#implied/referenced body horror

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 116: May 2018

Jon was not strong. Physically or otherwise. But adrenaline could do wonderful things, and right now it was enabling him to keep Martin’s shoulders and back steady while Melanie tried to find a good place to start cutting the web away from him.

“It’s not sticky,” he said. “Not really.”

“Good, that means that probably won’t hurt when we peel it off him,” Melanie grunted. Despite her words and tone, her eyes were worried. “Jesus. How far behind him were we? How long has he been wrapped up like this?”

“I—I don’t know.” Jon was trying not to think too hard about that, actually. If he let himself wonder how early Martin had arrived at Hill Top Road, how long he’d been tied up and dangling and not knowing if he’d be rescued, he would start panicking. Only the fact that he’d been moving earlier, and the fact—all right, the belief that if Martin was—if Martin was—if they were too late, he’d have known, kept him from collapsing in despair.

When was the last time he’d told Martin he loved him? Yes, they had gone to sleep in one another’s arms the night before—they always did, even if Jon always seemed to wake up wrapped in nothing but blankets that still held Martin’s scent if not his warmth—but had they actually said anything? It was silly. Jon knew Martin loved him, and he knew Martin knew that Jon loved him, and they didn’t need to say the words any more than Martin and Melanie and Gerry needed to say them to one another. Still, he liked to say them every once in a while…and he’d like to know that Martin had that to hold on to when he was scared. This had to have been terrifying.

Maybe it still was.

“I love you,” he murmured into what he hoped was Martin’s ear. He’d like to have said Martin wriggled in response, but in truth, he was as still as he’d been since Annabelle Cane left.

“Hold him steady. And stay behind him,” Melanie ordered, scrambling up onto a stack of wooden crates that had no real reason to be in a room that had never been lived in.

Jon glanced up at her briefly. “I can’t see his face. How am I supposed to know which side is front or back?”

“His feet, Jon. They haven’t changed direction. Besides, his arms are behind his back and his left leg is bent behind the right one.” Melanie stretched up to just below where the web bound Martin’s ankle to the ceiling.

“Oh.” That made sense, Jon had to admit. Then he paused. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“The Hanged Man. Hold him steady,” Melanie said again. She pulled back the knife, hesitated, and inserted it into the mess of webbing.

She barely had to cut it. The whole thing split open like an overripe pea pod with a somewhat unpleasant cracking, tearing noise. Melanie fell back, nearly toppling from her box, and Jon couldn’t help it—he jumped away to keep the webbing that had encased Martin from dropping over him like a blanket. It fell in two halves like a plaster cast but landed like a small cloud of cotton wool and spread itself over the floor.

Martin himself didn’t seem to move. His leg remained perfectly bent, his hands pressed to his back, but Jon could tell they weren’t bound there, just…resting. Melanie gave a small yelp and did fall off the box this time, with a muffled curse. Even though Jon was behind Martin, he could guess why. Even from where he stood, he could see the green glow radiating as if from a pair of twinned spotlights, directly in front of his face.

“Martin?” Jon said, hearing the barely controlled panic in his voice.

Martin let out a gasp, although that was a mild term for it—it sounded like the gulp of air a previously drowning man might take upon breaking the surface, the sort of sound often followed by a great bout of hacking coughs. What followed this time, however, was Martin managing a single word in a hoarse, scratchy voice, even as the light vanished and his arms dropped to hang loosely at his side. “Jon?”

Jon looked around desperately and spotted what he’d been looking for on the tilted wooden slat serving as a windowsill under the improbably boarded-up window—Martin’s glasses, lined up neatly alongside a tape recorder. He left the recorder for the moment, picked up the glasses, knelt beside Martin—who had indeed closed his eyes—fumbled for a moment to get them turned in the right direction, and slid them onto his face, then leaned forward and kissed him softly. “I’m here, Martin.”

Martin took one or two slow, deep breaths, then opened his eyes. They were, if possible, more intensely green than they had been just yesterday, but at least they weren’t glowing. They were also full of pain and contrition. “Jon. How—why—”

“Shh.” Jon kissed him again, just for sheer relief of being able to. He was still shaking with adrenaline. “You didn’t think we were going to leave you here, did you?”

“We?”

“We,” Melanie said, standing up and adjusting her shirt. “Hold on, let me get your ankle undone…”

Martin, with seeming difficulty owing to the blood rushing into it, managed to angle his head to look up at his ankle, then sighed and let his head fall back. With a sharp but simple twist of his leg, the webbing binding him to the ceiling came undone and he collapsed rather heavily to the floor. He groaned softly as he sat up.

Jon threw his arms around Martin and clung tightly. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he only just stopped himself from bursting into sobs. “Promise me you won’t ever go off on your own like this again. Please. Just…please. I-I don’t like worrying about you like that, and…and I…”

Martin hugged Jon back and kissed the top of his head gently. “I promise. No more…solo adventures. Certainly not investigating statements.”

Melanie came over and hugged both of them; Martin freed an arm from Jon to hug her, too. Jon didn’t, but he glanced up at her face and saw that she understood he was too scared and relieved to let go of Martin just yet. For a few moments, none of them said anything.

At last, Martin sighed heavily. “We should probably get back to the Institute. Please tell me the others knew you two were coming.”

“Tim loaned us his car.” Melanie got to her feet and held out a hand, a bit uncertainly, like she wasn’t sure which one of them she was offering to help up.

Jon accepted it, on the probably not unreasonable suspicion it would take both of them to help Martin up. “Speaking of, we should probably call…oh,” he said with a small grimace. The image floated to his mind of his phone, sitting on the desk in the Archivist’s office, still plugged into the charger. “Melanie, do you…?”

Melanie assisted Jon in levering Martin to his feet, then reached for her back pocket and sighed. “Unless it fell out in the car, no, damn it, I left mine at h—at the Institute, too. I wasn’t thinking about it. Martin?”

Martin bent down and picked up a small object Jon somehow hadn’t noticed—his phone, held together in the loosest possible sense with fragments of web, but there were enough bits missing from the screen that it was clear to Jon that even if it turned on, it wouldn’t work for long. “I wonder if the Institute will reimburse me for possessions with damage caused by being kidnapped in the line of duty.”

“Basira does all the paperwork. She’ll probably sign off on it,” Jon muttered. “She likes you.”

“I’m not having this conversation again. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Martin looked around, then crossed over to the windowsill—Jon only just stopped himself from clinging to his hand like a small child desperate not to lose his mother in a crowd—and reached for the tape recorder.

The soft click was the first clue Jon had that it had been running the whole time.

“Well,” Melanie muttered in his ear, “at least we’ll get some idea of what happened before we got here.”

Jon glanced at her as briefly as possible. “You don’t like it either?”

“I don’t think Martin left that tape for me. I definitely don’t think he dug through fifteen years’ worth of rubbish to find my tape recorder. Or his,” Melanie added. “Because if that isn’t the recorder Granddad gave him, I’ll eat it.” Louder, she asked, “Did you bring that on purpose?”

“No.” Martin was staring at the recorder as if he’d never seen it before…or, Jon supposed, as if he hadn’t seen it in a very long time. “I didn’t remember I had it until I got here and it turned itself on. And…Jesus. It looks almost like the one Granddad gave me for Christmas, but Mum smashed that when she had one of her temper tantrums.”

“If she wasn’t dead, I’d kill her,” Melanie said. “Turn it over.”

Martin did—and went pale. Jon went over to him and touched his arm tentatively. “It—Melanie found hers, too. I-it had—look, let’s, let’s talk about this on the way back, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Melanie came over and looped her arm through Martin’s. “Fuck this place. The Web can have it.”

“Sure.” Martin shook himself and pocketed the recorder, then reached for Jon, who tucked under his arm willingly enough.

It had stopped raining, but the clouds hung awfully low to the ground. Jon found himself eyeballing them nervously and tightening his grip on Martin’s waist. It probably wasn’t the Lonely, not this close to the Web’s stronghold, but that didn’t mean he was going to take any chances. Martin, however, stopped and stared at the small tree at the foot of the path, then at Jon, before turning to look at Melanie.

“Is it the twenty-fifth already?” he asked.

Melanie punched him lightly. “You forget every year.”

Martin smiled faintly in reply, then reached up and broke off a sprig of lilac, which he tucked into the pocket of his shirt.

Jon had…a number of questions. Most of them could, and probably should, wait until they were in the car and away from here, but there was one that couldn’t wait. “Martin?”

“Mm?”

“What were you dressed as?” In response to the look Martin gave him, Jon clarified, “For Halloween. The year you…Melanie told me about your, ah, encounter with the—well, the Dark—and she said she was dressed as the Beast and that you had a coat, but…”

Martin blinked, then laughed softly. “Dmitri. From Anastasia.”

Jon looked up at Martin and managed a smile. “I can see that.”

It was a stolen moment in a world gone mad, and Jon was going to cling to it as hard as he could. He had a feeling things were going to get worse before they got better.

“I hate your instincts,” Melanie said when he voiced that. She unlocked Tim’s car and looked in the driver’s seat. “Nope, no phone. Let’s get back before the rest of them panic.”

Jon hesitated, torn between sitting in the backseat with Martin and sitting up front. Finally, reluctantly, he took the seat next to Melanie. Martin reached his hand through the gap between the seats to hold his, though, which helped a lot.

As Melanie navigated onto the A240, Jon plucked up the courage to ask the least important of his questions. “What’s so significant about the twenty-fifth?”

“Nothing really,” Martin said. “It’s a Discworld reference.”

“The Glorious Revolution,” Melanie explained, shifting lanes to avoid yet another unsuspecting, law-abiding motorist. “Citizens pushing back against a bloody and homicidal regime. It’s just a silly little thing.” She was quiet for a moment. “We always loved those books.”

“I’ll dig them out for you sometime,” Martin promised. “You’ll love them.”

“I’m sure.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand gently.

Martin squeezed back. “You…said you found your recorder from Granddad, Neens? I thought yours wore out.”

“It did. But it was sitting on my desk. Had my name scratched on it and everything.” Melanie’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror briefly. “The tape you recorded…this morning, I guess…when you talked about going to Hill Top Road was in it.”

“I didn’t remember recording that, either,” Martin murmured. “It clicked off when I said I was coming here…I assumed it was approval.”

“More likely it was trying to get downstairs before you got too far for us to catch you,” Jon said. “Except we…didn’t find it quickly enough. I wonder where it was before it turned up on your desk?”

“Probably a lot of really fucking obvious places,” Melanie said. “Tim and Sasha probably moved around it getting breakfast together. Hell, the cats were probably playing with it.”

Martin’s hand tightened around Jon’s. “You’re talking like they’re sentient.”

“You don’t think they are?” Jon twisted around to frown at his boyfriend. “We’ve all seen the tapes, or the recorders, turn up in odd places. You said even back when—even last year when I went after the Not-Them, the tape I’d been recording just…appeared at the bookstore. You always find the ones you need right when you need them, and there’s always something recording when you’re in a truly desperate spot.”

“You even said it turned off when you asked it to,” Melanie pointed out. “When you were in the shack in the swamp.”

“Yes, but…that was the recorders, not the tapes,” Martin said.

“I had the recorder I’d been using with me when I went up to smash the table,” Jon said. “I don’t know how the tape got to you without it, but…”

Martin sighed rather heavily. “I’ve always felt there was something comforting about them,” he admitted. “Certainly I feel less alone when they’re around. That doesn’t mean I understand them.” He glanced down at the recorder in his hand and added, “Still, thank you for fetching them. Bit stupid of me to expect I could just walk into the Web’s stronghold and walk out again.”

“Did you know that’s what it was?” Jon asked. Which, he realized a moment later, was a silly question. Martin was the nearest thing to omniscient there was, of course he’d known…

“Do you know,” Martin said, sounding a bit surprised, “I don’t think I did, actually. I, I knew the Web had been there, but…I just assumed it was the table. Not the place itself.” He shook his head. “Gertrude was right, I guess. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations.”

“Why did it want you there?” Melanie asked.

“Dunno. To Mark me, maybe, although I can’t think why.” Martin paused. “Or it just wanted me away from the Institute.”

“Or us.” Terror suddenly struck Jon. “Annabelle said it was for my protection—”

“Annabelle. Cane?” Martin leaned forward. “The one from the spider experiment?”

“Were you awake in there?” Melanie asked. “Could you hear what was going on?”

“Not really. I was…” Martin hesitated. “Once she started wrapping me up in the webbing, I…sort of went inside myself? Or something took over. Something was keeping me alive, anyway. I, I was trying to See through the web, but it was…I-I must have pushed too hard. It was like trying to drink the entire ocean through a straw. I was getting everything all at once—every statement I’ve ever read or listened to or taken, every Leitner I’ve ever touched, every encounter I’ve ever had, all playing on top of each other like an overexposed film. But I could—there was something, some kind of truth, something that I—I was reaching for it, I almost had it, and then you called my name and—” He broke off.

“And you lost it,” Jon completed quietly. “I-I’m sorry. If—”

“No, don’t be. Whatever it was, I think actually reaching it would have been the last straw. Something would have come out of that cocoon, but it sure as hell wouldn’t have been me.”

If it had been safe to crawl into the backseat, Jon would have. As it was, he tightened his grip on Martin’s hand, and they drove the rest of the way back to London in silence.

There was more sun near the Institute than there had been in Oxford, but it was still cloudy enough that things felt a bit oppressive. Jon shivered and tucked up against Martin’s side. Weather aside, he needed the comfort. From the way Martin’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, he evidently felt the same.

The three of them made their way in through the side door into the Archives. The second it banged shut behind them, Melanie yelled into the space, “Got him!”

Gerry appeared out of nowhere and tackled Martin in a bear hug that nearly knocked Jon off his feet. “Martin, Jesus, we’ve been trying to get hold of you three for ages and both of these impulsive idiots forgot their phones…”

“Mine got, uh, Webbed.” Martin hugged Gerry back. “I’m okay. I promise. We’re all okay.”

“You won’t be for long. That’s not a threat.” Gerry tugged his arm. “Come on. Something’s up.”

Jon trailed after Gerry and Martin back to the main cluster of desks. Daisy was prowling back and forth like a caged animal, Wynken trotting at her side like a small calico shadow and wisely staying clear of her feet; Tim stood in front of the door to Martin’s office, arms folded across his chest and face grim; Sasha sat on the edge of her desk, looking worried. She leaped up when she saw them and hurried over to hug Melanie, which probably shouldn’t have surprised Jon as much as it did. Daisy, her attention drawn by Sasha’s movement, pounced on Martin in all ways but physical. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Martin blinked at Daisy, looking totally nonplussed. Jon, too, was lost.

“She’s gone, Basira’s gone.” Daisy looked agitated—not angry, not really frightened, but like she was mentally hopping from one foot to the other. “Something’s happened.”

“How can you tell?” The words that came out of Martin’s mouth crackled with static, and he looked instantly contrite. “Shit, sorry, I—”

Daisy didn’t seem to notice, though, or if she did, she didn’t care. “I just…can. Even when she’s in the Lonely, I can feel when she’s around, but she’s not. It’s not like she left for the day, she’s just…gone. And this was in my desk.”

Jon suspected what it would be, even before Daisy held it up, just from the laser-sharp way Martin focused on her hand. He was right. Clutched in Daisy’s long, slender white fingers was a cassette tape. Martin started to reach for it, then stopped himself. “Have you listened to it?”

“No. Listened to the statement you took this morning, tried calling the three of you, spent a while arguing over whether we should go after you or wait until you got back.” Daisy laid the tape on the desk. “Found this in the top drawer, on top of a new pack of gum. It’s from Basira, it has to be. She knows I like the purple pack.” She hesitated, then added, “Besides, it was just the tape. No recorder. Whatever’s putting them in your way didn’t want me to listen yet.”

Martin hesitated, then pulled out the recorder from his pocket. Gerry’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “May I?”

“Please.” Daisy pushed it towards him.

Martin picked up the tape, opened the recorder, removed the tape that was already in there, inserted the one Daisy had given him, and pressed PLAY. He then sat on the edge of the desk to listen.

