Goose On The Loose!

Goose || 20+ || Any pronouns || Yandere fic writer and proshipper

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Hello! I am Goose. I like Things and writing about Things.

Want to see my writing? Feel free to take a scroll through the blog, check out this masterlist (for Identity V), or drop by my AO3.

While I post my works both here and on AO3, I do tend to prioritize the Archive more, so my works are always published there first, and any incomplete multi-chapter fics I have are AO3-exclusive until completion.

Want to know what Things I like? Here's a list:

Cookie Run: Kingdom

Identity V

The Amazing Digital Circus

And here's another list, of Things I'm not as into as I once was but still like:

Ace Attorney

Genshin Impact

K-Pop Demon Hunters

Pokémon

Poppy Playtime

The Mandela Catalogue

Wanna chat? Send an ask! I love discussing characters and stories and fics and ideas with people! Just know I soft-block minors and ageless blogs.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Congrats to the teams who made it to the CoA finals and blah blah blah BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY

RAW, NEXT QUESTION

hcehbdjvfjdeykvkkdercsyct Netass I hate youuuu for making such a gorgeous surv but not addressing the AI usage

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

i absolutely love your yandere Richard sterling!

gosh he’s the type of yandere to poison your food secretly then act like a caring knight towards you

he’s the type to secretly put you in a situation where the world is against you and he’s the only one at your side

can you continue it if that’s ok? the fic i mean

Thank you, anon! I'm very happy you liked it!

I don't know if I'll ever continue it, but I'd definitely be happy to write more about Richard in the future (especially since I recently got around to reading through the CoA 9 story and it has been rotting my brain kjshfoieajojsskldj)

[r1ngoose]

big fan of mini nightmare

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

kiss for a corvid

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Flirting(?), Everyone Lives at Oletus Manor, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person Summary: Even the smallest actions can change the outcome of a seemingly hopeless match.

The match had barely begun and already, things were not going in your favor.

Evelyn had fallen near the basement before the first cipher was even finished, and Mike, the only one naive enough to try saving her, came away from his attempt with a grievous slash down his back and no “Faro Lady” to show for it. Not long after, he went down as well, now strapped to that god-forsaken rocket chair in the middle of the Arms Factory while you rushed to finish your cipher.

The moment it popped, you bolted towards the center as fast as you could, your heartbeat increasing rapidly as the distance closed. When you arrived, you found Mike severely battered and squirming, and “Nightmare” with a raven perched on his hand, ready to send it flying towards Florian’s cipher.

Without a moment to waste, you dove for the chair, pulling at the restraints frantically.

That finally drew Orpheus’ attention to you.

His raven disappeared in a puff of smoke as he whirled around, slashing blindly; the metal-adorned tip of his claw only barely missed your teammate, instead slicing through your bicep as you moved to shield him.

“Go! Get out of here!” You screamed, shoving Mike out of the enclosed space. While he stumbled away, fumbling with his bombs, you gripped the nearest pallet for dear life, ready to slam it down. With one last glance towards Orpheus, who appeared to be debating whether to chase after you or Mike… you paused. And blew a kiss at him.

“Nice down,” you spoke, breathless, tone soft enough only for him to hear. Then, you threw the pallet down between you and rounded the corner, bouncing your weight from one foot to another as you prepared to loop him around the area.

There was one more pallet available, and if you didn’t get downed, you could run towards the factory and…

Your train of thought came to a screeching halt.

Though your heart still beat wildly, its frantic rhythm remained consistent, indicating Orpheus was neither drawing closer nor retreating. He was just… there.

Was he preparing a raven?

As you pondered this, you dared to peek around the corner. “Orpheus?”

The man in question, seemingly having not moved an inch, acknowledged your presence with a tilt of his head, one so painfully birdlike that it would have made you laugh had you not been bleeding.

A moment passed, in which neither of you spoke or moved, and then-

Orpheus raised his arm, draped it over his chest, and bowed.

You, meanwhile, blinked. Once, twice.

You glanced over his shoulder, finding Florian standing a short distance away, inflator gun raised in preparation to assist you with an airbag. He mirrored your utterly bewildered expression.

Without warning, a voice broke through your quiet confusion, startling both you and your teammate:

“The Hunter has surrendered and you will be returned to the Manor shortly.”

