive red orchids John had ordered for his wife, but before he could pick them up, he was dialling 911.

"Please send police. Please send an ambulance, please," he cried. "I think my wife is dead." He told the operator he was trying CPR. "Please send somebody quick," he begged.

When paramedics arrived, it was a sickening scene. John claimed he had returned home and discovered Susan, 55, in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. She’d been strangled with two neck ties and her head had been smashed with such force that parts of her brain were exposed. The unknown weapon was never found.

Susan had received threats from anti-abortion activists. Had she been killed to punish John? The police didn’t think so. They had their suspicions and their prime suspect. John said he’d tried mouth-to-mouth but there was none of Susan’s blood on his face despite her facial injuries.

At the crime scene, there was no sign of forced entry, nothing stolen and no bloody footprints leading away from the carnage.

Then police found the Valentine’s Day card Susan had given her husband that morning. Inside, the message read: "I bought this two weeks ago, so I guess maybe it doesn’t seem as appropriate. But I do love you. Have a good day. Susan." Her words made police question whether the marriage was as perfect as it seemed.

One of Susan’s friends revealed that the couple had argued after Susan had discovered John had been making calls on his mobile to a topless dancer. While John insisted she was just a patient he was trying to help, Susan accused him of having an affair.

John was taken to the police station. They noticed that during the car journey there that he was scraping his knuckles on the mesh divider – was he trying to hide injuries on his hands?

The time slot to kill between surgeries was tight, but when investigators discovered he’d been late for his second operation, he was charged and denied bail.

However, John had plenty of supporters. Even when details about the stripper were revealed, public opinion was that at worst he had stepped over a professional boundary. If he’d been having an affair, perhaps his mistress had killed Susan? When the trial started in December 2001, in the majority of people’s eyes, John remained a gentle, kind and devoted husband.

Prosecutors said Susan had confided in friends that she was considering a divorce. The couple had argued after they’d exchanged cards in the morning. While John was cleaning up with a rag found at the scene, he was paged to perform surgery at the clinic so left, dumping the weapon and his clothes on the way. Then he returned later to ‘discover’ the body.

Susan’s blood and skin were found on John’s steering wheel. Also, while loved ones were sorting through Susan’s clothes they found some of her jewellery hidden in her underwear. There was also blood on his shoe, consistent with splatter from an ‘alive’ Susan.

John’s defence team said investigators hadn’t looked into the threats from anti-abortionists enough. When he took the stand, he said he loved his wife and insisted he’d tried to save her. He explained the blood on his steering wheel by saying he’d moved his car for the emergency vehicles. He and the stripper also denied an affair.

The defence team brought out a blood expert, who testified that the blood patterns on John were consistent with him trying to save his wife. But when the expert was asked under oath if there was anything that had been missed, he alerted the court to splatter inside John’s cuff. He said it was likely to have been the result of John forcing a blow to Susan’s head.

It turned the case around. A man hired by the defence had unwittingly become the prosecution’s ultimate weapon.

The jury took two hours to find John guilty of first-degree murder. He was later sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole.

[tobiosmilktea]

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[029] — when the party’s over!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: ah yes,, classic xiao writing this chapter instead of writing her final exam essay (this isn’t proofread either 💀)

it got colder and then it got warmer the moment alcohol burned through your esophagus in the dead of night. it was winter now, the arid tokyo air was on the cusp of freezing as if it were to rain, snow would be covering the city in a blanket of white.

other than those who were apart of the g-force groupchat, the bar wasn’t as crowded with strangers as it would usually be on a saturday night, yet you suppose that it’s the biting chill in the air that’s driving people home in the comforting warmth of their houses.

you liked going out, especially to go out drinking with your friends, but after the past few weeks, you needed to take a break from it all. sure, a drink would surely ease your tension in your shoulders, but what good would it be if you ex-boyfriends clung to you like two lost puppies? the entire night you have been pulled back and forth between bokuto and iwaizumi that you had lost count how many times you ran laps around the bar because of it.

so now, the first and probably the final time to yourself sitting alone at the bar was cut short as iwaizumi placed himself on the barstool next to you. 

you flicker him a look, one so nonchalant, yet so obviously asking him why the hell was he next to you. his mouth parted then as if he was suddenly being interrogated just by the plain look in your eyes to explain himself.

“let me guess,” you say first before a single syllable could even leave iwaizumi, “you want to buy me a drink?”

“only as an apology for annoying you earlier.” there was a hinting smirk on his lips as he turned towards the bartender, waving him down before ordering something fruity for you. at least he remembered you preferred sweeter drinks than liquor that would make your eyes water and your throat burn.

you sent him a smile. the words ‘thank you’ were laced in your grin that it was enough to send iwaizumi’s heart racing even without the words having to make its way past your peachy lips. 

peaches, huh? iwaizumi liked peaches. he wondered what they tasted like...

“after tonight, do you think you and i could talk—” he tries to ask in a hushed voice. it was discrete as if he feared that someone would hear his words and suddenly interrupted.

just like right now.

“hey! hey! hey!” bokuto erupts from behind them, sending a downpour of annoyance through iwaizumi as he watched the volleyball player sit on the other side of you. “a round of shots for us, please!” he tells the bartender upon placing your drink right in front of you.

you were about to open your mouth and decline since you already had more than enough alcohol coursing through your body, but you figured you needed the most you could get knowing this is what it would be like for the rest of the night. honestly at this point, you have come to accept the fact that you just had to just deal with them. you kept your mouth shut as you downed half of the sugar-rimmed margarita as the bartender placed down the shots in front of you.

you took the shot first, face contorting slightly at the stinging of the vodka while bokuto and iwaizumi lagged behind. unbeknownst to you, their glares made up of bullet holes and stab wounds clashed against each other as they tilted their head backs in a swing. they slammed their shot glasses down at the same time.

“another round, please!” bokuto calls again, pointing a wink at you as you looked up at him.

bokuto nods as he gives iwaizumi a look, “yeah. why? can’t your alcohol?” his voice teased as if he was proposing a challenge.

“you’re one to talk,” he scoffs.

like a domino effect, another trio of shot glasses were place in front of you, eyes widening into saucers as both bokuto and iwaizumi didn’t spare a sign of hesitancy as they grabbed their respective glasses.

a nervous laughter emitted from you, “don’t you guys think we should slow it down on the shots? i just barely swallowed the first one down.”

after the boys hadn’t answered you within a few beats of silence, it was clear that it was no use trying to slow them down. hell, they have already thrown their heads back before you could mutter another word to stop them. you wanted to roll your eyes at their careless actions—acting as if they needed to prove that their were the superior one to be sitting by your side. if anything, you could easily beat them if you actually had the energy to do so. instead, you lifted your shot glass to your lips and sipped its contents.

“another one!” iwaizumi said this time.

an obvious sigh left the bartender as his expression was unreadable. it was deadpan and nonchalant that you questioned whether or not he was annoyed or just didn’t give a single damn. either way, it was understandable. he had even thrown you a look from over the bar to ask if you wanted a shot too considering you were sipping your second one.

you shook your head. this was more than enough for tonight having to deal with the idiosyncrasies of your ex-boyfriends.

if you had to be completely honest, you near really pined yourself as someone who got annoyed easily, especially not towards iwaizumi nor bokuto. and yet the sudden influx of envy taking over whenever one of them catches you with the latter was forcing you towards the end of your rope. a simple smile towards one of them led to a jealous look at the other, but it only molded into something worse. from discrete, sly motions to full of cacophonies of backhanded compliments, you should’ve known it was going to only get worse ever since you did in fact visit the gym during practice.

long story short, you weren’t visiting anyone in particular but iwaizumi and bokuto liked arguing otherwise. it seems that professionalism was completely thrown out of the window once satomi was out of the picture, you’ve come to notice.

“next one!” the boys next to you shout again, snatching you out of your thoughts in a rough tug that it almost scared you.

you pulled a concerned look on your face as you finished your shot. “guys, i don’t think you two should be downing so many—”

but before the sentence could even leave your mouth, their fifth (or was it sixth?) shot was already burning down their esophagus. their voices were strained slightly as they called for another one, yet rather than in unison, their words started to slur into one another in an incoherent tangent. they slammed the frail shot glasses haphazardly. they were practically ignoring you at this point just to prove a point. granted, you weren’t sure what point they were trying to make anymore.

how ironic.

“seriously?” you scoff, the annoyance finally radiating off of you. “first the text messages, then causing a commotion during practice, and now this? do you guys have to turn everything into a competition?” you raised your voice higher than last time, yet it wasn’t like you were speaking softly anyway.

iwaizumi swallowed the contents of his shot quickly, swiping his wrist over his lips to capture the alcohol. “bokuto started it!” he exclaimed childishly. it was something so out of character that it was obvious he was just a few shots away from being completely blacked out.

“and you followed suit!” bokuto retorted upon slamming the shot glass on the bar. his biceps unconsciously flexed beneath your gaze at the action that you were surprised those poor glasses weren’t broken, let alone cracked. “i never even proposed a competition until you started calling over shots as well!”

“what the hell are you trying to prove, anyway?” iwaizumi bites back with the same energy. “least time i remember, you got absolutely shitfaced and poor (y/n) had to deal with you.”

by now you were sure every single person in this damned pub was all ears for a drunken argument. you feared to even crane your head slightly to see if anyone was staring at the three of you, hoping that your hand was enough to shield you a bit from the embarrassment (news flash: it did not). “okay, let’s not—”

“just shoes how much (y/n) cares about my wellbeing. isn’t that right, (y/nnie)?” the volleyball player mused as he slung his arm over you.

“y-yeah, but—”

and you were cut off once again as iwaizumi scoffs. “yeah right, you’re probably just trying to get wasted just to get her to take you home again. you’d probably take advantage of the situation like some people you know.”

a hard look flushed over bokuto’s face. his brows furrowed, creating lines of annoyance upon his forehead as you swore you heard his teeth grit. the anger was brewing within him and perhaps this is the first time in a long time you have seen bokuto act like this. “are you comparing me to satomi, right now?” the words were like venom spewing out of his lips.

“if the shoe fits,” responded the latter, “close friends typically act on similar wills, if you know what i mean.”

“iwa...” you say disappointedly upon facing him, hoping to stop them by any means necessary.

but perhaps you focused on calming down the wrong boy as the cringing screech of a bar stool being pushed back ravaged your eardrums. bokuto lets out a grunt, hovering over you and iwaizumi.

oh god, you thought. if you didn’t do anything now, it would only escalate even more and you were a hundred percent not in the mood to get kicked out of a bar right now. besides, for a bunch of drunk dudes, they put up a good fight in the way their words impacted the other.

“bo, stop.” you hissed at the volleyball player, your palm splayed over his chest to stop him from getting any closer. “we were supposed to celebrate tonight and not fight, remember?”

bokuto didn’t respond to even spare a knowing glance down towards you. there was a wildfire igniting around you and iwaizumi was only adding fuel to the burning fire. he stands himself, landing just a few significant inches shorter than bokuto, and yet his intimidation still stands.

what the hell were you going to do now? you weren’t exactly one to get into physical altercations, especially with men built like adonises. helpless, you flicker a look towards someone—literally anyone familiar to help you as your gaze lands of akaashi and kaori. they send you a pitied look, yet even they themselves weren’t in the mood to stop anything physical.

that’s it, you scoff with a roll to your eyes. “unbelievable,” you spat out, pushing past iwaizumi and bokuto as you finally managed to capture their attention.

they attempt to call out your name, yet you ignored their calls as you made your way over to akaashi’s table. akaashi scoots farther into the booth slightly with just enough room for you to squeeze in. yuko was also in the booth, placed just beside kaori as they shared a drink together.

“boys,” you huff.

“maybe i don’t envy you that much in the love department anymore...” kaori mused.

you bite back a chuckle, shaking your head at the thought. “there was nothing to be jealous about in the first place, anyway. besides, they’re getting annoying now. it's like after we get over a problem, a new one comes around and i’m sick of it.”

“if it makes you feel any better, i have a solution for you.” akaashi clears his throat, letting his offer simmer a bit as he sips from his glass.

“hm?” you hummed curiously, “what is it?”

akaashi shrugs, “tell them your true feelings.”

“huh?” the sound of surprise fell out of your mouth. a sarcastic laugh left you as you roll your eyes, “yeah right.”

“good luck getting that out of (y/n) anytime soon,” yuko added with a snicker.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you say rather offendedly. like sure, you didn’t exactly disagree but hearing it from a dear friend was different.

kaori flickers you an amused look, “you did lie and not tell them about the webtoon for years.”

“not to mention neither of them new they dated you until just recently,” yuko adds.

you pursed your lips together as the thought lingered in your mind, waiting until you come up with a rational answer that wasn’t an excuse. but truth be told, you have told lots and excuses and you were running out quick.

“you’ve never been good at telling people things that they need to hear.” that was the last hit on the nail as you sighed out. of course it was akaashi who had to mention your irrational inability of preferring to run away from things that were hard.

you didn’t really know what to say. everything they said was spot on, so it wasn’t like you had anything to add onto or defend yourself with as you fiddled with your fingers. “why did they have to come back to me at the same time?” you ask without thinking, catching yourself mid-sentence, but it was too late. your thoughts were out in the open now.

“the universe probably knows you’ve never really moved on and neither have them.” says yuko as she rests her head upon his palm. she had to be spitting out bullshit at this point.

“please,” you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time in a span of thirty minutes, “you sound like one of those tarot card readers on tiktok.”

“i’m actually serious, (y/n)...” she continues, “you literally wrote a wholeass webtoon about them.”

“why does it matter when so many people use their personal experiences to make things. i don’t see you blaming taylor swift for all her scandals from writing so many break up songs.” you state matter-of-factly because it was true. why did it matter? it wasn’t like there was anything you could do anymore considering the film’s preproduction is almost over and the webtoon is finished.

yuko opened her mouth again to say more, but kaori quickly stopped her. “no, (y/n), you’re right. but i agree with akaashi on this one. like, who knows how things will turn out when you tell them how you feel. it’s clear both of them like you, it’s just a matter on who you reject and who your accept.”

that was the very last thing you wanted to do—choose. you loved them both and the thought of even having to give more love to only one of them was like tightening a fist around your heart. “do i really have to choose?”

“i mean...”  akaashi finally speaks after another sip from his glass, “who said you couldn’t have both?”

the thought melted smirks upon yuko and kaori’s faces, but only sent your heart racing and crimson red blush to creep up onto your cheeks. did it get hot all of a sudden? no offense to those who do have open relationships, but like hell would you ever be in one. granted, you don’t really knock on things until you try it, but the concept is something you never really expected yourself being in. besides, bokuto and iwaizumi both dating you? those men are the literal epitome of possessive that a relationship with the both of them was just a train wreck waiting to happen.

but then again, how would you know?

you shake your head from the thought as your heart beat was only getting louder and louder and faster and faster the more you thought about the both of them. it even reached to the point that if you three were to ever get intimate that you would absolutely lose your mind knowing that you would be in between two of the hottest men you— “whatever!” you exclaim rather loudly, ignoring the hushed giggled from the yuko and kaori just by looking at your expression. “i’m going to talk to semi and suga, they’ll probably be more of a help than you guys. where are they anyway? oh, there they are.”

you lift yourself from the booth, but akaashi stops before you could even make a step. you turn over your shoulder, “you can’t keep running away from your problems, (y/n).”

capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you let out a frustrated sigh. i know, you wanted to say, but instead you opted to take akaashi’s drink from his hand and finish its contents. “fine. what do i do?”

“when the party’s over, you tell them everything.” he explains upon receiving his now empty liquor glass from you. “besides, we only have a few weeks left before we have to leave.”

you let out an amused huff, “why does it matter when i’ll end up leaving again anyway?”

fun facts! —

y/n felt bad for drinking akaashi’s drink so she ended up buying him another one

after y/n left iwa and bo, it’s safe to say they argued a bit more on who was the one who drove y/m away

sakusa and atsumu had to pull them away

also at this point, everyone is drunk asf (esp y/n) which will explain her actions next chap

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 5

We back at it again because I love this right now

----------------

After smuggling Derek into my room via the window, the interrogation began. He sat in my computer chair, leaning over, resting his arms on his legs.

“Uh, first I want to say thank you for saving me again.” I began. He looked up and nodded. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“And uh, you’re a werewolf.” I said, starting to pace back and forth, “Is Scott a werewolf?” 

“He is.” 

“Did you bite him?” I paused, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“No, I’m an omega. Only Alphas can give people the gift.” He said. You call that a gift? I’d like a receipt.

“Is there a cure?”

“There’s a legend that says if the beta, one of the pack, kills the alpha then he will become human again. But I don’t even know if that’s true.” He explained. That meant Scott’s odds were not looking good and this werewolf thing is permanent. 

“Were you bitten by the alpha?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. 

“No, I was born with it. My family was a pack. After…” He paused, “After the fire, my older sister became the alpha since she had been trained by my mother to be the new matriarch. I came back here because I hadn’t heard from her. Now we know why.” 

“I’m so sorry.” I looked down at my socks. These questions were making him bring up what must have been incredibly painful memories and bringing up the fresh pain of the murder of his sister. 

“The thing following you in the woods was the new alpha. He killed her for her alpha spark.” 

“Alpha spark?” 

“It can transform a beta, or an omega into an alpha. It’s taken when the alpha is killed by either of those. Or it can be transferred willingly.” This was a little more complicated than I thought. I knew that there were hierarchies in wolves, but who knew it translated to werewolves?

“Why is the alpha coming after me? You said it was following me.” 