Jon sat next to him, as close to on his lap as he dared, and listened to the statement. Basira had never got as deep into the statements as Jon or Martin had, but she read in a flat, emotionless voice that nevertheless conveyed everything that needed to be conveyed. She seemed…distant from the whole thing, and while Jon was certainly a bit creeped out by the statement, the whole thing seemed to bore her, merely making her express a wish that Peter Lukas would simply tell her what they were going to do about it.

And then he turned up to do just that.

Or at least, he told her some of the things about it. He asked if she remembered about the tunnels. He told her there was a “device” in the center that would enable them to see what was allegedly going on with the Extinction. He told her it would be hard to find without a map, which made Jon a bit uneasy, especially when he claimed he would have one by “tomorrow”, whenever that was, and that they would be going.

“I suppose I’m not coming back then.” Basira’s voice was as flat and emotionless as it had been reading the statement, and Jon found his eyes flicking briefly over to Daisy.

“You’re not going to die, if that’s what you’re asking, but—no.” Peter Lukas’ voice was calm but surprisingly jovial, considering the topic of conversation. “If all goes well, you won’t be. How does that make you feel?”

There was the shortest of pauses, in which Jon could hear the static building, and then Basira’s voice replied. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Excellent.” Peter sounded really pleased at that. “I’m so proud of you, Basira.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Perfect.”

Click.

Sasha’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Melanie wrapped an arm around her. “Fairgrounds. Great. That didn’t sound like the Web, though. Didn’t sound like any Extinction to me, either. Dekker’s right, he’s looking to confirm his own bias. That was the Flesh. Maybe a bit of the Spiral.” She wavered. “I think.”

Tim put a hand on Daisy’s shoulder and squeezed absently; she reached up and covered his hand briefly with hers, which surprised Jon just a little. He rallied and tried to think rationally. “‘By tomorrow,’ Peter Lukas said. When did she record this?”

“Yesterday,” Martin replied immediately.

Daisy looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

“Has to be.” Martin slid off the desk and popped open the recorder, handing the tape back to Daisy. “The tape wasn’t there last night, but it was this morning. She probably slipped in and left it there for you on her way down to the tunnels. Either she was giving us—giving you—a hint to stop this, or she was saying goodbye. Either way, she and Peter are down there looking for…whatever it is.”

“Can you find it, too?” Daisy pressed.

“I—I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not knowing what it is…I-I don’t know that I could find it just by Knowing. Besides, those tunnels are hard to See in. Whatever’s hidden at the center of them, it’s there by design, and it’s probably something meant to be hidden from us.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I wish I could, but…”

“Well, maybe I can.” Daisy glanced at the trapdoor. “Or maybe if we work together.”

Melanie grunted. “Shit, do you think that might be why the Web lured you to Hill Top Road? To get you out of the way so Peter and Basira could get down there without being Seen?”

“It’s possible, but…” Martin shook his head impatiently. “That doesn’t…feel right. I don’t know. The Web never explains itself.”

Tim poked at something on the desk nearest him. “Think there’s an explanation on one of these?”

Jon looked—and did a double-take. Tim was nudging a pair of tapes sitting on Jon’s desk, right at the foot of the photograph he’d printed off and framed, the one they’d taken in Regent’s Park the month before for Gerry’s birthday: Melanie perched on Gerry and Martin’s linked arms, Jon standing practically on Martin’s feet, Sasha laughing as she leaned against Gerry’s shoulder, and Tim and Daisy lounging on the ground and posing outrageously. They had definitely not been there before he left to go after Martin.

“What on Earth…?” he began, reaching over to pick the closer one up. It had more than a few cracks in it, like someone had dropped it a few times or run it over with a lorry or slammed it in a door, and was labeled with two simple words in Gertrude’s by now familiar handwriting: Head Archivist.

He passed it to Martin. “I think this is for you.”

Martin stared at it for a moment, frowning, then slid it into the tape recorder. He didn’t even have to touch it; it began playing almost as soon as it closed. Gertrude Robinson’s voice sounded unusually determined. “Right. If you’re listening to this, it is extremely likely that—no. Let’s not beat about the bush. If you’re listening to this, it means I’m dead. And you have been chosen to be my replacement as Head Archivist.”

Jon glanced up at Sasha in surprise, and not a little guilt, as Gertrude addressed her directly, obviously having selected her as her successor. Sasha didn’t seem particularly upset, though, and he realized—though how he couldn’t tell—that, whatever she may have felt three years ago when Jon took the position she’d wanted, she sure as hell didn’t envy him or Martin now. She probably wouldn’t have at the time, either, if she’d had this tape. Gertrude was laying everything out, up to and including the fact that the Archivist was part of a ritual to bring the Eye to ascendancy, and that Elias was likely behind it.

“Oh, yes,” Gertrude’s voice said, almost as if it was an afterthought. “On the subject of Elias: Trust nothing he says. He was originally known as Jonah Magnus, the founder of this Institute—”

“What?” Jon, Melanie, and Sasha all cried out at once.

“Shh,” Tim said, face pale but eyes fixed intently on the recorder.

Jon listened, his heart in his throat, but Gertrude gave no further explanation for her extraordinary assertion that Elias was, or had once been, Jonah Magnus; she only went on to explain more things they already knew, that Martin as the Archivist was in great danger and that the world was now on his shoulders, before stating that she hoped she would be able to prevent him from having to listen to it.

“But if you are hearing it, then—good luck. Do what you have to do.” There was a heavy sigh, and then a brief pause before Gertrude’s voice added, a bit tremulously, “One last thing. Should you have the opportunity…please pass the message to Martin Blackwood that—that Mrs. Smith regrets he was unable to complete his studies, and regrets even more that he works here, but that she is thankful he is only in the Library…and that she is very, very proud of him.”

The recorder clicked off, much more quietly than usual.

“What,” Melanie finally said, “and I cannot stress this enough, the actual goddamn fuck.”

“Elias Bouchard is Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, his voice shaking as the realization settled on him.

Gerry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“He’s been body-hopping,” Daisy said. “Like Rayner. No wonder your dad was so surprised Bouchard became head of the Institute. He was a white streak of nothing and shouldn’t have got the job. James Wright—or Jonah Magnus or whoever—must’ve picked him out because nobody would miss him.”

Tim suddenly slapped his hand on the desk in front of him, making Jon jump. “Fuck! The tunnels!”

“The—what about them?” Martin jerked his head up and focused on Tim.

“They’re the remains of the old Millbank Prison complex,” Tim said, the words falling over one another rapid fire. “And what was at the center of Millbank Prison?”

“The Panopticon,” Melanie breathed. “You think that’s the device?”

“Must be. What does it do? It lets you see everything. Or, more to the point, it makes you feel like people could see everything. But it’s also isolating, which is why Peter Lukas needs someone touched by both the Eye and the Lonely to work it.”

Martin pressed his lips together. “And if that’s where Jonah Magnus’ original body is stored…”

“Basira has to destroy it,” Daisy said. “You think? That’s how it usually works in the stories. To destroy the monster, you have to kill the root.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t know, but—” Martin sighed, sounding frustrated. “There has to be a key. Some way of getting down there easily. A-a statement, or, or something. Peter Lukas can’t be the only one with a map.”

Jon looked over at the shelves, which were in better order than they had been—whether that had hastened whatever was about to happen or not—but were still stuffed with papers and a bit on the chaotic side in the places they hadn’t quite got to yet. “Where do we even start looking?”

Melanie looked at the surface of Jon’s desk and indicated the second tape. “What about this one? It’s not labeled.”

Gerry picked up the tape and went still. His hazel eyes seemed to drain of color, growing pale along with his skin, and he swayed as if caught in a high wind.

“Gerry?” Martin reached out for him, obviously concerned.

Gerry turned to face him. Jon swore he rippled, like he was standing in three places at the same time, as he held the tape out to Martin. “It’s your grandfather.”

[anthonyzoxide]

Had to draw @therealstara's sacrifical lamb SL!Lizzie ... I lauve her

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 5

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

The silence in the room was so oppressive Zahra could almost feel it pressing down on her skin, crushing the very air from her lungs.

All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, thumping in her chest with a steady, pounding rhythm. She could feel Azriel’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare to look at him.

Zahra wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the pity in his eyes.

And she knew it would be there. 

Her hands were so tightly clenched in the sheets that her muscles ached. Her eyes were still squeezed closed, trying to keep in the tears.

Gods, she couldn’t cry.  Not in front of him. She’d already bared enough of her soul to the male. He knew far more about her than anyone else in the world. 

And that realisation was terrifying.

She hadn’t wanted anybody to know. She hadn’t wanted anybody ever to find out. 

It would have been her secret to take to the grave with herself. 

Nobody would have needed to know, right? 

Not even her mate. She would have gladly kept it a secret from him too. Would have gladly never told the male fate had in store for her, how broken exactly she was. How…destroyed she was. 

Zahra swallowed, feeling the warm and large hand around her own. He was too gentle with her, too careful to touch her.

She didn’t deserve that gentleness. Didn’t deserve it when she was the one that had been damaged and broken and used. “Zahra,” Azriel whispered, his voice deep and quiet. “Please look at me.”

And so she did look at him, even when she didn’t want to…looked at this man that she loved…the tears that filled them pooling but not falling. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and her heart ached at the sight of him.

His lips were set in a grim line, a frown creasing his forehead. His eyes traced across her face, scanning every little part of her. She didn’t want him to look at her. Didn’t want him to see…her like that.  Didn’t want him to see the ugly and jagged edges that stuck out like spikes… The shadows swirled and curled over his body in an almost protective barrier.

And still…he was so gentle…so kind. 

“You’ve survived so much,” Azriel said quietly. “So much pain and horror. And you…you don’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, none of it. He hurt you, and you were hurt for years.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed heavily.

A tear finally escaped from her eye, trickling down towards her temple and into her hair. 

Years. 

She had lost count of how often it had happened. She didn’t want to know an exact number either. She didn’t even want to think about what he had done to her. 

She didn’t want to remember. 

Azriel seemed to sense that. 

“Do you want a bath?” Azriel asked her, still holding her hands. “Wash off the blood? The shadows can help you.”

She took an uneven breath, her eyes still locked on his face. Zahra hated how gentle he was being, how careful and soft and concerned for her he was. She didn’t deserve either his care or his concern. 

She…she shouldn’t…

She didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve that kindness and that gentleness.

Still, she nodded. 

Bath. Clean. As clean as she could get anyway…

His hands, warm and large, reached out to her. And when he scooped her up like she weighed nothing…she was too tired and pained to protest. 

It still ached…deep within her. 

And she hated it. 

Zahra rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. She felt the shadows whisper soft touch against her skin, as Azriel carried her into the bathroom, the bathtub already filling…he lowered her into it, hot water lapping at her skin.

She slumped against the side of the bathtub, letting her eyes flutter closed. The hot water felt strangely soothing against the pain and ache of her body.

“The shadows are here if you need anything,” Azriel said softly. “If you need anything, just tell them. I’ll put clean sheets on the bed.”

She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of him dealing with her bloody linens. 

“You don’t need to do that,” she protested. He didn’t need to… her sheets were drenched with her blood. 

He stilled, and Zahra could almost hear the frown creasing his forehead.

“I am not about to leave you here to change them yourself,” Azriel said drily. “I can just about manage to put fresh sheets on a bed.”

“They are drenched in blood,” she replied weakly. He knelt down beside the tub, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

“I have dealt with blood my whole life. It doesn’t matter,” he promised her.

Yeah, but that hadn’t been…that had been blood spilt from a wound and not…

His mouth was set in a grim line, anger simmering in those dark eyes, as he saw the shame on her face. “Don’t,” he said sternly. “Don’t you dare think for even a minute that I find you…repulsive or tainted, because of this, or because of what happened to you and what you’ve had to do. You’re not. ”

She swallowed, still able to hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. It wasn’t anger directed at her, but it was anger all the same.

Every thought and emotion Zahra was feeling was swirling in a confusing, chaotic torrent in her mind. She was so tired, but her brain would not be silent. And it kept going over the same thing, over and over.

“But I am,” she said hoarsely. “I am tainted.”

His eyes darkened at that, and he clenched his jaw. The shadows around them grew even darker, swirling agitatedly in the air.

“You aren’t,” he disagreed firmly. “The things that have happened to you…gods above, they should never have happened. But they didn’t taint you. ”

“Of course they did,” she snapped. It was like all the anger and pain and bitter resentment that she’d smothered away and locked deep in her chest was bubbling up, escaping past her attempts to keep it hidden. “Of course, they did! If you know what he did to me, you wouldn’t even be able to look at me!”

He took it. All the rage that she was throwing in front of his feet because she needed throw it at somebody… he didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down. 

He weathered it. He reached out…one of those horribly scarred hands cupped her cheeks instead. 

“I would,” he disagreed with her. “I refuse to let you think that whatever happened has somehow lessened you in my eyes, that it somehow makes you unworthy or tainted.”

She couldn’t stop the new trickle of tears that escaped from her eyes, the pain in her heart and her body too damn overwhelming.

“How?” She asked hoarsely. “How can you say that?!”

These hazel green eyes met her own. 

“Because I care about you, Zahra, and I can’t stand you thinking that this….this horrible, vile thing has changed anything,” Azriel promised her fiercely. “And because…because you are my mate. And nothing will ever change that. ” 

No. No, this wasn’t… he couldn’t be her mate. He couldn’t be…He…

He was too good for her. Too kind. Too…too gentle. 

This perfect, scarred, beautiful male. One of the fiercest warriors in the Night Court. The Shadowsinger. Her mate.

How could he even entertain that thought. 

He wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks, endlessly gentle as tears ran down her face. “You’re stuck with me,” Azriel said hoarsely. And I don’t care what you’ve had to do or what you had to sacrifice. This will not change what you mean to me.”

Her chest was aching so painfully she could hardly breathe, and it was like her heart was breaking itself apart with grief and shame.

He said he didn’t care what she’d had to do. But he hadn’t let her speak of the worst of it. He didn’t know, he didn’t know.

“You might change your mind when you know everything I’ve done,” Zahra whispered.

His hand paused, the scarred palm cupping the side of her face. “No,” Azriel said firmly. “I won’t. And don’t think that I can’t guess half of what you had to do. I know that you had to endure far, far more than anyone should ever have to, but it changes nothing between us,” he promised her.  

“Take that bath,” he said softly. “You don’t need to decide anything. Not right now. I’ll change the sheets and then you can go to sleep. And we’ll talk whenever you are ready.”

Her eyes were burning again and her heart twisted, but she nodded. She wanted to protest and argue and insist that she was alright, but he wouldn’t listen to her anyway.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Alright, I’ll—alright.”

Everything hurt. Her body ached as it had after the worst of it, ached and hurt.

She scrubbed at her skin until it was red and raw, as though she could wash away the memories and the pain and the shame.

But despite the hot water, it felt as though she was freezing, and the memories kept floating into her mind.

She could hear Azriel move in the other room, heard the steps he knew were only audible because he wanted them to be.

It was comforting, hearing those footsteps. Hearing him move around just beyond the door, so close and safe and near to her.

Zahra almost told him to come back, just so she could see him and be with him for a few more moments. But she didn’t. It wasn’t fair to him to be around her while she was like this, not when he deserved so much better than her.

She floated away into the numbness, her eyes closing. She felt the shadows jostle her gently, but she didn’t even react. They had never hurt her before. 

Why should she flinch away from them. 

“Sunshine.” Her eyes only opened weakly. Azriel was back. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Her limbs felt strangely and eerily disconnected from her body, even as Azriel’s hands moved her out of the tub, as the shadows wrapped her into a towel…even as they helped her into a fresh nightgown, letting them move her like some kind of strange lifeless doll. 

Azriel scooped her up into those strong arms, holding her against his broad chest. 

She thought that she should protest. That she should struggle and fight and insist he put her down. But when she was held so close to him, all she wanted was to rest her head against his shoulder...all she wanted was to nuzzle into the warmth of him. 

He laid her gently down on the mattress. The sheets were clean and fresh, smelling of crisp soap, and her bed was soft and warm beneath her.