The announcement was so abrupt that you hardly had time to react, let alone say anything before Florian disappeared right before your eyes, leaving only you and Orpheus. Silence settled over the Arms Factory once more. “...Did you just-” You muttered, looking between him and the space Florian previously occupied.

“You blew a kiss at me,” Orpheus spoke at last, his voice a soft rumble. “You praised me.”

“...Yes?” you replied. With the threat of being downed seemingly no longer present, you raised your hand, pressing it to your bleeding arm tightly. “Was I not supposed to?”

Orpheus considered this, taking a moment to tap at his masked beak in thought. “No,” he concluded at last, “especially not when running for your life. But you did it anyway. Why?”

You tried to shrug, but could only grit your teeth as the movement irritated your wound. “I… ah… I felt like… being nice?” you answered, fighting to keep the pained hiss out of your voice. “I didn’t feel like I needed a reason… and, I mean, no one wants to participate in these games, so… a little something can… go a long way.” “‘No one’,” Orpheus echoed. “A curious thought.”

There came a pause in the conversation, wherein neither of you spoke, only stared. You tried, perhaps somewhat feebly, to find eyes behind his glowing, purple goggles. Maybe then you could peek into his mind and parse what exactly he was thinking. It was always hard to tell with Orpheus, Hunter or not.

“...Do be careful with your kindness, little dove,” Orpheus said, pointing at you. The sight of his claw, still stained with your blood, made you flinch. “Giving it so freely can cause trouble for others.”

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the world around you began to distort, and a sharp clap of thunder sounded. Your hand drooped from where you gripped your shoulder, and the missing pressure was replaced a moment later by an unseen force. The pain lessened beneath it, then dulled, then faded altogether, along with your senses.

When your vision finally stopped swimming, you found yourself in the middle of the dining room, with your teammates sitting not far away. Evelyn looked troubled, Mike fatigued, and Florian confused. You immediately moved to join them, only to feel resistance at the first step. You turned.

Beside you stood Orpheus, gripping your previously injured arm and steadying you. His Hunter form had seemingly vanished amidst your return to the Manor, leaving the handsome, perfectly composed face of the Novelist staring back at you. Only the faintest crinkle of his eyes gave you an idea of how he was feeling; amused, perhaps.

“Keep my words in mind,” he suggested, letting go of your arm. “And don't expect special treatment.”

“I don’t,” you said automatically, mouth moving faster than your brain could process his peculiar words.

He nodded at that. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

With that, he turned away, posture upright once more as he opened the door to the dining room. He shot you one last look.

Without thinking, you blew another kiss at him.

Orpheus paused.

And smiled.

The door shut behind him… leaving you with the distinct feeling that this would not be the last time your thoughtless flirtation impacted your stay at Oletus Manor.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

I couldn't see the latest content livestream as it aired since I was out, but whAT DO YOU MEAN THE DEVIL EVIL DENTIST FROM THE BIBLE HIDE AND SEEK SONG IS REAL???????

Finsen please

ONE CHANCE-

hdjwgaukwgwiansgsiwnwh I am not normal I am not normal I am not normal

I will write for him the second his backstory trailer comes out even if it kills me

[00r3n00]

I personally don't like how Fool's Gold is portrayed by the IDV fandom.

Norton blew up the mines out of desire for revenge, greed and desperation, so I always thought those traits would be fleshed out more.

I see him as greedy and possessive about everything he owns and wants to own. If you were in a relationship with him, he'd always demand more. More time together, more showcase of affection, more love and everything else you have. He wouldn't like your friends or anyone you're close to since you're wasting your time on them instead of hanging out with him. He'd get jealous about everything as well.

Why were you standing next to that survivor? Why were you kitting that hunter for so long? No, don't go to your friend, spend time with me instead. Saw the way that survivor didn't save you? Yeah, they don't value as much as I do.

Sure, he's playful and all, but he's also much more toxic than you guys portray him to be.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Very good observation, and I have to add- THIS IS TRUE FOR THE ENTIRE AOM GANG AS WELL

The main cast all have themes of unhealthy obsession in their stories, and I feel like the full potential of how that could manifest with a romantic partner is rarely touched on.

