#implied/referenced body horror

[ollieofthebeholder]

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

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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

[zacharyleigh316]

the haunting cry of a hollow heart

the haunting cry of a hollow heart | E | 8.6K | Read here (or below cut)

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural. --

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. --

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural.

He believed in the afterlife, believed in God, angels (he was named after one, after all) and demons, Heaven and hell. But that was where his belief both started and ended. He didn’t believe in those creatures the very stories he loved to read warned him about, the creatures that shape-shifted, or sucked humans dry. The creatures that feasted on dead flesh, or came from other lands, other universes.

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. However, less regrettably, it did put him in the position of crossing paths with a man who, by all accounts would have never known he’d existed, a handsome athlete who ran in completely different crowds—or so he presumed originally—a man who he only knew in name until the very object of his disbelief brought them together.

Castiel was working late in the library that night, when he heard Charlie’s bright voice greet him from a distance. 

“Yo, what’s up?” She had a grin on her face, of which he could hear before he even saw her.

Not that it was very hard, even over the stacks of books he was carting around, and through the thick bindings of ones already shelved, her bright red bob could be seen coming across campus.

“Charlie.” He said in lieu of a proper hello, but his tone was no less fond. 

“Look at what I found.” 

Castiel didn’t have time to ask before she was thrusting a piece of paper to his chest, a smug look on her face.

“And by found, naturally you mean…” he asked skeptically, pulling the paper away from himself and reading it.

“This is a flyer for the gala. The same flyer that’s been posted to the events billboard since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay, so I might have taken-“

“Pilfered-“

Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder, and shot him a glare, without any of its usual bite, had it been directed toward anyone but him. 

“-Taken,” she repeated, purposefully ignoring his correction, “from one of the boards, yes, but there’s so many of them, it’s not like they’ll miss one.”

Castiel hummed disapprovingly, but let her continue.

“I thought we could go!”

At that, Castiel furrowed his brow. “Go? To the Valentine’s Day gala?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it'll be fun. We’ll stuff our faces with free food, and watch people get shitfaced and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Think of all the blackmail.”

“And with whom are you thinking of bringing as your date?” 

“You, silly, duh! We’ll go together. As friends of course. Because you’re dreamy, but definitely not my type. Seeing as you’re not a girl.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type either.” He muttered, handing her back the flyer.

The ‘seeing as I like guys’ went unsaid, but Charlie smiled anyway. They both knew this of one another of course, having been friends since freshman year, when Charlie bounded into his life uninvited but no less welcome, but Charlie liked to bring it up every now and then, “as a reminder” she had said once, flourishing it with a wink. Though, it was her odd idiosyncrasies that made her so likable by even someone like Castiel himself—not that he was entirely lacking in those either, except, people usually steered clear of him for his. 

“And who knows, maybe there’ll be some hot people there we can hit on. Wins all around the board.” Charlie added jovially, taking the flyer back, only to wave it about the air as she gestured excitedly.

“You make it sound like we’re already going.”

She smiled at him guiltily, and Castiel couldn’t help but sigh.

“Charlie…”

“Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you won’t be mad?”

“That depends. What did you do?” He asked, though by the look on his friend’s face, he was certain he already knew the answer. 

“About that…I…might have already…bought us tickets. To go.”

“Charlie…” Castiel said again, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Actually I said it depends. But that’s not the point. You never asked if I would want to attend.”

“Well, that’s because I knew you’d say no.” Charlie snorted, not looking all that sorry for it.

Castiel knew she wasn’t.

“You don’t do anything fun unless we make you, and this is me making you. Besides, you can’t say you’d rather be working late hours in the library of all places, all by yourself, again, when you can be hanging out with the coolest people on the planet! And you know I’m right.”

Castiel sighed again, this time in, albeit reluctant, acquiescence. Not that Charlie would take no for an answer, anyway.

She grinned at the droop of his shoulders, knowing full well that was him giving up the fight. The queen, per usual, proved her right to the title; Castiel was no stranger to loss when it came to arguing with Charlie. He was certain no one was. She got her way in the end, eventually.

“Fine.”

“Yes! No one deserves to be alone on Valentine’s Day, Castiel. Even jaded history majors with a work study in the university library, such as yourself.”

“I’m not jaded,” he defended, turning back to his long since forgotten task of shelving the returns. “My people skills are just…rusty.” 

“Unless they learned to talk back, which would be super cool by the way, burying yourself in work with books as your only company isn’t going to help.” 

That, Castiel surmised, was a lesson he knew all too well.

Ever since her reveal that they would be attending the gala, courtesy to none other than herself, Charlie hadn’t shut up about it. Every chance she got she talked about it with the excitement erring on that of a small child, that Castiel couldn’t help but allow it to bleed into himself, despite his earlier grievances. He still had his doubts of course, feeling rather under qualified for a social occasion such as a dance, but it really did beat staying in library, or worse, in his dorm, all by himself, with nothing to do whilst his friends had fun living life—he’d also rather not have to hear the couple in the room beside him have raucous sexual relations all night. He, too, has learned that lesson the hard way.

“We should go shopping this weekend, make it a whole thing.” Charlie suggested to the table, before stealing some of the fries off Castiel’s plate, having finished her own minutes prior, and popping them into her mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “What makes you think we don’t already have outfits?” 

Meg, who was pretending not to listen, but so clearly was, looked up from her phone with a smirk. “We’ve all seen inside your closet, that’s what.”

“I’ll have you know that everything in there is peak fashion.”

Meg raised a manicured brow. “To whom exactly? The dead guy you inherited it second hand from?” 

“Hey! Thrifting is very efficient, and cost effective. You know, for a college student.”

“You’re a graduate student, mastering in business management, I hardly think you need to be frugal.” She argued, and Gabe crossed his arms, pouting.

“Cassie, you’re just going to let her be mean to me?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Meg didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

Gabriel gasped, looking thoroughly offended. He shook his head, and sullenly turned back to his own food. 

“Don’t worry, Gabe, we’ll pick something real nice for you. Oh, we can even do a montage!” 

“Sorry, Red. You may be able to get me to tag along at the mall with you, but I’m not going to be participating in that.” Meg said defiantly, her mind already made.

“But…montage.” 

Gabe scoffed, muttering into his lunch. “Forget trying to convince this one, Charles, she’s stubborn. Like a mu-OW!” 

Meg glared at Gabe, who was now rubbing his shin, from across the table. “Finish that, and die.”