He went to move away and leave her, but before he could, she reached out and fisted her hand in his shirt.

She forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at him…and then she felt it.

The unfurling of something inside her chest. Something warm and safe and secure.

The bond. The Mating Bond.

Even as the realisation sank in, the link between them flared with that feeling. Warmth and safety and a fierce, possessive protectiveness that she had never felt before.

Azriel’s eyes widened, and she could see the realization dawn in his expression.

He’d felt it too. Felt the bond snap into place between them like a line of rope, tying them together in a way they could never untangle.

“Stay.“

He blinked, his eyes flickering over her face.

And then, without a word, he climbed into the bed.

He laid down next to her, and he pulled her gently against him. His arm wrapped around her waist, one wing came down to cocoon her and she felt more comfortable and safe than she ever had before.

“Rest,” Azriel said again. “Just sleep. It’s alright.”

She shut her eyes, letting the tiredness crash down over her. She breathed in the scent of him, of that cedar forest scent mixed with rain and mist.

He was safe, and she was protected. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to relax into the touch and comfort.

And for the first time in a long time, her sleep was dreamless. 

***

Zahra was sleeping. Her face was still pale...but she had curled up against his side, and her breathing was even and deep...

She was his mate. His mate.

He had waited 500 years for her. And now he had found her, in Zahra.

In his friend. Because that's what they had become. Friends.

Though he had been a horrible friend for not even realising even a smidgen of what had gone on.

Part of him felt like he should get up and walk away. Let her sleep and not disturb her rest.

But the other, louder part of him that was utterly possessive and protective of her wouldn’t let him even think about it.

He wanted to hold her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. The urge to protect and comfort and have her as close as possible was overwhelming.

As was the urge to slaughter that human man who had dared to lay a hand on his mate. We’ll kill him, his shadows hissed. Slowly. Hurt him until he begs for mercy.

His shadows had always been somewhat possessive of him. Over the years they’d even become somewhat protective towards the other members of the inner circle... but never had Azriel ever seen them react with this kind of anger.

This wasn't anger. This was fury.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that the shadows would be upset by what had happened to Zahra. But they were.

The thought of hurting the man wasn’t even a consideration. Azriel would gladly tear the human limb from limb for what he’d done.

He couldn't help but snarl silently, as he remembered everything she had told him.

His hands clenched unconsciously, his arms tightening around her body in a protective vice. She was his mate, and he would do anything to keep her safe now.

Azriel had never had this desperate protectiveness before. It was the bond, he told himself. His mate instinct taking over his brain, making him want to guard and defend and keep her.

Ours, his shadows hissed. Ours, ours, ours.

She was his mate. And no one was ever going to touch her again. No one was ever going to hurt her. Not physically, or emotionally.

He and his shadows would keep her safe. They’d keep her with them, safe and secure and loved for the rest of her life.

No one would ever hurt her again. Ever.

Not that human male. Not any fae. He would lay waste to the entirety of Prythian to make sure that Zahra would be safe.

Every single instinct was screaming at him to keep her here. To keep her close, where she was safe and protected and no one could harm her.

She was his mate. A part of him. The thought of her being in danger, of being hurt, made him feel sick to the stomach.

He would burn Prythian to the ground if it meant keeping her safe. He would start a war, he would do anything.

And he counted their family into this equation as well. Before some of the treatment that Zahra had received from her sisters had upset Azriel, had felt unfair. Now...now he was so fucking furious that he didn't trust himself not to rip out Nesta's throat the next time he saw her.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this angry with his family. He might have felt hurt or annoyed, or even frustrated....but he had swallowed it all down. Hadn't wanted to have that argument...hadn't wanted....But now...

Now though... now it was anger and fury and a vicious protectiveness.

The thought of how they’d all treated her before—how they’d laughed or joked or been rude or simply ignored her—made his blood boil.

How dare they treat her like that? She was his mate.

His own family had done this to her. His own family, her own sisters, had treated her so cruelly for all this time. And they hadn't known what Zahra had sacrificed for their survival...didn't know what she went through on a daily basis as a result of it.

Either she was treated like she didn't matter or like she didn't exist. Ignoring her and berating her in equal measures.

His jaw hurt, his teeth gritted together as he thought about the way they’d treated her.

Zahra had put up with it. She’d taken it all, silently. And that only made him angrier. Because she’d allowed them to treat her like she was a burden like she was nothing. She’d never complained or spoken about it, even once. Like she didn’t deserve anything else. Like she wasn’t worth more.

They would not do that anymore. Ever.

Azriel was done.

No one was ever going to treat her like that again. 

Even the thought of it made his jaw hurt. He’d never felt this furious before. The thought of what they’d done to her…his own family…

He’d thought they would do better. Thought that the inner circle were all…better than that. Thought that they wouldn't be so heartless. But they’d ignored Zahra, over and over again.

His shadows hissed, writhing angrily around him, and he had to bite back the urge to snarl.

Because he himself hadn't been better either until it had been nearly too late.

He had been so blind. So utterly useless, not to have seen how she had been suffering and struggling...

Not to have realised that he’d been missing out on a beautiful, kind, intelligent female. Just because he’d been so absorbed in his own pity party.

He should have done better.

He would do better now.

He’d never make this mistake again. Not when it came to his mate.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that much. But he would spend the rest of their goddamn lives together until he made up for how he’d been so blind.

He deserved nothing. He deserved to have his head on a spike for being so stupid.

But he would spend the rest of their days paying this debt.

He would keep her safe.

He would never allow her to feel small or insignificant again.

He would make damn sure of that.

He tightened his grip around her. She was curled against his side, her head laid against his chest. She was safe. She was safe.

His arm was wrapped around her protectively, and he thought, for the first time, that he understood how Rhys felt about Feyre. Understood that desperate, possessive, protective urge.

She was his. And he would not allow a single person to hurt her ever again.

Not even himself.

He would take care of her.

He would do anything to keep her safe. To keep her healthy and happy and loved.

She was his mate.

He reached out for that mental tether that Rhys kept for him and yanked at it sharply.

The reply came just as quickly.

What is it?

Rhys’s mind voice echoed into his head.

I need to talk to you, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little against his side, her arm moving across his chest. Now.

It's the middle of the night, Rhys said drily. If you are having one of your temper tantrums, can it wait until tomorrow?

Azriel wanted to bristle. He didn't.

I met my mate, he cut off Rhys. I figured you would like to know that. I’ll take the rest of the week off. You’ll have my reports on your desk come tomorrow.

The mental silence on the other end of the mental link was enough to tell him that Rhys had been shocked.

Your mate, Rhys’ mind voice finally echoed. You’ve found your mate?

Yes, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little again, her arm rubbing over his chest.

There was a pause, and he could practically see the disbelief and surprise on his brother’s face.

Who is it?

Good Night, Rhysand, he shot back.

And he cut the link between their minds before Rhys had a chance to protest.

[syoddeye]

Price as Davy Jones from POTC. Comes back every ten years to track down reader no matter where they are

the timing of this ask is bananas, because i was just discussing a similar premise with friends. (except davy jones!ghost, purely to describe him prying a barnacle off of his face and eating it in front of reader.) but this works so well with price, too.

prefacing this by admitting I haven't watched any potc movies since they came out. so this is based on what i remember, and we're going to be forgiving lol. this spun out into 1.9k.

cw: implied/referenced noncon/rape, body horror, stabbing/shooting/violence in general, implied/referenced breeding, largely unedited all vibes no brakes.

Clinging to a scrap of what was once a passenger ship, choking on smoke and seawater, you whimper as bits of wreckage and bodies bob around you, lifeless limbs brushing against your legs.

The wreckage still burns, providing just enough light to keep the nightmare well within sight. You see too much: the ship’s carcass, curious dark shadows, a woman in the distance gradually being sucked beneath the surface, her dress pulling taut like an anchor.

You barely register the ship until you hear the whipping of its sails.

Its silhouette is monstrous. A ghastly thing, every bit of it disfigured by time and violence. Its lights blur in your salt-stung eyes, and you blink hard, certain it isn't real. It's a hallucination, a cruel trick of exhaustion.

Yet, it is instinct to call out, to raise your voice. A very human thing, the desire to survive.

Minutes pass, and you're sure that your voice is lost among the waves, but the slap of a dinghy hitting water jars you. Voices call out, searching. Hope stirs in your chest, but as the small boat nears, its crew shoving wreckage and bodies aside, you see the figure at its bow.

A man. Not a man.

A lantern swings in a fist. Light and shadow spill across the figure. Wet skin like pale wax, cloudy eyes set beneath a furrowed brow—and that is where his humanity ends. 

Protruding from his beard, claws arc from his face, ridged and brown like a crab's shell, melding seamlessly into the flesh of his jaw and temples. His lips, blackened and peeling, purse together in a line. A line that slowly tips upward in its corners as your eyes grow wider and wider.

A scream works its way up your throat, but it sticks. The last thing you see is his hand, reaching, before the world spins, and darkness swallows you.

You come to, tucked in a bed, with a callused and damp hand holding your own, like a nurse would. Humming a quiet song.

It's him.

When you scream, he waits. When you cry, he says nothing. He watches you recoil, your breath catching and shuddering on your panic, and he permits it all. But when exhaustion drags you back to the pillows, he moves. A canteen pressed to your lips. A piece of bread on your tongue.

"Consider this is a second chance," He rasps, voice like the ship he plucked you from, charred and waterlogged, bubbling and burnt. "A survivor, but only alive because I decreed it so."

He names himself Captain Price. Gestures around you: this is his ship, his crew. You'll find no disloyalty here, no soft hearts. Then, with a flex of his claws—gleaming, articulated things jutting grotesquely from his skin—he acknowledges what you've already guessed. 

"You've heard the stories, I'd wager."

You have. Cursed ships. Drowned men who don't stay dead. When you booked your passage, the name was muttered like a bad omen, then dismissed with soothing reassurances: That ship's just a tale to scare the children and womenfolk.

But the proof sits in front of you, chest heaving in watery breaths, clouded eyes watching your every move.

"I've invoked my privileges as captain," He informs you as you stare, dumbstruck. "You'll be under my protection. Mine alone."

The implication is clear, as sharp as the claws on his face. Companion. The word sticks in your throat. The roof of your mouth.

When the fear overwhelms you again, your body shaking with what he means, he doesn't let you cry or scream. His grip tightens into a vise until you gasp, a warning. His spare hand, an even more disfigured mangle of fingers and claws, drum against the bed frame. 

"If that doesn't suit, you can bunk with the crew tonight. And come morning, I'll see you back to the sea."

It isn't much of a choice. Not one at all, really. You let the silence speak for you, and he releases your wrist. Rising to his full height, he tells you to finish the bread, drink, and sleep. 

"Unfortunate thing like you, you'll need it."

The next day, you're allowed more time to rest, though don't dare sleep. You're terrified of the Captain. Of him reconsidering his so-called mercy. Worse still, when you do think of the crew, you almost wish he'd let them have you. At least it would afford you an end to this torture. Peace at the bottom of the sea.

The cabin door is locked at all times, of course. Still, you're surprised to find yourself free to roam its cramped confines. You rifle through maps and logbooks, though the latter might as well be written in a foreign language. The room offers little else: no paintings, no books, nothing of sentiment. A space for planning and sleeping, nothing else.

You listen instead. The voices above deck, the crash of waves. Through the porthole, you see no land, discern no direction. The hours crawl by, and it's only when the sun disappears that he returns.

He brings food. Your dress, dried. You take the meal reluctantly, your appetite thin but you do not think he'll allow you to starve. You don't question the food's origin. From what little you've gathered, he doesn't need it.

When you're finished, the Captain takes the plate and utensils without a word. Alone again.

And so it continues. Breakfast. Dinner. Hours of silence in between. Days pass, melting into one another. You lose yourself in the monotony and isolation. You're certain this is hell: locked in a cabin surrounded by monsters, the devil himself tending to you.

Eventually, the thought comes, sprung from the desperate prayers you whisper every night. Clear and unshakable. Kill the devil. Free yourself.

When the moment arrives at dinner, you do not hesitate. The dinner knife fits perfectly in your hand as you swing it, the blade aimed at his chest. You expect resistance, struggle—but there's none. The steel sinks in easily, the sound wet and horribly soft, and the grin on his face only deepens.

He laughs. Your blood turns cold.

"Was waitin' for this," he chuckles, grabbing and pressing his pistol into your hand. He adjusts your grip, tilts the barrel toward the vulnerable stretch of his throat where carapace gives way to flesh. His claws click against the weapon as he steadies it.

"C'mon, darling. See what happens."

The shot rattles your teeth, and then it's everywhere. Blood, bits of tissue, saltwater spraying out in a burst. It coats his chest, slick and shining, and splatters up your hands, your arms.

For a heartbeat, you think it worked. His head rests against the back of his chair.

But his skin, ceral and dripping, slowly knits. Wet threads reach for one another and tie themselves together, leaving a shallow ridge. It's as if you did nothing at all. His head tips back up, gaze heavy-lidded and glinting. He spits the ball of lead out, a dark sludge dripping from the corner of his lips, and his good hand finds the back of your skull. He reels you in for a kiss. Defeat tastes like salt and iron. 

The routine changes. 

An unholy wedding occurs. You know God averts his eyes.

The man leading you down the aisle wears a skull as a mask, its hollow sockets fixed forward, fluttering gills at his neck. It is the first taste of fresh air you've had in weeks. Gruesome creatures crowd the deck, clawed hands and tendrils reaching to tug at your makeshift veil of netting and lace. Their jeers fill the air, delighted and mocking.

You are wed.

But Price admits to you on your wedding night, his deformed clawed hand cradling your head, buried within you, that he knows you can't stay. There are places he must travel, places you cannot go.

You do not believe him until he finds you an island, which, unbeknownst to you, lies on the path of a trade route. It hits you as he lifts you from the dinghy and sets you down in the shallows. This must be the end of it. This is the last you will see of him and his crew, his cursed ship. You will starve, die, and rot in freedom.

Before you take a single step toward the beach, he seizes you by your dress, turning you back to him. His eyes scour your face as if trying to memorize it. Every feature, every detail.

He leans in close, whispering in the salt-sweet air, "I'll find you again. I can promise you that."

Time blurs into a haze of hunger and thirst before you're found. It's hailed as a miracle: you survived. The sentiment haunting as you limp your way back to what remains of your life. 

Years pass and wear the edges of memory down, turning them almost bearable. Captain Price's promise fades into the background, like the echo of a bad dream.

You take a husband. You find a new home. You vow to never touch the sea, again.

Until the storm.

It comes howling, ripping through the harbor, swallowing ships whole, and splintering docks. The air is charged, furious. You cannot put words to it, but in your bones, it feels personal. You watch from your window, mesmerized, until you see it—a figure in the rain.

The lantern's light swings with his steps up the hill to your cottage. The whistle from his blackened cuts through the roaring wind, and your stomach knots with the memory it drags from the depths of your mind.

Your husband goes to ask if the stranger requires shelter from the storm. Frozen in fear, you cannot stop him as he greets his death with open arms.

Through the window, you see it unfold. The moment of recognition, him stiffening as he takes in what he sees. Then he screams, the sound ripped straight from his chest, raw and panicked, the same way you screamed all those years ago.

You try to hide, of course. Try to bar the door, arm yourself with whatever you can find. But it doesn't matter. The door groans, then gives. It crashes open, shoving back the table, and in he steps. Captain Price. Rainwater and the blood of your poor husband dripping from his hands. 

"Who was that, love?"

His grip is cold and iron-tight as he pulls you from your corner. "Not this again," He chuckles, plucking the kitchen knife from your hand.

The Captain drags you to bed, chest heaving, eyes moving over you like he's deciding where to start. How to make up for lost time. He speaks softly, almost tender. Husbandly.

"Ten years is long for you, I know," He peels your clothes off, marveling. He studies the changes in your body with reverence, dragging his fingertips along every line and wrinkle. "I do not fault you for your loneliness. But…a husband?" His tone hardens, eyes locking to yours. "Did you forget you were already a wife?"

Your mouth opens, then closes, nothing coming out but shallow, desperate breaths, like a fish gasping on the deck.