Alice is less overt but no less intense than anyone else. If she likes you, she'll make it her mission to uncover every single thing about you. What you like, what you don't like, what you spend your time doing, who you're close to, what your life looked like before meeting her, etc. Her desire to understand what fascinates her goes well past the point of healthy, and if ever you were to make the mistake of letting her get close, there will be nothing you could hide from her sharp eyes.

Orpheus is... Orpheus. After everything he went through with Alice and his attempts to get her back, this man does not know how to be normal about someone. If he wants you, there is no rule he won't break or line he won't cross to have you. Your feelings, autonomy, and consent will always come second to his desperation to keep you by his side, and whatever "freedom" he granted you will be stripped away the moment you try to leave.

Melly, meanwhile, is an unnerving combination of the former two. If you catch her interest, every moment she's not using to research is dedicated to you; partly because Joshua's betrayal still hangs heavy over her and she doesn't want a repeat of that, and partly because devoting herself to anything in moderation is a foreign concept to her. To quote Orpheus from the semi-recent story update: "Mrs. Plinius was the opposite- Rarely interested in people or things, but once she was, she never let go."

Lastly, Frederick is... a little pathetic (said lovingly, by someone equally mentally ill). While he rarely pays much mind to people outside his orbit, once you catch his eye, you will be made into his comfort person. Whether in the Manor or in matches, you'll almost always find him lingering near you, too prideful to say anything but desperately hoping you'll allow him into your space. To him, you're not just a romantic interest, but a grounding force that keeps his anxiety at bay, and for that, he'll come to crave your approval and attention like nothing else.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

BLOG RULES UPDATE: I will now soft-block minors and ageless blogs that follow me. I don't feel comfortable seeing or knowing kids are interacting with my writing given the kind that I produce. I hope everyone understands <3

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

the rose yet to be red

Tags: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Yandere, Possessive Behavior, Ficlet, POV Second Person, Not Beta Read Summary: 'Yellow for friends, red for lovers' has been your personal tradition for over two decades now. This year, however, you must account for a painful change.

“Where is my flower?”

Poised over a basket of freshly cut roses, you stiffen at the voice penetrating your peaceful silence. You don’t need to turn around to know who it belongs to; you’re all too familiar with it.

“Hunters don’t get flowers,” you bite back, refusing to show respect by facing its owner. Doing so would mean acknowledging him, and acknowledging him would undoubtedly lead to a flurry of repressed emotions coming to the surface.

“‘Hunter’?” Alva scoffs, and you can all too clearly picture the scowl that no doubt accompanies such a noise of indignation. His footsteps echo as he comes to stand at your side, and he gives one sharp ‘tap’ of his scepter when he stops, as though daring you to ignore him. From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of scarred hands and a cross necklace, the eye of which seems to follow your every move. It leaves you suppressing a shudder.

“And here I was, thinking I was special,” he continues. He plucks a single flower from your basket, bringing it up for a closer examination. “How was it you put it once? Ah, yes… ‘yellow is for friends, red is for lovers’. How disappointed I was to witness all those little Survivors showing off the yellow blooms you so kindly afforded them, and seeing not one red reserved for me.”

“Hunters don’t get flowers,” you repeat through gritted teeth, pushing down the urge to tear the flower from his grasp. He sets it back into the basket gently.

“No? Not even your husband?” he challenges. A bandage-wrapped hand finds its way under your chin, and you have no choice but to look up. Two glowing, cat-like irises meet yours. “Not even after you’ve honored me with your scarlet roses twenty-three times before, one for each Valentine’s together?”

You don’t have time to process his words, for your body reacts faster than your mind. You slap his hand away, and however brief, the sensation of cold, dead skin beneath your warm palm leaves a chill running down your spine.

“That-” You try to answer, and your voice breaks. Silence settles for a moment, just until you’re certain speaking won’t bring you to tears, and you continue, “That was before you died. Before we became trapped here. Before you agreed to participate in these senseless killing games!”

Another crack, and you double over, hand coming up to your throat. It bobs softly as you swallow your grief.

“...You know I have no choice,” comes the response, exactly as you’d expected. “It is your life being held over my head. I would not indulge the Baron’s petty whims if not for that.”