“We’ll be there.” Castiel said suddenly, interrupting his friend’s antics. “Unless you’d rather show up naked.” He said this to his brother.

“Ew. Don’t give him ideas.” Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust, and Gabriel let out a laugh.

“Hey! There’d be a lot of people who’d enjoy that kind of show.”

“In your dreams.” Meg said, at the same time of Castiel’s, “not if it got you kicked out.” 

“You lot are so boring.” Charlie whined, finishing off Castiel’s fries too. “Regardless of whether or not you guys are doing a montage, I’m making you watch me do one.”

The four of them set out that weekend to go shopping for outfits, and, although they shared their initial reluctance at lunch all those days prior to their outing, Charlie did, in the end, get her montage(s). Castiel, despite feeling foolish whilst modeling his various selection of outfits—all chosen meticulously for him by Charlie and Meg because he “couldn’t be trusted to put together a coherent look that both fit properly and wasn’t a boring color”—couldn’t have denied his red headed friend in the first place. By the two additional shows they got alongside his and Charlie’s, he figured it was much the same for Meg and Gabriel too. 

Castiel wouldn’t be incorrect in presuming that Charlie already knew this, but he’d be damned if he told her that she was right, that he had fun, of course he did, in time that would have otherwise been spent in solitude brought upon by no one but himself, lest he inflate her ego any further.

With four new outfits under their metaphorical belts, they left their shopping spree in good spirits. It was only natural then, that the overall good mood wouldn’t last, and the playful camaraderie established between the friends would change the second they got back to campus, to blue and red flashing lights. 

“What…do you think happened?” Charlie asked, her expression mirroring what Castiel was sure all their faces looked like in that moment. 

He shook his head in lieu of answering, and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. 

As they neared the quad, they merged silently with the ever growing group of onlookers, most of whom were peers and faculty, whispers amongst the sea of people seeming all too loud over the eerie blanket of quiet. The cops, separated from them only by a thin barrier of police tape, stood just along edges of the area they cordoned off, no doubt keeping the crowd at bay. They offered no explanation, though Castiel could barely make out the murmured “stay back”s over the dread in his gut. 

He did hear the sharp inhale beside him, however, that was Meg, he was certain, closely followed by a gasp, Charlie, and when he looked over, he saw why.

There, lying just beyond, was a body.

The grass was dark, no doubt stained crimson from blood, and the large gaping wound, from where the skull was bashed in, from which could be none other than its source, was still seeping, still fresh. The eyes stared out, wide and unseeing, as Castiel stared back in abject horror. 

That was when he saw him. Jaw set and arms crossed, just across the way on the other side, stood Dean Winchester. 

The man looked determined, not surprised at all to see the dead body of a classmate, in fact, and Castiel couldn’t help but watch, watch as Dean seemed to assess, seemed to study the crime scene in front of them, as if he was filing it away for later. Castiel recognized that look, because it was one he shared whenever he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean looked up then, like he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, and their eyes met. The moment they did, Castiel remembered—albeit rather shamefully—the way stomach flipped for an entirely different reason than the horrific sight before them. Gabe’s iron grip on his arm was the only thing able to pull his attention away, and so he took the time to check in on the well-being of his friends, but by the time Castiel got the chance to look back, Dean was already gone.

To say the suicide—it was classified as a suicide—stirred up the atmosphere on campus, would be an understatement. Castiel couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so shaken in his faith, so rocked to the core, raw and open and vulnerable. It was on everyone’s minds, and on everyone’s lips, and it was all anyone heard about the next few days. They didn’t cancel classes, or work, the world still went on—even though their fellow classmate’s’ was cut short, Castiel reminded himself—everything proceeding as normal, as if someone hadn’t just died, and perhaps that was worse.

Castiel didn’t know what he expected, or why he thought it would go differently, but he prayed and prayed and prayed for peace for the lost soul. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nor could he get a certain cutting figure, but that was neither here nor there.

The very little information he had was acquired secondhand from the tail-ends of gossip, at work in the library. Apparently, or so the running theory was, the young woman, in a bout of madness, bashed her head against the tree until she dropped. Another student on their way back to their dorm found her and called the proper authorities. Castiel couldn’t imagine being the one to find the body, and he’d seen it for himself that night. He also heard that the woman’s boyfriend was beside himself with grief, most understandably, that not even he believed she would kill herself, that they were happy. She’d begged him to take her to the gala and he’d agreed. 

Castiel also heard that her brains had been sucked out, but he was certain that was just hearsay; she had severe head trauma, after all, it probably only seemed like her brains were gone, when in reality they were just…well.

Shaking his head from his musings, if they’d even be called that, he got back to work, trying to lose himself in the repetitiveness of routine. Charlie had been unnaturally quiet the past few days, the dance quickly overshadowed by the recent events that transpired, and none of them felt it right to change the subject either. Castiel understood, for he was much the same, but he relished in being able to escape feeling for however long his shift was.

“Uh, hey, do you have any books on Gaelic mythology and folklore?” 

Castiel paused what he was doing, and turned to greet the voice—definitely not Charlie this time—only to meet a pair of recently familiar, but quite beautiful up close, green eyes. 

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” He said dumbly, but was rewarded with an amused smirk.

“Heya, Cas. Well, do you?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What.”

Dean chuckled. “Have books. On Gaelic folklore.” 

Castiel inwardly cursed his ineptitude, and allowed himself to blink, forcing his basic motor functions to, well, function. 

“Yes. We do. You know who I am?”

Dean regarded him curiously, brow raised. “Well, yeah. You’re friends with Charlie. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before, but she does talk about her other friends.”

“Oh.” He said again, finding himself at a loss for words.

Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he still seemed rather amused by it, much to Castiel’s displeasure. 

Instead of dwelling on it, however, Castiel abandoned his cart and gestured to Dean for him to follow, leading the other man to the section where he’d find what he was looking for. 

“If you need anything else, let me know.”

He didn’t ask why an engineering student would need a book on Gaelic folklore, nor did Dean offer up an explanation. 

“Awesome, thanks Cas.”

The nickname stole Castiel’s breath away with a familiarity he wasn’t aware they had, because they didn’t, not really—Dean was just friendly it seemed—also did he say he knew Charlie, she never said anything why didn’t she say anything—and he stood there, lingering longer than he should, awkwardly shifting in place.

“I’m…going to go…now.” He announced unhelpfully, and Dean had the decency not to comment on it.

“You do that.” He replied with a smile, and turned his attention to the shelves.