"This time," he murmurs as he shrugs free of his coat, then his shirt, "I'll give you something to remember our vows by."

The Captain leaves with the storm. The town counts its losses, buries its dead, and you stand by your own pile of dirt behind your cottage, a hand pressed over your belly.

Dread already quickening.

Ten years isn't that long at all.

[therainscene]

[ST5 spoilers ahead. This theory is largely grounded in canon evidence from S1-4, but I will be referencing a couple of old S5 leaks below the cut.]

Stranger Things is a show that delights in escapist fantasy; it's packed with nostalgic references and celebrates the protagonists' love of gaming in order to remind us that we don't need to abandon our childhood interests just because we grew up.

But escapism is a double-edged sword that all too easily turns into an unhealthy coping mechanism, and boy is this show also one that delights in the horror of unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I reckon they'd be missing a trick if these opposing themes didn't crash into one another for the final season.

Vecna seems to be motivated by a desire to help the kids he targets -- he wipes away their tears, he reassures them that their suffering will be over soon -- but he also barely seems to notice or care that he's just making the suffering worse. Which is exactly the attitude you'd expect from a villain who personifies the urge to turn to shitty coping mechanisms.

Since S5 is going to focus on Will's coming-of-age, then whatever Vecna is up to must resonate with Will's worst coping mechanisms.

What better fit for Will "wants to sit in the basement playing games for the rest of his life" Byers than a fantasy world in which everyone is forced to be a carefree kid forever while their bodies rot in the Upside Down?

Think about it: Henry wants to transform the world into something beautiful, but the world he currently seems to be ruling over is nothing of the sort -- is a cold and barren facsimile of Hawkins populated with monsters really Henry's idea of beauty?

Doesn't it make more sense for the Upside Down/Mind Flayer to simply be the hardware that helps him run his simulation of something more relatable -- an idyllic vision of the childhood he wishes he had, populated with all the kids he oh-so benevolently rescued from the fate worse than death that is wake up, eat, work, sleep, reproduce, and wait for it all to be over?

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

We know for a fact that one of S5's episodes is titled Escape from Camazotz -- a reference to the misleadingly idyllic world from A Wrinkle in Time -- and leaked BTS photos from last year show Henry hanging out with a Hawkins child at a mysteriously pristine Creel house.

It's promising, but I'm not a huge fan of using leaks as evidence. They always come devoid of context, and even difficult-to-fake things like BTS photos could be staged by production to throw fans off the scent -- so what does the canon suggest?

One possible hint is that the Upside Down has consistently borrowed imagery from The Matrix throughout the seasons:

But more importantly, this theory is thematically consistent with what we currently know about Will in S1: while trapped in the Upside Down, he retreated to Castle Byers (his escapist safe space), and that's where he was caught, dragged to the library (another escapist space), and plugged into the vines that connect him directly to Vecna.

It's also subtly implied by Will's behaviour in S3 that part of him wants Vecna to succeed: he sticks with El after realizing Vecna is back, despite knowing full well that being able to spy on Vecna means Vecna can also spy on him; and he makes a suspiciously helpful-to-Vecna suggestion about how the party should go about investigating the monster of the week:

Could Will be under Vecna's control here? Perhaps. But I think this is a choice he's making of his own volition.

Consider: At one point Will destroys Castle Byers in a fit of grief that his childhood is over, and this just so happens to be the same scene in which he becomes certain that Vecna has returned.

He has to grow up and face the horrible truth that he's gay and broken and in love with a boy who can't possibly love him back and he does not want to deal with this -- wouldn't he do anything in that moment to find a way to escape back into childhood? Is this not the perfect moment for a seductive voice in his head to start whispering offers?

Bargaining is one of the five stages of grief, after all.

But then, so is acceptance. Will isn't walking the path of villainy here; he's at the temptation stage of his hero's journey.

S4 took him far away from Hawkins and allowed him to work through some of his feelings without Vecna breathing down his neck, and he comes to a very final-sounding decision about it:

He's realized that longing to sit in the basement playing silly games with his crush all day is immature and turning him (in his opinion) into a jealous asshole--

--and now that he's ripped off the band-aid with Mike he's gonna kill that underlying desire once and for all. Right?

Wrong. I mean, that's certainly what he believes at the end of S4 -- but he's still got a whole season of main character coming-of-age shit left to do in this show that delights in escapist fantasy and reminds us we don't need to abandon our childhood interests just because we grew up.

The visual similarities between the Upside Down and the Matrix aren't the only parallels between these two stories -- a theme present in both is the realization that the rules of the world you were raised in are an oppressive lie that you have the freedom to reject so long as you're brave enough to accept the truth.

Much like Neo, Will has a deeper connection to the horrors than any of its other victims (beyond Henry himself), and that connection grants him the gift of True Sight:

Stuck between the View-Master slides is how he describes it. Will can't bring himself to conform to 1980s expectations of normalcy, but he also can't bring himself to retreat into Vecna's time-frozen fantasy and hurt all of his friends.

The solution is to understand that Will's unique position doesn't mean he'll be forced to pick a side and either become a villain or sacrifice himself for the greater good: it means that like Neo he has the power to transcend the rules of false realities.

Will can defeat Vecna without castrating himself in the process, and he can play D&D in Mike's basement for the rest of his life if he wants to...

...just so long as both he and Mike are brave enough to accept the truth first.

[cybsoo2]

nightmare

╰┈➤ synopsis — After being kidnapped by two men who say they’re obsessed with you, your new reality has become your worst nightmare. But you should’ve known that your mind is capable of conjuring up much more menacing monsters; dreams so disturbing that they leave you seeking comfort from the two people you hate the most.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!tyunning x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 2.4k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, implied/referenced stalking, implied/referenced kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, crying, nightmares, dreams of an assault (didn't happen), angst, hurt/comfort

Every day must come to an end. That little bit of happiness you have flickers out like the lightbulb up above. 

Hyuka is off in the other room, not willingly of course, but because Taehyun had asked him to check over the bedroom. Locking the doors and bolting the windows is all a part of the routine. Everyday at dawn and dusk, Taehyun’s paranoia is like a little pest in his head. Whispering scenarios of all the terrible things that could happen if you aren’t tucked safety away in this house and in their arms. 

You think it’s possessive how he controls your life and keeps you contained– like a little plaything that no one else gets to touch. But Taehyun thinks otherwise, all too aware of how much worse it could really be. He calls it security, keeping you under lock and key. Healthy and ‘happy’ without witnessing the horrors of the rest of the world. 

When Kai comes back from double checking all the doors and windows, he’s drawn back to you like a magnet. Forever stuck by your side is where he wants to be. His grip is like a python as he drags you under the silk sheets. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his chest like he does every other night. His touch is like poison as it pumps through your blood. You’re sick of feeling caged up like his pretty little pet. You try to shift away from him, desperate for a bit of space, but it’s useless.

Kai ignores your efforts and kisses along your shoulder. Trying to soothe you to sleep because he knows how much you hate it. Not only do you need to get a full night’s rest, but you need to accept that instead of fighting with him, you should give in to the comfort he’s trying to offer.

The devil dances in your dreams, tormenting you in the only place they can’t protect you. Just thinking about the fact makes Kai’s heart squeeze. Sad at the thought that he’s unable to take all your worries away. But that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try. So he holds you in his warm embrace whether you want it or not. Humming a little lullaby that sends vibrations through your body. 

You can hear the distant sounds of Taehyun in the dark, shutting off the lights and laying down beside you. He pulls the covers up to your chin, keeping your warmth stuck under the sheets. 

Bundled up in the blankets and being sung to sleep, you’re starting to succumb to the night. Sleep starts taking over your bones and breaking down your resolve. And after resisting the urge for far too long, you become a slave to your somnia.

Your dreams are worse than reality. Warped and wicked, they’re full of your worst fears. Blurred visions tear into your brain. Visions of two men ripping you up and taking all the pieces for themselves. 

There’s blood everywhere. Staining your skin and spilling onto the floor. It’s warm and red and you find yourself wondering if it’s yours? You can’t even feel the pain anymore, numbed to nothing. Not even flinching as they betray your body. 

Your clothes are torn to shreds. Fragile flesh exposed for their eyes to wander. You curl in on yourself, trying to cover up all that you can. But no matter how hard you try to hide, these monsters still taunt you.

Phantom images of hands all over you. They graze over your skin then grip you tight; a touch that feels all too real. In your dazed dream, you use all your strength to try and swat away these hands. Breaking free from the feeling of fingers digging into your skin. They leave red marks, burning every inch that they touch. 

In the distance, there’s the sound of crying. You raise your hands to your ears, trying to stop the screeching sound. But when the noise still ceases to stop, you realize it’s coming from your own two lips. So many sounds overwhelm you. It’s everything at once– the screaming, the crying, and sounds of someone calling your name. You just wish it would all stop.

You’re torn from your dream by the two who hold you close. Shooting up from your sleep, you try to tear their hands away– a part of you still stuck in your nightmare. 

You’re trembling in terror with tears falling from your eyes. You turn in on yourself, hugging your stomach tight to soothe the sadness. Self-comfort is familiar. It’s all you’ve ever known in this life; shielding away from the shadows and hiding how you cry between your knees. It’s worked every other time, but now is not like the others. Darkness dances in the moonlight– like shadows, it smothers you. The nightwalker knocks on your chest. Hammering like your heartbeat, begging to be let into your bones. Fear festers under the skin, swimming in your tears and mixing with your blood. It consumes you until you can’t take it anymore.

Taehyun is the first to take in your state of panic. He sits right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and knees knocking against your own. He takes hold of your face, a warm hand holding each cheek. He makes a move to try and lift up your gaze, wondering what demons lay beyond your eyes. He’s never seen you so scared– not when the stalking started, not when their obsession began to grow, not even when they finally took you as their own. And as you stare up into his almond eyes, he suddenly finds himself unaware of what to do.  

You look up at the face of the man before you. A man that usually you couldn’t stand the sight of, but now, you find yourself betrayed by his beauty. Sympathy stains his pale skin like a porcelain doll. His painted expression a pure picture of pain and turmoil. This mask is much different then the one he’s used to wearing. No more stern eyes or apathy, because in this stolen moment, he’s someone he’s not pretending to be. 

It only takes a second before you’re falling into his embrace. Warm arms wrap around you. Cradling you close to his chest. Taehyun’s heart beats in tune to yours, pumping blood at a rapid pace. He thinks he can hear it echo out in the room with how loud it is. An unsteady beat that reverberates off his ribcage.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay.” His gentle tone meets your ears. Voice soaked in sympathy with that rough edge, still addled with the sleep he was so quickly awoken from. 

Kai watches the interaction from his side of the bed. Shivers run along his skin and a chill cradles him close. He can still feel the ghost of your warm embrace, but now all the heat has vanished and he’s left with the sight of your sadness. Despite still being tangled up in the sheets and sweating from the long-sleeve he wears, he couldn’t feel more frozen. Nothing but a cold body without your warmth. Kai can’t imagine himself without you wrapped around him. He’s a clay sculpture, every trait and every feature carved by your hand. You truly mold him into the man he is. And now that your tears are falling and that fire has burnt out, Kai is the emptiest he’s ever been.

He cuts the distance between you and crawls over to where you sit. Ever so carefully, he covers you with his weight. Draping his whole body over you until you’re hidden from all the eyes in the dark. No one else able to see you but the two lovesick boys by your side. 

Hyuka’s weight doesn’t feel heavy like in your dream, but instead it feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. His arms wind around your waist, gently easing you into his embrace. He’s soft and slow, scared that if he rushes things too fast then you’ll react with fear. 

Kai does what he does best— cuddling up next to you and clinging to your form. Bodies melting into one another. Kai truly believes you three were molded for each other. He shifts to sink further into you, plush pink lips grazing the nape of your neck. As a sob racks through your body, he moves to kiss away your cries. Calming the raging sea inside of you and turning the tide into a still ocean. 

He kisses each of your moles like they’re stars on your skin. Connecting the dots like constellations. Drawing an imaginary line in the shape of a heart– one is all you need when you three are already so tangled up in each other. One beating heart shared between bodies– and when yours starts to bleed, they’ll always be able to feel the effects. Even for someone like Kai it’s hard to control his emotions. Can’t handle seeing you so hurt– and if you were paying any attention, then you’d notice the trail of tears that stains the back of your shirt. 

Your sobbing has toned down now to quiet sniffling– tears still flowing and sadness still afloat, but much less than before. The initial panic of the dream has drifted away. Where your thoughts were once like muddy water, clouded and easy to sink in, they’re now much more like a steady stream. Your throat doesn’t feel so sticky, the only words you could speak were weak pleas of ‘No, no, no’. Now, when the task of talking doesn’t feel so daunting, you’re able to answer their questions. 

“Was it the same one as always?” Kai asks, voice muffled from where he buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

You do the same as he does. Hiding your face away in Taehyun’s chest, speaking so silently it’s as if the words don’t even exist. You shake your head as you answer him, “It was different this time.” Your voice sounds shallow, mind brought back to the brutal memory. 

Taehyun wants to ask if it was the same faces. Faces of the two men who swore to heal your heart and protect your soul, now turnt to monsters of your imagination. He can’t handle the fact that you hate him in spite of his love for you, so he asks another question, “What made it so different this time?”

“It wasn’t real.” 

This revelation comes as a bit of a shock to the two boys. All your usual nightmares have just been memories that taunt you. Terrors of the waking world and flashbacks from the past, but never new things that are nothing but make-believe. 

“It was so much worse than what’s real.” You double-down on what you said, this time with much more clarity. No longer confused, but confident in your confession. Although that doesn’t make it any easier to admit. The fact that you fear your own mind more than the horrors that have already happened is something you struggle to accept. Hard to face your feelings and say that you feel so safe in their arms. 

The two men sit in silence with your words. Words that imply that rather seek silence in them then face your dreams all alone. That fact must mean that something has changed in you. That nightmare broke your last string of sanity and left you running to them for relief. And they’ll always be there for you to turn to. 

When your crying finally quiets down is when you realize the warmth in your chest. A fire set ablaze in that hollow space in your heart. Melting down your icy exterior and burning all your old emotions. No longer are you resisting their touch. Heavy hands that steady you. Pulling back the blankets and settling you back into bed. 

The faint feeling of Taehyuns breathe at the back of your neck. Barely his own because he leaves no more than a whisper between you. His hands trail up your sides, running up along your waist and resting in your hair. He pushes back the pieces that fall in front of your face, kissing your forehead as he does so. Your head now tucked under his chin. A firm hand at the back of your head keeps you from turning to see the shadows. There’s no need for you to fear them when he holds you so steady. This new feeling is far from the iron cage you’re used to. Now set free and falling into the embrace of a phoenix– wings wrapping around you as a certain warmth burns through your body. 

Even Kai’s timid touch doesn’t feel so constricting. Rather it feels oh so gentle. Hesitant hands hover over your body, he’s taking it slow ever since your admission (It’s not like you said ‘i love you’ but his heart still beats out of his chest. Thumping like a rabbit at the fact that you’re warming up to them).  

Like a lullaby Taehyun speaks softly, “Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” His low voice rumbles through your body.

Kai talks before you get the chance to, “What if she has the same dream again? You know how she can never fall asleep after a nightmare.” His next words are directed at you, “I don’t think I can stand to see you cry again.” Always the one to be persuaded by your tears.

“It’s okay,” You mumble through a yawn. “If it happens again then you’ll be here. Right?”

Taehyun pulls back a bit to look at you. Hearts shine in his eyes at the fact that you’re beginning to trust them, but he can’t help but be hurt that you’re still somewhat unsure of their downright devotion to you. “Of course, baby. How could you think we’d be anywhere else but right with you.”

“M’kay,” your speech is getting slurred, dragged down by exhaustion. Now that the quick rush of adrenaline has faded away and your tears have since stopped, you’re beginning to get sleepy. But before you decide to go back to sleep, you have one more request, “Will you sing for me?”