He leaned back in the chair, “Well, he’s either looking to eat you. Or he wanted to turn you.” At my shocked expression he added, “Probably the latter. He’s a new alpha so he’s trying to start a pack, probably why he started with Scott. Speaking of, you need to tell him to stop seeing Allison.” 

“Why, what’s wrong with Allison?” 

“Her family are a very old lineage of werewolf hunters.” He said seriously, “Chris Argent and I have an unspoken agreement. No deaths, I don’t end up dead. I can’t say the same for the rest of his family.” He was something in his eyes, a pain that couldn’t be described. 

“I know I said I wanted answers but if its too painful-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted. I raised my eyebrows at him. 

“Derek, I understand what it’s like to lose your family in one day. It’s the most awful feeling imaginable. Because after the pain is the loneliness. I got lucky that I have Uncle Noah and Stiles. You had your sister and now she’s gone and you’re the only one left.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s not just me. I have an uncle in a vegetative state at Beacon Hills long-term facility. And my sister Cora, I haven’t seen her since the fire. I think she’s gone too, but there’s always the chance that she’s still out there. She just doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He looked down at his hands. He looked so vulnerable right now, something I never expected from him. He had so many walls up. There were still things he was hiding about the Argents, but pushing him now didn’t seem right. 

I gave him a small smile and kneeled down in front of him. Slowly, I reached for his hands, giving him plenty of time to pull away, but he let me touch him. I held his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs over his knuckles. I titled my head to meet his eyes that he was hiding. 

“Hey, grief is hard. Especially since we lost our families in the same way. Let’s help each other. Would that be okay?” I asked softly. He met my eyes finally, his stern expression was more loose than usual. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I want to. But I can’t.” 

The sound of the door opened behind us, and queue Stiles meltdown. And with the position I was in, on my knees in front of Derek Hale, maybe it was a little justified. 

“What is going on?” He asked. I quickly got to my feet. 

“Uh, Derek was just leaving. Just a quick little visit.” I took Derek by the arm, brought him out of the chair and ushered him to the window, where he left without another word. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Stiles shouted. 

“Will you keep it down?” I whispered loudly. 

“Oh you can cut the crap, Dad isn’t here. Why the hell is a wanted criminal in my house?!” 

I crossed my arms and shrugged innocently, “We were just talking.” 

“Why was he covered in blood?” He pointed to the dry blood that was on the arm of my chair. I sighed and rubbed my temples. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell your dad.” I pleaded. He crossed his arms and looked away from me. 

“As an upstanding citizen of Beacon Hills-”

“You cut the crap, Stiles. You have more priors than he does.” 

“I wasn’t questioned about the murder of my sister.” He shot.

“He was acquitted of all changes due to his alibi.” I shot back.

He grumbled and shook his hands, “Fine, fine. Tell me.” 

“Okay, so, Michael found me in the woods-” 

“Michael-” He started. 

“Hey, no interrupting!” He held his hands up in surrender, motioning for me to go on, “He found me in the woods and was probably going to commit a bunch of unsavory things on me when Derek showed up because the night before when you and Scott were arguing, I went to his house to get some answers of my own, he told me to go home so I did.” I paused and took a drink out of the glass of water on my nightstand, then continued, “Anyway, when Derek showed up he killed Michael because Derek is a werewolf.” I rushed out. 

“A what?!” He shouted. 

“Oh don’t act so surprised, you know Scott is a werewolf.” 

He stepped back, pretending to be shocked, “Scott? A werewolf.” Clearly trying to cover for his friend, but no dice. Stiles was a terrible liar. 

“Derek told me. And he also told me that Allison’s family are werewolf hunters. But I assumed you already knew that because you don’t look surprised at all.” 

“Well, ahhh, her last name does mean silver in French.”  He added. I shook my head, holding my pinkie out. 

“Pinkie swear me you won’t tell Uncle Noah.” He sighed, tapping his foot, “Promise!” He grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air, but eventually he wrapped his pinkie around mine. 

“Fine.” He paused, still holding my pinkie, his grip on my finger tightened, holding me there, “But you have to swear not to get romantically involved!” He pulled his pinkie away. I gasped loudly, staring between my pinkie and his. 

“You can’t do that.” 

He smirked, “I just did.” 

“I am not romantically involved with Derek.” I blushed. 

“Coulda fooled me.” He scoffed. I huffed. 

“Okay, time for you to go. Goodnight Stiles.” I pushed him out the door and slammed it behind me. I leaned against the door and sighed. I wasn’t romantically involved with Derek, we just had a connection. 

…

Maybe I was romantically involved. But could you blame me, he was my knight in shining armor twice. That was attractive. And he was far from ugly. 

- 

The next morning, I went downstairs and was surprised to see Uncle Noah in the kitchen making breakfast. 

“Morning, I didn’t hear you come in last night.” I said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. 

“That’s because,” He yawned, “I came in this morning.” He motioned to the table, “Sit, sit. Let me make you breakfast.” I sat at the table, pulling an apple out of the basket on the table. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. 

I smiled up at him, “Thanks, Uncle Noah.” He nodded, sitting down with his own plate before eating. The few minutes were in silence, just chewing. I decided I should at least talk, make it seem like I was still scared that Michael would come back. 

“I know you don’t want to bring up work at home, but is there any news on Michael?” He sighed through his nose, swallowing his bite of food. 

“It’s okay. And I wish I had better news, but we still haven’t found anything.” He said. I nodded. 

“It’s okay, I know you’ll find him.” Find his body? Maybe. But he was very much dead. The only thing I’m worried about now in the woods was the alpha werewolf and whether he wanted to make me lunch or one of them. 

- 

I was making my way out to get groceries when I saw Stiles Jeep whipping through the neighborhood. Being curious, I decided to follow, where I was led to Dr. Deaton’s office, the local veterinarian that Scott worked for. 

“Is there a reason you’re driving like a bat outta hell?” I called, seeing Stiles get out. 

“Oh great, you can help me carry him.” Stiles said, opening the back of the Jeep where Derek sat. He was pale, his eyes looked sunken in, and there was blood dripping down his hand. 

“Jesus Christ.” I said, carefully helping Derek out of the Jeep. He grunted while Stiles and I helped him inside after Stiles unlocked the door with the spare key. Scott had gone to go find the bullet so that Derek could cure himself, he would have to steal from Kate Argent.

 We brought him back into the operating area. I’m sure Stiles was chomping at the bit not to say something. Derek explained that he had been on the trail of the alpha when a hunter saw and shot him. 

Stiles looked at his phone then Derek, “Does Northern Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?”

Derek was leaning on the operating table, “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?”

Derek looked from me to Stiles, “Cause I’m gonna die without it.” He said breathlessly. He took his jacket, then his shirt off to reveal the bullet wound in his arm which was bleeding, but the strangest thing was his veins around the wound were purple and crawling up his arm. I guess Monkshood must be deadly to werewolves, but then again, it is wolfsbane. Derek looked manic, he was getting warmer and sweat was dripping off of him in buckets. He looked around and grabbed an amputation saw.  I grabbed a bowl filled with water and grabbed a couple paper towels. I wet the paper towels, and moving to touch his wounded arm, he pulled it away.

“Okay, if the Blue monkshood doesn’t kill you, an infection will. Let me help you.” I narrowed my eyes. He glared, his nostrils flared but he held his arm out. I lightly dabbed at it, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Stiles gagged when he saw it, prompting me to elbow his side, “Okay, you know, that really doesn’t look like anything, some echinacea and a good night’s sleep couldn’t take care of…?”

Derek swallowed thickly, “When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.”

“Positivity” just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

“Stiles!” I scolded. 

“If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time– last resort.” Derek grabbed an amputation saw from the table. 

“Which is…?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re gonna cut off my arm.” He rushed his words out, they slightly slurred together. 

“Okay okay.” I grabbed the saw from his grasp and set it back down on a metal tray, “Let’s just be a little optimistic. Scott’s going to be here soon.” He glared at me, causing me to raise my hands in surrender. He grabbed a rubber tourniquet and tied it tightly around his arm with his teeth to stop any further movement. 

Stiles held his arms out, “Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?”

“It’ll heal if it works.”

“If it works?!” I snapped, not believing that any of this was happening still.

Stiles sight, “Ugh. Look - I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!”

“You’re not afraid of blood. You don’t faint.” I said, confused. 

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped - off arm!” 

“All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I’m gonna cut off your head.” Derek glared. 

“Derek.” I scolded.

Stiles shook his head, “Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-” Derek grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up, “Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Derek dropped him and Stiles looked back at his arm, “What? What are you doing? Holy God, what the hell is that?” His arm was oozing from the wound. 

“It’s my body..” Derek breathed out, “Trying to heal itself.”

“Well, it’s not doing a very good job of it.” Stiles avoided his arm once again.  

Derek grabbed the saw, holding it out to Stiles, “Now. You gotta do it now.”

“Look, honestly, I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it!” He shouted. 

Stiles took the saw, “Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God. All right, here we go!” 

“I can’t watch this.” I covered my eyes with one of my hands, the other was on Derek’s uninjured arm. But like an angel’s voice, we heard Scott yelling for Stiles. 

“Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at the frazzled teen who just ran through the clinic.  I uncovered my eyes, still seeing Stiles with the saw pressed to Derek’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott asked, exasperated. 

Stiles dropped the saw, “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.” 

Derek stood up more without the help of the table but he was starting to wobble, “Did you get it?”

“What are you gonna do with it?” Stiles asked. 

Derek swallowed thickly, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” His eyes fluttered shut, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. 

“Derek!” I shouted, grabbing his torso before he broke his skull open on the floor. When Derek had dropped, it had knocked the bullet out of Scott’s hand and it had rolled.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Scott pleaded as he watched the bullet roll and fall into the vent in the floor. 

Stiles was down on the floor besides me, “Derek. Derek, come on, wake up.” He was tapping his cheek, “Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know! I can’t reach it.” Scott called from across the room.

“He’s not waking up!” Stiles said between his teeth, clearly in panic mode, but I wasn’t any better. I leaned my head down to his chest, trying to hear his heartbeat. 

“His heart beats slowing down!” I called, I grabbed his shoulder, starting to shake him, “Come on, Derek, wake up!”

“Come on.” I heard Scott grunt.

“I think he’s dying. I think he’s dead!” Stiles looking back in Scott’s direction. I started to panic, shaking him harder. I can’t lose him. I can’t. No one else I care about is allowed to die.

“Just hold on! Come on.” Scott let out a restrained yell, then shouted “Oh! I got it! I got it!” 

When Stiles heard that, he pushed me back and bowed his fist, “Please don’t kill me for this.” He swung and connected with Derek’s cheek, “Ugh! Ow! God!” He pulled his hand away, shaking it. Derek gasped and his eyes shot open, I helped Derek to feet and held his waist to steady him.

“Give me…” Scott gave Derek the bullet. He took the bullet between his teeth, and broke it open. He dumped the contents of it on the table. From his back pocket he pulled out a match book, he lit a match and dropped it on the contents. It burned quickly, an eerie blue flame. Once it went out, he pinched some of the ash in his fingers, then stuck his fingers in the wound. I winched and looked away. 

“Ow, God.” Stiles gagged. But we all watched in amazement as the dark veins that had been growing up his arm disappeared. I was finally able to breathe properly, I let out a sigh of relief, back away and leaning against the wall. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my heart slowly go back into rhythm.

“That - Was - Awesome! Yes!” Stiles cheered, throwing his arms up. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked.  

Derek grumbled a bit, “Well, except for the agonizing pain.”

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.” Stiles smiled, feeling accomplished. He probably just was relieved that he didn’t have to cut anyone’s arm off. 

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything-” Scott started his threat. Which meant that I was severely out of the loop. 

“You’re gonna trust them?” Derek cut him off,  “You think they can help you?”

“Well, why not? They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are.”

 Derek glared at him, the pain was back in his eyes, “I can show you exactly how nice they are.” 

-

After the excitement was over, I decided to go to the Hale house to talk to Derek privately. I got there before him and waited for him in the driveway. I really shouldn’t have come unannounced. He would probably just tell me to get lost like he usually did. I was pulled out of my thoughts by his black Camaro pulling up beside my car. I got out as he did. Derek still looked pretty rough but his color was coming back to his skin.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” He said dismissively, walking towards his house. And we were back to this. Even after everything, it’s like our relationship reset itself every time we saw each other. I followed after him, hot on his heels.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“Doing what?” He took his leather jacket off and hung it up.

“You and I, we talk, we get more comfortable with each other. I think I am finally getting through that shell of yours only for you to make another one.”

Derek turned to face me, “I don’t owe you any explanation. I am fine by myself.”

“No, you’re not.” I came closer to him, my face mere inches from his, “You’re not fine by yourself. I saw how you looked tonight when Scott brought up the Argents. You were hurt, and scared, and angry. You can’t just sit here in this house and pour yourself into finding this alpha, you’re going to kill yourself. You almost died today.”

“He killed my sister! He is killing people and now Kate Argent is back and she doesn’t follow the Code. She will do anything, no matter how awful it is, to murder my kind. She’s the reason my family is gone!” He barked back. I took a deep breath.

“I know you want justice for Laura. I do too. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. Is that what she would want? Her little brother dead trying to get revenge?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking through me more than at me.

“Derek.” I said softly, slowly bringing my hand up to his cheek. He inhaled sharply, becoming stiff under my touch.

I stood on my tiptoes to press my forehead against his and whispered, “This is selfish to say… but I can’t lose you too. I-I thought you were dead. You have to be more careful. Please.” His body became less rigid and he let out a shaky breath. He slowly brought his hand to my waist, the other sliding over my hand that rested on his cheek. In that moment, it felt like the whole universe stopped. It was only me and him. It was like our minds finally connected and our souls touched. There was silence, only the wind blowing softly through the trees. 

“I can’t do this.” He whispered, closing his eyes. 

“You can.” I laced my fingers with his against his cheek, “We can do it together.” 

“I can’t let myself.” He opened his eyes again to meet mine, “When I’m with you I lose focus, you’re all I can think about. I get distracted from what I need to do. So I ignore you, treat us like it's nothing because I can’t open myself up again. Not after… not after what happened.” He was opening up, if not all the way, just a little. Derek had a good point. Finding the alpha and killing him was the only way to get justice for Laura. And if I was distracting him, maybe I should keep my distance. He clearly has been hurt terribly by someone, and hearing him bare his soul made me think about how to make it better. But what was I to do? My demons were killed, Derek deserved to destroy his own. 

“Do you want me to go away?” My words were barely a whisper. 

He licked his lips, “If I was allowed to be selfish, I would never let you go.” I took a deep breath, dreading the fact that I had to leave him. 

“Okay.” I smiled, trying to ignore my burning tear ducts, “I’ll go home. And… I won’t come back unless you want me to.” I reluctantly slipped my hand out of his. But, I need one selfish thing if I was ever going to live with this. I leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. I pulled away, feeling his hand fall from my waist. I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked out of the Hale house, got into my car and drove away. 

---------------------------

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[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[chalkrevelations]

SO. Word of Honor, Episode 10, and everyone is deep in their feelings … well, their feeling, which is misery.

First, due diligence, and I really mean it on this one: SPOILERS not just for this ep but for the entire show. Out of the car, for now, and come back later, if you want to watch the whole thing unspoiled.­­

Well, it’s the breakup episode, y’all. Everyone is wallowing in misery, and Our Couple is taking that out on themselves and in some cases (:cough:WKX:cough) ­on everybody around them. We open on sad-sack Wen Kexing digging sadly in the dirt with a sword, the bodies of the Four Sages of Anji laid out beside him as he gives a RIP speech about how you have to be careful when making friends, because they’ll turn out to be bad news, which is clearly yet another warning about himself, because I don’t think anyone in the mob who killed these aging hippies in the last ep was a friend (although I suppose it could be argued that WKX is talking about their friendship with Gao Chong getting them killed) and anyway, you have to understand that WKX is a demon under the skin, not even really human, you guys, and he’s only ever going to disappoint everyone. Has he not made this clear by now? His sword breaks at this point, which probably ought to tell him he’s not going to be able to bury any of this mess. Then Zhou Zishu shows up and is understandably unhappy at the way his decision last ep to walk out on faith for this guy has gone completely pear-shaped, and he asks some rather pointed questions about whether four dead Sages of Anji is what WKX wanted and if he’s happy now – questions that sound, my dude, a little confrontational. I mean, I think you’re entitled, given the situation, but I’m just sayin’. WKX flings off ZZS’s hand and wants to know if “Leader Zhou” has only ever killed bad people, which is a hit that lands, and it hurts, just like it was supposed to, and this is definitely one of those nightmare scenarios where everyone just keeps digging themselves deeper. ZZS is all, FINE THEN, and leaves. Again. Because WKX is apparently a demon in human form who’s only ever going to disappoint everyone. Including his zhiji. I love you with all of my heart, ZZS, but a little bit, you come off like you only showed up to twist the knife, my man. Anyway, ZZS stomps off to go mope at Yuefan Tower, the scene of his bad decision to trust this guy BEFORE finding out he sets up revenge murders for fun. We’re treated to a flashback sequence of some of ZZS’s Tian Chuang state-sanctioned violence, including a pile of bodies in a burned-out house with a little girl who reaches out to him and calls him “shushu” (which I think is a reference to something that actually happens in Qi Ye); killing that official dude and making Jing’an drink poison, from Ep 1; inserting the Seven Nails into Bi Changfeng - a whole bunch of bad shit that WKX has dug back up way more successfully with a few words than that grave he was trying to dig with his broken sword. ZZS sighs mournfully and unfairly beautifully (your FACE, my dude) over the fact that he thought he found his soulmate, but he was apparently WRONG, and meanwhile, we see Han Ying lurking worriedly and devotedly in the background.