Castiel, released from whatever hold the other man had on him the second his gaze was elsewhere and no longer pointed at him, quickly made his way back to finish his work, lest he embarrass himself further.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Dean Winchester.” He grumbled to Charlie at dinner that night.

“Dean? He’s my handmaiden, of course I know Dean.”

Gabriel snorted. “Handmaiden?”

“There’s a story to that, I can tell.” Meg said, amused.

Charlie chuckled, a welcomed sound that the group hadn’t realized they missed until they heard it.

“There is, but I’m not telling. A queen’s gotta have her secrets.” 

Meg clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and Gabriel groaned, complaining about “being edged, and not in the fun way” which promptly earned a smirk from Meg, a loud, boisterous laugh from Charlie, and a look of disgust from Castiel. 

There was another ‘suicide’ reported that night.

Castiel was in the hall heading to his religious studies class when he next ran into Dean Winchester. He couldn’t fathom how he went his entire college career without so much as seeing a glimpse of the man, and now he saw him thrice in a matter of a few days. All because their peers appeared to be being picked off one by one. 

There were now an accumulated three deaths since the first, and Castiel’s doubt had steadily increased right alongside the creeping uptick in body counts. He detested his wavering faith in the police, but there was only so many ‘suicides’ exacted in the same manner that they couldn’t be categorized as ‘suicides’ anymore. Two could possibly pass a coincidence, but three was a pattern; he knew that much. He had pondered, however, the reluctance in which the police seemed to label the ‘suicides’ as ‘murders’, but was only met with unease. For there to be murder, which Castiel was already (mostly) convinced was the case, would naturally mean for there to be a murderer.

But wouldn’t he want to know if his life was in danger? He wasn’t sure which option was scarier, but he was positive he’d rather be afraid and knowledgeable than ignorant but afraid anyway. So it was a dangerous doubt, Castiel surmised, since the only conclusion it led to was the authorities withholding the truth, regardless if it was due to their own incompetence or ulterior motives.

Dean looked furious, expression blazoned with a fierce determination, fiery and bright, even from the distance where Castiel stood. It was a devastatingly beautiful look on him, he noted sourly, seeing as his stupid heart couldn’t have picked a worse time to seek out another, and form a ridiculous infatuation that, Castiel knew, would go nowhere, regardless of their connection with Charlie.

He was talking with a much younger man, though, with the boy’s height, one wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, and immediately Castiel knew this was Dean‘s little brother, Sam Winchester—a freshman in pre-law. Castiel recalled seeing him about, since a lot of their classes were in the same building.

“I’m pretty sure I know what it is, I just don’t know who it is.” Dean growled, crossing his arms in a posing figure, much like the one on the night they first met. 

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.” Sam reassured, looking all the worse for wear as he said it, however. 

Like he was trying to convince himself too.

“Yeah, but how many people have to die before then, Sammy?” Dean replied wearily, a horrifying dark look casting a dark shadow across Sam’s face. 

Castiel’s chest seized in terror as he witnessed it; he’d never seen such a look on anyone’s face before, a look that, with resounding clarity, should not have ever had a place on the younger Winchester brother’s face. 

“Oh hey, Cas.” Dean greeted as he noticed his approach, shooting a look at his brother before his face slipped into an easy grin.

Castiel noticed he did so with practiced familiarity, as if he was used to putting on a mask, but didn’t mention it.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, at the same time Castiel himself said, “hello, Dean. Sam.” With a cordial nod.

Were they actually investigating the incident? What business did two brothers have in a series of deaths? What could they do that the police already weren’t?

He didn’t think it wise to ask them any of these questions either.

“Hey, Castiel.” Sam said with a little wave, a small, friendly smile smoothing out his expression the same way his brother’s did.

“Just dropping off my baby bro to class.” Dean lied, just as easy as the rest of him, and reached across to ruffle Sam’s shaggy hair.

Sam squawked indignantly, knocking Dean’s hand aside with a rising blush to his cheeks. Dean chuckled at his brother’s embarrassment, which was an action definitely more genuine than anything else previously had been. Castiel had experience with this, after all, being a little brother himself, to Gabriel especially.

“You heading off to one of your smarty pants classes too, Cas?” 

Castiel raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m heading to my religious studies class, yes.”

Dean chuckled. “‘S’nothing, Cas. Just teasing you. Y’know, cuz you and Sam are both nerds, attending all your boring nerdy classes.” 

Sam shot a glare at his brother, and Cas tilted his head to the side, curiously. 

“Interesting. You seem to regard us as nerds, but you too are one. Perhaps not in the same way, but I would consider you a nerd most of all, considering your area of expertise.” 

Sam snorted, his glare morphing into a smug grin as Dean spluttered. Apparently he had not expected Castiel to come back with such a lethal rebuttal.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean whistled, and Sam nodded his agreement.

“I’ve been telling him that for years.” 

“Unfortunately I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Goodbye, Dean. Sam.” 

He nodded his apologies as he said goodbye, and passed them by on the way to his class.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean said after him, before grunting in what Cas could only assume was an elbow to his side from Sam.

“Cas, huh?” He asked, amused.

“Shaddup!”

“I can’t believe we’re still going to this damned dance, after everything.” Meg mused, wrapping a long, thin section of her brunette hair around her curling iron.

Gabriel snorted, adjusting the cuffs of his creme colored blazer, as he stared at himself in the mirror. They were all getting ready in Charlie’s room, their hangout spot more often than not, since she bought out the double as a premium single (which meant more space and privacy), and could reasonably, and comfortably, fit them all. Though, Castiel shared the sentiment, and often wondered too, why they still planned to go.

It made him uneasy to think that it was just another excuse to sweep things under the rug and pretend everything was normal by the administration, since, aside from the plethora of grief counselors at their disposal, they hadn’t really done much in assuaging any actual grief by divulging in some sort of explanation why people were dying (read: being murdered, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, because people didn’t experience the same bouts of madness that drove them to suddenly kill themselves, all in the same exact manner as the one that succeeded them). He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it himself. 

Safety, Castiel thought sullenly, apparently came second to whatever the reason was for the university’s decision to proceed as if nothing happened. 

He was also still unsure what the Winchesters had to do with any of it.

“You don’t sound too displeased.” Gabriel commented, smoothing invisible creases on his maroon turtleneck.

Meg shrugged. “Do I like that people are dying? Of course not. But I suppose being distracted by a dance is better than focusing on the fact that life is short, and death is inevitable.”

Gabe groaned, and Charlie made a sound of discontent.