“I don’t care,” you sneer, pulling yourself into an upright position. Your hands find their way to the flower basket and you pull it close, clutching the handle so tightly your knuckles turn white. It’s painful, but it’s precisely what you need. “No matter what, my husband would never stoop so low as to become a mindless killer.”

“And what of the reverse? If it were my life on the line, would you not do as I do?”

“Would you ask me to?”

For the briefest moment, not a sound can be heard, not even your breath. Then, feline eyes narrow at you, and you receive the response of a man clearly backed into a corner, “You’re being ridiculous.”

You turn away from him. The air lightens ever so slightly, and your muscles slacken accordingly. “I don’t care. Go bother someone else if you want flowers so badly.”

“Hmph. Haven’t you heard, my dear, that it is dangerous to cross the dead? Have you no respect for your husband?”

“You are not my husband,” you all but shriek, whipping around to face him. Alva's face is impossibly neutral, and it’s infuriating, but you school your expression into something mirroring it all the same. “...Not anymore.”

With that, you turn on your heel, giving him not even a second to reply before you stomp out of the Greenhouse, basket dangling from your forearm.

In the quiet that follows, a stray rose finds its way between his bony fingers, plucked from the table where it had lain discarded. He examines it: bright, soft, and golden as sunshine. Not red. Not the color you’d always given him with a bashful smile. Not the shade that symbolized his importance to you.

Not anymore.

“Tsk. Stubborn little thing,” he mutters to no one in particular. With an aching gentleness once reserved only for you, he tucks it into the pocket of his robes, grip tight on his scepter.

It’s not red, for now.

But it will be, he thinks, and turns to leave.

Yes, it will be red. A deep crimson, rich, vibrant, and freshly painted, its citrusy scent blended nicely with a faint, metallic tang. And he will hand it to you personally because-

“...I may not be your husband anymore, but you are still mine."

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

PLEASE BLESS US MORE WITH ROMANDO ROMERO DRABBLES I LOVE YOUU 😭 😭🌹

Thank you! I'm happy you liked the ficlet!

I don't have much inspiration to write for him again at the moment, but that will likely change once he officially releases and we get Netease's usual lore dump on him.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

a matador's purpose

Tags: Possessive Behavior, Self-Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Violence, Wound Care, POV Second Person, Ficlet, Not Beta Read Summary: When life strips a man of his purpose, it's only natural that he find a new one.

“You worry too much, cariño,” Hernando says to you one evening, his tone merry despite the string of fresh cuts lining his arms and chest. He seems wholly unbothered as you dab at them with antiseptic-laden cotton, eyes unmoving from your fussing figure. In any other circumstance, you imagine you’d be quite red-faced at the sight of him, bare from the waist up and flashing you his signature, charming grin. In this instance, however, you can only muster the energy to resist shouting well-meaning profanities at him.

“And you-” you huff, tugging a bandage around his bicep perhaps a bit too harshly, “- have gotten too careless. I mean, really, what were you thinking earlier? Was getting me out of the gate so important that you had to ignore Mary right behind you?”

“Ah, that slip of the mind,” he laughs, waving a hand in your direction. “It was nothing.”

“You almost died,” you deadpan.

He laughs again. “And? We both escaped. That’s all that matters.” As you tend to the last of his new wounds, he reaches for his discarded vest, plucking off the rose he always wears. He tucks it behind your ear. “And even if I had died, I would have been brought back, just like always.”

“Hernando, that’s not-” you sputter, momentarily speechless. “That’s not the point. You keep putting yourself in danger for my sake and I don’t like it.”

“Ah, but you don’t understand, mi amor. That is precisely the point,” he counters. His smile isn’t smug, only hopelessly earnest, as though you’re speaking nonsense and he’s attempting to gently correct you. “Without the threat of death, what purpose does a matador have? What can make his heart sing, if not the thought that every battle could be his last?”

Your hands drop to your lap. “Hernando…”

“Oletus Manor has taken my purpose,” he continues, uncaring of your trepidation, “and given me a new one: protecting you. So, please… do not deny me this.”

You grow quiet, biting at your bottom lip. “...You can do that without putting yourself in danger.”

Hernando ponders this for a moment. His eyes drift to the outside of your bedroom window, where stars twinkle faintly in the winter night. Then, they land on his old scars.

