#(cellmates)

The room is filled with talismans, hanging from the ceiling, placed on every wall, and surrounding him in a circular array. Binding talismans, purifying talismans, shielding talismans, everywhere his eyes bounce he sees three he recognizes and four he does not.

All this, and yet here you remain. 

Scene from "Cellmates" Chapter 2 by @aryashi

Summary:

In which Hanzo and Ramattra discuss Hanzo's odd taste in weaponry. --- Missing scene from "Cellmates" chapter 1.

Note:

Probably won't make much sense unless you've read my fic Cellmates, but most of it is sort of implied anyways so I think it's fine? Either way, I wanted to make a couple add on fics where I could explore things that didn't fit in the original fic :) this one is mostly to get more Ramzo content out there… I need to stop fearing that my fics "aren't good enough to post" lol.

Also, not very explicitly shippy, but the vibes are there. If subtly.

I read Cellmates recently and am *brainrotting* about it, please do you have any particular highlights?? I really loved the highkey yandere Yue Qingyuan scenes, they were AMAZING

Or perhaps Shen Qingqiu has dropped dead.  No. The warm vial pressed against Yue Qingyuan’s heart strangles that thought in its cradle. The moment Shen Qingqiu died, he would feel the heat leave his blood. The immediate relief is heady. Before, Yue Qinyuan would have had to negotiate with such a thought, to provide it with all the logical reasons why Shen Qingqiu was alive and well, somewhere out of his sight. To be able to so instantly soothe the startled animal fear… perhaps he will be able to keep the vial, once all this is done.  Raising a hand to his chest, he presses the vial of Shen Qingqiu’s stolen blood to his heart. Yue Qingyuan knows himself. He knows his failures, his weakness, and his vices. The idea that he would give up this little piece of Shen Qingqiu, stolen in a moment of crisis, is a lovely fantasy. An imagined, better version of himself, the one he presented to others. It is not his true nature.

Yandere YQY my beloved... though I think my favorite thing about Yandere YQY is that he can't even be a totally shameless yandere. Most examples of the trope are completely divorced from reality obsessives. They don't care about society, or morals, or anyone else but the object of their twisted affection. It makes it easy for them to burn the world for the sake of their so called 'love', and do it with a smile! A bloody one, usually with crazy anime eyes.

Unfortunately for him, YQY does have morals. He actually cares about people besides SQQ. A whole mountain full of them, and normal people too! He can't shamelessly murder a whole town for his beloved. He'll shamefully do it. He'll agonize about doing it. But if the chips were really down, if you really pushed him into it, he'd do it. Eventually. After he exhausted all other options.

Except the world never gives YQY enough time to reach that crisis point! He's too good at managing his yandere tendencies!! By the time he realized that it was too late PIDW, LBH had sent him SQQ's legs in a box! Poor guy gets all the urges, all the desires, all the anxieties of a yandere, without the freedom from morals and sense to actually do them! It's so sad, when you think about it.

That's what this scene is about. These trackers and charms that YQY knew about and had at the ready, grabbed and working within six hours of learning that SQQ was taken by an imposter... Isn't that odd? Its not like he could run a quick search for Kidnapping and Monitoring in the Sect Database. Makes you wonder how he thought of all those things so quickly, doesn't it? As if he had thought of them before, and finally had an excuse...

Given the arrest warrant for Putin for war crimes and Trump’s potential indictment for paying out illegal hush money, there’s certainly potential for a new comedy series. 

@manifcst-o​ said:

It was early morning in the darkness of their cell. He was still groggy from sleep but he had felt Sam stir next to him and knew he was waking too. He turned so he could press a kiss to his shoulder, other hand coming to rest on his chest where it stroked patterns into his skin, “It’s my birthday today,” he murmured quietly.

=====================

As Samuel feels Hugo’s soft touch, his eyes flicker open, instinctually glancing towards the bars of their cell door, ensuring he cannot see the glow of a patrolling guard’s lantern, before responding.

“Mmm…Birthday boy.” He practically growls, his voice still somewhat gruff from sleep as he carefully turns in their small bunk to face Hugo. As his hand gently eases up his cellmate’s spine, his fingers lightly dance over the jutting curvature of his back bone. In truth they are both overly lean from being undernourished, but to Samuel’s mind that only makes it all the more important the he takes the time with his touch to remind Hugo just how much his body pleases him, no matter what form it takes. It is comfort and it is warmth; it is the body of the man who has come to mean more to him than any other, the man who has become Samuel’s reason for living.

“I’ll take you out to the city for a fine supper and drinks…” He grins, eyes glittering in the dark as his hand slides down Hugo’s back to slip under the waistband of his prison issue pants, allowing Samuel to take pleasure in softly gripping a good handful of Hugo’s warm rear.

Tilting his head he peppers the man’s jaw with soft biting kisses. “…and after we’re finished, I’ll take you to the theatre…” The hand on Hugo’s rear is no longer squeezing but is flat now, used to push his cellmate into him so that in that tender collision, Hugo can feel the hard heat of Samuel, thick against his thigh.

“…when we get back to the guest house, drunk and giddy, we’ll take a hot bath in a huge copper tub and then, dressed only in the flicker of firelight, I’ll bathe every inch of you in bubbles…”

Sam is practically rutting against Hugo now, hands hungrily exploring his taut stomach and chest as he encourages his cellmate’s stark arousal with steady, rhythmic rolls of his hips. Hearing the unmistakable sound of footfalls, he pauses abruptly, frozen in position, only when the volume of those footsteps begins to mercifully recede, does he continue, this time with renewed vigour.

Sensing they may not have much time, he hungrily thrusts his hand down between Hugo’s legs to take an indulgently firm hold of him.

“…and then I’ll take you to bed and under the finest silk sheets I’ll make you scream louder than you ever thought possible.”