“Of course,” Kai agrees, voice already softening out into a mere whisper. He starts to hum while Taehyun sings. Their sonnet fills the room. Each note echoes in the air until it’s all that you can focus on. Taehyun’s honey-tone rings in your ears as warmth enters your once cold heart. 

“I want to be your nap so I can dream with you no matter when. As if nothing had happened. On a sunset evening, even in the night when the sky is dark. My heart is full of you.”

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved

[tmntaucompetition]

CW for Fang: canon typical violence, blood, Krang-influenced mutations

CW for Neon Void: implied/referenced self harm, fake character death, grief/mourning, panic attacks, feral behavior, PTSD, body horror

LINKS:

Fang

The Neon Void

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 92: July 2017

“—So fuck the Rose, and you as well—”

Jon actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself this much. A bit strange to say he was enjoying himself, considering he was standing in the most secluded, unobservable part of the street they could get to and still be able to see the House of Wax, watching the fire consume it, and still clutching the detonator that had caused it, but he was. Partly it was the energy of the song, the first sea shanty he’d ever really learned and that only because the Mechanisms had used it as the basis for a song on their first album, and the fact that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with his friends, his family, with his hand safe and warm in his boyfriend’s as the rain pattered down in fits and starts, not enough to quell the burning even if it were a normal fire. Partly it was the fact that they’d done it, they’d successfully stopped the Unknowing, that it would be centuries before the Stranger could try again, and that they’d all made it out of the building safely. He was almost giddy with relief.

The others seemed to share his elation. Daisy was smirking. Basira wasn’t, but she was at least tapping her foot in time with the music. Melanie’s eyes danced, seeming to reflect the fire’s glow, and she kept bumping into Jon as she sang. Martin stood straight and tall, his eyes fixed on the building and a concentrated determination on his face that honestly made Jon fall in love with him all the more.

Gerry was actually the only truly worrying part of the whole thing. His eyes and hair had both changed when he’d…done whatever he did to the not-a-waxwork in that last room, and while they’d gone back to normal at first, the more the building burned, the more they changed back. At that point, his hair was almost pure white, with a single streak of black that was rapidly fading to grey. His eyes, too, had lost all color, with only the faintest of lines delineating his pupils and irises. And even as he sang, it didn’t escape Jon’s notice that the few raindrops that hit him had settled on his shoulders as a dusting of snow.

But that was a problem they could deal with later. They had a “later” to deal with it in, which was even better. For now, they could just watch the wax museum, and all the things in it, burn to ash.

They probably couldn’t really be seen where they were, but just in case, Basira had her hand to her ear as if she had a phone—which she, like the rest of them, had left in their room at the inn—so she could look like she was calling 999 if anyone did see them just standing around staring. Not like they were the only gawkers, Jon was sure, but since they weren’t near the more tourist-heavy areas, they might stand out a bit. The singing probably didn’t help with that.

Someone had called 999, anyway. Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance. Jon couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from, or if they would come by where the Archives group stood, but right about now, he felt invincible. Whatever happened next, they could handle it with ease. They were on top of the world.

“—is no excuse, boys, let us fly—today is not the day we die—“

Later, he would think back on that moment and curse himself for being an idiot.

“Bend your backs and break your bones, we’re just a thousand miles from home—“

“Guys!”

Startled out of the song, Jon looked, stupidly, up at Martin first. He had suddenly tensed up, his attention away from the burning building, his eyes a piercing green. Jon followed his gaze and felt the blood rush from his face.

Staggering towards them, teeth bared in angry grins, clothes still smoldering as if they’d barely escaped the fire, were two nondescript, unremarkable deliverymen who could only be Breekon and Hope.

“No,” Jon gasped. If they had survived, if they’d gotten out…had they really done it after all? Had it actually worked? Gerry—surely Gerry wouldn’t be—

“Melanie, don’t!” Martin grabbed her arm as she shoved in front of him, but she pulled away, snarling, without taking her eyes off the approaching pair.

“Martin, get back.” Gerry’s tone was firm and determined as he, too, stepped in front of Martin. His appearance caused Breekon and Hope to check, but only for a moment.

Suddenly, Jon became aware of another sound over the crackle of the flames and the sizzle of the rain and the sirens growing ever louder. A faint humming, like a chorus of angels singing in the distance. Then he saw the coffin the two burly men carried between them and realized what was going on.

The coffin was the Buried. Both Joshua Gillespie’s statement and Daisy’s had made that abundantly clear. Why two beings of the Stranger were toting it around was beyond him, but that didn’t matter. It was still the Buried.

I was lucky to get out alive, and I won’t be so lucky a second time. Martin’s words from that first morning after the attack at the Institute, almost a year ago now, sounded in his head. Jon knew, with absolute certainty, that he couldn’t let that coffin get anywhere near Martin. He shouldered forward to stand with Melanie and Gerry, preparing to sell his life dearly to protect Martin’s if he had to.

The tiny part of his mind clinging to rational thought told him he was being a bit melodramatic, and that Martin would never let him do that, but he was prepared to and that was the important thing.

“Well, well,” said one of the two men, nastily.

“What have we here?” said the other. The statements were right, those were dreadful Cockney accents.

“Come to watch the show?”

“Think you can stop us that easily?”

I can certainly try, Jon thought. He tried to recall the feeling he’d had in the tunnels the time he’d made Melanie stop and accidentally called on…something. It hadn’t felt right, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the Eye, but maybe if he could call on that…

He concentrated on the feeling of compelling someone to do, not to say, and forced out the words. “Go away.”

There was the static, or something like static anyway, but it sounded and felt different. Still, for a moment, Jon thought it worked—Breekon and Hope actually checked briefly. Then they shook it off, and their grins sharpened as they focused on Jon.

Well, at least they weren’t focusing on Martin.

“That was interesting,” said the first one.

“But we can do that to.”

“Jon.” Martin sounded genuinely scared, in a way Jon hadn’t heard from him in a while. Especially since his return to the Institute after Leitner’s murder, he’d never known Martin to be anything but calm and capable. Angry, sure, stressed on occasion, but scared? That was an emotion he’d almost forgotten Martin could feel. It was enough to make his resolve waver, anyway, but it firmed up instantly when he felt Martin start to step forward. “Leave them alone, I’m the one you want—”

Melanie’s arm shot out at the same time Jon’s did. He grabbed her hand tight to keep Martin from pushing through them—he’d go around them, maybe, but he wouldn’t push through them, he wouldn’t hurt them—and stood his ground as Breekon and Hope leered. It was his turn to be brave, if Martin was going to be afraid. He wasn’t very good at it, but he would have to try…

“Shit, I should have brought my gun,” Basira hissed from behind them.

Gerry rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath, obviously preparing to do…something. Breekon or Hope noticed and scoffed at him. “You think that’s going to help?”

“Think you can kill us?”

“We’re like you.”

“We can’t die.”

“Not in a way that matters.”

“Wanna bet?” Daisy snarled. And it was an actual snarl, almost an animal one, and Jon shied away on instinct before remembering he was trying to be the brave one here. She moved to the front of them, hands clenched, crouched slightly, and shot a glance sideways at Jon, or possibly Martin. “Go.”

“They—” Martin started.

“Go,” Daisy repeated forcefully, not taking her eyes off Breekon and Hope this time. “Get them out of here.”

“Daisy,” Basira said, voice full of foreboding and almost pleading.

“GO!” That was almost a roar, and as she yelled it, Daisy sprang, straight for the nearest of the two, who dropped his end of the coffin as she leaped for him.

“Run!” Martin grabbed Jon’s arm and Melanie’s and practically threw them down the sidewalk, shoving them along in front of himself. “Go, go, go! Gerry, Basira, come on, move!”

Jon stumbled briefly, but recovered and pounded along after Melanie. Yells and snarls echoed from behind them, mingled with screams and the ever-growing sound of the sirens, and it began to rain harder. It was chaotic and terrifying, and adrenaline sang in his veins. Still, he managed to reach back and find Martin’s hand.

The last time he’d run from Breekon and Hope, they’d caught Martin because he wasn’t keeping hold of him. He could not let that happen again.

“Does anybody know where we’re going?” Basira shouted. She sounded angry. Jon had to admit he wasn’t surprised.

“This way! There’s a bridge!” Melanie turned up a street. Nothing in Jon said to do anything other than follow her.

Eventually it got too dark to see where they were going, and they were all audibly exhausted (Jon would have said visibly, but he could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone anyone else’s) and soaked to the bone. Melanie found an abandoned shed and forced her way in; it wasn’t much, but it was at least dry, and they collapsed to the ground. Jon didn’t even really have time to consider whether it was a good idea or not before he fell into the sleep of total exhaustion.

He had no idea how much later it was that he woke, but there was a little more light—not much, but enough that he could make out shapes. He’d fallen asleep sitting up, his back against a wall; opposite him, Basira was also sleeping sitting up, in a corner as far from the door as possible, her arms folded over her chest and her legs splayed out. Melanie had tucked herself under what might have once been a tool bench and curled into a dense knot of humanity. Martin’s head rested on Jon’s lap, and while he lay still, his breathing light and easy, something about the tension of his face suggested his sleep was anything but restful.

A very, very faint click caught Jon’s attention. He turned his head slightly and saw, a few feet away, Gerry sitting on…something, he couldn’t quite make out what. His face was illuminated more than anything else in the room thanks to the lighter. A moment later, the flame vanished, leaving behind only the cherry red glow of a lit cigarette.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.

Gerry laughed quietly. “Go back to sleep, Jon.”

“What time is it?” Jon asked.

“Early. Or late, depending on how you look at it. Sun’s not up yet.” Gerry drew on his cigarette, then eyed Jon for a moment before tapping his front pocket. “Want one?”

Jon did. Badly. He was stressed and strained and the nicotine fix would undoubtedly help…but he hadn’t one since Leitner’s murder, and the memory of the story Melanie had told him, about Liliana Blackwood stubbing a cigarette out on her son’s chest, was a powerful deterrent. He looked down at Martin’s sleeping face. “Best not. I’ll just sit here and breathe the secondhand smoke.”

“Fair enough.” Gerry took another inhale and glanced down at Martin. “How is he?”

“Sleeping,” Jon said honestly. As carefully as he could, he brushed a few curls back from Martin’s forehead, then looked back up at Gerry. “You should try to sleep, too, you know. I-I assume you still need it.”

“More or less, but I won’t be sleeping until we’re back in London,” Gerry replied. “Can’t risk it out here.”

“What—what do you mean?”

Gerry was silent for a while. Finally, he said in a low voice, “I have…flashbacks. Don’t properly know how to explain them. But essentially, when I’m about to fall asleep…I get thrown back into moments in the past, like I’m reliving them as they happen. They suck. A lot. And I don’t want to fall into one out here in front of you lot, especially in front of Martin and Melanie, not when we’re all still raw from what happened today. Besides, someone has to stay awake in case…” He trailed off.

Jon’s stomach twisted unpleasantly, and he curled his arm around Martin’s head on instinct, as if he could somehow protect him from anything that came after him. He felt stupid almost the minute he did it, but he didn’t stop.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the rain patter on the roof. That was good, Jon supposed, it would give them a bit of cover, and they’d be able to hear if the coffin came anywhere near them, a thought that made him shiver. That had been far too close…

“Was—has there been any sign of—of anyone…following us?” he asked.

Gerry sighed. “No, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” Jon repeated, a little louder than he meant to. Martin tensed and made a small noise in his sleep, and Jon instantly stroked his hair soothingly to get him to calm down. It seemed to work, anyway.

Once he was sure Martin was still asleep—he needed his rest—he looked up at Gerry again. Trying to keep his voice to a whisper, he asked, “Why unfortunately?”

“I was hoping Daisy would catch us up,” Gerry said. “Not that I like her all that much, but…you know, I’d feel better if we knew she won, at least.”

Jon bit his lip and glanced over at Basira briefly, who was still sleeping. Her face was hard to read at the best of times, and she had followed Daisy’s instructions and come with them, even if she’d sounded—understandably—angry about it. But still…he remembered the panic he’d felt before he’d reached back and found Martin’s hand. He wouldn’t have been able to stand knowing Martin was staying behind to fight off the Stranger.

“I don’t think they’ve got anything like that going on.” Gerry’s voice was soft and pensive. “Not like you two have, or like Tim and I have, or like whatever it is Sasha and Melanie are pretending they don’t have. I think she just resents us leaving Daisy behind, even though it was Daisy’s choice, because she’s convinced we were looking for an excuse to do it.”

Despite himself, Jon chuckled. “More of the Beholding in you than you thought, is there?”

“Do yourself a favor, Sims. Never play poker.” Gerry blew a smoke ring into the air over Jon’s head and smirked.

“At least not when I’m too tired to mask well, I suppose.” Jon watched the smoke ring dissolve into particles. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Gerry shrugged. “Gertrude. It’s one of maybe half a dozen things she actually taught me. I’d offer to teach you, but, well, you know, you’re not smoking.”

Jon smiled ruefully. “Yes, well, I’ve made it five months and two ‘where’s Martin’s without one, so maybe it will actually stick this time.”

Gerry let out a bark of laughter, seemingly before he could stop himself. Melanie jerked upright, slammed into the underside of the bench with an echoing thud, and swore at the top of her lungs. Basira shot up into a half-crouch before she seemed to even be fully awake yet, her whole body tensed at the ready. Martin’s eyes snapped open, and Jon instinctively flinched back in surprise at the twin spotlights beaming up at him.

“Well, fuck, I guess we’re all awake now,” Gerry said with a heavy sigh.

Martin made a small noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes again, scrunching his face up slightly in a way Jon was coming to recognize as him throttling back the Eye. He struggled to a sitting position, shook his head slightly, and opened them again. This time they were…well, at least not glowing. “Wh—Melanie, are you—”

“Fine. Hit my fucking head.” Melanie crawled out from under her makeshift shelter, scowling. “What time is it?”

“Three forty-seven,” Martin replied automatically, then winced and thumped his temple lightly with the heel of his hand. Under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck off.”

A year ago, even six months ago, that might have been funny, but after the last few weeks Jon wasn’t even tempted to laugh. Basira settled back into a sitting position, but she still looked tense. “Any sign of Daisy?”

“Neither hide nor hair,” Gerry replied with a shake of his head.

“She probably doesn’t know where to find us. With all this rain—and we didn’t exactly run in a straight line…” Basira patted down her pockets. “Anyone got a phone?”

“They’re all back at the inn,” Jon reminded her. He checked his pockets and winced. “Ah…along with my wallet, I think.”

“Mine, too. I didn’t want to risk dropping it in there and having the police pick it up after the explosion,” Melanie muttered.

Basira let out an exasperated sigh. “Then, obviously, we need to head back there—”

“Tried earlier,” Gerry interrupted. “The whole area’s still closed off. Police and fire both. From what little I overheard, they, well, found a lot of remains.”

Jon shuddered. “How many is a lot?”

“You don’t want to know,” Martin and Gerry said in unison.

Melanie looked back and forth between the two of them. “When you put it like that, I do, actually.”

“Melanie—” Martin began, his voice tight.

“How many of those waxwork things were people once? Did they just, what, cover the dead bodies in wax?”

The sudden burst of static was the only warning they got before Martin’s eyes glowed once more. “They weren’t dead. The Anglerfish never killed its victims, only lured them in, and the Stranger was never one to waste perfectly usable parts. It needed a ballet corps and a chorus, and why take two when you can use both parts, the skin to dance and the body to sing? But the Unknowing needed more than just bodies and skin—”

“M-Martin,” Jon interrupted, his voice shaking.

“—it needed fear, and after what happened in 1787 the Stranger knew it couldn’t risk spectators. One person filled three roles, then—the Movement, the Voice, and the Fear…”

“Martin,” Jon said, a little louder this time. Horrified fascination at what Martin was saying was beginning to give way to fear that he couldn’t seem to stop saying it.

Martin didn’t seem to hear him, just continued to stare into space, the static building as he continued. “They weren’t meant to die as part of the ritual, either. They would have lived to see the world remade in the Stranger’s image, and whatever was left beyond it, well, they’d have lived through that, too. And who knows what would have happened to them after, if death would have even been possible if—”

“Martin!” Desperate and lacking any better ideas, Jon slapped Martin across the face as hard as he could.