“If I do… will you come to look at another man, one braver than myself?”

A pit of dread pools in your stomach, and you reach for his hand out of habit. Hernando doesn’t let you hold it, and instead guides yours to his chest, where his heart flutters beneath your fingertips.

“I would never,” you answer after a moment. Your hesitation seems to bother him as he refuses to meet your eyes, but he doesn’t let go. Rather, he presses your hand further into his skin.

“...I’ll consider it, then,” he finally replies, and flashes you another grin. This one is smaller than the others, more strained. “So long as you still think of me as your hero.”

You don’t respond to that. He doesn’t ask you to. All he does, as the sting of his wounds fades, is pull you onto his lap, the motion causing the flower behind your ear to fall loose. It drifts onto the ground, harmless and forgotten, and Hernando kisses you when your arms find their way around his shoulders.

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

linger a little longer

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, POV Second Person, Yandere, Not Beta Read Summary: Sometimes, even the most stubborn and competent are willing to feign helplessness for a sliver of attention.

“Excuse me… do you need any help?” were the first words Helena ever heard you say.

In most instances, such a question would have been met with polite refusal; even in a place as harrowing as Oletus Manor, Helena remained stubborn as a mule, opting to rely only on herself, even in times of difficulty, over appearing weak due to her disability.

She should have turned you down.

And yet-

“Yes. Thank you,” she had been quick to reply, holding out a small box she’d been struggling to find the opening of, even after a minute of feeling around. You handed it back to her a moment later, and when the warmth of your fingers brushed against hers in doing so, she wondered if, perhaps, being helpless every now and again wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Now and again”, however, soon became “near daily”.

Once proud of her independence and competence, Helena began asking you for assistance with just about everything: traversing the Manor (she knew its layout by heart), locating her belongings (hidden securely so you’d have to spend longer searching), patching her up after a rough match (even when Dr. Dyer was available), and whatever else she could think of.

She preferred not to think of her actions as manipulative, but rather… an attempt to socialize. After all, when you helped her, you spoke to her. You looked at her. You paid attention to her, and that meant more than she could ever describe. More than she realized, even.

And now, as she sat by your side within the Greenhouse, braille book resting in her lap, she would realize just a little more how much your attention meant.

“-there you are!” came the indignant voice of one Edgar Valden, cutting through your previous conversation. Helena stiffened, turning toward the direction of his footsteps as he approached. He stopped perhaps three feet from where you both sat. “I have been looking for you everywhere!”

Beneath her fingers, which had been guiding your hand across the bumps lining her pages, Helena felt your fingers curl lightly in discomfort, and she could almost imagine you wincing.

“...Sorry, Edgar,” you muttered, sheepish. “I lost track of time.”

“Clearly,” the man huffed in return.

Helena had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him. “Hello, Edgar. Do you need something?” she asked, keeping her voice as sweet as she could manage. “I’m trying to teach them braille, and if there’s a problem, I would appreciate it if you resolved it quickly.”

“The problem is that someone forgot about our afternoon lessons,” he replied curtly. A light, repetitive tapping of his foot soon followed. “...Lessons?” Helena muttered, turning to you. “Edgar has been teaching-”

“-trying to teach-”

“-me how to paint,” you answered. Your pinky hooked around one of her fingers, a small gesture of comfort, and Helena felt warmth bloom beneath the skin of her cheeks.

“..I see,” she responded. She let a tense beat of silence pass before continuing, “I never imagined you to be the type to give lessons, Edgar. Normally, you’re so… aloof when the topic of your craft comes up.”

Something like a scoff left the Painter’s lips, an undignified sound, and he was quick to sputter, “Yes, well…! If I am forced to watch their pitiful attempts at producing art between Games, I would prefer they do it with at least some level of competence.”

Helena opened her mouth to retort, but she could hardly get a breath of air in before she felt his hand lodge itself beneath hers, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

He tugged, your arm bumped against her own, and without a second thought, Helena jerked forward roughly. It was nothing more than a gentle pull on Edgar’s end, really, but you’d hardly have time to notice the result didn’t match the action as a soft crack filled the Greenhouse.