Then, both of these morose motherfuckers proceed to drink themselves (even more) stupid over each other, WKX in a brothel and ZZS moping by himself downstairs at the (No Longer) Getting Lucky Inn, leaving poor Han Ying and A-Xiang to eventually deal with them. ZZS is literally falling over as he calls for more wine – you are a sloppy drunk, laopo, although I have to admit, you’ve worked your way through a lot of bottles, so I suppose it’s understandable – and WKX proceeds to drink his four ... five? ... four, I think, girls under the table and clearly has no intention of sleeping with them, because it might interfere with his waxing drunkenly and mournfully about finding a thing you thought you’d lost forever but not being able to keep it at the price of giving up your big revenge murder plan you’ve been working out since you were 8 years old. (Also because he’s gay af. I’m just sayin’.)

So, yeah, Han Ying and A-Xiang eventually have to deal with these two, and for my money, the single most important scene of the ep - thematically, at least - is the one we get between A-Xiang and WKX, where a couple of big things are going on. One of the themes I see again, running through this ep, is the separation between the human world and the world of “ghosts,” and how that line is policed, and how Wen Kexing tries to maintain it as a bright line, in order to maintain his own distance from Zhou Zishu and the world. Now that things have gone so spectacularly wrong with ZZS, he’s going to dig in on the “ghost” side of that line for all he’s worth – much harder than he was digging that grave for the Four Sages of Anji, given he breaks the sword and gives up halfway through on that one, but this one he’s determined to get all the way to the bedrock on. So yes, in this scene we get the theme made explicit again, of human-ghost separation - which will echo and rebound throughout the rest of the show, until we see its awful, gory truth made manifest when it turns out WKX is horrifically correct and A-Xiang is NOT, in fact, going to be allowed by “humankind” to leave Ghost Valley and walk up to the human world with her lover, while meanwhile, if WKX is going to get out of the valley, he’s not staying in the mortal world but is going to end up on the icy remote mountaintop. BUT ALSO, this may be the first time we really see the show put A-Xiang forward as a proxy for Wen Kexing. This is going to be an increasingly weighted Thing as we go on, of course, but what I didn’t remember on my first watch-through - even after I realized what they were doing with the A-Xiang/Cao Weining and Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu parallels further down the road – is that, in this first time we really see it, it’s not even about their respective love interests, it’s about their respective relationships with Chengling. I mean, clearly, clearly, when WKX is being a drunk asshole to A-Xiang about how she’s been too long in her human skin (and huh, interesting that, when we also have instances where fake skin disguises are literal), and DON’T EVER FORGET WHO YOU ARE, HEARTLESS AMETHYST FIEND GHOST VALLEY MASTER HEARTLESS AMETHYST FIEND, and who among them would ever pity you me you, he’s really talking about his recent breakup with ZZS, in which he got called a crazed psychopath just for setting up a few amusing revenge murders. But here’s the thing – what triggers the diatribe is A-Xiang saying she feels sorry for Chengling trapped in Yueyang Sect, in the course of nattering on about what’s up with Chengling, and what she and Chengling have been doing together, and how much Chengling misses WKX. Which is, A-Xiang tells WKX, a lot. After which WKX puffs himself up and proceeds to be a drunk asshole to her, because of course, he’s not worthy of having anyone care about him, they might think he’s human, or something, and then he’s only going to get hurt again when they find out he’s NOT. So, all that happens. We also find out in this conversation that Changing Ghost was responsible for the pile of heads; that A-Xiang was at the Funeral/Wedding Game and saw Deng Kuan become the last survivor and get set free in much better condition than he later showed up at Yueyang Sect, so what the hell’s happened to him in between; and that A-Xiang definitely thinks her Murder Dad master is crazy but isn’t afraid that he’ll end up killing her someday. I mean, let’s be clear, I don’t think she’s absolutely positive that he won’t go crazy and kill her – she’s just not afraid of it. Zhou Ye is fantastic here, because she has A-Xiang give WKX this gorgeous little smile that’s so simple yet just so filled with love and trust and faith and everything that must have kept his heart alive all those years, the one that she probably gave him even after he burned her mouth on congee that was too hot, and I end up clutching my chest because I think she’s killed me. And then in a horrible twist on what’s eventually coming down the pike, she tells him that she’d follow him even if he’s crazy, and that if he killed her, she’d even follow him in death, and GOD. MY HEART. Because we’re going to see that in fact, he’s going to almost follow her into death, and then he’s going to dream of her leaving him instead of actually staying with him after death, and the only thing keeping me together at this point is the idea that Nian’xiang will actually be A-Xiang reincarnated so that she can be with WKX and the rest of her family again.

Anyway, all of this is apparently a dress rehearsal for WKX, because he then gets himself dolled up in some luscious green robes and proceeds to go to Tragicomic Ghost’s mansion in order to terrorize the troops and spread the misery. He requests a report from all of his top ten nine eight devils; credits them with three Funeral Games (I guess we don’t get to see the other two), annihilating Danyang Sect, destroying Mirror Lake Sect, killing Mount Tai Sect’s leader (Ao Laizi), and leaving a pile of heads for Yueyang Sect to find. He’s doing his best Lunatic Wen bit, but come on, my friend, do they really deserve credit for ALL of that? Do they really? It sounds like you have your suspicions, as well, because you want to know who was responsible for the Mirror Lake massacre. Everyone looks around, pointedly not meeting his eyes, so, hmm, it must have been Long-Tongued Ghost, right? Right? (Who we last saw getting killed and getting his (Danyang) Glazed Armor took by Wen Kexing while pretending to be Hanged Ghost.) Changing Ghost, who’s supposedly Long-Tongued Ghost’s superior and who’s smart enough to sense the wind shifting, even if he’s not sure in which direction, hastily says that LTGhost doesn’t listen to him anymore. (Yeah, because he’s dead.) At this point, White Grim Reaper is dumb enough to draw attention to himself, and WKX chokes him out just ‘cause. ‘Cause he’s Lunatic Wen, and fuck you, that’s why. Both Tragicomic Ghost and Beauty Ghost look more Completely Done With This Bullshit than scared – in contrast to the men, who are shitting their pants - which is an early indication that their relationships with WKX are different than his relationships with the male Devils. WKX also makes some pointed comment about how oh dear, he’s killed someone, and they were already low on manpower, but as a chief of GHOSTS, that’s all he has to work with, isn’t that RIGHT, Changing Ghost – which sounds on the surface kind of like policing that line between ghosts and humans, but really seems more like he has his suspicions about exactly who Changing Ghost is actually working with, because while he may not be as smart as A-Xu, he’s not DUMB. Now, let’s all come up with a plan to fuck over the Five Lakes Alliance during the Hero’s Conference. Aaaaand … end scene (and ep).

Meanwhile, Han Ying is dealing with his poor, drunk dumbass charge, and we see ZZS wake up in some richly appointed rooms, in some strange bed, and he’s clearly thinking “Oh snap. What I do last night?” Also, feeling the hangover. Once he manages to get his boots on, he notices a shrine, complete with candles, and just about this point, Han Ying busts in like he’s WKX or something (although to be fair, it is his bedroom), and wants to know exactly wtf is wrong with ZZS, getting blackout drunk with his actual face hanging out like he doesn’t care who recognizes him? (I just have to take a moment here, and point out that ZZS, who went all in, in the last ep, and who will continue to be the more open one as this relationship goes on, is being berated here for not wearing a mask, for showing his real self, while the issue for both A-Xiang and WKX is going to continue to be keeping on a protective mask/skin, even though WKX accuses A-Xiang himself in this very ep of thinking the mask is real and not just a cover for her true face. Anyway.) Oh, and also, My Lord, how is your injury? DO YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TENDERLY CARE FOR YOU? I like this scene, because Han Ying’s actually kind of angry at ZZS, and a little bit, he shows it, and we get to see that he’s not spineless, even in the (blindingly beautiful) face of ZZS, he’s just devoted. And if that means keeping this dumbass safe from himself, well, Han Ying will try to do that, too, even if it’s enough to drive him to find religion, as we also find out in this scene, explaining the shrine. I suppose he needs all the help he can get. Anyway, ZZS tells him that he’s too mean to die just yet, although he doesn’t expect any blessings on his path, and Han Ying responds – and I think this is important, given ZZS’s decision last ep to spend the rest of his life living instead of dying – that “any day we live is a day gained.” (HAN YING. MY BELOVED.) ZZS pulls some Glazed Armor out of his robes to give to Han Ying, and they both realize that it looks exactly like two pieces Han Ying already has his hands on, gdi WKX. At this point, ZZS reiterates that he just wants Han Ying to lay low and stay safe, Han Ying reiterates his undying devotion, and ZZS has clearly had it with these kids and their starry-eyed devotion. He tries telling Han Yng again to just live a good life - as if Han Ying is at all wired that way – before making some dramatic pronouncement about expecting to have to deal with what’s coming to him in hell and sweeping out the door in the last we see of him this ep.

Let’s see, other things that happened:

Gao Chong, Zhao Jing and Shen Shen confer over their complete loss of face in the run-up to the Hero’s Conference; Shen Shen gets very offended and denies killing Ao Laizi, which is the rumor going around town; Gao Chong says the Ghost Valley isn’t responsible for Ao Laizi’s death (which they are) or for spreading the rhyme about the Glazed Armor (which they are); Zhao Jing says Five Lakes Alliance can’t get a reputation for forcing other sects to do things (when he can manipulate them into doing what he wants), and Shen Shen wants to know WHY THE HELL NOT (oh, Shen Shen) when the jianghu has always been, and I QUOTE, “a place where the strong pery on the weak,” so again, I have to kind of side with WKX on this one about the hive of scum and villainy. Or I would if you guys seemed capable of actually accomplishing anything.

Elsewhere in Yueyang Sect, it’s been Bullying Hour again for Chengling, and A-Xiang is furious when she finds out, threatening to break the legs of whoever’s responsible for smacking him around (she really is like the most delightful Chengxian love-child, I have to say). She also has some Wolong Nuts – crispy and delicious! – for him. Gao Xiaolian shows up with some treats, but Chengling doesn’t want her food, and also he doesn’t want to marry her, because he doesn’t want to be Gao Chong’s puppet, which is kind of new, because he said a couple of eps ago at the Five Lakes monument that he would abide by Gao Chong’s decisions. I guess now that he’s found out from A-Xiang that their Murder Dads are still around, he thinks there’s still a chance to run away with them. Gao Xiolian runs away, crying. Harsh, Chengling, but it does give him the chance to complain to A-Xiang that he’s effectively under house arrest, WHERE ARE OUR MURDER DADS TO SAVE ME?

Last but not least, there’s this incredible scene with Yu Loser Qiufeng, leader of Mount Hua Sect, in which one of the Mount Hua Virgins (tm WKX) comes complaining that everyone is looking down on them. Yu Qiufeng tells him that the entire jianghu is falling apart and to suck it up, and then another Virgin (tm WKX) shows up to say that some people from Mount Tai Sect are here to talk about Dead Ao Laizi, because the Five Lakes Alliance killed him omg. Yu Quifeng’s response is literally “Tell them I’m not here,” and when the disciple wants to know how he can possibly say that, Qiufeng’s response is literally “Say I went out. Say I’m sick. Say I’m dead.” (OMG, Zongzhu can’t see you right now, he’s dead!)

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[catxsnow]

TAKE THE BULLET B.W.

Request:  I saw your post about requests! Can you do a Batman x reader (from the animated movies if you do him) where the reader is apart of the JL and almost dies by jumping in front of a bullet during a mission with the team to save Bruce? Fluffy/angsty stuff. 

Warning: injury, angst, fluff

A/N: I’m so sorry it took this long! It’s been sitting in my WIP for ages and I just never got around to doing it until now 

Gif not mine

Word count: 2.3k 

You knew the risks of being in the Justice League.

A constant target on your back, the willingness to lay down your life to protect the people of your world, even the on demand requirement of your presence when someone was endangering the world. The second that you joined the team, you lost your freedom to have a normal life.

When it came down to it, it was all worth it. Knowing that you saved hundreds, thousands, even millions of lives because you stood up against an evil greater than yourself. The nightmares that haunted your sleep because of the horrors that you saw. The pain you endured because you refused to give up. Everything was worth it.

Your whole life you had been the one to willingly put yourself through all this torture to save lives. It was engraved in you to make the world a better place, no one expected you to make a difference like this one. No one expected you to be a hero, one of the best at that.

For so long you were on your own. You had your friends in your civilian life but no one truly to understand what you had to endure as a superhero. That was until the Justice League formed. It was a rocky start - a bunch of people who didn't believe that they needed to be a part of something bigger.

While many of the heroes found it a burden to have people that relied on you, you found it a blessing. People to finally understand who you were, that accepted you for the person that you were, not some freak. This team meant everything to you, enough that you would give up your life for your teammates.

And that was exactly what you had done. It was a dangerous mission, everyone knew that. As prepared as everyone was, they weren't expecting you to take the bullet for Batman. You saw the blast coming while he was fighting off another monster. There wasn't enough time to get him out of the way and he had no idea that it was coming for him.

So, in a moments haste, you had put yourself between the blast and him. Batman might have driven you crazy half the time, but he was only human under that suit. He would have never survived the blast. You barely did and your suit was impenetrable.

Batman didn't make friends. He didn't stick around to get to know his teammates and he certainly wasn't chatty with anyone. You found him insufferable most of the time but that small part of you couldn't help but be intrigued by him. Batman acted as if he were Superman even though a bullet would stop him just as it would anyone else.

He was meticulous with everything he did. No matter the situation, he knew every detail about everything. Batman was cold hearted, except for the split second time that you got to see him smile.

The team watched in horror as you fell to the cement. Your suit was half disintegrated and your breathing shallow. The blast had almost killed you. Almost.

It was Hal that got you out of there, bringing you to safety and away from the fight that you could no longer be a part of. Everyone had seen you go down. As devastation filled them, so did determination. They couldn't lose this fight, not after what you had done for them all. Batman most of all.

Only when you were safe in the infamous Batcave did Hal leave your side again. At the moment, there was no better place for you. He knew the secret identity of Batman, he also knew that Bruce was going to want to be the one to help you. After that night, he owed you a life debt.

As much as Batman liked to make everyone think he was invincible, he was only human. Humans had a heart, and with that little move that you did, you had gotten right into his.

><

You woke up cold. The air was still and held a frosty bite to it. Your whole body ached and as you tried to move it flared even more though your nerves. An IV was stuck in your arm and you were no longer in your suit. It wasn't the new clothes or the medical supplies that got you curious, it was the location.

No one in the Justice League had been lucky enough to step foot in the Batcave. It always seemed like some sacred place that all your other teammates were afraid to step foot in. Their bad mojo rubbed off on you for the longest time as well. Batman's secret lair always seemed to spook you.

Sitting in there now, you didn't feel the same way. Aside from the cold and darkness, the place wasn't nearly as dramatic as you thought it was going to be. Large super computer, training area, the med bay that you were in, and a collection of memorabilia. Nothing like you expected it to look like.

"You're awake."

You nearly jumped at the voice. Batman stood to the side of you, his cowl off so you could see his face. It was the first time that he ever trusted you with his identity and least to say, you were shocked. Bruce Wayne hid under that cowl. Billionaire playboy by day, Gotham's hero at night.

Without the cowl on, he looked far less intimidating. Whether it was his piercing blue eyes or the fact that he was really just some human. You felt less of a need to cower away from him and more of a pull of attraction. He was handsome, extremely.

"How long was I out?" You asked. Your voice was hoarse and the cough that erupted in your chest only put you through more pain. It was going to take far longer for you to heal than you wished. However, seeing Bruce alive because of you was well worth the pain. You couldn't imagine Gotham without it's Dark Knight.

"Three days."

"Fuck," you muttered, laying back down to the pillow. Your eyes sealed shut in frustration at the lost time. "I take it the rest of the mission went well then."

"Minimal civilian causalities," Bruce told you. He took a step closer to you and reached for the bandages that crossed your stomach. Faint burn marks that would never fully heal laced your skin. They did as much as they could, but you would be left scarred forever. Just a reminder for Bruce that you nearly died for him.

Before he could touch the material, you had snatched his wrist. Your eyes were still shut when you did the action, but they popped open when you grabbed him. Bruce retracted without saying anything. He nearly complained as you pulled the IV out of your arm and swung your legs off the side of the hospital bed, but remained silent. You were a grown woman, you could decide if you felt healthy or not.  

"Thank you," Bruce found the only way to stop you in your tracks. Your hands gripped the side of the bed and he couldn't tell if it was because you were suddenly dizzy, or shocked by his words. It was both. Your head hung low and you didn't wish to gaze up at him. Memories of the searing pain you felt flooded you and seeing his face was only a reminder of it all.

You knew that taking that blast might of killed you. You knew that the second it hit you that you might not be waking up the next morning. Was it worth it? Saving someone as heartless as Batman? You weren't sure yet. You were alive and breathing, that was going to have to be good enough for now.

"I would be dead without you," he continued. You still didn't move. Bruce went down to his knee. One hand gently on you leg and the other balancing on his own. His touch caused you to flinch, catching him off guard. He felt the need to step away from you, to give you the space that you desired. "I'm sorry."

"I saved a teammate, Bruce," you used his real name. His narrowed slightly; he didn't think you recognized him. You showed no reaction as you saw who he really was, he just assumed you were as oblivious as Hal. "I'd like to think you would do the same but who fucking knows."

"I've dedicated my life to saving people do you really think that I wouldn't do the same for anyone else on the Justice League? For you?" Bruce grit his teeth. He stood up from his spot on the ground and towered above you once more. This sudden coldness that you were giving him was nothing that he expected when you woke up.