Martin gasped. The static died instantly, as did the glow in his eyes, and he blinked, obviously disorientated. He took a few deep, slow breaths and closed his eyes, lowering his head. “Um, sorry.”

“Jesus fuck.” Melanie sounded shocked. She didn’t even stand up all the way, just lunged across the shed and threw herself at Martin’s neck before Jon could even think about giving him a hug or an apology of his own. “No, don’t you fucking apologize. Don’t you dare. You tried to stop me and I didn’t listen and—that was my fault. I know better than to do that to you. I’m sorry.”

Hesitantly, genuinely not sure he was welcome to, Jon cupped the cheek he’d just slapped in his hand as gently as possible and rubbed his thumb across the spot, like he could erase what he’d done. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have—I-I just, I couldn’t think how else to stop you and—”

“It’s—” Martin sighed heavily and hugged Melanie with one arm, then reached out for Jon with the other; Jon went to him readily enough. He turned his head and kissed Jon’s palm before he could take it away. “I don’t think there was any way of keeping that from happening, honestly. The, the monologue, I mean. It was hard enough to keep from giving you an exact number when you asked, Jon—the second someone pressed, it was going to come out. And it’s not like you guys haven’t been startling me out of that sort of thing for almost a year now.”

“We have?” Jon said, surprised and not a little guilty.

“First thing Gerry did when I started going on about the Twisting Deceit was put his hand on the back of my neck because he knew the cold would shock me out of it,” Martin pointed out. “You pinched me to stop me Looking too hard in the tunnels that time we almost found Leitner. First time it’s been that…extreme, maybe, but I definitely wouldn’t have stopped before the Ceaseless Watcher was done if you hadn’t, and I’d probably have passed out again.”

Basira snorted and crossed her arms. “What, didn’t get any energy out of that?”

“What, exactly, about blowing up a building do you think the Ceaseless Watcher got any satisfaction out of? Let alone any part of it that has to do with what I generally feed off of?” Martin huffed at her. “There were no statements. No secrets being spilled. If I’d known at the time the waxworks were alive, sure, maybe I could have tried to extract a statement from them, but that would have taken time we didn’t have. I didn’t spend a lot of energy because Jon stopped me from Looking for evidence of the Web, but I didn’t get any either, and I didn’t think to record anything before we left. I’m more or less running on fumes right now.”

Jon hadn’t even thought of that, and he found himself leaning a little harder into Martin, as if he could somehow loan him strength by osmosis. “So…so, ah, wh-what do we do? Just…wait here until the coast is clear, head back to the bed and breakfast, get our things, and head back to London?”

Gerry leaned over and hesitantly ruffled Martin’s hair. “Might take a couple days.”

“What’s the alternative? Walk?” Basira sneered.

“Which would also take a couple of days.”

Martin sighed. “We probably should stick around, at least for a little while. If we just up and leave all our things in the B&B, it’s going to—Ger, did you talk to anyone while you were there?”

“No, but I will.” Gerry got to his feet. “Who feels up to pretending to come back from a night on the town with me?”

It surprised Jon a bit that Basira was up instantly. “I’ll go. Drag your drunken ass back if I have to.”

“Melanie? You coming with us or staying with them?” In response to Martin’s look, Gerry added, “Don’t even. You don’t need to be anywhere near there if those bastards are still lugging around that coffin, and I know Jon’s not leaving you alone.”

Melanie hesitated, then pulled away from Martin a bit. “Staying. Wait, here, trade shirts with me.”

“Why?”

“So you have a reason the rest of us aren’t coming back with you. You turn up acting drunk, it’ll be ‘where are the others, still causing trouble in a bar?’ But if you’re wearing a Ghost Hunt UK shirt, you can claim we’re trying to get the show going again, we’re staking out somewhere trying to film, and I sent you back for, I dunno, the spare camera battery or something. Bullshit them. You’re good at that.” Melanie stripped out of her shirt and threw it into Gerry’s lap.

“Good call,” Gerry admitted. He shrugged out of his leather coat, peeled out of his own shirt, and dropped it on Melanie before pulling on hers. It was a bit short on him, but it worked. “Right. We’ll be back. Hopefully with more information.”

“And Daisy,” Basira muttered. Gerry shrugged wordlessly, and they stepped out into the early morning drizzle.

Melanie struggled into Gerry’s shirt, grumbling under her breath the whole time about cigarette smoke and man sweat. After a moment, she stared—or rather glared—at the peeling, faded letters Jon couldn’t quite read in the dark, then got to her feet. “I’m going to pretend I’m going outside for a pseudo-shower and not to give you guys a chance to be all lovey-dovey,” she announced. “Back in ten minutes. Or so.”

“Melanie—” Jon began, a bit nervously, but she was already out the door before he could finish the words.

“She’ll be fine.” Martin sounded tired. “She’s probably just going to stand right outside the door, somewhere she’s sort of invisible but able to keep watch to make sure nothing gets at us.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Jon said, aware he was a bit of a hypocrite, since—up until fairly recently, anyway—he’d occasionally been known to do that himself, without meaning to.

“It’s not the Eye, Jon. I’ve known Melanie since we were seven, and more crucially I’ve known her since I was old enough to start holding hands with boys at school and call it dating. That’s what she usually does when she ‘steps out for air’ or ‘goes for some tea’ or whatever. This is just the first time it hasn’t been because she’s staying close enough that she can break down the door and beat whoever I’m with to death if I scream.”

Jon wanted to laugh, but he suspected Melanie would do exactly that. “Did she ever have to?”

“My self-esteem might be shit, but I can honestly say I’ve never dated someone who would actually hurt me.” Martin paused for a second, then added, “At least not more than once.”

“I am sorry.” Jon shifted so he could see Martin better and reached up to touch his cheek lightly again. It still felt slightly warm.

“No, no, that wasn’t—”

“No, I-I wasn’t…that wasn’t what I meant either. I just—since we’re alone, and there’s…” Jon leaned up and pressed a kiss to the spot. “It didn’t escape my notice that you didn’t actually accept my apology. Or Melanie’s. You only pointed out why we’d done it. A-and I don’t, I know I don’t deserve you to forgive me, but—”

“That’s not how forgiveness works,” Martin said gently. “It’s a gift to be given, not a prize to be earned. Also, accepting an apology and forgiving someone are two entirely separate things.” He leaned over and kissed Jon’s nose. “I do accept your apology. There’s nothing to forgive, but if you want forgiveness, it’s yours. I guess I just thought the one who needed forgiveness in that situation was me. I…I know I scared you.”

“More that you didn’t seem to remember I was there than what you were actually saying.” Jon considered for a moment. “I mean, that was…bad. Very bad. But the worst part of it—to me, anyway—was that it seemed like you were…gone somewhere, someplace I couldn’t reach you. It—it scared me. Like I was losing you while you were right there in front of me.”

Martin pulled Jon into his lap and hugged him tightly. Jon hugged him fiercely back, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder. He would not cry. Not now. Not until…

“I wish I could promise you won’t,” Martin whispered, and suddenly not crying got a lot harder. “All I can promise is that I will never be angry at you for pulling me back. Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll, I’ll try not to hit you again,” Jon managed. Martin gave a small, slightly wet chuckle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They held each other for a while, until Jon felt the tears fade back, until they both felt a bit calmer, at which point Melanie came back in slightly soggy but overall seeming fine. She settled down on top of the bench this time. “Sun’s rising, sort of. Going to be a grey and gloomy sort of day.”

“Better to hide in, I suppose,” Martin said. “Any sign of the others?”

“Not yet, but we ran for a bit, and if they’re walking it’s going to take a while.” Melanie huffed. “Hope they bring food. I’m starving.”

It took significantly longer for Gerry and Basira to return than Jon would have thought, even so. Long enough for him to get twitchy. Martin and Melanie tried to distract him at first by teaching him shanties that hadn’t also been Mechanisms songs, and then by telling him some of the more lighthearted stories from their childhood. It actually did help, a bit, but any good feeling Jon had built up burnt away when Gerry and Basira did finally returned, grim-faced and carrying nothing but a couple of bags from what looked like a convenience store.

“Couldn’t get in?” Melanie asked.

Gerry sighed and sat down next to her. The bench creaked alarmingly, and he immediately got up again, but he did set the bags down on it. “They’re still clearing things up. Everybody in a three-block radius has been evacuated. Apparently they’re not sure the building is stable, and they’re worried about secondary explosions.”

“That’s the story, anyway,” Basira added. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed once more. “Probably just trying to avoid more Section Thirty-One forms.”

Melanie’s sigh was exasperated, but Martin’s was bone-deep weary. It was Martin who asked, “So, are we walking, then?”

“Let’s—let’s wait,” Jon said. “It can’t be that much longer…” He hesitated. “Can it?”

“Cops said they’d probably be done by tonight. One of them was a Ghost Hunt UK fan and seemed kind of surprised to hear you were trying to revive it, Neens, but at least it made him less suspicious, so thanks for that,” Gerry added. Melanie grunted. “Jon’s right. Let’s wait it out a bit longer. If they still haven’t cleared us to go back and get our things tonight, well, Officer Nevins was kind enough to get me my wallet, at least, so I can probably get us all tickets back to London. On the other hand, replacing all your identifying documents is the most annoying bureaucratic bullshit in the world, so if we can spare you lot that, we will.”

“Thanks,” Melanie said dryly. She poked the nearest bag. “What’s in this?”

“Well, I thought you might want something to eat other than rotting wood and loam.”

“Cool. What about for the rest of you?”

It started raining harder about midday, so none of them were terribly keen to go out. Instead, they kept telling stories, moving into the more serious ones. Jon was curious about some of the more dangerous events Martin and Melanie had referenced, but he knew better than to ask about them now. He did ask about the burning of A Guest for Mister Spider, though, and Martin was happy to tell him exactly what they’d done to it.

Jon had to confess he was relieved.

The rain petered out late in the evening, and Gerry rousted everyone for the two-hour walk—more trudge, and it took closer to three at that rate—to the Hive. Thankfully, the police presence had died down to a minimum and tightened more around the actual building that had burnt, the fire apparently now safely contained, and they were able to get into their rooms. Jon somehow wasn’t surprised when Martin collapsed instantly, or when he slept for pretty much the entire next day.

He wasn’t surprised, but he was concerned.

“We’ve got to get him back to the Institute,” he told Gerry, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, and Gerry simply nodded and headed to the nearest station to buy their tickets. Obviously driving one of the Breekon and Hope vans back would be out of the question, even if Daisy wasn’t the ones with the keys. Hope though they might, she never yet had turned up.

They checked out early the next morning and began the long journey back to London. Jon noticed that the closer they got, the more energized Martin got, although that could have also been the tea or decent food on the train. He seemed almost like his old self when they finally got on the Tube towards the Institute. Gerry came with them. Nobody questioned it. It was as if they’d all decided that, at this point, secrecy over Gerry’s existence was pointless. Either Elias knew he was back—likely, if he’d been watching the Unknowing—or he didn’t, but either way, he was probably anxious to see Tim.

There was a police car parked outside the Institute, right on the curb. As they started towards the side door to the Archives, the main door to the Institute opened, and Jon stopped in astonishment—and, honestly, delight. Two police officers, heads held high and malicious smirks on their faces, were marching out of the Institute.

In between them, hands cuffed together in front of him and suit jacket thrown over his shoulders but otherwise looking like this was a normal business meeting, was Elias Bouchard.

Several faces appeared around the still-open door, and even from where he stood, Jon could hear the shocked murmurs of his colleagues. One of the cops caught Basira’s eye, and his smirk broadened; she didn’t react. Melanie’s hands curled into fists, but otherwise her expression never changed.

Elias turned his head briefly and made eye contact with Martin, his face placid and unbothered. Then the officer shoved his head down roughly to get him into the backseat, although it was probably unnecessary force; he didn’t seem to be resisting too hard. The slam of the door echoed off the buildings, and the officers peeled away with a thoroughly unnecessary squeal of the tires. For several long moments, they stood in the same stunned silence as the crowd in the doorway.

Finally, Jon broke it, pressing back into Martin but still staring at the spot where Elias had last been a free man. “Did we win?”

[aftgficrec]

just finished trouble’s always gonna find you baby (and so will i) by moonsock on ao3 & i’m obsesseddddd! space western + outlaw neil + bounty hunter andrew + pining

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49436659#main

Thank you so much for this fic rec, I really enjoyed reading it! It certainly captured that andreil dynamic (and Andrew’s pining). - S

trouble’s always gonna find you, baby (but so will i) by moonsock [Rated M, 4009 words, complete, 2023]

Neil’s been on the run for years. Minyard’s the only one who ever catches up to him. (or; Area Man Can’t Outrun His Feelings; Love Wins!)

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: body horror, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

[ailithnight]

Howdy y'all. Have a snippet that is completely unconnected to anything else I am writing or will write. Feel free to do with it whatever you please.

But first, important warning! TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault of a Minor

Seriously, this actually might be a brand new kind of fucked up even for the Danny Phantom fandom.

"Oh. I don't think you need to worry about, uh… that stuff."

"Oh? Why not?"

"It's just. Um. Y'know. The, the scientist were always fascinated by, um, by my 'mimicry of bodily functions,' right? They wanted to test how far the, 'the mimicry' extended. If I'd 'mimic' things like, digestion and immune response and, and um, excitement."

"Excitement." Flat. Not really a question, but a question all the same.

"Yeah. You know…" Danny makes a couple hand gestures. Wiggles his pointer a couple times; then holding his hand in a loose fist and giving a couple jerky, twisting pulling motions. Kind of like… Oh. Oh god. He's just 15. It's such a painfully 15 thing to do, dancing around the topic like this. All awkward and nervous.

But also, god, he's so painfully 15. Jason is suddenly wishing he'd made a lot more bullet holes when they took those fuckers down. He would have if he'd known just how far their depravity sank. If he'd known they had-

"They sexually assaulted you?" Dick's voice is high and strained. Jason winces. Everyone knows, Dick hasn't told them, but they've all seen the signs, they know he has some personal traumas there.

Danny full body flinches, recoiling as if Dick had just slapped him.

"What? No! It wasn't. They didn't. It's not like they were, like, getting off to it or anything. They were just. Testing reactions. To, like, stimuli and stuff. Same as when they'd test how my body responded to different temperatures or lack of oxygen or various drugs. It wasn't. It was just an experiment." Danny looks down, fidgeting his hands in his lap and refusing to look up. It's practically textbook denial. Dick is probably fighting flashbacks right now. Jason would try to help him if he wasn't trapped somewhere between horror and rage.

After a long moment of silence and fidgeting, Danny sighs. Still refusing to look at anyone, he leans back and studies the cieling instead. "Anyway. It was just another expiriment, but it still kind of killed any interest in… that stuff." Young. Young. So painfully young. "So I don't think I really need the whole… y'know… talk."

[somereaderinblue]

You've mentioned that Odysseus is dolled up during his time in Troy, so I offer to you that he goes from wearing Penelope's colors/colors in line with her palette to Telemachus (maybe through blankets) and him wearing Paris's colors, like say they start out in blue and eventually they go to reds and violets or whatever color you envision for Paris. He could also be shaved, considering the ancient Greece connotation of youth and lack of power and submission that come from being beardless, just another slap in the face for Odysseus's social standing. Maybe he even goes barefoot most of the time, since iirc ancient Greeks didn't wear shoes at home and well obviously the bedchamber in the Trojan palace is Odysseus's home now.

Also maybe beautiful golden coil bracelets that look like snakes which depending on how they come to be could either mean that a) even after all that Paris is putting him through, Odysseus is still plotting and scheming and fighting and an active danger to Paris or b) the gilded snake bracelets are a representation of what he's seen as: an ornament that hangs from Paris's arm and contributes to nothing. :)

(sorry if this is too much lol I love costume design)

No need for apologies. As someone who's into character design, I love hearing your thought process behind your suggestions! The snake bracelets are my fav detail & one I'm definitely gonna try to incorporate in my own art (once I actually start drawing it asajkdhab).