“Oh! My glasses!” Helena exclaimed, too quick, too perfectly distressed for you to dismiss, as she knelt, making sure to knock her book over as well for some added commotion.

And you, sweet, kind-hearted you… made a grab for her arm, pulling her up by the bicep before her knees even touched the ground. “Helena, wait! You could cut yourself!” The shuffling of shoes sounded, and your guilt-ridden voice soon followed, “Oh, God, they’re completely shattered… Helena, I’m so sorry.”

Helena offered a soft, forgiving smile, fighting to keep the corners of her lips from stretching up further as your attention turned back to her. “Please don’t worry. Accidents happen, but… I will need a new pair.”

She felt Edgar’s hand curl around her forearm, giving an insistent tug. “Well, come on, then. Surely Dr. Emily has a spare.”

Helena closed her eyes, summoning every bit of patience she could, and resisted the urge to pull back harshly. His touch was not careful, patient, or respectful. It was not yours.

“No, no. Please, Edgar, I’ve already caused you enough trouble by taking time from your lessons,” she said, placing her hand above her heart in a display of sympathy.

“I-”

“I won’t steal them from you tomorrow, I promise. So why not… go inside and unwind? My dear friend will help me instead.” As she spoke, she reached for you, and when you offered your hand instinctively, she grasped it, firm and unyielding.

Edgar grew quiet, and she could almost picture his eyes flicking between the two of you with uncertainty. If he wanted to say something, however, he didn’t get the chance as you chimed in, “She’s right. I’m really, truly sorry, Edgar. I promise I won’t miss our lessons tomorrow, but… I can’t leave Helena like this.”

The woman in question huffed, still suppressing a grin, and took a step forward. A satisfying crunch of glass sounded beneath her shoe. “Come on. It’s best we find her before she retires for the night.”

An affirmative noise left you as you began guiding her towards the exit, arms linked as you handed her her cane; ever in-tune with her needs, exactly as she wanted. And as you turned the corner, her eyes flitted subconsciously to where she guessed the Painter stood, and narrowed in satisfaction at the thought of him alone among the greenery, abandoned.

[ssspicaaa]

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

CAUTION:

BLINKING LIGHT

UNSETTLING IMAGERY

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

IMPERSONATING THE DEITY

(this drew inspiration from Mandela catalogue )

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Do u takw requests or plan to in the future?:0

Nope, I don't take requests, and I don't plan to. Sorry!

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Identity V Masterlist!

Helena Adams (The Mind's Eye)

linger a little longer (yandere)

Melly Plinius (Entomologist/"Queen Bee")

to bear a colony (yandere)

"Orpheus" (Novelist/"Nightmare")

kiss for a corvid (ambiguous)

Richard Sterling ("Knight")

for each man breaks the thing he loves... (yandere)

Hernando Romero (Matador)

a matador's purpose (ambiguous)

Jack (The Ripper)

token (yandere)

Hastur (Feaster)

calamity nurtures (ambiguous)

Joseph Desaulniers (Photographer)

(TBA) all that glitters (yandere):

chapter 1: the rarest bloom in the garden

chapter 2: the promise made

chapter 3: the time in-between

Yidhra (Dream Witch)

every dream, a step closer (yandere)

Luchino Diruse (Evil Reptilian/Professor)

our very own love language

Antonio Paganini (Violinist)

no longer from afar (yandere)

Alva Lorenz (Hermit)

mutual favoritism

the rose yet to be red (yandere)

Ithaqua (Night Watch)

windwalker, lifebringer (yandere)

Marcus Thorne ("Cueist")

tended courtship

feline instinct

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

Hiii, Im a bit curious. Do you accept writing commissions? I really love your writing 😓 asking for the idv community

🧲 anon (can u guess who I like..?)

Hello, 🧲 anon! Thank you for sending in an ask!

To answer your question: no, I don't take commissions. I don't like taking people's money for what I consider to be mediocre writing, and just having commissions themselves causes me a lot of stress, something I've been trying to avoid/manage recently.

I'm more than happy to discuss IDV characters, though, albeit with varying knowledge and interest.

(speaking of which, I should probably make a list of who I care about/am familiar with and who I'm not, since we've got a BIG cast...)