You were always so kind to everyone on the team - even him when he pushed you away so many times. After taking the risk of dying for him, he thought that you would be willing to show more kindness. Someone willing to die for another obviously enjoyed their presence . At least he thought so.

"I think that it's been months that we've been working together and it's only when I nearly die for you that you decide to show your face," you scoffed. "Then again why does it matter who's under the mask, you're still the same asshole either way." This time, you jumped off the bed and tried to walk past Bruce.

You never even made it two steps past him before he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. You tried to pull out of his grasp but it was no use, he was far too strong for you. Bruce tugged you back, nearly causing you to trip over your own feet as you did.

"I kept you alive, the least I deserve is a thank you," Bruce's voice lowered. If you were going to be cold to him, then he was going to be the same right back. "But then again, why does it matter? I'm still the same asshole anyways that could have let you die." He let go of your wrist, but his words only frustrated you more.

After taking the bullet for him, you thought he would be more willing to open up to you. To be himself while there was no one else around. It didn't take long to realize that he would never do that, or maybe this was him being himself. You would never know the truth. That was what angered you.

You wanted to argue with him, to yell at him for being such a soulless dick. However, Pain erupted though your entire body. Your knees buckled from below you as you held onto your wound. Bruce had caught you just before you hit the ground. He easily swooped you up and set you back down on the bed.

This time, you didn't argue as he lifted the bandage to see what kind of hell your skin was in underneath. Bruce worked in silence. He dabbed a clean cloth around the wound and sterilized it. The sting of alcohol made you bite your lip to hold back the hiss of pain. With more grace than you ever thought he had, he wrapped you with a new bandage.

As he tried to walk away, you were the one to stop him. You grasped his hand, far more delicately than he had grabbed you. He could easily snap out of your hold if he wanted to, yet he found himself stopping to turn back.

"I'm sorry," you apologized. He was right, Bruce did save your life. "I guess I just expected you to be... different without the mask on. I assumed we all were. Maybe in this life we're always hiding behind some sort of mask, even without realizing it."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Bruce," you stopped him from walking away once more. "I just meant that I'm grateful for you to trust me with your identity. And that you saved me, you understand what it's like to be human under the suit. I know that trust doesn't come easy to you."

A silence fell between you. The intensity of his stare made you feel vulnerable. Cowl on or off, he was still the great Batman. A deadly weapon and a savior to Gotham. You hadn't meant to get upset. He was the last person on the team that you wanted to make angry - even more than Superman.

"Do you wanna get a drink?" Bruce suddenly asked. The corner of his lips tugged up and it was the most that you had seen him smile since that brief first time. You looked down at the over-sized clothes that you wore and then over to his Batsuit. Together, you looked to be quite the pair.

"I hope being a billionaire means you buy good whiskey," you agreed to his offer. Bruce pulled you up off the bed with the hand that had been resting in yours the whole time. You were thankful for his help. The wound you had surely would have taken you down once more if it wasn't for his support.

You stopped several steps in. Bruce looked down at you, worried about your wound. With a second of hesitation, you stood on your toes to kiss the corner of his lips. Your hand rest on his chest as your lips lingered on his skin. Your hand felt as if it was burning a whole through his chest.

He didn't expect this sudden act of affection, but he appreciated it nonetheless.  "If you'd let me, I'd like to get to know the real you - whatever version that may be," you offered. Bruce had trouble opening up to people, but maybe it would be easier with you.

"I'd like that."

[inkdemonapologist]

Some of my doodles for Session Six of our Call of Cthulhu game!! We finally got back up with that potion-maker from Last Loop and tried to explain EVERYTHING to her, since she’s the one who seemed the most ready to believe us last time (Also, we saw her voluntarily possessed by a spirit at one point, so it seemed like it would be a good starting point to explain some of our problems).

This went.... chaotically, as there are 0 tells for who’s talking and everyone was very insistent on contributing to the conversation. The alive versions of Sammy and Joey mostly stayed out of this mess.

ALSO!! WE’VE PICKED UP SOME NEW INSANITIES! Henry has a mania that compels him to draw/document everything he learns (in case we lose memories or loop again), Sammy still has the mask thing, Joey’s picked up an obsession with symmetry after witnessing his body horrifically transformed by a corruption across half of it, and Sammy, after seeing the Star Pool lurker’s indescribably horrible non-ink-demon form, is filled with a terrified respect for it and has become strangely deferential. I DID NOT EXPECT SAMMY’S SANITY DROPS TO LINE UP SO PERFECTLY FOR CANON PROBLEMS, 

Anyway, have some more out-of-context quotes!! Some of these are just conversation because imagining people trying to hold a conversation with three different voices coming out of “Henry” is my favourite thing now.

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] *summarising* (So we're gonna run by Josephine and see if she has anything that maybe we should know, uh, based on our current predicament, which has gotten even more complicated than the previous time we talked to her, which hasn't happened yet!)

[Alive!Sammy] Is something wrong? [Henry] No! No, everything's fine. Let's go. [Alive!Joey] ...I don't think anything's been RIGHT for a while...

[Sammy] (Are we, as a, uh, unit -- do we have the mask on?)

[Ghost!Joey] There's... three of us in here? [Ghost!Sammy] Sure, that's a normal thing to say!

[GM] Josephine looks like she is trying to figure out what to say, but she is having... trouble. [Ghost!Joey] Have you ever had someone... hang out with you... during the festival? Like, kind of, possession? [GM] She raises an eyebrow, but nods, and says "Yes, that's part of my duty, as a leader of this religion." [Ghost!Sammy] Fantastic. That seems to be happening to us. [Ghost!Joey] We're not, exactly sure how we managed to get... in the past again... but we're -- *points with Henry's non-sketching hand over at the live ones* [Joey] Live!Joey just confusedly shrugs and sips his coffee. [GM] "...Uh, go back a minute."

[GM] "And you don't know how this happened?" [ghost!Joey] Not exactly? I -- [Henry] Sammy fell into a Star Pool, and Joey got killed, or, was a host for the cultists. [ghost!Joey] I don't know if I got killed, but, [Henry] Well, you looked goopy. [ghost!Sammy] I don't know what was going on with me, either; I still seemed to be running around. [Henry] Also very goopy.

[ghost!Joey] So, that's a confusing answer! Um. Let's pretend *points at alive!Joey* that he didn't listen to you, and he went up to the Star Pools anyway, without the potion, and then something happened up there that resulted in whatever is happening to us now, which included us losing our memories and waking up later as the same... entity, but we didn't know for a while, and.... uh... it looks like the last time we saw our bodies that weren't alive and human still, they looked... corrupted by the Star Pools. [ghost!Joey] Do you know what might've happened to cause all that? [GM] "...I think there's a lot to unpack there," she says.

[GM] And, indeed, one of them has turned up a pair of gloves! It's somewhat worn, but they don't have holes or anything. Though they might not match your ensemble. [Joey] As long as they match each other, that's fine! [GM] They do that. [Sammy] (I mean, Henry has-- not to rag on Henry's fashion sense, as a man who's worn nothing but the same shirt and suspenders for twenty years, but Henry doesn't have much of an ensemble going on, really.)

[chatting while Joey's player steps away for a moment] [Sammy] Sorry for making you guys deal with Alive!Sammy; Ghost!Sammy genuinely doesn't know how to argue for this. [Sammy] It's like, yeah I dunno! Sounds like a raw deal! [Henry] Henry also doesn't know how to argue for this, it's like, Hey! Do you want a whole bunch of awful, horrible, terrible memories? ....No? Oh. [Sammy] CANT IMAGINE WHY!! [Sammy] Like, please? I'd like my body back? ...it's your body, we'd be sharing it-- but not like this situation, uh, [Henry] Just please, take... I have... take Sammy back. [Sammy] Could you take this off of my hands, I'm really tired of dealing with it, [Henry] I love 'im. But I need a break. Please come take your lost.... self. [GM] Your wayward self. [Henry] Who's this sassy lost child. [Joey] *re-entering chat* Ah, we're talking about Sammy. [Sammy] OH MY GOSH.

[Henry] I ROLLED A ONE HUNDRED! [Sammy] Henry is VERY tired and distracted. [GM] Henry's sketching again. He was left unattended for a bit and he's sketching again. [Henry] Yup, [Sammy] *sputters* HE CAN'T BE LEFT UNATTENDED, WE'RE BOTH HERE [Joey] HE LITERALLY CAN'T!! [Sammy] THAT'S THE WHOLE PROBLEM!! SAMMY WOULD LOVE TO LEAVE HENRY UNATTENDED!!!

[Sammy] Is the voice familiar? [Joey]  Is it the Lurker's? [GM] A bit...? [Henry] A bit familiar or a bit like the Lurker's? [GM] ...Yes.

[ghost!Sammy] Joey, what do you think it was? [ghost!Joey] I think it has something to do with our situation, and perhaps the fact that-- [ghost!Sammy] "OUR SITUATION" doesn't really clear anything up, that could be a LOT of things right now!

[Sammy] Sammy doesn't want to be back in the actual time we belong in! He's dead in that one!

[Sammy]  I guess it's also Alive!Sammy's turn. I don't, uh, [Sammy]  ...there's too many Sammys, [Joey] (Alive!Sammy just goes WHAT THE FUCK) [Sammy]  Yeah, I don't think he's prepared, when he turns the corner, to find cultists with swords, and Henry immediately drawing a gun and screaming at them; I don't think he's prepared for any of this, or has a game plan for what to do in case this happens, other than just, yelling, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” [GM] at Henry, or the cultists? [Sammy]  ....BOTH????

[Joey] Does Joey know of any way to interrupt magic? [GM] Injuring someone is a good, classic way to do that.

[GM] So, you can do an attack, whether it's with the gun or with your fists! [Sammy] *flipping through character sheet* I mean, I feel like I'm probably not just shooting him, I-- wHEN DID YOU ADD "DUSTPAN" TO MY WEAPONS???

[Sammy] The idea of Joey just continuously accidentally killing people is REALLY funny to me.

[Sammy] This is going MUCH better than the last time that we fought anybody! [Joey] Apparently Joey just needs to be really angry, and then my dice are like, “yeah, you can kill people.”

[GM] *flipping through the rules* Here we go, "Disrupted spellcasting, for example, if they are shot!" Well, okay then-- [GM] ......ohhh. [Sammy]  Uh, [Henry] "Oh?" [GM] HM! ........ let me get a d8. [Henry] Concern...???? [Sammy]  It's probably fine. It's... it's probably fine. [GM] ........ [GM] Uh..... huh. Well. That's an 8. [Sammy]  On the d8. [GM] Yyyeah,..... you disrupted his, casting,,, it's not a serious spell so most of this stuff is not extreme, but I rolled an 8, and that says, [GM] "A mythos monster is accidentally summoned." [Sammy]  WHAT?? [Henry] WHAT??? [Sammy] WHAT???? [Joey] *dying of laughter in the background* [Sammy]  I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WAS AN OPTION??? OKAY!!! [GM] I didn't think it was, at this level of spell!! [Sammy]  Remember when I said that this was going well? I NEED TO STOP SAYING THINGS.

[Joey] How is Sammy putting on the mask? [Sammy] With his.... hands...? [Joey] No, like, how is it laying on his head, [Sammy] OH.

[Joey] Ghost!Joey would like to turn it so it's like, in the middle of his head. But like, on forehead, so that they can still see. [Henry]  (A fancy visor!) [Sammy] (...you can still see if it’s on the side...) [Joey] (Joey would really like it if we, put it in the middle.) [Sammy] (...I FORGOT YOU HAVE A SYMMETRY THING)

[GM] You felt, when Sammy and the cult leader were both giving the Lurker commands, that there was a kind of tug-of-war going on there, and it seems like the cult leader won that round. [Henry]  Wait, we can give the Lurker commands? [Joey] We're allies. [Sammy] Yeah, we're the host. [Henry]  Oh, um, [Sammy] Sammy asked it for help! It didn't, uh... this is how things always go for Sammy, so, I feel like this is correct.

[Sammy] (...Henry pulls out a gun, someone tries to grab him and he just bashes that person over the head, Joey tries to help by shooting this cult leader to stop him from casting a spell, and this horrible weird bendy monster is unleashed, Henry IMMEDIATELY kneels to this creature, and it starts listening to him, and he grabs the amulet and starts directing it to murder people after pulling the mask down over his face, so, yeah!! I can see that being pRETTY UNSETTLING actually!!)

[Joey] And I've already accidentally summoned a demon, somehow! [GM] This is just how Joey rolls, he just aCCIDENTALLY SUMMONS DEMONS, apparently! Even when OTHER PEOPLE are casting spells, Joey finds a way to accidentally summon a demon!

[Sammy] We do need those; those ARE our bodies running away,

[Lurker, when asked if he can shapeshift] It depends on the host! I didn't do this. It's pretty awesome, though! I feel like this is actually something that was designed to be this way, for the first time I can remember! Deliberate, you know what I mean? [Henry] “Yeah!” Henry says, not knowing what he means.

[Sammy] We're very focused on getting out of here. [Henry] We're channeling Wally Franks! [Sammy] NO! Don't channel Wally Franks! He didn't get outta there he just YELLED ABOUT IT, which is what WE'RE DOING RIGHT NOW!! LET'S ACTUALLY GET OUTTA HERE!

[GM] You guys go around a corner that at least obscures you from immediate sight, though it's good the Lurker is as, uh...... [GM] ........ [GM] ........ [GM] ...uh, for lack of a better word, bendy as he is, [players explode with laughter] [GM] I TRIED, I couldn't think of anything else! [Sammy] NO I SAW THE GEARS TURNING IN YOUR HEAD

[GM] You have a small Bendy. [GM] He's blinking. [Henry] Henry is.... is having, a moment,

[Sammy] We're honoured you're joining us, but we really should get moving?

[Henry] Just let him ride on his shoulders like a kid, that'd be adorable! [Henry] Henry's having SO many emotions right now. He wants to be respectful, but also, oh my god, that's so cute?? and also my OC???? Oh my god??????

[GM] I don't think the Lurker is familiar with the concept of piggyback rides. I mean if he's asked I'm sure he's down for whatever, but, [Henry] Henry's gonna ask the Lurker if he wants to climb on his shoulders and ride. [GM] The Lurker thinks this is a FANTASTIC idea, because nobody has ever carried the Lurker around before!

[Alive!Sammy] Sammy's very pale. [Alive!Joey] You have a... Bendy now, Henry...? [Henry] Uh, kinda! This is the Lurker. [Alive!Joey] “The Lurker”? [Henry] The giant monster? He's... small now, so he's not a giant monster.

[Alive!Sammy] Henry WHAT is going on? Or, whoever you are right now, [Henry] It is me; look, I've been letting the others talk because I have no idea what's going on. I don't know... I just want to get everyone out of here alive. [GM] (What a Henry thing to say) [Alive!Sammy] *snarking* Well, we're alive SO far! Maybe don't run at people with swords, in the future? Might help with that. [Henry] That was Sammy. That wasn't me. [Joey] (*laughing* "By the way, that thing you were lecturing me about? That wasn't me, THAT WAS YOU!")

[GM] The Lurker settles down when it is clear that the hug is not a threat.

[Henry] (I AM LOSING IT! I hope you know what you've done to me!) [GM] (I was not expecting this either but here we are!!) [Henry] (Maybe it was my idea. I can't believe I've done this.)

[Joey] Alive!Joey at some point shows Bendy how to hold the pencil. [GM] He says "Oh, hey, neat!" and has an easier time. [Henry] Oh my god, cute? [Sammy] (*losing it in the background*) [Joey] I was just thinking that if he's sitting next to Henry, and he watches the Lurker fumble with the pencil enough, he's going to just, reach up and-- [Sammy] (I LOST NINE SANITY TO THIS ASSHOLE!!!) [Henry] (But he's so cute!) [Joey] (Well now he's cute, maybe you get some sanity back!) [Henry] (Like petting a cat! You get sanity back from petting the Bendy.) [Sammy] (Yes, he is adorable, I will serve him faithfully.)

[GM] Make a navigate check. [Joey] *rolls terribly* Joey doesn't know where the fuck we're going. [Henry] I missed the navigate check too. [Sammy] Ohhhh boy, we better not get lost... [Joey] Sammy, do you remember where we're going? [Sammy] Oh, don't ask Sammy. Don't ask either Sammy. [Sammy] Alive!Sammy will eventually ask "You DO know where we're going, right?" [GM] You guys..... uh, get lost! Well, let me check one thing. [GM] *rolls* [GM] ... THE LURKER, APPARENTLY, CAN GET YOU BACK TO WHERE HE APPEARED,

[GM] What a useful pocket demon. [Henry] I love our pocket demon. [Joey] I love our son... [Sammy] Joey, [Joey] Firstborn... [Henry] Adopted from a cult! [Joey] We went to Haiti and adopted a son. [Sammy] Sammy's role as third wheel here is getting weirder and weirder.

[Sammy] I can't believe Binoculars is a Bendy fan.

[Joey] (Meanwhile, Ghost!Joey remembers something? There is an inscription on the floor between the laundry room, and Josephine's room, that does not allow the passage of evil spirits. I... don't think the Lurker is going to make it past that.) [Henry] (Ohhhhhhhhh) [Sammy] (Hmm. Also... BRINGING THE LURKER in to see Josephine feels, hostile???) [Henry] (OH... I didn't think about that; he's just my kid now!)