And yes, I too had imagined Odysseus to be clean-shaven for the same reasons as you mentioned! But also because: (WARNING: SLIGHT SPOILERS UP AHEAD & IMPLIED/REFERENCED NON-CON)

-you know the horror of going to a party, getting black out drunk or worse, roofied, then waking up next to a total stranger in a foreign place with a fresh, raw tattoo on your body? Like, I know in movies this is sometimes used for comedy but personally (& realistically), I find this terrifying.

That's what Odysseus has to grapple with. As mentioned in previous asks, he was drugged/hypnotized during the entire trip, the 'wedding' & the 'consummation'. Then when he's lucid, it's bad enough that Paris has raped him (& that this won't be the last time), when he looks in the mirror, he has to see a physical reminder of his new powerlessness & Paris' ownership.

Plus, keep in mind that Odysseus was 13 when he became king. He probably not only wanted but needed to grow a beard asap to look more 'manly' so others would take him seriously. So yeah, all those years of care & effort, gone, just like that.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Nov 18th

~*~

1. hi !! this is for itmf for post canon fics that explore lan sizhui and wwx's relationship :D maybe some hurt/comfort or angst with happy ending! thanks for ur hardwork!! <3

🔒remember the moments when we were together by RoseThorne (T, 2k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Memories, Depressio, nImplied/Referenced Suicide, wwx needs a hug, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Loneliness, Crying, Hugs, Truth, Post-Canon, PTSD, Father-Son Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CQL-centric, POV LSZ)

🔒 Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, LSZ & WWX, JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Feels, Family Bonding, POV LSZ, This Fic Has Everything, even more yearning, WWX & LSZ figuring out wtf their relationship is, Dramatic Revelations)

the place your heart inhabits by Fleetling (T, 8k, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon Fix-It, Father Figures, father-son bonding, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Humor, Oblivious WWX, Pining WWX, WWX-centric, Good Kid LSZ, Adopted LSZ, Wingman LSZ, LSZ is LWJ & WWX's Child, Good LSZ, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, WWX goes back to gusu, resentful energy, Golden Core, wwx has both and it's a struggle, Unreliable Narrator)

your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian (G, 10k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Father-Son Relationship, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, More aligned with CQL than novel canon, Miscommunication, Eventual Positive Communication, Trying to be a family, how to tell your dad you want him to be your dad in 6 easy steps!)

Wei Wuxian's Delightful Demon Baby! by CheekyBrunette (T, 22k, WangXian, Case Fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition, POV LSZ, LSZ-centric, LSZ Needs a HugJealousy, Family Feels, Family Bonding, no babies are harmed in the making of this mystery, you are never too old to want parents who love you!, LSZ just wants to see his parents get together, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Canon Universe)

~*~

2. I’m in the mood for a fic where other people are gender-bent besides Wangxian. Thank you! @ahatfullofwords

you will never need another lover by pennydaniels (E, 44k, JFM/YZY, Gender Changes, Female JFM, Male YZY, Canon Divergence, character exploration, the struggles of an arranged marriage, Falling In Love, warning for abortion, YZY-centric) Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are gender swapped

~*~

3. Hiya, I am in mood for fics with bondage! Prefer wangxian but won't mind NHS/Ch, 3zun, JYL/Ch or SL/XXC. Please no non-con/rape, hitting or slapping or any kind of impact play(?), and no pain play, thank you!

What happens at craft night by rheawrites (E, 4k, WWX/WQ, Always a girl WWX, Rule 63, Kink Discovery, Shibari, Rope Bondage, Under-negotiated Kink, Friends With Benefits, Fibre Arts, Modern, Fluff and Smut)

Rope Bunny by Khashana (E, 2k, WangXian, Rope Bondage, BDSM, Rope Group, wangxian shipper JYL, Kink Negotiation, Subspace, Coming Untouched, Remix sort of, Rule 63, Always a Different Sex, Modern)

~*~

4. Hello! The other day I read a ff in which wwx was married to lwj and lxc also had a spouse (meng yao iirc) and lxc's spouse was everyone's favorite and wwx was kind of ignored and treated badly, I was hoping for more fanfics similar to this with the difference that I want it to be treated as something that isn't fair by both the characters and the narrative, like wwx is always treated badly by most adults in his life and how sad/disappointing it is that this doesn't change in the Lan clan

~*~

5. Hi! Could you find/recommend fanfics for me?

A) where wei wuxian suffers flesh trauma from eating corpses/humans in the burial mounds

B) one of dark lan wangji, but where he doesn't try anything with wei wuxian, he likes him, but doesn't try to do him any harm

thanks to any soul who can help me @quwieiidkd

5A)

my eyes got used to the darkness by curiositykilled (M, 4k, JC & WWX, JC & WWX & JYL, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Implied Cannibalism, Dehumanization, Sunshot Campaign, YLLZ WWX, Demonic Cultivation, PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Ghosts, Disordered Eating, Referenced Animal Abuse, 🔒 [Podfic] my eyes got used to the darkness by flamingwell) assuming the requester is asking for WWX suffering PTSD from being forced into cannibalism in the Burial Mounds, this one fits the bill

A Corruption of Comfort by BegrudginglyTumbling (SarcasticSmiler) (M, 1k, WangXian, JYL & WWX, Eating Disorders, Vomiting, Cannibalism, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst)

Lakes of wine and forests of meat by androktasia (M, 1k, WangXian, Cannibalism, Aftermath of Cannibalism, WWX's Burial Mounds trauma, Post-Canon, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Non-Linear Narrative, art included, Image description in the alt text) with more in depth exploration of WWX's eating experiences and problems and some scenes of those experiences, before and including BM

💖 the absence of hunger by parsnipit (M, 27k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Starvation, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Body Worship, Praise Kink, ft. WWX’s really fucked up relationship with food, PTSD, Flashbacks, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Cannibalism) WY has an explicit nightmare about BM but the work is mostly about PTSD, not exactly a straight-up reaction to eating smth)

🔒 the aftertaste of desperation by moonshine (princemin) (M, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Nightmares, Cannibalism, Corpse Eating, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Trauma, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, welcome to my agenda: let wwx have a breakdown, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) a little bit, but also mostly about problems with food in general with thoughts about BM

The most dangerous thing is to love by KatAnni (E, 113k, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Hurt!WWX, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-it, Medical Procedures, Fainting, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Asexual JC, homophobia doesn’t exist here, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Wedding Night, Whump) Don't pay attention to the rating of the fic, that only comes into play in basically the last chapter I believe.(it's been a bit since I fully read through this one) But be warned, he does try to hide his meat trauma so it's not prevalent for a while, and it's not the focus of the fic

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) Fair warning this does have the E scene in the first chapter before they're traumatized. But after WWX gets out of the BMs it is more prevalent that meat physically disgusts him now. But again not the focus of the fic, and it would do you well to /read the tags/ on this one. Both of them take place during and slightly after the sunshot campaign

5B)

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ)

🔒Something is wrong with A-Zhan! by HeloSoph (M, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Sort Of, Dark LWJ, Morally Gray WWX, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiangs, WWX is a Lan, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, JC Bashing, Smitten LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Engaged WangXian, Blood and Violence, a lot of people die, LQR Metaphorically Qi-Deviates, because of, Shameless LWJ, LQR Tries, to fit into the following tag, Good Uncle LQR, Semi-Public Sex, or at least wangxian's version of it, Scheming NHS, POV NHS)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

Do not take that which does not belong to you by Selene210 (E, 7k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, dark LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Canon Divergence, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Kidnapping, Murder, Blood and Violence, WangXian married and have a son, Explicit Sexual Content, Biting, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Bath Sex, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, WWX has an angry LWJ kink, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Wangxian canon breeding kink, LWJ’s canon massive dick)

💖 Somewhere Sits an Empty Throne by Siamesa (E, 19k, WangXian, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, tgcf fusion, Gods & Goddesses, Ghosts, Romance, vengeance, Dark LWJ, Grief/Mourning, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Gold Blood Eyes by Loveable_Psychopath (T, 72k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Except the bad people, Dark LWJ, i guess?, He gets cursed and becomes a demonic cultivator, Established WangXian, Secret Relationship, Sentient Burial Mounds, Demonic Cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Found Family, Character Study, Character Bashing, Implied/Referenced Child AbuseImplied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Communication, but also miscommunication, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, YZY Bashing, JFM Bashing)

~*~

6. I'm in the mood for any and all (if possible longer, multichaptered, complete) fics where

a) Wei Wuxian was taken in by Baoshan Sanren or

b) taken in by another 3rd party that is not the Jiangs or

c) grew up with his parents and they are alive

@corvinsart

6A)

Become Tomorrow by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 39k, wangxian, BSSR/LY, Alternate Universe, a story full of tragic pining gays, and one chaotic gremlin, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s disciple)

Going on charmingly by scribbet (T, 21k, WangXian, Teenage LWJ, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s Disciple, Genius WWX, Petty LWJ, Meddling LXC, What if LWJ didn’t have an excuse to instantly write WWX off?, Canon Divergence, JFM Doesn’t Adopt WWX, WWX minus canon sense of obligation, but still with an inability to shut up around LWJ, I swear LWJ’s inner voice was no quite so snarky when I started this, JZN is unfortunately present but only to lose face, LQR’s inconsistent adherence to the Lan clan precepts, writing the effective Lan education you would like to see in the world, Technically pre-relationship, but in the typical Wangxian way of them being in deep but just not acknowledging it yet, POV LWJ)

🔒crying like a fire in the sun by Reverie (cl410) (T, 10k, WangXian, SongXiao, BSSR/LY, Runaway WWX, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Die, rogue cultivator WWX, Angst, Post Cloud Recesses, Not YZY Friendly, Happy Ending, BSSR is WWX’s grandmother instead of grandmaster)

6B)

🔒 shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NieLan, WangXian, SangNing, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

🔒 The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

Frost moon's sun by RenaFair (T, 116k, WangXian, XXC/SL, Slow Build, Childhood Sweethearts, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Family Feels, Canon Divergence, Mentions of Smut, Attempt at Humor)

❤��� The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen by KouriArashi (T, 139k, wangxian, xiyao, chengqing, romance, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, politics, revenge, families of choice, pining)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 488k, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses based on the show, Fluff and Angst, haven't read the novel, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers)

6C)

Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-it, Angst with a happy ending, Family fluff)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

~*~

7. Hey,

Can you suggest some wangxian romance in mordern setting and lan wangji is like the owner or the ceo or similar position. Thank you @mayavsworld

Insert Coin Now for Extra Life by TriviasFolly (E, 201k, WangXian, Modern, A/B/O, Intersex Omegas, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Marriage contract au, Twitch Streamer WWX, fluff and smut, caring for other while sick, Possessive LWJ, Rare Male Omegas, Pack Dynamics, Sugar Baby vibes, Eventual Smut, Brief mention of lwj/others)

Work-Life Balance is Not A Thing by catbrainedschemes (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Workplace Relationship, Romantic Comedy, Idiots in Love, Oblivious WWX, Oblivious LWJ, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, but not that eventual, Pining, Dirty Talk)

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

~*~

8. Can I get some Fluffy Wangxian? Or Fluffy Sangcheng? Just something soft and kind. @itsthenerdwonder

Mutually Assured Seduction by misscam (M, 4k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Fluff, Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Content, CQL verse, some inspiration from the novel, Post-Canon)

🔒 Rumor Has It by Ulan (T, 4k, WangXian, Getting Together, Friends to LoversFluff, Canon Divergence, CQL-Verse, Fix-It)

You, Asleep and Dreaming by etymologyplayground (M, 9k, WangXian, LWJ POV, 5+1 Things, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Intimacy, Getting Together, Fluff, Post-Canon, Undressing, wwx’s ‘angry lwj’ kink)

the world is but a stage for the two of us by MandMandM (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Shameless WangXian)

the more things seem to change by littlebasketbun (G, 26k, LXC/NMJ, JC/NHS, WangXian, Modern, High School, Matchmaking, failed matchmaking, oblivious idiots in love)

~*~

9. ITMF request plz!

Can I have your fave happy or fluffy fics? The ones that always cheer you up. 🥺 Wangxian preferred but other pairs are ok.

🧡 A Study in Fluff by WeaverOfTheNight (T, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost bunnies, Vet LWJ, Architect WWX, Kid LSZ, Domestic fluff, Modern with Magic)

The Bunnies and The Roomba: A Love Story by Nikki373 (T, 6k, wangxian, modern, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Siblings, Siblings Try and Are Trying, College/University, 1 if by phone; 2 if by text; 3 if by mouth, Kisses, Romance, Falling In Love, LXC is the eternal captain of the good ship Wangxian)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

My Zhiji’s On Broadway by ScarlettStorm (E, 15k, wangxian, modern with cultivation, drunk LWJ, drunk shenanigans, getting together, first time, minor angst, major comedy, smut)

Covered in Bees by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Beekeeping AU, For reasons, Meet-Cute, Comedy, Fluff, Bees, come for the flirting, stay for the bee facts, and the bee puns, kinkmeme fill, no actual kink)

Love Cats by so_shhy series (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Fluff, WWX is wet and adorable in a tree, With a Cat, LWJ had no chance, Don’t Try This At Home, First Dates, LWJ likes ducks, WWX does not like dogs, They just have a nice date, picnic dates, Falling In Love, LWJ is briefly less than graceful, there is a spider, but like barely there and totally harmless, LWJ Loves Rabbits, Office Party, LXC is a Good Big Brother, WWX is an excellent boyfriend, POV Outsider, they are in love the world is full of joy, Everything is Beautiful except for baby coots)

The first two parts of Just Say Yes Series by edenwolfie (T/M, 338k, WangXian, Matchmaking, Pining, Oblivious, Biting, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, Fluff, First Kiss, Declarations Of Love, Humor, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Good Uncle LQR, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian, POV Outsider, Engagement, Developing Relationship, Family Feels, Kissing, Romance, Feelings, Family, Love, Fix-It, Drunken Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Qishan Wen Indoctrination, Canon-Typical Violence, Fall of Lotus Pier, Sunshot Campaign, First Time, Possessive Behavior, Panic Attacks, Everybody Lives, Established Relationship, Weddings, Kid Fic, Wedding Night, Married Couple)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

your words upon my lips by uchiuchi (T, 17k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff, Curses, no sad times only good times, Canon Compliant, Romance, they are married!!, Let LWJ Say Fuck, Case Fic)

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

If It's You by etymologyplayground (T, 1k, WangXian, Fluff, Reunions, Getting Together, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension)

🔒❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, [Podfic] Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets))

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition,Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer, a Spanish version of the fic, Turkish translation, Translation into Русский availabl)

Once Upon A Time in Qinghe by paranoid_fridge (T, 22k, NHS & NMJ, wangxian, LXC & NMJ, post-canon, fix-it, angst, humor)

~*~

10. I wonder if there is some fic that focuses on Nie Huaisang and Lan Xinchen's relationship post canon. Mostly focused on their feelings and relationship together after the disaster. Lan Xichen was quite done with everything and everyone by the end and he certainly suspected (knew) that Huaisang manipulated him to kill JGY. I am really in the mood for some fic like this. It can be whatever pairing or ship or just friendship. No modern aus please.

~*~

11. itmf fics where jiang yanli realises she’s been enabling jiang cheng’s behaviour and his treatment of wei wuxian and actually does something about it? hopefully earlier on in the timeline but im not too particular about that.

thank you guys. i love your blog so much!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) it's not the focus of the story but Jiang Yanli discusses the consequences of her relationship with her brothers near the end of chapter 7

do not wilt alone by Anonymous (T, 7k, JYL & WWX, Minor WangXian, LWJ is Sir Not Appearing in This Fic, Past Child Abuse, Homophobia, Homophobic JC, Bad Parent YZY, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Not JC Friendly, Character Study)

~*~

12. Hi! can you help me find rich wei wuxian fics? without the help of lan wangji or the jiangs! completed or regularly updated fics please 🥹

Thanks a lot

Catharsis by Starfell123 (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, mentions of abuse, Mentions of Disownment, Swearing, Friendship, Attempted Arranged Marriage, WWX has gone through therapy, Catharsis, supportive friends, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Genius WWX, Rich WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, BAMF WWX)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, WangXian, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) has the Lans help Wei Ying sell his inventions but the money earned is Wei Ying's.