“Okay, yeah, bummer. I mean, at least we have each other, right? It can still be fun…”

Meg grinned, cat like. “Oh I definitely plan to still have fun.”

“Get laid you mean?” Gabriel teased, which only emboldened her. 

Meg turned around, arms opened wide as she presented herself, devastatingly gorgeous in a satin crimson dress, with a black, mesh overlay, and a, in Castiel’s opinion, leg slit dangerously close to her upper thigh. It left little to be desired, but he couldn’t deny she looked amazing in it. Of course it wasn’t a surprise to any of them, since she’d chosen this particular dress during their shopping trip, that seemed so long ago now, rather than just last week. 

“Have you seen me? Getting laid is half the fun. The remaining survivors won’t know what hit ‘em.” She all but purred, and Gabriel shook his head.

“Can’t believe you’d think about sex during these hard times.”

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Charlie quipped back, and Meg laughed.

He was glad his friends could find light in the darkness, but it didn’t sit right with him to participate. He did have the heart to. It didn’t feel right, when a guy lost his girlfriend, and then another girl lost hers. When another person lost their partner right after. And then, just the other day, another guy lost his boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, let alone love.

“Clarence, you okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.” Meg asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“I know it sounds kinda fucked up, but the situation is kinda fucked up.” Charlie added, reaching over to pat shoulder. 

He loathed to be the one to bring down the mood so he forced a smile. “I know, it’s alright. I’m…okay.” 

It was a lie, on every account, and they all knew it, but thankfully none of them pressed him further.

“Well, it’s settled then. We’re gonna go to the gala, just like planned, and we’re gonna have fun, stuff our faces, make fun of drunk people, and maybe get our flirt on.” Charlie said with a determined air of finality, and the rest of their group nodded. 

“Are we all ready?” She asked, having been the first to finish, but looking nothing less than graceful in her fuchsia pantsuit.

Castiel looked down at himself, feeling a bit self conscious in black, slim fitting slacks, and a dusty rose colored dress shirt, his blazer a matching black with light, pink floral patterns, but both Meg and Charlie assured him when he tried it on, that he looked ‘hot’ in the outfit. He wasn’t all too sure he would have used those words, nor did he have desire to look ‘hot’, but he accepted the praise for what it was, and bought it with encouragement from all three of his friends.

He nodded reluctantly, and they all filed out of Charlie’s dorm, looking ready to take on the night. He tried not to imagine the walk to the campus ballroom as a death march to the gallows. Tried to ignore the impending doom settling deep in his gut, to think positive thoughts, about spending time with his friends having fun at the dance, what had been Charlie’s original selling point, when she approached him at work—which seemed like forever ago now—and proposed the idea of going to the dance in the first place.

He failed.

Castiel didn’t know precisely when it happened, but, at some point during the night, he and his friends got separated. He had excused himself to get some air outside in the hallway, away from prying eyes and warm bodies, tightly packed together on the dance floor, at cocktail tables, and hidden in not so secret corners. 

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, when the sound of distant thudding reached his ears, just under the sound of the music, like an undercurrent to the pulsing bass of whatever was playing in the ballroom. 

At first, he attempted to ignore it, truly he did. But it continued, louder and louder and more aggressive; it was too far to discern anything, so, in what must have been a fit of insanity, for the serious lapse in judgment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of him. 

What Castiel witnessed then was no short of terrifying. He rounded the corner, and nearly lost all his breath, watching in frozen terror as someone bashed their head repeatedly into the glass window of a classroom, his knees almost buckling at the wet crunch of their skull cracking against the surface of the glass, icy fractures running up and out like veins in a splintered web as it, too, broke under pressure.

The person was crying, screaming really, hands cupped over bloodied ears, begging for someone to “make it stop, please just make it stop!” When, seemingly all at once, it did.

With one last sounding thump, they slid down to floor, smearing blood and brain matter against the pane of glass, and Castiel was helpless to do anything but watch, an unfortunate bystander to such a vile display, like an out of body experience that rattled his very soul, whilst his real, tangible body, this corporeal form, stay firmly rooted where it was. 

But nothing, and he meant nothing, would have ever prepared him for the absolutely repulsive, ghastly looking, free-floating creature that materialized out of nowhere, before it stuck its long, equally repulsive tongue into the stranger’s head, and (honest to god) slurped their brains out. If Castiel thought what had just transpired was hard enough to stomach, it was nothing compared to watching this…this thing feast on someone who, only minutes prior, had been a living, breathing human.

Eyes wide and full of fearful tears, mind screaming at him to “move, just move, get out of here, run!” Castiel managed to take a step back. Unfortunately for Castiel, the movement was enough to rouse the monster from its food, dead, milky white eyes zeroing in on him and once again stealing his breath away. Choking on a silent gasp, Castiel had just enough time to see it unhinge its jaw, before he finally forced himself into a sprint back the way he came, stumbling only when an ear piercing shriek sounded from behind him, so loud it shook the walls.

An unnatural mist he hadn’t noticed before, sluggishly seeped from the tiled floor, surrounding his ankles, pouring endlessly up and out, creeping along the walls and pooling across ceiling, and out of it came the screaming beast, somehow right in front of him, blocking Castiel’s path. He cried out in pain as it screamed even louder, the sound reverberating in his skull, causing his vision to blur. He reached up to cup his ears, his heart lurching at the warm fluid he felt trickle against his palms. 

He realized that, and perhaps a bit too late, but again with resounding clarity, that this was what had killed all those other people. That this was what was going to kill him.

“Hey, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Castiel snapped his eyes open—when had he closed them, he couldn’t remember—and watched the creature tear its attention away from him, snarling toward the intruder.

“Get away from him!” 

Castiel flinched at the sound of a shotgun round, heard the shells clatter to the floor as the shooter reloaded, but was unable to look away from the thing in front of him as it dissolved into whatever before his eyes, just as quickly as it appeared. And yet, Castiel dared not take a breath, in fear that it would return because he had.

“Is…is it dead?” He asked, realizing the screaming had stopped, despite the residual ringing in his ear. 

“Unfortunately, no. Only pure gold can kill these things.” Dean answered, guiltily.

“Right.”

“But not to worry. Rock-salt rounds are enough to stall them for a bit. Banshees take longer to recover than other spirits, so we have some time.”

Castiel said nothing, and Dean looked over at him, worry in his expression. He reached out, a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“You okay, Cas? I know that can be…a lot your first time.” 

“First time?” Castiel muttered, brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had the gall to appear abashed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, your first encounter with the…supernatural.”