[Joey] (I have literally no idea for Joey.) [Sammy] (Gosh, what a thing to ask... I just have to appreciate, what a thing to ask a Type Three -- "Okay, what's YOU?") [Joey] (Joey looks down at the mask, feeling all of his inner masks,,,) [Sammy] ("I'M COMPOSED OF THINGS THAT MAKE OTHER PEOPLE THINK IM SUCCESSFUL,,,")

[Ghost!Sammy] After you. [Ghost!Joey] Actually, I would feel more comfortable if you went first, [Ghost!Sammy] ...Fine. Fantastic. [Joey] (This is-- I don't know if Sammy can feel it, but this is definitely out of, still thinking about the slight guilt that ran through him when Sammy was blaming EVERYTHING on him, and telling him to keep them out of this,) [Sammy] (I mean, Sammy just thinks this is risky and wanted Joey to be the guinea pig, so, that's nice that you were thinking of him!)

[Sammy] A quick kiss won't be enough time for Sammy to like, stop bluescreening in time to react to this? So, um, uh, he- he just, uh, needs, uh, a- a minute, but he, will be, blushing furiously. I think that's the only reaction! [Joey] Perfect~ [GM] The spirit lady probably flashes him a thumbs up. [Joey] *laughing* Sammy DIES. We did all of this to get him alive again, and he just DIES. [Sammy] SLAIN INSTANTLY.

[gingersnapwolves]

The Untamed, a brief summary [part 6/6]

Part One: Sword Wizard School

Part Two:  The Search for the Yin Iron and the World’s Worst Summer Camp

Part Three: The Fall of Lotus Pier and the Sunshot Campaign

Part Four: The Downward Spiral

Part Five: Mo Manor, Hungry Sabers, and Yi City

Part Six: The Hidden Room, Burial Mounds Redux, and Guanyin Temple

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Lan Xichen roll up to Koi Tower. Jiang Cheng is already there and decides to make it awkward for everyone by asking the Lans to introduce the masked Wei Wuxian, even though a) he knows or is at least pretty damn sure it’s Wei Wuxian, b) he knows that they know it’s Wei Wuxian, and c) he doesn’t know if they know that he knows. Thanks for making me type that sentence, Jiang Cheng.

ENTER A WOMAN WHO SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN A BETTER PRE-NUP

Jin Guangyao comes out. He still has a great smile and he and Lan Xichen are still cute together. But it gets really awkward because, if you’ll remember (and I don’t blame you if you don’t), Wei Wuxian is pretending to be Mo Xuanyu, who is Jin Guangyao’s half-brother who got thrown out of Koi Tower for bad behavior. How bad? Well, apparently Mo Xuanyu had a habit of harassing Jin Guangyao’s wife, Qin Su. Whoops.

Of course, it’s difficult to say whether or not Mo Xuanyu actually did this, since all we have to go on is what people say about him, and ‘maybe don’t believe every rumor you hear’ is like the main thesis of this show.

 Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Nie Huaisang shows up too, and throws himself at Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen because “the old problems are solved, but new problems have arrived!” He is a drunk mess and it’s a little embarrassing for everyone.

 Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Ling is being bullied. Wei Wuxian tells him that he should beat the bullies up, because once you’re an adult you can’t just beat people up anymore and it sucks. He teaches Jin Ling some moves and they have some nice nephew-uncle bonding time, even if Wei Wuxian is pretending to be a different uncle from the one he actually is.

 Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian uses a little paper man talisman spell to sneak into Jin Guangyao’s rooms. His wife is there and she’s upset about a letter she got. Jin Guangyao comes in and they argue about it. She keeps asking if what’s in it is true, and what happened to their son. He keeps asking her who wrote the letter and saying whoever it was only trying to upset her. When she won’t back down or answer his question, he burns the letter and then puts some sort of trance spell on her. Then he takes her into a hidden room behind a mirror.

The room is full of all sorts of treasure, including Wei Wuxian’s old sword, and more important, Nie Mingjue’s head. Yeah, just his head, with blinders over its eyes and everything. It’s weird. Wei Wuxian does a spell called Empathy to communicate with the dead guy.

  Int, Nie Mingjue’s mind [currently Lanling]

We see flashbacks to him first meeting and promoting Meng Yao, who was getting bullied by the other soldiers, then to the day he exiled Meng Yao (with slight differences from the way it was presented earlier because unreliable narration is fun). We see them argue a few times over the years, then see Jin Guangyao playing music for Nie Mingjue (ostensibly to keep him from qi deviation). They get into a big fight, Nie Mingjue throws Jin Guangyao down the steps of Koi Tower, but then his brain basically explodes. Jin Guangyao looks pretty satisfied with how things are turning out but then Nie Huaisang runs up, shouting for his brother, and Jin Guangyao switches to looking super worried instead. He keeps Nie Huaisang from running to his brother, saying he won’t recognize him. Then Nie Mingjue is held down in the treasure room we’re currently in, still alive and fighting qi deviation, and Jin Guangyao tells Xue Yang to kill him (with Baxia, which Xue Yang is holding), which he does.

  Int, the hidden room [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian separates his mind from Nie Mingjue’s and says ‘well that was fucked up’.

Jin Guangyao notices the little paper man and starts trying to catch it, or stab it. Wei Wuxian manages to use the paper man to manipulate his own former sword, which is very cool, and get away.

Jin Guangyao is like ‘gee, who could that have been, using Wei Wuxian’s paper man talisman to wield Wei Wuxian’s sword?’

  Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji about all the fucked up stuff he just witnessed. They go to force their way into the hidden chamber. Lan Xichen catches up with them on the way. A bunch of Jin disciples try to stop them, including Jin Ling. Lan Xichen asks Jin Guangyao to let them in if he has nothing to hide. Jin Guangyao tries to demur, but Lan Xichen insists. With so many witnesses, he’s left with no choice.

  Int, the hidden room [Lanling]

Nie Mingjue’s head is gone, but Qin Su is still there. Wei Wuxian goes over to try to talk to her, and Su She (remember this guy? Betrayed the Lan sect way back when, made friends with Jin Guangyao afterwards) says that ‘Mo Xuanyu’ just wanted to harass Qin Su some more. While Jin Guangyao is showing off a knife that’s part of his treasure, Qin Su grabs it and uses it to kill herself.

Everyone is super fucked up about this. (Don’t forget, Jin Ling is there! This 16 year old is having a Time of it.) Lan Xichen is like ‘holy shit my best friend’s wife just killed herself in front of me’ and Wei Wuxian basically blue-screens trying to figure out if she did that to herself because of whatever was in the letter, or if Jin Guangyao somehow coerced her to do it with the trance spell. (Unclear! Draw what conclusions you will.)

Jin Guangyao, who is either really upset or the world’s best actor (or both) asks them why they demanded to come into the treasure hall and what the fuck is going on. People outside, who have heard the commotion, come running in, including Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng (who looks at Wei Wuxian like ‘I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and now there’s a dead woman’).

Lan Xichen explains about the sword spirit and the body in Yi City and how they were looking for Nie Mingjue’s head. Jin Guangyao asks ‘did you really think I had our sworn brother’s head in my treasure room?’ Lan Xichen looks at his best friend cradling his dead wife that yes, he was in fact about to accuse of such a thing, and looks like he’s going to be physically ill. (Lan Wangji, however, is staring Jin Guangyao down like ‘listen up you lying asshole’ and Wei Wuxian is just impressed he’s found someone who’s even more shameless about crime than he is.)

Jin Guangyao takes the opportunity to blame ‘Mo Xuanyu’ for everything. He pulls his sword on Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji steps between them. Wei Wuxian tries to de-escalate things but it doesn’t work for shit because Su She attacks him, and he grabs his old sword off the display to protect himself. This is a Big Deal because the sword sealed itself when he died, so nobody except Wei Wuxian would be able to draw it. Oops. (Wei Wuxian has a sad moment with his sword for being so loyal, even though he was unable to use it for years before his death, since he had no golden core.) Then they run outside because fuck this shit.

  Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Guangyao reassures Jin Ling that it’s not his fault he got tricked by Wei Wuxian, because Wei Wuxian is so evil and everything. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji try to get away but get surrounded. Jin Guangyao again calls Wei Wuxian out on being Wei Wuxian, so he takes off his mask. Everyone acts shocked even though 90% of the characters already knew this.

The Jin cultivators surround him. Wei Wuxian pushes Lan Wangji away and says to tell them that he didn’t know who Wei Wuxian was and that he was tricked by him. Lan Wangji refuses, immediately telling everyone he knew damn well that Wei Wuxian was Wei Wuxian and what the fuck are they gonna do about it? Wei Wuxian still tries to get him to leave, and Lan Wangji runs up to the line of what the Chinese censors will allow in terms of declarations of devotion between two men and plays gay chicken with it. He and Wei Wuxian smile at each other. Jin Guangyao has a ‘really? Right in front of my salad?’ look on his face.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji fight off the Jin guys but then Jin Ling stabs Wei Wuxian in the stomach. It sucks for everybody. Lan Wangji grabs him and they run away.

 Int, Cloud Recesses [Gusu]

Lan Wangji has taken Wei Wuxian back here to heal. Lan Xichen is there, too, and says that it was with his permission. But he’s clearly pretty upset about what happened at Koi Tower, since he’s the one who forced Jin Guangyao to open the treasure room on Wei Wuxian’s word, and now he kind of looks like an asshole. He and Lan Wangji come as close to a fight as they’re capable of getting in. Lan Wangji thinks Lan Xichen should believe Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen points out that he’s known Jin Guangyao for nearly 20 years at this point and he trusts him. Since neither of them saw Nie Mingjue’s head with their own eyes, they cannot know which of the two (Wei Wuxian or Jin Guangyao) is lying. It’s frustrating, but Lan Xichen has good reason to be wary, considering that witch hunts are what led to everything that happened to Wei Wuxian in the first place. In fact, Wei Wuxian is much less upset about it than Lan Wangji.

He tells Lan Xichen what he saw while using Empathy, and plays the Song of Clarity (the qi-deviation prevention music that Jin Guangyao was playing in the memories). Lan Xichen said he played it wrong and Wei Wuxian said he played it exactly as he heard it in the memory. They realize Jin Guangyao altered the song to cause qi deviation instead of prevent it. Lan Xichen still finds this pretty hard to believe, but he says he’ll test the version Wei Wuxian heard on himself and see what happens.

Lan Xichen walks Wei Wuxian back to where he’s been stashed, and Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to ask him why Lan Wangji has so many whip scars. Lan Xichen explains that after Wei Wuxian died, Lan Wangji flipped his shit a bit and prevented all the other sects from sacking Wei Wuxian’s cave of neat stuff. It’s a bit vague but you get the impression he might have beaten up some important people. So Lan Qiren punished him with a whipping and three years of seclusion in the back hills of Cloud Recesses. Then they show him being beaten because sometimes this show’s continuity is not great.

(Lan Xichen is like ‘hey, you know my brother’s in love with you, right? I mean, only an idiot could not know that. But you really seem to be an idiot. Let me tell you a story about how our mother killed a guy and our father insisted on protecting her anyway. Please use your lone brain cell to connect the dots.’)

Lan Wangji comes back with booze for Wei Wuxian. They talk a bit about Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji asks if they should tell him about the second flute. He talked to Wen Ning, who told him that he heard two flutes playing at Qiongqi Way. Wei Wuxian says he wanted to know at first, but now he’s not sure it matters. No matter what, people will always say he’s evil, but at least Lan Wangji still believes in him. He says to Lan Wangji ‘I’m sorry, and thank you’.

  Int, Cloud Recesses [Gusu]

Jin Guangyao has turned up, and says he definitely believes Lan Xichen that Wei Wuxian isn’t there, but maybe they could take a look anyway, to reassure the other clans? Lan Xichen doesn’t even dignify it. Then Jin Guangyao says that they’re all going to band together and do a siege on the Burial Mounds because strange things have been happening there, fierce corpses are roaming, and obviously Wei Wuxian is there and up to no good. Obviously Lan Xichen knows that this is not true since Wei Wuxian has been convalescing at Cloud Recesses. He is fucked up by the fact that Jin Guangyao is lying straight to his face and he really can’t deny it. Jin Guangyao leaves, and Lan Xichen says he’s going to go to Koi Tower, while Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian plan to go to the Burial Mounds.

  Ext, some random cabin [somewhere]

They meet up with Mianmian. She’s got a husband and a daughter and is a badass rogue cultivator. There’s really no point to this scene but it’s nice to see that at least one female character got a happy ending.

Then they meet up with Wen Ning, who’s been trying to scare people away from the area so they don’t encounter the fierce corpses that Jin Guangyao has raised with the yin iron (to make people think Wei Wuxian was doing it). They head to the Burial Mounds together.

  Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian and company find all the juniors tied up in the cave, and they say they were abducted but they’re not sure who was behind it. Then an absolute fuckton of cultivators show up, including Jiang Cheng, Lan Qiren, Su She, and Nie Huaisang (who says he’s just there to make up the numbers). They’re all shouting about how they want Wei Wuxian dead for all the crime he committed last time around. Jin Guangyao’s not there because ‘someone tried to assassinate him’ that morning, and Lan Xichen is tending to his injuries. Wei Wuxian looks extremely skeptical.

Then they get attacked by fierce corpses. The gathered cultivators realize that they’ve all had their spiritual power leached away by ill-gotten means. Ruh-roh! They all end up hiding in the cave.

  Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian sits everyone down for an Agatha Christie reveal. He deduces that Su She is the one who took away their spiritual power, by playing malicious music on their way up the mountain. Su She denies it but Wei Wuxian tricks him into revealing that his own power is still intact.

Su She ruins the protection seal and then uses the teleportation talisman and bounces. Wen Ning tries to fight off the horde with some help from the juniors, who still have their spiritual power, but there are too many. Wei Wuxian paints a lure flag on himself and uses himself as bait, with Lan Wangji killing the fierce corpses, so the others can escape. When he catches up, he half-collapses into Lan Sizhui’s arms and Lan Sizhui is really worried about him. It’s cute. Wen Ning looks at Lan Sizhui and realizes he’s actually Wen Yuan.

  Ext, some docks [Yunmeng]

They’re heading back to Lotus Pier to figure out what to do. Wen Ning comes over to talk to Lan Sizhui. The juniors are scared of him but decide he seems harmless enough, and he did just help them fight the horde, after all. He tells Lan Sizhui that he looks like a cousin of his.

The parents tell their kids to stop associating with evil, and the kids tell their parents to get a grip, and it’s beautiful.

  Ext, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Jiang Cheng won’t allow Wei Wuxian in, so he and Lan Wangji hang out on the steps. Wen Ning tells Lan Sizhui stories about the little boy that Wei Wuxian used to plant in the dirt.

  Int, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Some mysterious ladies show up. Jiang Cheng talks to them for a while and then gathers everybody together (although he still makes Wei Wuxian basically stand in the doorway).

Mysterious lady A is a prostitute who was there when Jin Guangshan died. Basically Jin Guangyao had his father fucked to death. It’s gross, although to be fair, couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Then all the prostitutes except her were murdered. (Why she was spared is actually never explained in the show. It’s because she was friends with Jin Guangyao’s mother and was nice to him when he was a kid.)

Mysterious lady B is a maid who worked for Qin Su’s mother. She tells everyone that she wrote the letter to Qin Su, telling her that her mother had a secret. Qin Su is not the daughter of the man she always thought, but was actually conceived during an act of rape by Jin Guangshan. She and Jin Guangyao were half-siblings. It’s strongly implied (although never outright stated if I recall correctly) that their son had some developmental delays because of this and Jin Guangyao had him killed so nobody would find out. He then blamed his son’s death on a sect that was opposing him on some political stuff and wiped them out.

Everyone is Big Time Shook over all this news. They immediately begin calling for Jin Guangyao’s head.

Wei Wuxian is frankly disgusted. Because sure, he thinks Jin Guangyao’s evil and everything, but it’s sickening to him how quickly everyone turns against him, just based on a few rumors – so much like what happened to him. He wants to know where the ladies came from, and why they came forward after so much time has gone by. But in the end he acknowledges that the gathered cultivators being against Jin Guangyao helps him, and he can’t convince them of anything anyway, so whatever.

They go to the ancestral shrine so he can pay his respects to his parents. Jiang Cheng finds him there and picks a big fight. It’s really painful for everyone. After the first couple minutes, Wei Wuxian tries to leave but Jiang Cheng won’t let him go. Wei Wuxian ends up passing out. Lan Wangji tries to leave with him but Jiang Cheng is using the lightning whip to try to stop them.

Wen Ning shows up and he’s pissed. He tells Jiang Cheng the truth about his golden core, in basically the meanest way possible, directly targeting his insecurities with dead accuracy. It’s fucking brutal. Was Jiang Cheng being a dick? Yes. Did he deserve everything that Wen Ning said to him in this scene? Not really, given that it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. (Does Wen Ning have a right to be pissed at Jiang Cheng on general principle because Jiang Cheng didn’t help him and his family back then? Now we’re getting into the reams of meta that are written about this show.)

Anyway, in telling Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji finally finds out, too. He’s clearly horrified to find out that Wei Wuxian went through something so awful and he didn’t even know. He picks Wei Wuxian up and they leave.

  Ext, a boat [Yunmeng]

Wen Ning gives Lan Wangji the details about the golden core swap. Lan Wangji looks like he wants to cry for an hour. I feel you, Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian wakes up and tells Lan Wangji not to be mad at Jiang Cheng, he’s just a jerk sometimes. He wants to pick lotus seeds but Lan Wangji reminds him that the lake they’re on belongs to someone and so the lotus seeds are private property. Then he picks some and gives them to Wei Wuxian anyway. It’s super romantic. Wen Ning pretends he’s not the world’s thirdest wheel.