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

our very own love language

Note: This is the last of my fics for now. I'll try (keyword: try) to upload new ones here at the same time as on AO3. The only thing left is my ongoing, multi-chapter Joseph fic, which I will transfer after it's completed. Lastly, a masterlist is coming soon! Tags: Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Banter, Not Beta Read, Ficlet, POV Second Person Summary: “...Are you still upset with me?” you asked, shifting in your seat. Luchino tensed, his shoulders growing visibly taut, then drooping when he sighed. “Upset? With you? Of course not. Why would I be upset?”

“Luchino?” you called into the dimly lit study, its musky scent hitting you even through the small crack in the door. The only source of light was a quaint oil lamp at the other end of the room, resting upon the table where your lover sat; he was writing, slow and lazy, into his latest journal, not even bothering to raise his head when you spoke. His only response was a vague motion with his hand, which you took as your cue to enter.

As you approached him, you gave quick glances to the various enclosures lining the tables, each housing a different species of reptile; most slept, but the nocturnal few among them stared back at you, their beady little eyes unblinking. The sight had you quickening your pace.

“I brought you food,” you said, placing the plate you’d been carrying beside him. “I was worried when I didn’t see you at dinner, so I thought I would save something for you.”

He stopped writing.

“I don’t need it,” he replied, his tone curt, then reeled himself in, “...but thank you.”

You smiled, weary, and took a seat nearby, watching his tense expression slowly ease as silence settled between the two of you. After a moment, he plucked a large, juicy apple from the plate and bit into it, swallowing the uncomfortably large piece whole before putting the rest back. You could see the apple’s core now.

“...Are you still upset with me?” you asked, shifting in your seat.

Luchino tensed, his shoulders growing visibly taut, then drooping when he sighed. “Upset? With you? Of course not. Why would I be upset?”

“Because I-” You paused, coughing into your fist in the hopes of alleviating some of the tension. It didn’t work. “-looped you around the same window… for ten minutes… during yesterday’s match.”

Luchino finally turned to face you. The moment your eyes met, he did that slow, strange, sideways blink that had come about as a result of his reptilian transformation, solely because he knew it freaked you out. When you gave a slight jump, he smirked.

“Hmph. Your kiting has improved recently,” he mused. “I don’t know whether I should be happy or infuriated.”

“...Depends on the faction?” you suggested, shrugging, and that tore a laugh from Luchino’s throat. “Though, I don’t think I’ve gotten better at kiting so much as you’ve grown more stubborn and impatient.”

Huffing, he made a sudden grab for you, pulling you from your chair with a strength no man of his size or build should have. “Can you blame me? I didn’t get to see you at all yesterday until that match, and you greeted me by humiliating me.” Despite the harsh word choice, his nasally tone was light and his smile easy, especially as he guided you to sit on his lap. His clawed hands found their way around your hips.

“To be fair,” you scoffed, adjusting your position, “you greeted me by slamming down on me full-force while I was decoding.”

“I was excited to see you.”

“You were a menace.”

You reached out and pinched his nose between your index and middle knuckles, tugging on it lightly in admonishment. Luchino gave the courtesy of pretending it hurt, even reaching up to rub at his nose once you’d pulled your hand away.

He hummed, his expression unbearably smug as he conceded, “Perhaps I was. Especially when I dragged you down-”

Your face flushed. “Don’t-”

“-to the basement to ravish you.”

You groaned, allowing your head to drop onto his shoulder. With the curve of his neck now mere inches from your face, you could see precisely where human flesh met reptilian scales; you reached up to stroke the skin carefully, and Luchino let out a contented noise in return.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, tracing his collarbone. “I couldn’t walk afterward, and my team kept giving me looks when you finally let me return to the Manor!”

“Mmm… an eye for an eye, then,” he replied, beginning to rub slow, soothing circles into your back in kind. “Or perhaps… our very own love language.”

You pulled back just enough to be able to glare at him, but the heat within your eyes died quickly when he stared back, utterly adoring. It left you curling up against him subconsciously, hands bunching into his shirt in a bid for warmth.

“...Chino?” you called for him softly after a quiet moment.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone matching yours.

“I don’t really hate you.”

He laughed, his lips moving to your neck. For once, what followed was not the painful bite from a predator’s jagged fangs, but a quick nip from soft, human teeth.

“I love you too.”