Castiel hated how he noticed how good Dean looked, even like that.

“The supernatural…” he parroted, as if trying it on for size. 

And suddenly it all clicked in place. He glanced down at the gun, a sawed-off shotgun to be precise, in Dean’s hand, the one that had been used to blast away the banshee. He’d called it a banshee, a spirit, a malevolent fae spirit, from Gaelic folklore. Dean came to the library asking for a book on Gaelic folklore. He’d caught Dean and Sam talking about the murders after that. He remembered the ease at which Dean wore his mask then, how the lie came as free as breathing. The fierce determination radiating from both men, a look that Dean held close to his heart the very moment their eyes locked across the quad on the night of the first, and one Castiel noticed every time they ran into one another thereafter. 

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Y-yeah?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking a bit put out by the lack of tone in Castiel’s voice, probably because he couldn’t read the situation anymore, but mostly concerned for, and about, Cas.

“You were investigating. The deaths.” A statement, not a question.

“Uh, kinda? Me and my brother we…hunt the supernatural.”

Castiel recalled how comfortable Dean looked when using the shotgun, the speed in which he reloaded after taking a shot, and hummed. 

“A banshee. Did you hear it too then? You knew what it was.”

“Not exactly. I knew what it was because of the nature of the kills. Only its targets can hear its scream.” 

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I heard it…”

“…”

Castiel opened his eyes, taking in the knowing look on Dean’s face, seeing the guilt and concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—there, all at once, wrapped into one gut wrenching expression.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Dean snapped immediately, sounding so sure that Castiel couldn’t help the flare of hope in his chest.

“Their screams are usually a death sentence, Dean. I watched…I watched that person get their brains sucked out. After they…killed themselves. It’s how the others died too, isn’t it? 

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, shaking his head, “sorry you had to see that, Cas. It’s true I was too late to save them, but I will save you. I promise.”

Castiel didn’t feel like reminding Dean not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He really hoped that he could.

Castiel was in the middle of contemplating how mad his friends would be if he didn’t get to say goodbye, if he just left and disappeared without a word, when the walls of the hallway he and Dean retreated to (further, and at a safe distance, away from the ballroom) began to rattle. The lights flickered angrily, and the same mist from before returned, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Castiel heard its screams before anything else, however, and already knew it was back.

It materialized behind them, and all for Dean’s fast reflexes, he was still a tad too slow to react, and certainly felt it as his back made contact with the floor a good few feet away, after the banshee tossed him aside without even touching him. 

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, only to be brought to his knees by the shrieking to his left, its rancid breath curling against his skin, and raising the hair on the back of his neck. 

He grunted in pain, his ears ringing anew, and blindly struck out with the iron poker Dean had lent him, slumping when it, just as Dean said, disappeared. The relief was momentary, and it quickly reappeared beside Dean, who was still trying to grasp his bearings, looking downright pissed at being thwarted again.

“Son of a bitch-“ Dean’s curse was cut short, or rather, drowned out by another rattling screech, right in Dean’s face. 

It reached out and pinned him down, and he turned his head, trying to wriggle out of its grip. 

“Ugh! Ever heard of breath mint, lady?” 

“Dean…” Castiel breathed, exasperated. He never ceased to be amazed by Dean’s tenacity to joke in the face of danger (literally).

Dean knocked their foreheads together, catching the banshee off guard, and managed to toss it off him, quickly grabbing his shotgun and taking a shot before it had time to recover. It exploded in a fiery cloud of whatever it was made of, and Castiel managed to pick himself up off of the floor, helping Dean up after making his way over to him. 

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly, giving his hand a squeeze. 

Castiel nodded, and didn’t fail to notice the way their hands lingered, before they dropped back down to their collective sides.

“Did you and Sam ever figure out why it’s here?” 

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Our friendly neighborhood banshee is killing people because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of whom?” Castiel asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Us. You know. Lovers, halves of a pair. Whatever. Guess Valentine’s Day stirred up some resentment, some bad memories.” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Castiel knew it wasn’t what Dean meant, when he said ‘us’, but he tried not to blush all the same.

“That’s why they were all people in a relationship?”

“Bingo. Banshees hunt in a particular place until there’s nothing left, and a college campus is basically a feast of couples, so our friend would have been well fed on us for a while, if it wasn’t for Sammy and I.” Dean sighed.

“Just wish we figured it out sooner.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Dean. But if what you said is true, why is she after me?”

“Eh, you got in her way. That, or you’re in love.” He said wryly, and at that Castiel did blush.

“Plus Charlie told me she signed you all up for the gala. Everyone who died so far was on that list. Could be a coincidence but…” Dean trailed off and shrugged again, but shot a smile over to Cas.

“You look really good by the way. Sorry you got caught up in all this. You got all dressed up and now you’re missing the dance, trying to hunt a banshee with me. You didn’t even know this stuff existed until now, and all you’re getting out of it is a ruined outfit.”

Castiel snorted. “And my life. I think surely that’s worth more. Along with everyone else’s life. I couldn’t care less about an…outfit. It was nice though.”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“Besides, I didn’t even want to go. To the dance. Charlie made me. My only regret is that I didn’t let her know where I would be. But would you believe me when I’d say I’d rather be hunting a banshee with you, than in there with all those people?

“What, not a people person, Cas?” 

Castiel shot him a deadpan look that made him laugh, and, despite himself, Cas found himself laughing along.

“Yeah. M’not either. Not really. Sure I talk a big game, but there’s only a few people who I can be real with, y’know?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when the light above them exploded, and the banshee flew into them, dragging them across the hall and throwing them into the wall on the opposite end of where they had been standing. They crashed into each other, the impact stealing all the breath from his lungs, and they tumbled to the ground in a pile, the banshee’s resounding cackle rumbling the building like an earthquake.

Castiel rolled off of Dean, looking sullenly at their weapons that had clattered to the ground and skidded across the tile just out of reach.

“Damn, this bitch is really getting on my nerves.” Dean grunted out, almost a growl.

“I think I’m starting to share your sentiment.” Castiel managed, glaring at the imposing figure of the banshee, as she floated above them.

This time, when she screamed, both Cas and Dean cowered away from the sound.

“Really wish I had a golden blade right about now.” Dean joked, and Castiel groaned.

“Dean!”

“Sorry.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound that sorry to Castiel at all.

The banshee reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, as if reminding them she was there, and picked him up off the ground. He scrambled for purchase, struggling in her tight grip, but his efforts were fruitless, and, as she raised them higher, her screaming never faltered.