  Ext, Yunping City [Yunmeng]

So while Wei Wuxian was in the hidden room, he saw a deed for a temple in this city. They figure it has to be important since it was in Jin Guangyao’s safe, so they go to check it out. It has a weird vibe.

  Ext, Guanyin Temple [Yunmeng]

Literally so much happens in this scene you guys. It’s almost 4 entire episodes long. Let me try to sum up as quickly as possible.

First of all, the show never actually bothers to explain why Jin Guangyao is even here. It’s actually because this is where his mother is buried (and he had the temple built just for that). He’s planning to go on the run because the jig is obviously up, and wants to bring her remains with him. He also wants to get one last date with Lan Xichen in, possibly apologize for ruining everything, et c. Lan Xichen was with him in Koi Tower, and Jin Guangyao tricked him and sealed his spiritual power, then carted him off to the temple. Romance!

Anyway Jin Guangyao doesn’t get that date because literally everybody in the damn story shows up. First Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, for obvious reasons. He has Lan Xichen as a hostage so it’s pretty easy to catch them. Then Jin Ling shows up. Then Su She shows up, which is less problematic since he’s a henchman, but he brought Nie Huaisang with him because he found him passed out in a gutter or something. Jin Guangyao can’t just kill Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang because he still has feelings I guess.

Then Jiang Cheng shows up! He makes a grand entrance and then promptly gets his ass kicked. This is partly because Jin Guangyao tells Wei Wuxian that Jiang Cheng found out about the golden core thing, which upsets him. Lan Xichen tells everybody not to let Jin Guangyao talk because he’ll manipulate you and get the better of you. Everyone proceeds to let Jin Guangyao talk for the next forty-five minutes.

At some point during all this they confirm that yes, Jin Guangyao sent Jin Zixuan to Qiongqi  Way to get him killed, and that Su She was his accomplice playing the evil music. Su She is also the one who cursed Jin Zixun. Jin Guangyao’s basically like “whatever, I said what I said”.

They finally get the coffin dug up, but instead of Jin Guangyao’s mother, Nie Mingjue’s body, complete with head, is inside. Jin Guangyao has no idea how he got there and he freaks out, which seems reasonable.

Wei Wuxian points out that while Jin Guangyao has been so impressed with himself and neatly manipulated everyone around him, someone has been pulling his strings as well. He points out the letter sent to Qin Su, the emergence of the mysterious ladies at Lotus Pier, the release of the sword spirit at Mo Manor, even his own resurrection. Jin Guangyao freaks out more.

At this point they’ve dicked around long enough for Lan Xichen’s spiritual power to come back. He puts his sword at Jin Guangyao’s throat. Jin Guangyao makes sad ‘you don’t like me anymore?’ eyes at Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen responds ‘dude, you killed, like, everybody’. Jin Guangyao admits that this is a fair rebuttal, but begs his forgiveness and pity anyway. Lan Xichen seems to forget that he literally just told everyone not to let Jin Guangyao talk because he’ll manipulate you.

Then Wen Ning shows up, and he’s been possessed by the sword spirit. He chops Jin Guangyao’s arm off. Ouch. Then he attacks Jin Ling, because the sword is just pissed off about everything, which seems fair. Wen Ning manages to fight off the possession and not kill Jin Ling, so good for him. Wei Wuxian gets the sword suppressed using his awesome mojo.

Lan Sizhui shows up at some point. I really don’t remember why the hell he’s there. Late night field trip?

Nie Huaisang screams that Su She attacked him, and his leg is bleeding. The sword springs right back to angry spiritude and murders Su She. Wei Wuxian is like “wtf I just put you to bed” and has to do it again.

Lan Xichen patches Nie Huaisang up. Everyone else sits around thinking about how truly fucked up the last 2 hours have been, especially Jin Ling, who is really having trouble with realizing one of his uncles was evil and not the one he thought. He is going through it. Meanwhile Jin Guangyao is kind of slumped against a pillar behind Lan Xichen because somehow he is not dead after losing an arm, which seems kind of whack when you consider what killed some of our other characters.

Then Nie Huaisang shouts, “behind you!” and Lan Xichen, assuming that Jin Guangyao is about to attack him, whips around and stabs him through the chest. Double ouch. Jin Guangyao is, understandably, upset at being run through. Nie Huaisang says he had a knife but Jin Guangyao calls bullshit (yes, while being run through, I don’t even know), saying even though he’s done tons of terrible things, he never once hurt Lan Xichen. Meanwhile Lan Xichen is having a complete mental breakdown, standing there with his sword in Jin Guangyao’s chest. Jin Guangyao realizes that Nie Huaisang is the one who orchestrated all this, in revenge after Jin Guangyao killed his brother. Also the angry spirits are back. A lot is happening. The temple starts to collapse. Jin Guangyao asks Lan Xichen to die with him, and it looks like Lan Xichen is going to do so, but then Jin Guangyao pushes him clear at the last second. Lan Wangji grabs him and gets him out of the temple before it collapses.

  Ext, Guanyin Temple [Yunmeng]

Everyone is injured and in various states of shell shock. A ton of people show up and start fussing. Wei Wuxian reveals that the last curse mark from Mo Xuanyu is gone, indicating that Jin Guangyao was the last person Mo Xuanyu was holding a grudge against. (Presumably for throwing him out of the Jin sect and back to his abusive family, which Jin Guangyao presumably did because Mo Xuanyu found out about Qin Su’s parentage, which presumably Nie Huaisang told him. I know, it’s a lot of presuming. I’m trying not to be biased and pass judgment lol.)

Lan Xichen asks Nie Huaisang if Jin Guangyao really had a knife. Nie Huaisang prevaricates rather than answering.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are leaving. Jin Ling asks Jiang Cheng if he doesn’t want to talk to Wei Wuxian before he leaves. Jiang Cheng says everyone is going back to where they belong. He flashes back to just after his parents were killed, when he vanished from the inn, and we see him realize Wei Wuxian was about to get caught and lure the soldiers away. All this time we thought he just wandered off and got captured like an asshole, but no, he was saving Wei Wuxian and never told anybody. In the present, he says ‘take care’ to himself as Wei Wuxian leaves. Five thousand ‘Yunmeng bros reconciliation’ fics spring into existence.

  Ext, the forest [presumably still Yunmeng]

Lan Sizhui approaches Wei Wuxian and tells him what little he’s remembered about his childhood, and that he’s realized his family name used to be Wen. Wei Wuxian realizes that he’s Wen Yuan, and that Lan Wangji saved him back then. It’s super touching and I happy cried, like, so much.

  Ext, Cloud Recesses [Gusu]

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are standing around by the waterfall acting married. Lan Wangji is chief cultivator now. Wei Wuxian has finally figured out how Lan Wangji recognized him even though he was wearing a mask when they first met up again – it’s because the song he was playing is the same song that Lan Wangji sang to him in the cave of the murder turtle. Lan Wangji actually wrote that song just for him and has never played it for anybody else.

Nie Huaisang comes for a visit. Wei Wuxian asks him if he wants to be chief cultivator. Nie Huaisang tells them that no, he was really only in it for the revenge. It’s awkward, especially given all the morally questionable choices Nie Huaisang made while on his revenge quest and the fact that Lan Xichen is super fucked up about everything, but we all hope that they’ll eventually work it out. Or at least I hope that. Your mileage may vary.

  Ext, a mountain [the world]

Wei Wuxian goes off to wander for a little while. The show really makes us think that it’ll end with the two of them splitting up, but then at the very last second they meet again. We all collapse into sobbing, emotional heaps.

 ~end of part 6~

Characters/naming notes, as promised

I use the Mandarin for names and titles in fanfiction because it just reads better. Some of these don’t have an exact translation, so, the original is better, here are the basic terms you need to know:

Zongzhu = sect leader

Gongzi = young master

Furen = madam

Guniang = maiden/miss

Ge = older brother

Jie = older sister

Xiong = kind of like “bro” in a friendly sort of way

Da, Er, San = first, second, third – these are used in conjunction with the above, so “da-ge” is “oldest brother”, “Lan-er-gongzi” is “second young master Lan”

A- = an affectionate diminutive

Wei Wuxian (courtesy name)

Birth name: Wei Ying (only Lan Wangji calls him this)

Title: Yiling-laozu (used mostly in the second half of the show)

Also called: Wei-gongzi (by Lan Xichen, Wen Ning, and assorted others), Wei-xiong (by Nie Huaisang), A-Xian (by Jiang Yanli)

Lan Wangji (courtesy name)

Birth name: Lan Zhan (only Wei Wuxian calls him this)

Title: Hanguang-Jun (by the juniors and various others)

Also called: Lan-er-gongzi (by various characters)

Jiang Cheng (birth name)

Courtesy name: Jiang Wanyin (Lan Wangji calls him this)

Also called: Jiang-gongzi before he’s sect leader, Jiang-zongzhu afterwards, A-Cheng (by Jiang Yanli)

Jiang Yanli (only name given, not specific if birth or courtesy)

Also called: a-jie (by Jiang Cheng), shijie (by Wei Wuxian), Jiang-guniang (by pretty much everyone else)

Lan Xichen (courtesy name)

Birth name: Lan Huan, but nobody uses this

Title: Zewu-Jun (most people use this)

Also called: Lan-zongzhu (I think a few people use this instead of his title), xiongzhang (by Lan Wangji, this is a formal word for older brother), er-ge (by Jin Guangyao)

Wen Qing (only name given, birth)

Also called: Wen-guniang (by Jiang Cheng), jiejie or just jie (by Wen Ning)

Wen Ning (birth name)

Courtesy name: Wen Qionglin (used very rarely)

Title: Ghost General (never used to his face, I don’t think)

Also called: A-Ning (by Wen Qing)

Nie Huaisang (only name given, courtesy)

Also called: Nie-xiong (by Wei Wuxian), Nie-gongzi (by assorted others)

Nie Mingjue (only name given, courtesy)

Title: Chifeng-Zun (called this by many people)

Also called: Nie-zongzhu (by Meng Yao and others), Mingjue-xiong (by Lan Xichen), da-ge (by Nie Huaisang, then later by Lan Xichen and Meng Yao)

Jin Zixuan (only name given, courtesy)

Also called: Jin-gongzi (by most people)

Meng Yao (birth name)

Later in series, courtesy name: Jin Guangyao (used commonly)

Title: Lianfang-Zun (used occasionally)

Also called: A-Yao (by Lan Xichen), Xiandu (after he becomes Chief Cultivator), Jin-zongzhu at some point probably

Hoo boy all. That was a lot, huh? “I’ll write a brief summary,” she said. 20 thousand words later ... but this was as condensed as I could make it without it reading too disjointedly! So I hope you’ve all enjoyed and that this will help those of you who want to plunge into the fandom but didn’t have the time or the spoons for the show itself. 

If you have any questions about something that wasn’t clear or a part of the story you want more detail on, feel free to ask me anything!

Love y’all!

[inkrabbit]

Creampie - Richard x F!Reader (18+)

Maybe it was because your day was filled with arguing with other operatives, or maybe it was because said operative had “accidentally” failed to mention a guard was headed your way, leading you to getting caught and chased out of Albion's territory, followed by a hail of bullets. Of course you went back to the safehouse, ranting and raving the whole way there, and your tangent didn't stop until your voice was hoarse and Wrench was physically pulling you away. The whole team had a little meeting after that, firm instructions being put into place that no lives were to be risked regardless of feelings. The operatives who had been in DedSec the longest had expressed their disappointment and disgust with the behavior, remarking that this should've been common sense. Hell, you agreed with them. But it didn't change the fact that your mission was neglected by your supposed teammate and that your left arm had a little graze on it.

Wrench had fixed you up before the meeting, and had even been kind enough to listen to your continued rant, nodding his head and offering his own piece of mind. There was no surprise when he also expressed his feelings, but he assured you that the operative would get what was coming to him. You didn't know if he meant by karma, or by Richard finally blowing a fuse and letting that inner fire shine through. Whatever the case was, you gave him your word that you wouldn't outright sabotage a mission in retaliation, even if the thought had been present in your mind.

You didn't spend a second more than you needed to in that safehouse. The others had wished you well when you passed them, and some had even promised you would be paired up with a more competent teammate next time. You knew they were telling the truth. Safety had alwaysbeen priority number 1 when it came to DedSec, whether it be another operative, or civilian lives. Still, you couldn't look past your rage and you had just scoffed at them. You would apologize for your behavior later, everyone knew that, even you. This wasn't the first time an operative had been put in danger from a careless act, and honestly, you had taken it better than some would've.

The tube was almost empty when you got on, save for the few people speckled throughout the seats. You sat with your thoughts, blood still boiling as you sent Richard a text, telling him you would be home earlier than anticipated. No, this wasn't the first time your life had been put at risk, and you were sure it wasn't the last. It was, however, the first time someone had deliberately targeted you. The promise of watching over your mission to “make amends” had been nothing but pretty words, but you hadn't thought much of it because everything had gone smoothly in the beginning. You were told the positions of the guards and what floor the data was stored on. Bagley was the one who first hinted that you be careful, saying he wasn't picking up much monitor attention from your teammate. You should've called it off then and there, but you pushed on, confident that nothing would go wrong.

You understood now why certain operatives only allowed certain people to monitor their missions. Hell, you had seen a few brawls when you first joined, yelling and shoving escalating to violence. In the past, you had shrunk back into the open train, Nowt having stood at the entrance to make sure the scuffle never got close. Richard had told the truth back then, still locked up in the makeshift cell. “They're all a bunch of brutes. You should get used to it quickly, or take your leave.” He was the one you went to when you wanted more information on the operatives, and though he had poked fun at you in the beginning, he gave up whatever he could.

You remembered the first time Richard was released and eventually ran his own mission, having one of the more spiteful operatives monitor him. He had told you old grudges die hard, and he was put into a position similar to yours today; miscommunication and getting caught, but this time on Clan Kelley territory. He came back and that was the first, and only time he had showed a more malicious side in your presence. He kept his composure for a good portion of it. He didn't return to the safehouse screaming and looking for a fight, oh no. He had kept his cool, asked what the problem was, and then snapped when he was told it was what he deserved and how he should've been dead. You weren't aware of how well he could fight until he showed it, slamming the operative against a wall and bashing the back of his head against the cement until it bled and he had to pried off.

You wondered what Richard would say, both about your outburst and your mission being sabotaged. You were sure he was already anxiously waiting for your return. His response had seemed excited enough, and you had reread your conversation with the man in order to quell the rage. It helped, for the most part, but your leg still bounced and your muscles stayed tense, the graze on your arm still softly throbbing underneath the bandages.

The small flat you shared with Richard was decent, and you found yourself passing through the threshold bewildered. The lights had been turned low, small candles lighting the way to the bedroom. Your heart would've melted at the sight if your day hadn't been shitty, and you almost felt bad when Richard's once happy face had dropped upon seeing your tussled hair and bandaged arm.

“My dear, what happened?” He's by your side in a second, looking you over and using gentle touches. It takes a few seconds, but you finally relax into his touch, realizing that the day is finally done and you can put it behind you. Even if you're still upset about what happened.

“Had my mission messed with,” you respond, your right hand going up to his shoulder and tugging slightly, giving him the hint to bend down so your lips meet. Of course he demands the name and an explanation, and of course you give it to him. He doesn't outright say what he'll do; he never does. But, he does promise that this would be the last time anything like this ever happened again. You trusted him. Unlike some people, Richard never gave you false promises.

He peppers kisses across your face, trailing soft kisses down to your neck and pulling you close to him. He's murmuring something, telling you how glad he is that you're safe and that you came home to him. You have to admit, this attention does make you feel better, and it's not long before he's slowly dragging you back into the bedroom.

“I wanted a nice romantic night,” he tells you softly, “but now I'm concerned about the job that incompetent fool did on your arm.”

“I'm fine, honest,” You press one more lingering kiss to his lips, hands up against his chest as you walk him back until the back of his knees hit the bed and he's falling back with a soft huff. That old familiar grin sprawls across his face, his hands reaching up to grab your hips and pull you down. Your arms wrap around his neck as you straddle his lap, his kisses becoming hotter and more needy. You feel his hands snake their way under your shirt, fingertips brushing the surface of your skin as he slowly makes his way up. He helps you carefully remove the shirt, tossing it to the ground before starting on your bra. You had to admit, he had gotten better at this ever since you two had been intimate. Still, you can feel one of the clasps getting stuck on the loop, and you can only giggle softly as you wait for him, your hands gently rubbing up and down his biceps. He always dressed so nicely, his shirt devoid of any wrinkles.

By the time your bra is off and on the floor, Richard's leaning forward and paying attention to your chest, kissing down the valley of your breasts before moving to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his hand coming up to grope and massage your other breast. Your hands move to his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt, desperate to see more of him.

Even though he had spent the past years working in an office, he managed to maintain a toned body, and you enjoyed running your hands across his chest and down his abdomen. You could feel his lips curl into that familiar grin, teeth just gently biting down on your nipple and making you gasp. Sliding your hand up past his neck and through his hair, you grip at the crown and jerk his head back, dipping down so you can latch your lips onto his neck, your own teeth grazing his skin. You can feel his throat vibrate with the soft chuckle he lets out, hands giving your waist a gentle squeeze before moving to tug at the hems of your pants.

Before you know it, he's standing up and practically tossing you in the middle of the bed. He's shrugging himself out of his shirt, letting it join yours on the floor before reaching out. His fingers curl under the hems of your pants again, though he's ripping them down this time, your panties following until both are slipping off your feet and falling to the floor with a soft thump.