Catharsis by Starfell123 (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, mentions of abuse, Mentions of Disownment, Swearing, Friendship, Attempted Arranged Marriage, WWX has gone through therapy, Catharsis, supportive friends, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Genius WWX, Rich WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, BAMF WWX)

🧡 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post) It's a modern au crackfic, WWX doesn't know he's rich and famous.

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 887k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Getting Together, Supportive LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Supportive LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Possessive LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Angst, Sunshot Campaign, Not JFM Friendly, split into parts, Part 1 complete, Part 2 complete, Original Character(s)) The Lan facilitate the trade and commissions of WWX's items and inventions, but the proceeds from the sale of those inventions and talismans are put in WWX's personal vault.

~*~

13. Can I have extremely angsty fics? Something where wei wuxian is really going through it. Something like the fic ‘see me yesterday’. It can be modern au or canon. No cheating or rape please. Just him being cast out and trying to live with the horrors of what happened to him. Just absolutely devastating. Thank you for your help.

Rebirth of a Wretched Mayfly by marikazz (M, 15k, WangXian, Time Loop, Time Travel, Groundhog Day, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Not Really Character Death, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Trust Issues, Hurt WWX, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Whump, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Okay, Mental Breakdown, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Angst, Dissociation, Suicide, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, POV WWX)

Sunder by naqaashi (E, 32k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Emotional Sex, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Light BDSM, Fix-It, POV LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Light Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Suicidal Thoughts)

❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YLLZ WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

🔒 In search of safety by SomeDumbGuy (M, 22k, Major Character Death, NHS & WWX, JC & WWX, One-Sided WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Incomplete Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, JZX Lives, distruction of the yin tiger seal, How the BEEP did they destory the yin iron?, Is it still hurt/comfort if it's comfort then hurt?, WWX needs a miracle but won’t get it, Blood and Gore)

When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX confesses early on, But canon still happens, LWJ starts confessing after, but the tables have turned, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ rejects WWX, Then gets rejected by WWX after, "Get Lost", Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

Window of the Waking Mind by mrcformoso (M, 8k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, JC & WWX, Graphic depictions of violence, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Torture, Golden Core Transfer, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hurt WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX Needs a Break, Flashbacks, Curses, Night Hunts, Suicide, Starvation, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Character Death, Cannibalism, Although it was forced by the situation to survive, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, lots of comfort, Soft LQR, Learning To Communicate, Zidian Spiritual Tool, JC Tries, Reaction)

~*~

14. Y'all are amazing! ITMF fics where ppl find out how deeply Lan Zhan feels about everything, especially Wei Ying. I read this one fic one time that had him fall into a sleep state from a curse and everyone saw lwj history in the form of visions and how deeply he felt about everything. looking for something similar @chenqingmagic

~*~

15. finally registered for an acc, ITMF a good locked fic! preferably feel good

🧡🔒Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting)

🔒 in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by varnes (M, 13k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, [Podfic of] in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by exmanhater)

🔒 Bodega Love by cicer (T, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, bisexual disaster wwx, text conversations, reckless use of emojis, unrepentent goofiness, [Podfic of] Bodega Love by exmanhater, Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard), GoLBCollabs (GodOfLaundryBaskets), Gondolinpod (Gondolin), growlery, nicolasechs, Opalsong, RevolutionaryJo, Rhea314 (Rhea), [Podfic] Bodega Love by GinevraReads (GinevraFangirl), jennisaisquoi, kealdrakemna_collabs (kealdrakemna), KeriArentikaiMultipods (KeriArentikai), kisahawklin, mulberry_graceful, PandaReads (DrPanda99), shash_reads (sunkitten_shash))

🔒 you’ve ruined my life (by not being mine) by cicer (E, 132k, WangXian, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Awkward Flirting, teenage romance, Shameless WWX, slowburn, Demisexuality, references to lqr’s a+ parenting, references to jfm’s a+ parenting, but we’re gonna get a happy ending ANYWAY, references to yzy’s a+ parenting, Background NMJ/LXC, hints of nmj/lxc/jgy, bottom LWJ in chapter 15)

🔒🧡 【那夏天的我們】 a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Summer, Barakamon AU, renowned musician lwj escapes to tiny village and falls in love with local farmer boy wwx, good times only, YouTuber WWX, Food)

🔒 (Planning the Day) To Meet You by Bettydice (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Pining, Mutual Pining, WWX raises A-Yuàn, minimum angst, MAXIMUM GAY, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV LWJ, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex)

🔒 I Will Call You By Name by DisasterMages (T, 73k, WangXian, WWX raised by XXC, Canon Divergence, Family Feels)

I like most everything by cicer (all their fics are locked) but their fluffiest feel good fic is 🔒💖 blue-ribbon bunny by cicer (G, 15k, wangxian, modern, shapeshifting, supernatural elements, fluff & humor)

🔒 when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations) for locked works -- I highly recommend the author travelingneuritis!! My favorite fic by them is plotty and drama but has a feel good ending (and amazing art)

~*~

16. hi, for the itmf, can i have any fics where wei ying is a sex worker? both canon compliant and modern au is good

KILF (Knits I’d Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, sex worker WWX, Fashionista LWJ, in this house we support sex workers, Fluff and Smut, they’re horny and in love, mental health, therapy is good actually, Domestic Bliss, tender kink, Fiber Arts, autistic LWJ, neurodivergent WWX, switch rights, Nonbinary NHS, a soupçon of gender, get in losers we’re introspecting about queerness, Genderfluid Character, Gender Exploration, perhaps slightly more than a soupçon of gender, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, But They’re Working Through It, aggressive mutual caretaking)

🧡 All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 51k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ)

Hidden in the Clouds by Karmiya (E, 17k, WangXian, WIP, Teenage Wangxian, historical sex work)

Gifted by Deastar (E, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Courtesan WWX, Sex Work, but not between the main characters, Gusu Lan Sect, as in canon the real villain is sex work stigma, Supportive LQR)

~*~

17. Hi, can you please recommend some canon compliant fics preferably a/b/o. I prefer top lwj and bottom wwx. Thanks 🙏🏻 @bluepinks-world

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked

"Can't leave without this, can you?" Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you. "Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

price x f!reader | completed | AO3

part one part two part three

cw: dubcon and noncon, swan-maidens, influenced by swan lake, clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, manhandling, restraints, implied/referenced masturbation, forced marriage, mild blood, mild injury, implied first time, stockholm syndrome (kind of), mild body horror, implied/referenced pregnancy

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: gn!reader, pet name "pretty" used. yandere hisoka. referenced rough/violent sex. reference to murder. blood. refers to reader as a whore. implied dubcon. hisoka is his own content warning™. prompt from here. wc: 870 Yandere Minific Masterlist

Something feels wrong.

The music you’re listening to, the book in your hand, the way your clothes hang on your body and the way the sheets scratch at your skin—it all suddenly feels incorrect, like something is out of balance, something you can’t quite perceive but you know is there. A heaviness begins to settle on you, like weights being stacked on your chest, one by one; it’s a feeling you know all too well, and you set your headphones and novel aside, creeping your way down your hallway to confirm your suspicions.

Hisoka stands in the middle of your living room, stock still, arms hanging loosely at his side. His breathing is careful, measured, as though he is thinking through every breath—inhale, hold, exhale—to keep himself from shuddering with glee. Your eyes travel over his body, quickly taking in the blood soaking into his clothes, streaks of it drying on his alabaster skin; it’s not an unusual sight, Hisoka standing in your home, covered in blood that could be his or could be someone else’s, his body almost vibrating with a lust that he needs you to quell.

But this feels…different.

“Hello, pretty.” His golden eyes are trained on you, pupils blown, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” you respond hesitantly, pressing your back against the wall. That heaviness is growing, almost pinning you in place. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You expect the same answer you usually get—that he needs you, needs a warm body and a mostly-willing spirit. He needs to break you, needs to bruise you, needs to make you cry and bleed and beg, then wrap himself around you like a serpent until he’s had his fill of you.

“Why, I brought you a present,” he coos, slowly walking towards you and motioning for your hand.

You swallow and he drops something small and dense into your shaking palm. It’s a wallet, the faux leather covered in sticky, wet viscera. You open, just enough to see the identification inside—it belongs to your coworker, the one who had joined your department a few months back, who stopped by your desk to chat about sports and the weather, brought you coffee on Mondays and Fridays, having memorized your order in just a few short trips. He walked you to your car when you stayed late, sometimes with your group of friends, sometimes just the two of you.

There was nothing between you, not even remotely—he was young and sweet and eager to make friends, but that was all he was, a friend. Besides, you had already been claimed by someone who you knew would never let you go, not without a fight you could never win.

Hisoka stands, hands on his hips, anxiously watching and analyzing your every movement, eyes widen with every labored breath you take, his cock twitching in his pants as the horror washes over you. It’s like being in a room with a wild animal—no sudden moves, stay calm, keep your breathing steady, but it’s becoming impossible as that heaviness grows and an icy feeling ripples through your limbs. All you can muster is a quiet, “Why?”

He reaches out his hand and strokes your cheek, dragging the sharp tips of his nails across your skin. “Now, now, my pretty, you know it’s cruel to play with other people’s feelings, don’t you?”

“Hisoka, he brings me coffee, that’s all.” Brought you coffee. He brought you coffee, and he will never bring you coffee again, and you will never accept so much as a drop from anyone else, lest it fill your mouth with guilt.

“It starts with coffee, doesn’t it?” Hisoka’s tone changes sharply, every word now dripping with increasing vitriol. “It starts with coffee, and continues to walking you to your car at night to protect you from awful, violent men like me, and soon you’re bent over in his barren little apartment, letting your hero make a whore of you.” He cackles, placing his hands on either side of you, leaning in to nuzzle against your neck. “It ends, my dear, with you coming home smelling like sex, and me having to fuck another man’s cum deeper into you.” He sighs and softly drags his teeth along your jugular. “We can’t have that, can we?”

You shake your head like you think he wants you to do, and place your trembling hands on his waist, like you’re sure he wants you to do. If you can appease him, it’ll be okay, it’ll all be okay, just like always—right?

“I’m so glad you understand,” he purrs, running his tongue along your jaw. You recoil at the smell of him, a saccharine sweetness mixed with drying blood, bubblegum and iron polluting your lungs. He captures your lips and kisses you, harsh and voracious, a flurry of teeth and tongue that stills you, takes your breath away. As his fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, he groan against your lips and murmurs, “I think you ought to get on your knees so you can thank me properly, hm? I’d hate to think you’re ungrateful.”

[samwhump]

a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.�� ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well. 

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

[sleepingdeath-light]

lashing out at younger sibling figure reader hcs ; angel dust

requested by ; anonymous (13/12/22)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; angel dust

outline ; “Would you be willing to write a light angst request?

(If yes, keep reading, If not, then ignore or delete this ask ^^)

Platonic!Angel Dust x fem!13 y/o!reader,

In wich the reader has very bad trust issues (because, she is in hell ¿Who WOULDN'T have trust issues there?) but somehow managed to form a strong fraternal bond with Angel.Ç

Or that's until one day Angel comes pretty bruised up to the Hotel thanks to Valentino and when reader tries to help him he snaps and yells at her/throw something her way paralizying the reader in her tracks and then she just starts taking step backs with her scared expresion trying to get away from Angel because he scared her???

And when he tries to reach out for her to reassure her it was just a reflex action the reader runs away from him practically crying because she thought he was going to hurt her???”

warning(s) ; canon typical violence, referenced (canon-typical) sexual abuse and sexual exploitation, implied child abuse

note ; this request actually confused me a little bit so the content below the cut might not be a 1-to-1 match for what the anon intended — also shaky characterisation as the show technically isn’t even out yet…

when you first met you’d been so alone and afraid, freshly dead and freshly freed of the horrors you’d faced in your short life only to be faced with a new sort of hell

body new and changed and not fully your own but still yours as you regained control of your limbs — dead heart thumping, aching lungs burning for the pungent hell air, legs and arms trembling, new eyes watery and blurred as you stumbled and fell and stumbled some more

sobbing and scared and alone until you caught sight of a limousine and a figure that would become the most important person in your life

angel was curt and uncertain when he noticed you, panicking and stumbling over his words as he slowly approached you and helped you to your feet — talking you down from your fears as he helped you adjust to your new body

‘one step at a time, kid, there we go,’

‘you’re okay, it’s alright,’

‘shit… you look so young,’

‘take my hand — any of them, just pick — and i’ll help you up,’

‘left, right, left, right, there you go,’

his words were encouraging and his voice was unusually soft and once you finally got the hang of walking you didn’t let go of his hand and the two of you stood on that street corner and spoke

you asked him who he was and where you were — he sighed and answered and held you as you cried, his fluff comforting and soft as he hugged you

he asked you who you were and your age and you answered, sobs getting louder as you realised what had happened and his hold on you got even tighter

he told you to wait and promised to take care of you whilst he dealt with his last client — making you sit down somewhere safe in the interim until he could come and collect you properly

then, once he was done, he took you back to the hotel with him and made the others promise to look after you — to not hurt you

and once he told them your age you swore that the room got a lot heavier

but they let you stay, putting you up in the room across from angel’s since he seemed to be the only one you really trusted

(being cautious about talking to the others and fearfully refusing any help offered by nifty or charlie — which broke their hearts but they left you be)

and things stayed that way for a while: living in the hotel, gradually starting to trust the others (very gradually), and getting closer to angel — who you’d started to refer to as your big brother

(which he adored and would return in kind — he felt good being able to take care of someone else, honestly, and you reminded him a bit of his sister, how she was when they were alive anyway… he hadn’t seen her in decades)

it was the most peaceful time of your life (afterlife?) and you were so grateful for having been able to find something so stable in somewhere like hell — until it all came crashing down after seven blissful months

until angel came back to the hotel after being out of contact for a week, covered in bruises and blood and cuts and black eyes as far as you could do

unable to walk without aid and stumbling with each step like a new born or a drunk

unable to let out a shuddering, wet breath without coughing up phlegm and blood

grasping at his chest and wincing with every small movement of his body

a broken man… well, even more of a broken man

of course you wanted to help him — you loved your brother after all — so you can up to him and held his arm to stop him from falling over

your touch light but firm enough as you smiled shakily and offered to help him — only to be met with a sharp glare as he pulled his arm from your grip and stumbled off

then you followed with questions, brows furrowed in concern as you asked him if he needed anything — any medicine, bandages, food, drink, anything

just let me help

and that’s when angel snapped, short temper directed at you as he yelled and screamed and belittled you, top arms flailing wildly — violently — whilst the bottom two clutched at his torn clothes and his aching chest

‘are you fucking blind?’

‘if i needed something i’d ask — do you not understand that?’

‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘shut the hell up and leave me alone already!’

his outburst left you frozen in place, venomous words and angry gestures mirroring the buried shadows that haunted your memories

violent arguments

slamming doors

angry voices

no no no no no

not again please not again

your face was twisted into an expression of pure fear and shock as you stared and silently sobbed into your hands — mind here and away as angel realised what he’d done

he stops and sees you — really sees you — for the first time in a week and reaches out to you, heart breaking when you flinch and back away from him

matching his every step as he apologises and stumbles over himself trying to explain

but he only gets as far as the first syllable of valentino’s name before you’re off like a whippet — flying away like you’re shoes are on fire and running out into the streets

and angel’s eyes water from pain and guilt as he clutches his chest and takes the spare blanket from vaggie to cover himself — feeling charlie’s hand clasping his shoulder as she tells him to get some rest, that they’ll go and get you

and he doesn’t even fight it, too tired and weary and guilty to try, instead just swaying on aching legs as vaggie reluctantly helps him back to his room

his own words echoing through his head as he realises just how much like his father he had been

christ he hoped they found you soon, he knew all too well what would happen if one of the overlords found you — and he just wanted you to be safe

you were just a kid, he was just a kid, and he doesn’t want you to end up like him