Castiel reached up, wincing as the pads of his fingers pressed against the weeping wound at his forehead, and shakily lowered them again.

“If you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask.” Dean quipped, which worked well in keeping her distracted. 

“But any more than that I’ll have to politely decline. Don’t believe the rumors about me, I need to be wined and dined a least once before I put out.” 

With a vindictive screech, Dean went flying again, but this time he was expecting it, and tumbled out of his fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it still impressed Castiel. 

He managed to grab the poker, his shotgun stuck between him and the banshee, and swung it as she charged at him. The moment she disappeared, Castiel scrambled up and tossed the shotgun to Dean, before ducking behind him. 

Grateful that the attention was off him, he got to work, as Dean wildly swung at the banshee, her attacks becoming more ruthless as his hits became more predictable. He glanced up at the two of them, the mist acting as a smoke screen as she disappeared and reappeared, swirling around the poker as Dean used his baseball prowess to hit her every strike and lunge. It was ineffective in the long run, and hardly a long term solution, especially as Dean’s stamina wore out, but it helped Castiel by keeping her distracted once more.

When he finished, he stood up, fixing the banshee with a hard glare, the movement drawing her gaze to him.

“When it’s two against one, make sure to have eyes on both enemies.” He growled out, and as she charged after him, knocking an exhausted Dean off to the side, Castiel slammed his hand down on the blood sigil he made, activating both it and its copy on the opposite side of the hall.

It glowed bright, and in a matter of seconds, the banshee was dragged backward, and trapped against the wall, bound by the line of sigils. She roared, struggling against her invisible tether, mist swirling angrily, lights flickering like crazy, but she remained trapped, her fretting useless against the Celtic blood trapping spell. 

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, both pride and awe in his tone. 

“You may be a hunter Dean, but you’re not the only one who reads.” 

Dean grinned. “Awesome. How did you know that would work?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. But I figured if banshees were real, then the magic used to trap them must be too. So, while you kept her distracted, I drew the sigils with my blood.”

“Awesome.” Dean repeated, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back. 

Then, startling both of them out of whatever moment they were just about to have, the banshee suddenly burst into flames with a cry, crumbling like burnt paper into floating, ashy debris, until there was nothing left. 

“What-“ 

The trill of Dean’s phone signaled an incoming call, interrupting whatever Castiel was about to ask, and he looked over curiously as Dean fished the device out of his pocket. 

“It’s Sam.” He explained before picking up. “Sup, bitch. Took your sweet old time salting and burning the body, didn’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Salting and what-ing the body?! 

“Yeah, fucking thing almost took out me and Cas…” he blushed and glanced over at him, before quickly looking away, and lowering his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that Cas. I mean there’s no other, is there? Anyway Sammy, don’t change the subject. What took you so long?”

Dean snorted. “Excuses, excuses. What? Oh…uh…I don’t know if he’d be up for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Well would you if you just got attacked by a banshee?” 

The features then smoothed from his face, and he grinned once more. “You shoulda seen him Sammy, he used his blood to draw these badass sigils and trap the banshee, it was awesome.” 

Castiel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure how he felt about the Winchester brothers talking about him whilst he was right there, and only able to hear only half of the conversation, but mostly he was just embarrassed. 

“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll ask him. Bye, bitch.” Dean hung up and fondly rolled his eyes, before walking over to Cas.

“Sorry about that. Sammy had only just finished digging…uh well, you don’t need to hear about that, haha, the less you know the better, but the banshee is banished for good now, and he should be on his way back, thank fuck, but he suggested that after we clean up, maybe we catch the end of the dance together, if you-mmph!”

Castiel surged forward, most likely encouraged by the adrenaline still pumping through him—if not for that, he’s certain he would not have been that bold—and sealed their lips together, cutting Dean’s rambling short. 

“Yes.” He whispered between them as he pulled away, Dean blinking away the surprise as his brain rebooted and processed what just happened. 

“Uh…yeah?” Dean said dopily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Those lips Castiel just kissed.

“Yes.” 

“Even though you said you’d rather be fighting a banshee than go to the dance?” Dean asked, sounding amused.

“We fought the banshee.” Castiel replied rather seriously, earning a chuckle from Dean.

“True. Guess we do deserve a reward after that.”

“Besides,” Castiel started with a sigh, “I disappeared without saying anything earlier. I’m sure Charlie, at the very least, is worried about me.”

Charlie was indeed worried about him, but so was Meg and Gabriel, in their own way. After he and Dean cleaned up, including making themselves semi presentable, they entered the ballroom only looking slightly rumpled, and no less for wear than they had already. The trio bounded up to him right away, once they found him, but Charlie couldn’t admonish him for long without acknowledging the man beside him—rather excitedly, might he add.

She jumped up and gave him a hug, which Dean happily returned, only wincing slightly as his sore muscles tugged and flexed to compensate for the weight and movement. He put her back down not too long after, and the second her feet touched the ground, the three of them were on them like a pack of hellhounds.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel asked, smirking.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell us?” Charlie punched both of their arms lightly, and pouted.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel said again, looking even more smug, if possible.

“We looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you! We thought you might have left, but then you didn’t say anything, or tell anybody if you got back to the dorm safe or not!” Charlie continued, shaking her head in blatant disapproval. 

“You two came-ow!” Gabriel rubbed the back of his head, and pouted at a smirking Meg. 

Castiel, who was scowling at his brother, felt his face smooth out, and Meg rolled her eyes rather dramatically.

“We get it, Gabe, they came in together. Did you fuck?” 

Dean laughed, and shook his head. “No, we definitely didn’t. Cas is too good for a quick fuck like that, anyway.”

Meg nodded her approval, and Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Gabriel and Charlie both grinned.

“He just went out for air, when I happened to pass by on my way back from the auto-shop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to the dance, but then I saw Cas standing there looking like that, well.” 

Charlie squealed excitedly, waving her hands in the air. “This is so awesome! I told you the dance would be fun, did I not say the dance would be fun?”

Castiel and Dean shared a look, a brief moment of silent conversation only they would understand, and Castiel let out a sigh. 

“You did.” He confirmed, though ‘fun’ was a vast understatement, and certainly not how he would describe the dance—not that he’d experienced much of it, fighting a malevolent Gaelic fae spirit, and all.

“Aw man,” Charlie said with pout, as if she had a sudden revelation, “Cas is way ahead of us you guys! He wasn’t even here and managed to bring a date. Wait, you guys are here as a date right?”