In the past, you might've felt self-conscious, and you might've had time to try and curl in on yourself. Richard, however, was a quick man, never giving you the chance to even make an attempt to cover yourself. He's on you in a second, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand and using his other to trail down your body and to your slick folds. He muffles your moans with a heated kiss, rubbing against your entrance. He pulls back, but only to comment about how wet you already are for him as you grind against his fingers. He always did this, drawing it out as long as he could. Didn't matter if he wanted a “romantic night” or not, he loved taking his time with you. And right now, it was enough for you to start begging early. The moment his fingers enter you, they curl and you're arching your back and moaning. His movements are quick as he towers over you, watching your every movement and every little twitch you made. How you squirmed and begged for him, he finally released your wrists and retracted his fingers, bringing them up to lick them clean. You would've reprimanded him and demanded he continue, but the words left your throat when you saw him undo his belt and soon the button and zipper. The moment he pulls the hems of his boxers down and his erection is free, he's on top of you, hooking his arm underneath one of your knees and slowly pushing himself inside.

Your hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as he bottoms out, a high-pitched moan leaving your throat. His knuckles brush against your cheek as he leans down to press hot kisses to your throat, giving you that extra time to adjust to his size. The moment he feels you relax, he's starting up a rough pace, pulling back as much as he can before snapping his hips back inside you. He's pulling moans from you so easily, his name occasionally spilling from your lips here and there. Richard's free hand is planted beside your head, gripping the bed sheets as he pants softly. He's lowering himself, his lips right by your ear as he whispers smug comments to you. How good you're being and how well you're taking him; how he absolutely lovesyour moans and the way you're starting to scream his name when he angles his hips just right. You're bucking against him, his words spurring you on and feeling that old familiar knot coil inside you, and you're desperate for it to finally snap. Your hands move, nails raking down his back over and over, desperate to find some sort of ground.

“Oh, is my good girl so close already?” he coos, nipping at your earlobe and making you gasp.

“Please, Richard, I-” You can't even finish your sentence, his hand releasing the bed sheets and moving to your clit, his thumb rubbing harsh circles around it. You wish you could've said you lasted a while longer, maybe make him feel like he was doing a shit job, but you weren't able to. Between him abusing that sweet spot inside you and his thumb working wonders, you don't last long, seeing stars as your body tenses up and you're screaming his name. Your eyes might've been screwed shut as your walls clamped down on him, but you still knew he had that shit-eating grin on his face. He always did whenever you came for him, remarking about how he was the only one who could do this to you. You knew he was telling the truth.

He lets you ride off your high, lowering your leg and laying on top of you as his thrusts become slow and shallow. Your arms wrap around his neck, hands carding through his hair as he presses soft kisses to your temple and cheek. You notice his rhythm falter, fingers curling into the sheets once more as he finally bottoms out against you again, releasing himself inside you. He buries his face in your neck, groaning loudly. A few more thrusts and he finally pulls himself back, both of you a panting mess. A soft whimper comes from you when he pulls out, the emptiness feeling so foreign. Another kiss to your forehead and he disappears, just for a moment, to retrieve a towel from the bathroom.

“You're always so good to me,” you giggle softly, accepting his help to clean you up.

“No more than you deserve, darling,” He presses his lips against yours, lingering for a bit before he finally pulls back. Hell, you could stay like this forever, but he moves first, eyes blown wide as he trips over the clothes on the floor. “Shit, the candles!”

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings:  Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

[five-rivers]

Interview With a Ghost, Part 2

Part one is here.  The Dannymay prompt used is ‘Bones.’

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.

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"Well," said Captain Jones, over the intercom, "that answers that question."

"Not really," said Patterson. "It doesn't really explain all the ancient China stuff. We didn't even ask him about that."

"I think it does, actually," said Collins, tapping his fingers on the table. "If he didn't want people to know that he'd died and was continuing to live his human life, what better way to throw them off the trail than by mimicking a old legend like that?"

"But the Fentons said it wasn't well known," said Patterson. "Who would have known about it when the Fentons first showed up?"

"It certainly narrows down the list of potential..." Collins groaned. "What do we even call this? Victims? Suspects? Possibly dead people?"

"Before you two get too tied up in semantics," said the captain, voice coming through the intercom again. "We have some things to discuss. My office."

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Collins and Patterson weren't the only ones assembling in the captain's office. Captain Jones had called Molly, the medical examiner, in as well. She sat on the chair in front of his desk, a stack of papers in her lap.

Jones shut the door behind him and locked it. "Alright," he said, rubbing his face and sinking into his chair. "So, before you called me in to watch that interview, I was talking to Molly. She told me some interesting things about Phantom's body. I assume you've already told these two what you've learned."

"I've gotten a little more, since then, actually," said Molly.

"Go ahead, then," said Jones.

"Well, at this point we're pretty sure that the cause of death is electrocution... Or we would be, if it wasn't for the whole 'only half a body' thing he has going on." Molly sighed. "He has electrical burns on his bones. They're black in spots."

"Ouch," said Patterson. "What a way to go."

"Yeah. Let's not bring it up to him, okay?"

"It might be a way to figure out it's him, though, make him break cover."

Captain Jones cleared his throat. Collins and Patterson turned to look at him, expectant.

"That brings us to the bones of this matter, so to speak," said Jones.

Collins suppressed a twitch of his lips. The captain liked puns, but admitting that one found them humorous could be hazardous. Mainly because it would result in more puns.

"What is that, sir?" he asked.

"Do we want to expose Phantom? Assuming that he is masquerading as a living person, something I'm not entirely convinced of. Especially considering your mention of legends and 'ancient China stuff.'" The captain circled the words with air quotes. "Care to explain?"

"The Fentons believe that Phantom is the same ghost as one that shows up in a bunch of legends around the world," said Collins. "We were going to look into them, next, but Phantom showed up."

"So, in other words, there's some evidence that he's, what, hundreds of years old?"

"I suppose," said Collins.

"Which would mean that's someone else's body. Because there's no way it's that old, right, Molly?"

"Not unless all that ectoplasm in it preserved it, somehow," said Molly. "I wouldn't entirely discount that, by the way. I'm not an ectologist."

"And everyone who is, is a suspect because of the ectoplasm and the body's age," put in Patterson.

Captain Jones cleared his throat. "As long as that's not the case," he said, "that means that, if Phantom is playing at being alive, he's doing it with someone else's life."

There was a pause, the words heavy on the air.

"You don't think he actually killed anyone, do you, sir?" asked Patterson.

"No," said the captain. "I don't. But it's something we have to consider, because if it is the case, then we have an obligation to reveal him. But if it isn't... What do you think will happen if we reveal Phantom and he leaves? If he's just continuing his- his 'life,'" again his hands came up to make quotes, "and he's not hurting anyone, there's no reason to reveal him, and many reasons not to, including the safety of the city."

"There is a reason to reveal him, even then," said Patterson. "If he's lying about it being an accident. If he was murdered. Or if the accident wasn't as out there as he wants us to think it is. I mean, he's a teenager. They don't just drop dead for no reason, and, well, Dave's wife had a point."

"You mean with her comment about abuse," said Captain Jones.

"Yeah," said Patterson.

"If it helps," said Molly, "there aren't any other detectable signs of abuse on his body."

"There's another issue," said Collins.

"Yes?" said the captain.

"What if Phantom decides to object to our line of questioning more physically?"

"You mean, if he attacks us?" asked Patterson.

Collins shrugged. "He is a ghost. And a kid. And we're putting a lot of pressure on him. I don't think any of that is conducive to rational decision making."

"I guess we can't argue that he isn't violent," said Patterson, making a face. "But what can we do? We can't definitively say what's going on."

Captain Jones glared at his desk as if it had offended him. Maybe it had. It was a horrible mess.

"We need to keep investigating," said the captain. "But I want you, all three of you, to be circumspect. We need a different explanation for why you're asking questions."

"Why?" asked Patterson. "Phantom already knows."

"Because of his 'enemies.'" Air quotes again. "We don't know who they are, or the real reason he's so anxious to keep everything quiet. We don't even know if he's talking about humans or ghosts. And," said Captain Jones, after a significant pause, "I don't want the Guys in White to get wind of this at all. They can have that corpse over mine, you got it?"

.

To Collins' great relief, the captain had chosen to deal with the Cult Division (aka Cameron Daily and his computer) himself, which left him and Patterson free to strategize on other fronts. Specifically, to whittle down which children they should interview, how they should be interviewed, and whether or not it was possible that any of them were Phantom.

"If he can shapeshift, then he can shapeshift," grumbled Collins, massaging his temples. It was far too early for this, and he'd been here until midnight yesterday, getting paperwork together and sending for class lists from the school. They'd had to explain why they wanted them. "His body type could be anything." He reached for his coffee. He was almost out.

"But," said Patterson, "we have his body. The body types match."

"He could have changed over two years," said Collins. "Teenagers usually do. He could have, I don't know, simulated a growth spurt in his human disguise, or whatever."

"Still, he couldn't have changed that much, not while escaping suspicion," argued Patterson.

Collins grunted. "Maybe," he agreed.

"And he's got to go to Casper High, he gets to ghost attacks there too fast for him to go to school anywhere else."

"Mhn," said Collins. "Sure, I guess."

"Has to be someone who's been there for two years, because of when everything started. So it can't be and of the freshmen or sophomores. Has to be someone who's an incoming junior or senior."

"Or someone who graduated last spring," said Collins.

"You're right," said Patterson. She tugged on the end of her braid. "That might complicate some things. Still. I think these are the most likely candidates." She pushed a list of circled names and pictures across their shared desk. "We can interview them today."

Collins glared at it, the way he glared at everything that wasn't coffee at this time of day. "Patterson, I thought we were doing interviews with kids to find the conspiracy theory kid."

"Well, we can do that, too, and ask around to see if anyone's been acting ghostly."

"Fine," said Collins. He squinted. "'Wesley Weston?' Dear god, who names their child that?"

"I don't know. It's better than some celebrity baby names that I've heard of," said Patterson, shrugging.

Collins put the list down and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What was the theory again, anyway?" he asked. "That Phantom was the Fenton kid?"

"Daniel. Yeah. I've got him circled, here." Patterson tapped on the list.

"Do you think there's any merit to that?" asked Collins. "The Fentons are ghost hunters. You'd think they'd either notice and stop hunting him, or, well, you know."

"It would explain the ectoplasm, though. And maybe the electrical burns. They're inventors, too, and that thing on their roof has to have some kind of fancy wiring."

"That would be-" Collins wracked his brain for a suitable adjective and came up empty. He shook his head. "I don't think we can make that conclusion from a forum post you barely remember, Patterson. It sounds good, but-" He shook his head again.

"But it is pretty unbelievable. I still think we should ask him."

"Just like that?"

"Why not? You saw how he reacted to your question yesterday. His poker face needs work."

Collins' desk phone rang. He picked it up. "Detective Collins speaking," he said.

"Hey, this is Molly."

"Yeah? You have something new for us?"

"The body is gone."

"What?"

"Phantom's body. It's gone. I think there's been a break in."

.

.

.

I tentatively plan to continue this for day 25: Break.  

[psychovigilantewrites]

Baby Bird- Rewrite

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Genre: SMUT

Word count:  5296

Summary: This is a rewrite of my first ever fic! I didn’t really incorporate the whole Baby Bird thing in this one, and i did change a lot of it, though the story is still very similar to each other. I’m pretty proud of it! Let me know what you guys think!

You can find the original on my Masterlist

Read it on Ao3

Kofi

You had a relatively good relationship with most of your brothers.

You loved watching rom-coms with Dick when you both got the time, and he was always there to lend you an ear. He was the first person whom you truly loved unconditionally, as he brought you out of your shell when Bruce first found you and took you in.

Tim was a bit harder, but mostly because he was shy. You didn’t really have many things in common with Tim except that the both of you were more business savvy than the rest. The two of you were the main attractions during Wayne Enterprises’ functions, and you would even share projects together.

Damian was a tough nut to crack, but after he came in, it only took you a couple months before he started showing you that he didn’t mind you. Scratch that- you were pretty sure that you were his favorite. Everyone else treated him like he wanted to be treated, an adult. But you maintained a perfect balance of shaking his hand business-like when you meet him, and spoiling him with hugs and kisses he pretends to hate.

You never had brothers before, but you were sure that the ones you had now were as perfect as brothers could ever be.

But then there was Jason.

You didn’t see him as someone you loved brotherly, someone you relied on, or someone you shared hugs and kisses with. That’s because for some reason, he hated you.

Well, hate was a strong word. Maybe he just really disliked you.

In fact- he disliked you so much that he would try to avoid you as much as possible. You tried so hard to get on his good side. Read the same books he did just so you could have something to talk about, even took his side whenever he argued with the boys or Bruce.

In which he would respond with a gruff “I don’t need your help.”

You were at a loss. All you wanted was to be close to him. Maybe cuddle up with him on the sofa, leaning against his hard body. Maybe feel his large, thick, magnificent hands resting on your thigh whenever he sat next to you during dinners. Maybe brush your lips against his chapped, pink-

Whatever his problem was, it made you frustrated.

***

“Where are you going?” Jason glared at you from the living room. He was lying down on the sofa with his feet up, peeking at you from behind his book.

You blinked your eyes in surprise. He hardly ever initiated conversation with you. Perhaps he was finally warming up to you? You tried to hide your smile as you walked closer to him from the staircase.

“I’m going to see someone,” you answered and smiled sweetly at him, trying your best not to agitate him in any way.

“Who?” he frowned, sitting upright.

You tried to hide your surprise again. Two questions in a row? He must be in a good mood.

“Uhm, Ray,” you replied, “We take the same class in college.”

“Why are you wearing that?” he shot a dirty look.

This time, you frowned and looked down at yourself. You were only wearing a tight baby doll t-shirt with a skater skirt that went up to your mid-thigh.

“Uh, I always wear stuff like this,” you told him.

“No, you don’t,” he narrowed his eyes at you, judging you from top to bottom.

You felt a bit offended. Was he really questioning your sense in fashion?

You wanted to bite back, but refrained from doing so. You really didn’t want to get even further on his bad side.

“You’re right,” you forced a grin, “Maybe my choice in fashion tonight is a bit odd. I think I’ll change my sneakers to flats. What do you think?”

“It’s not the shoes,” he rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Do what you want.”

And he went back to his book.

You stood there in silence, mouth slightly ajar, confused as to what happened. Before you could gather your thoughts and say something, your phone rang.

“That’s me,” you announced, “I’m going now.”

Jason didn’t answer.

***

The date went well. Ray was a cute guy. His olive eyes complimented his tanned skin, his chestnut hair falling in soft locks around his sharp, angular face. He was polite as well, even walking you up to the door from his car.

“I had a good time, Ray, thank you,” you giggled, slightly buzzed from the cocktails he bought you.

“Me too,” he smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. “You look so pretty tonight, did I mention that?”

“Yes, like five times,” you laughed, slapping his chest. “I’m glad you think so. My brother basically snorted at my fashion choice.”

“What, this skirt?” he widened his eyes, pulling you closer by the waist. “This skirt drove me crazy all night.”

“Your damn flirting drove me crazy all night,” you purred, snaking your arms behind his neck.

“I’ve been thinking of kissing you,” he admitted, his voice turning low. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you tiptoed and crashed your lips against his, eliciting a deep and guttural moan from him. His hands slid from your waist down to your ass, bunching up your skirt with every squeeze.

Suddenly, he was gone.

You blinked a couple of times before realising what had happened.

“Get the fuck off her,” you heard a familiar snarl.

Jason had ripped Ray off from you, causing him to stumble backwards. You were speechless, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“Jason!” you hissed, “Ray, I’m so sorry. This is my brother, Jason.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled nervously.

“Adoptive brother,” he corrected you.

That made your chest tighten.

“Ray is my date tonight,” you told Jason, ignoring his previous statement, “He was just saying goodbye.”

“Well?” Jason crossed his arms, “Say goodbye, then.”

“Uh, it’d be nice if we had some privacy,” you tried to tell him.

“No,” he simply stated, looking straight at Ray as if sizing him up, daring him to do something.

“Jason-”

“Get scarce, or I’ll break your jaw,” he growled.

“O-okay,” Ray surrendered, “Going now. Bye, I guess.”

And he half walked half ran to his car without waiting for your answer.

You just watched him silence as he drove off, and then turned to Jason angrily.

“What the hell was that?” you barked, shoving him aside to enter the manor.

“He had his hands all over you,” he replied coldly.

“So?” you argued, “I’m an adult, Jason. I can sleep around with guys if I want to.”

You thought you saw his jaw clench.

“You can’t,” he grit.

“Excuse me?”

“You. Can’t,” he repeated.

Now, you know Jason had some anger problems, what with the Pit and daddy issues and all that. And you have seen him throw his tantrums. Whether it was breaking chairs, or beating people up. If you lived with Jason Peter Todd, you knew how destructive he could be.

And you knew it wasn’t his fault. You knew that he was constantly trying to be better, which was why he moved back into the manor in the first place. To be with family, hoping that the company and care and attention would help his mental state.

Yet, against all your inner voices screaming at you to stop, against all you rationality, you couldn’t help but provoke him even more, because you were just fucking sick and tired with him treating you like shit when you had tried so hard to be nice to him.

“All this while you refuse to acknowledge me as your sister, you ignore me, push me away, fucking criticize my choice of clothes,” you seethed, “And now you’re telling me that I can’t do whatever the fuck I want with my own body?”

“You can do whatever you want,” he replied, “I just won’t let you.”

“Let me?” you repeated, “Let me?! Who the fuck are you? Because you’re obviously trying very hard to not be my brother!”

“Fucking hell, listen to yourself!” he groaned, “Spouting all this brother, sister crap! I know you try your goddamn best to fill whatever void you have with this family shit, but you want to know the hard and honest truth?”

He stalked towards you, jaw set and mouth in a thin line before leaning in close and saying the harsh words in a dead voice, “I will never think of you as my sister.”

Your breath stuttered then. If it was any other situation, it would have been because he was so close to you that you could feel his warm breath on your face. But this time, it was because you were trying hard to force back the tears into your eyes.

Did he really hate you that much?

Instead of asking him that direct question, you tested his patience even more.

“Just because your own mother betrayed you, doesn’t mean the rest of the world will,” you lashed out, “But you know what? I can see why she did it.”

And you regretted every single word you said the moment it came out of your mouth.

You saw Jason’s expression change, from the stable frustration before, into a flash of white hot anger. He was shaking, his nose flaring, his hands in fists.

“I- I-” you stuttered, “I didn’t mean-”

Before you registered what had happened, you jumped when you heard a loud bang!

In the raging anger he felt, Jason punched a large crack into the old wooden wall of the mansion, and then stormed off, kicking a vase down in the process of walking up the stairs. The final noise you heard from Jason was his door slamming shut.

Fuck.

You were a horrible person for saying that. The guilt crept in as you realised how harsh your words were.

Well, it wasn’t like he was nice to you either.

Still, he didn’t stoop so low as to bring up your painful past and use it against you.

Sighing, you argued with yourself in your head as you walked up the staircase to go to your own room. Jason’s room was just down the hall from yours, and you hesitated in front of your room, considering that maybe you should go and apologize.

With a deep breath, you head over to his door and raised your knuckles to knock, but midway, just a split second before you hit the wood, you noticed that the door was open by a teeny tiny crack.

And a tired moan coming from inside.

You froze, fist still in the air, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

Another moan, and the sound of the springs of his bed creaking.

No. No, no, no, you weren’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to be listening in on his private, intimate moment.

You felt a tingle between your thighs.

Fuck, and you most definitely were not supposed to get turned on either.

Yet, at the back of your head you couldn’t help but add this piece of information like you would a note on a calendar.

Jason Peter Todd jacked off when he was angry.

Your brain told you to run, because what you were doing was wrong, an invasion, perverted. But despite your rational thinking, your feet were still glued right in front of his door, ears hypersensitive, straining to pick up every sound you could.

You closed your eyes and breathed in deep. Okay. You recollected yourself. Now it was time to go and maybe release your frustrations in the same way- but in your own bed with your door locked.

But as soon as you made to move, something else held you back that made you lose all your senses.

Another moan coming from Jason’s room, but this time it was your name.

He moaned your name.

You froze on the spot then, morals thrown out the window, you carefully inched closer to the gap between the door, straining your ear even more.

“Fuck, fucking bitch, fuck,” he panted.

Jason wasn’t terribly loud, but it was obvious that he was trying to restrain himself from being too noisy. After all, you all lived in a house full of vigilantes with trained heightened senses.

Now you were scared of being heard, because though you were only listening in, you could feel your breaths getting heavier and heavier, not unlike Jason’s.

And you kept on listening.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out loud, “Teasing people with that- hnngh- fucking skirt. Fuck!”

You accidentally let out a soft giggle, before clamping your palm against your mouth. You wanted to run away in fear that you were heard, but once you ran away, you knew you wouldn’t find it in you to come back and listen.

So you stayed your ground.

“Tight fucking shirt,” he continued, and you knew you were safe.

Huh.

Jason Peter Todd also liked to ramble while he jacked off.

At least now you knew why he hated your outfit so much. Who knew it was because he felt like he was being teased?

You were becoming more amused by the second, because hell- this was the guy who had his walls up so high, the same guy who refused to share anything remotely personal with anyone, and to see him crumble down and fuck his fist-

He let out a long, deep groan- and fuck.

Fuck.

Did the sounds of his cock get even wetter?

You needed to see him.

You decided to get on your hands and knees on the floor, thinking that standing up would cast more shadows and make it a bit more obvious that someone was outside the door listening in. So you crouched and tried to make yourself seem as small as possible.

You pushed the door very very lightly, hoping that the hinges didn’t creak.

Now you had a view of Jason, who was lying down on his back, his dark blue t-shirt riding up to his chest. Your eyes trailed down to the deep V that went down to his body, a small patch of his happy trail, his grey sweatpants hitched down to his knees, and his perfect, thick, swollen cock hard in his fist, glistening wet.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the view, feeling your panties getting soiled by the second.

Have you ever been that horny in your life? Probably not.

Jason was brutally fucking his fist, and fuck, even though the view was less than perfect because you were too scared to push the door open wider, you could see how fucking tight he was gripping his shaft.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

The rustling of his movements, the heavy stuttering breathing, the slick sounds.

You tried to resist, you really did.

But then, he raised his palm to his mouth and fucking spat onto it loudly, fucking filthily before going back down to continue.

That’s it. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You lifted up your skirt and pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger in between your folds and biting your lip so you don’t moan.

So you don’t run inside his room and beg him to take you right then and there.

Your eyes travelled back up to his face and was hardly surprised to see that he didn’t exactly look like he was pleasuring himself.

His eyes were shut tight, his eyebrows stitched together, his expression in an angry scowl, occasionally biting his lower lip, occasionally parted to take in deep breaths, occasionally whispering your name.

He looked furious as he stroked his cock.

“Fucking Christ,” he rasped, “Wanna fuck. Wanna fuck you. Fuck.”

And of course Jason Peter Todd would take the Lord’s name in vain while he had his dick in his hand.

What was wrong with your brain? The man was technically confessing that he wanted to fuck you in depraved growls, for fuck’s sake. Why were you focusing on the stupid little details?

Like how long has it been since he started? Did he immediately take off his pants and start masturbating right after your fight, the minute he slammed the door shut, while you were downstairs wallowing in guilt?

Kinky son of a bitch.

You started rubbing circles on your clit, feeling the shoot of pleasure spread in your body, heightening your heart rate even more.

If he really did jerk off right after your fight, does that mean he does it every time he got angry?

You added a note at the back of your head again: Make Jason Peter Todd angry more often.

Fuck, but didn’t that mean he had been going at it for awhile now? Was he going to come soon?

You resisted a groan that almost escaped your lips at the thought of being able to see him spurt his cum on his washboard abs.

You picked up the pace of your own, matching it to Jason’s.

But your back and knees were getting kind of sore already, so you tried to shift around a bit. In that process, you lost your balance. And to regain your balance, your unoccupied hand went straight for the door.

And accidentally pushed it open, stumbling into his room.

“What the fuck!” you heard him gasp.

You froze on the spot, your hand still down your skirt, making eye contact with Jason who was already standing up, cock tucked back in his sweatpants- though that didn’t make a difference because phew, a hard dick in a pair of grey sweatpants was a sight.

You cleared your head and scrambled back to your feet, heart thumping loudly and face heating up at the embarrassment of being caught.

“Uh- I- uh- I thought of saying sorry,” you panicked, “And uh- I didn’t- I didn’t hear- see! Ididn’tseeanythingsorrybye-”

You turned to run away, to lock yourself up in your room and never ever come out. You didn’t even see Jason cross the room and snatch your wrist, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you.

He had you against the door now, his grip on your wrist tight, his body just inches away from yours and god you wanted to feel his hard on against you.

“I think,” you started, “I think you broke the lock when you slammed the door hard. It’s okay I’m sure Alfred can-”

“Why are your fingers wet?” he asked in a low voice.

“Wha?”

You noticed that the hand he was gripping was the one you were using to touch yourself, and he was gripping it high up to his face.

You gulped.

“I was just- uh- washing!” you rambled, “I was washing my hands and didn’t dry them off. Oopsie daisy.”

You let out a nervous laugh, but then was cut short when Jason tilted his face towards your wrist, his nose touching and breathing onto your skin. He took a deep breath, smelling your hand as he travelled from the fleshy part below your thumb up to your two wet fingers.

You clenched your thighs.

“Washing, were you?” he smirked, his eyes hooded and dark.

“Mhmm,” you nodded furiously.

He closed his eyes and continued smelling your fingers.

What the fuck?

Then, and you admit that a piece of you died a little and went to heaven at that point, he let out a small lick at the tip of your index finger.

And fucking groaned, the kind of groan the reverberated back into your bones, the kind of groan that made you feel everything he was feeling.

Your brain basically short-circuited.

When you thought that he couldn’t get any hotter, and any more embarrassing, he took your whole two fingers into his mouth.

Your jaw dropped.

He started sucking on your fingers, his eyes now opened and staring at you intensely, and fuck you could feel his tongue swirling on your fingers, wet and hot and desperate.

“Jason,” you breathed.

He let your fingers out with a pop, and the released your hand.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed.

And you weren’t going to fucking argue with that.

You hiked your skirt up, pushed your panties aside again, and with the fingers that had just been in his mouth, you started rubbing your clit.

Your mouth fell into a little “O”, and Jason?

Jason just watched.

With his breathing hard, his warm breath fanning across your face, he didn’t even look down to where you were touching. No, he just stared deep into your eyes as you continued.

Then, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a soft moan. You heard rustling again, and you looked down, and saw him fisting his cock near your lower belly, as you kept on going at your clit.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you looked up at him, breaths mingling with each other, tips of your noses brushing against one another, as you both touched yourselves.

“You made me angry, baby,” he purred, his other hand going up to cradle the back of your head.

You watched as his thick biceps flexed and rippled as he jerked his fist.

It was funny to you. Just a few minutes ago, he told you that he would never think of you as his sister, and now here he was calling you baby.

Oh. Oh.

Boy, were you stupid.

“Do you always masturbate when you’re angry?” you whispered.

“Sometimes,” he breathed back.

“I just made a mental reminder to make you angry more,” you told him.

“Hmm?” he smirked, “And why would you do that?”

“So I can spy on you,” you blurted.

Jason chuckled the hottest fucking chuckle you’ve ever heard. “You don’t need to spy on me. All you gotta do is ask.”

“But,” you argued mid-wanking, “That takes the fun out of everything.”

“Oh, really?” he said, taking steps back.

His fist kept on going non-stop while he walked backwards towards his bed, and you didn’t notice it before, but his pants were completely gone.

He walked until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he sat down, all the while never stopping his strokes.

“So you think this,” to make a point, he started fucking his cock faster and harder for a bit, “Isn’t fun?”

You didn’t understand how someone could be so hot.

“Okay, fine,” you conceded, leaning back against the door because you were worried your knees were going to go out anytime, “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he scoffed, “Comere.”

“There?” you hesitated, suddenly nervous at his invitation.

Even in the midst of horny bliss, you suddenly remembered that Jason was never close to you. You didn’t know a thing about him, and you never really connected.

“Yeah,” he frowned, his fist stilling, “Unless you don’t want to.”

“No!” you hurriedly said, “I do. God, trust me, I do. But it’s just…”

“But?”

“I always thought you hated me, Jason,” you stopped your fingers as well, standing upright, “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, and then you go back to hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he shook his head in surprise, “I never hated you.”

“Really? Because somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Look,” he sighed, “The reason why I was so mean to you is because I didn’t know how to act around you. And being mean was the only thing I know how to do. But I never hated you. It’s the opposite, in fact.”

“You like me?” you asked, hopeful.

“Sure I do,” he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his ears slowly turning pink.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I never imagined that Jason Peter Todd would tell me he liked me while he was sitting on his bed without any pants,” you giggled.

“You wanna come here or not?” he huffed.

You smiled and walked over to him, stopping right in front of him, between his opened thighs. You looked down into his eyes, blue and fierce, and always so intense. He took off his shirt, so he was there, right there, in all his naked glory.

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured.

You didn’t know what to say back except to just do what he had instructed you to do. So you firstly peeled off your tight baby doll shirt, and then slid down your skirt.

What do you know, you thought you noticed him gulping.

“All of it, sweetheart,” he demanded, “I want to see all of you.”

You nodded, and reached behind to unhook your bra, letting your breasts fall. You saw Jason’s immediate change in expression. His jaw went slack, and was looking at you in awe. You were just going to slip down your panties until-

“Too slow,” he said, and then gripped you by the waist and threw you onto the bed on your back.

He immediately went to attack your breasts, sucking and biting and nipping onto your nipple, pinching the other one with his free hand, squeezing and tugging.

“Jason,” you moaned, his warm tongue drawing circles on your nipples. He travelled further below, leaving a trail of opened mouth kisses on your skin.

And finally he reached the place you wanted him to be at the most, his hot breath hovering over your panties. He proceeded to start licking your folds over them, drenching your already wet panties even more with his mouth.

He continued to mouth at your core, teasing you with occasional nips, but never directly stimulating your clit.

He was good at driving a girl crazy in more ways than one.

“Jason,” you whined, “More.”

“More?” he smirked.

“Yes, stop teasing,” you complained.

He laughed and pulled your panties down swiftly, but he didn’t go back in between your thighs, where you arguably thought he belonged.

He came up to you and kissed you deeply, for the first time. He sucked on your lower lip, playing at the entrance of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, prodding but never really entering.

Unfortunately, he was also doing the same with his cock.

You had your legs spread as wide as they could, presenting yourself to him, yet there he was still teasing you by pushing up his tip against your entrance, but then going to your clit to circle on it, and then brushing down your slick folds to tease you some more.

“Now you know how I feel when you wear those short skirts out,” he growled against your lips, “Fucking cock tease.”

“They weren’t even that short,” you pouted.

“If I can get glimpses of your panties when you bend down, then they’re short,” he argued back, “God, the things you do to me.”

He went to your neck to suck on the delicate skin, no doubt leaving marks to be questioned by everyone in the morning.

“Y-y-you,” you stuttered into a sigh when he started tapping his cock against your clit, “Your arms are nice.”

Stupid, stupid.

He burst into laughter, muffling himself using the crook of your neck.

“My arms are nice?”

“Yeah, I want you to choke hold me with them.”

He suddenly met your eyes, surprised.

“What?” you asked.

“Holy fuck,” he simply muttered, and then crashed his lips into yours again, this time shoving his whole tongue inside to taste you.

And thank God, he did the same with his cock.

He slowly pushed in at your entrance, stretching you deliciously apart.

The both of you groaned in unison, finally able to really feel each other.

His pace was slow, but it soon build, all the while you were thrashing about, trying to grip onto something, because his cock had filled you up so fucking perfectly, you knew you were going to feel it for days after.

“Fuck, Jason,” you closed your eyes tight.

“Yeah, baby?” he panted in your ear, “You like my cock in your pussy?”

“Yes,” you whispered, unable to voice out more in fear of being incoherent.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned out loud, his pace increasing even more, “Feel so good around my cock, baby.”

You only heard his dirty, sexy voice, the wet sounds amplifying with every thrust, his stuttered laboured breathing and his sharp intakes of breaths, and fuck that was enough to tip you over the edge.

“Jason,” you moaned, unable to say anything else.

“Take my cock, sweetheart,” he gasped, “Fuck, so much better than I imagined.”

He gripped both your thighs in each of his hands, and then pushed them back towards you, so he could fuck you at a better angle, a better pace.

And he pummeled into your pussy, fucking you into the goddamn mattress as you did nothing but cry and whine and whimper and moaned, his cock hitting every pleasure spot inside you.

You felt yourself climbing, going higher and higher into ecstasy with every “fuck” coming from Jason, every loud groan you knew someone in the house would hear, every breath he took that was becoming more irregular.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” he asked, “I can feel you getting tighter, fuck.”

You nodded furiously, trying so much to reach that high.

Then, he leaned in, and whispered in your ear with the lowest, huskiest, desperate voice you’ve ever heard.

“Too fucking bad.”

He stopped his motions altogether.

Your eyes shot open.

“What?” you nearly shouted, “Jason!”

“You made me angry, didn’t you,” he gave you a shit eating grin, “Did you really think I was going to help you get off after that?”

“But-but-” you started, “I already said sorry!”

“Sorry’s not enough, baby,” he tutted, “I want you to beg for it.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he raised an eyebrow, “Beg.”

Thrust.

“For.”

Thrust.

“This.”

Thrust.

“Cock.”

Fuck, you were going absolutely insane.

“Jason,” you whined, “Jason, please. Please, I need your cock, Jason. I need you to fuck me. Please.”

You threw away every single dignity you had.

Hey, the man’s got a good cock.

“Why should I fuck a girl who likes to piss me off?” he growled, jaw clenched.

“Because, sir,” you tested. “I promise to be good next time. And if I’m not, then…”

You trailed off.

“Then?” he prompted.

“Then you can punish me,” you finished.

“Fuck,” he started fucking you again, “Fine.”

That didn’t take much. Jason obviously had a thing for begging and being called sir.

This time, he pounded into you with a force that knocked your breath out, and he continued to do so until you were climbing again.

And this time, he didn’t stop.

“Baby,” he rasped, “Baby, come with me.”

“Jason.”

You felt his thrusts getting faster and faster, though more sloppy and irregular, desperate to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he gasped, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You felt it, the moment Jason let go, you reached your peak, feeling yourself sliding into the realm of pure pleasure as your pussy fluttered around his cock.

He quickly pulled out and came all over your stomach, some reaching your breasts, some hitting your fucking chin. Then, he collapsed next to you, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“Fuck,” he agreed.

The both of you burst into laughter, the first laughter you ever shared together.

And you knew from then on, it was okay if he didn’t see you as his sister, because you most definitely could not see him as your brother- and you realised you never did.

You were just so desperate to get close to him that you’d use any excuse you could find.

But you’ve successfully closed the gap between you and Jason Peter Todd, and you knew you were currently witnessing his walls slowly crumbling down, bit by bit, right in front of you.