“Yes, Char, we’re here together, as a date.” 

Charlie squealed again, muttering how she “totally shipped it” whatever that meant, and turned back to their group with more fervor than ever that they “needed to catch up”. This time, however, when they separated, it didn’t bring the sense of dread it did when Castiel first encountered the banshee, and thought for certain he was about to die, without ever having said goodbye.

“I never did thank you, Dean. For saving me earlier. I truly thought I was…well. I didn’t think I would still be here, and I probably wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. You held your own against the banshee too. It was pretty hot.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled. He caught Charlie’s eye across the dance floor, and she gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel caught his eye next, but made a rather lewd gesture that would have appalled him, had Dean not also caught it and snickered, finding it amusing. Meg shoved him, and Castiel smirked as Gabriel flailed about, silently thanking her for once again reprimanding his brother on his behalf. She winked at them before turning away, and Castiel tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully.

“It’s strange to think that not too long ago we were fighting a supernatural creature, and now we’re back at the dance, spending time with our friends like it didn’t happen. There’s literally a body down the hall.” 

“Eh, Sam’s got that taken care of. And nobody will know you were there, or what we did at all. They’re safe, and that’s what matters. That’s the job.”

Castiel hummed, and turned to Dean with an appreciative look. Dean looked back, blushing slightly at the attention, but smiled softly regardless.

“What?” He asked, and Castiel shook his head.

He kissed Dean in lieu of answering, and Dean eagerly kissed back.

[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.

[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!***

[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

[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.”

[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

[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

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 10 "Fettered Flesh"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism❗, Murder, Female rage, Teaching the Universe about Feminism, Angst with a Happy Ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: HELLO PRECIOUS PEOPLE 💕 Shit hits the Giedi Prime fan, so get out your umbrellas!! I feel like with every chapter I'm getting more excited 🥹 And everyone who has left a comment is to blame 😭 I appreciate it so greatly 😭 I've recently started an internship thingy (in a manner of baby's first real job experience lmao), so I have a bit less time to write, but chapter 11 and 12 are finished already, so I do have a bit of food in stock 💪

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 5

Jealousy is a beast, but loneliness is a monster.

Jealousy ignites with fiery tendrils but loneliness drowns you slowly until you're staring up from the bottom of the pitch black sea, yearning for the light.

All day she's been mulling over the three woman-creatures, Feyd's "pets". What is it that infuriates her the most? The physical violence? The fear of what they might have done to her - Death, torture or worse? Their derogatory status? Their beastliness grafted into female bodies, paired with the fact that Feyd has been bedding them at some point?

Without thinking about it, and perhaps it is tactless, she has been pouring her heart out to Lilia while the attentive handmaid is treating her scabbed injuries from last night. Now it is evident that wound management is a well-needed skill around the Harkonnen palace. The sarcophagus is safely folded up and her new weapon is tucked into one of the compartments.

"Am I overreacting?!" She asks, even though - hell no - she knows she isn't, but a part of her soul yearns for human connection, affirmation, camaraderie, friendship. It feels so good to be talking to someone who is not the man she thought she knew or the belittling Bene Gesserit sisters.

"Hmm," Lilia begins tentatively and the glowglobe light brings out the unusual color of her eyes as she tilts her head, so amber that they almost appear golden. "While I'll say it's never been common for the na-Baron to practice monogamy… I'll also say that I'd be quite furious at my husband if he had three women on the side." Her voice quivers upon women, as if it repels her to describe the three beings as such. The spider in the Baron's throne room may be the most harmless monster to roam these halls.

The engineer's questions chip away and it becomes perfectly clear that it's the jealousy that cuts the deepest, even with her superficial wounds cared for, a blade is wedged inside her guts that will keep on cutting.

"And do these 'pets' have handmaids too?" A self-destructive question to determine where her own status truly lies. What's a bride but another pet to him?

"They used to have handmaids…" Lilia hesitates. "But they always ended up eating them. I'm glad to be assigned to you, my Lady."

Great. There she has another horror to add to the menagerie.

Lilia continues: "If it calms you, I doubt there will be any further incidences with them. The na-Baron has been in an, uhm, unstable mood since last night." The maid's posture turns rigid. She shouldn't be speaking about the na-Baron like that, but the Earth woman's emotions are contagious. Lilia will get herself killed if she's not careful. She's been telling that to herself since she was a little girl.

"Unstable, uh-huh, well so am I."

The Harkonnen woman nods and decides it is best not to elaborate on what it means when Feyd-Rautha is having the worst day of his life.

Vladimir Harkonnen chuckles with delight at his nephew's distress and the infantile killing spree that has been painting the halls black since last night.

It took even less time than he expected, for the new woman to be disgusted by his poor nephew and he cannot hold it against her. Feyd-Rautha is a raging child in an unfortunately manly body. 

The Baron is well-entertained by the hollow screams that blare down the hallways. First the three harpies. A shame, they had helped keep Feyd settled so nicely and they hadn't been cheap either. It's also a shame that the Bene Tleilax don't offer bulk discount, considering the number of Gholas the Baron saw himself forced to commission for the little game his nephew and he have been playing.

Next on Feyd's blade was the guard at his little witch's door, then anyone who crossed his path in the night, all the while Feyd was chafing with desire to be cut and hurt. But no one outside of the ring is allowed to raise their blades against the Baron's heir apparent, unless instructed by the Harkonnen sovereign himself.

Some fire has returned to his nephew since the woman's arrival and he appreciates that, yes, he does, but he will keep a sharp eye on the two of them. He has no doubt that she's a Bene Gesserit agent who has implanted phantasms in Feyd-Rautha's mind, but Vladimir is willing to play the sisterhood's game, for his nephew's sake, even though he had sworn to never let a witch enter his fortress again. 

Not since Lady Margot Fenring had tried to steal his lovely boy's precious seed. Luckily, Feyd's blade had worked quicker than the thief's vocal chords.

But Valdimir is willing to adapt. The boy had been boring him to death for the past two years and he used to be so entertaining and feisty!

In the evening hours after a night and day of bloodshed, Feyd still has stamina (a trait the Baron cherishes so dearly about his nephew) and comes barging into the guarded dining room, bringing with him the cloying scent of blood that sticks to the tacky soles of his boots. He wears the clothes of yesterday and blood lust in his eyes.

Careful now.

Vladimir gives no sign to the guards, chews without haste and takes a noisy gulp of wine, making sure a bead rolls down the folds of his massive neck. The muscle at his nephew's jaw twitches and his fingers strangulate the blood-slick handle of his blade.

The eight arm-legged arachnid creature shivers in its basket under the table, eager to get to Feyd, partly because his boots smell yummy, but it doesn't dare move away from the Baron's feed. Smart thing.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault that she doesn't like you, boy."

Feyd halts as if struck by one of the bolts of infrared lightning that cook the atmosphere during the summer months. Tension strains his neck, a bull ready to charge at his Matador and for a second the Baron thinks he'll have to switch on his shield ring. But his nephew turns and barges off with bouncing, stomping steps, draining his stamina and wetting his knives on everything that breathes, when the only one he really wants to kill sits fat and mighty on his throne. 

It's almost cute, Vladimir thinks. The boy could kill him so easily now, if he really put his cunning, little mind to it. He's strong enough, smart enough, but his spirit - that's the crux. Feyd's spirit is broken and riddled with fear of the punishments. The last time he tried was at 17 and then never again.

Ah-h-h, yes, the Baron has conditioned him well and he considers it his retirement plan. Age hasn't left the Harkonnen sovereign unscathed and while his mind may still be sharp (or else how would he have come up with such a genius plan!), his morbidly obese body fully relies on the protection of his shield ring, guards, lung machine and poison snoopers. But as long as the boy still fears him, the deadliest threat within these halls remains on a pretty, silver leash.

The fire of jealousy has dwindled down and now all she does is miss him, sitting lonely in her room, lonely on this planet, lonely in the universe with only inanimate objects and the virtual messages and images of dead people to keep her company. None of this can ever compare to the warm hands of her beloved and his smile, the roundness of his cheeks and his painted teeth. She misses the way his eyes used to crinkle just for her. He had made her believe that only she could make him smile and offer a sliver of peace to his soul.

It's been two years since their last dream. Why wouldn't he have taken other women?

He said he "hasn't touched them". Since when? Since he learned she's alive? Since their first dreams? Ever?

She regrets now that she denied him when he knocked on her door an hour ago. The bitter guilt of disgracing oneself crawls over her when she slowly moves towards the door, but her self-respect has cauterized and become cinders along with her fury. Feeling sick to her stomach, she places her hand on the panel and the heavy door slides open.

Finding herself face to back with a guard in bulky plate armor, she halts. She wouldn't know where exactly to find Feyd's room anyway. The man turns on his heels and salutes briskly before returning his hand to the hilt of his saber.

"Good evening. Ah, wait, are you… New?" She blurts out, not meaning to seem disrespectful. The Harkonnens often do look quite alike to her, but she could have sworn the old guard was a little shorter.

"Yes, my Lady." The man looks right above the crown of her head, avoiding her eyes.

"What happened to the other guard?"

"He was replaced, my Lady."

That does make sense and she's almost a little relieved. She wouldn't want anyone who'd let these bloodthirsty creatures inside to guard her and her most valuable possession. However, she still hopes this incident won't ruin his chances of employment indefinitely.

"I see." She glances cautiously down the austere corridor. Past the windows, there is only blackness and the occasional faraway rumble from the factories. "Do you have to stand here all night? Your feet must be hurting. What about a chair?"

"I'm not allowed such luxuries."

"Says who? You can't excel at your job while being overworked and your feet are aching in those boots." 

The man wonders if the na-Baron's Lady wishes to insult or test him. "I am at full capacity, my Lady!" He salutes again. "I have no complaints about my boots."

"Fine, alright. Could you please point me the way to Feyd's room then? I want to see him. No need to accompany me, I'm sure I'll find it, just make sure no one enters my room, please?"

"Sorry!" The man extends his arm to the side, stopping her advance around him without laying a finger on the Lady. "The na-Baron has ordered this door to be sealed unless he or your handmaid demand entrance."

"Well I don't demand entrance, I want to exit. I want to see Feyd."

The guard grows queasy. That scenario was not included in his instructions. To be fair, the briefing for his new position can be considered rudimental at best but he didn't complain. Up here has been the safest spot in the palace tonight. "The na-Baron doesn't welcome visitors in his private quarters."

"But I'm his…" She swallows uncomfortably. "Betrothed, or am I not?"

"You are, my Lady."

"So, couldn't you perhaps call him?"

The poor guard's expression says 'I'd rather not'. The na-Baron has only just settled, finally, and even the dumbest desert rat knows not to wake a sleeping tiger. All evening long he's been wondering how many of his comrades will be dead come the morning and he doesn't want to be the next one to become fodder for the slaves' food rations. "I'm sorry, my Lady. It is against the protocol to disturb the na-Baron at night unless there is an emergency. Is there an emergency?"

"No…" The woman's expression twists into defeat and she pads backwards with slackened shoulders and somber eyes. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The door slides shut and she is too sad to even be angry about her gentle imprisonment. There's nothing out there for her anyway, except for Feyd, and if he doesn't want to see her…

Self-destructive thoughts sprout from the cinders in her chest and grow into the wildest phantasms. The guard was too kind to tell her Feyd has visitors in his room. Perhaps he explicitly decreed that she is not to join him.

To prevent herself from hurtling into a bottomless spiral, she must find a distraction. Nearly choking on bitter tears, she opens up the virtual app drawer that she's most familiar with and selects the 3d-modeling tool. A nice, little task to keep her thoughts from straying is exactly what she needs, and so she settles down on the bed and begins to design a practical, foldable, printable chair for her guard, thoughtfully optimizing stability and the required resources.

The engineer doesn't notice when her tears dry, but they do.

Day 6

She sleeps awfully that night, despite the chip's helpful sleeping program consisting of gentle rain and soothing frequencies. It can't have been much longer than two hours when she is awoken by a knock on the door, followed by another, more insistent one a moment later.

The 3d-modeling interface still overlays reality when her eyes snap open and her sluggish brain activity requires a moment to shut it down. She was almost finished with the printable chair parts last night, but she must have dozed off eventually. 

The knocking persists and she calls: "Lilia?"

A pause. "It's me." An unmistakable, deep and raspy voice comes muffled from the other side. Feyd-Rautha, freshly showered and dressed in a clean, casual suit, leans his forehead against the cool, thick plastic, breathing hard and fast so that his respiration condenses on the door. Waiting, he pleads silently for mercy. He cannot do this anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore just to feel something other than fear.

She freezes, legs half swung off the mattress as anxiety twists her belly. All of her jealousy comes crashing back and a little demon whispers poison in her ear: Go back to your hyenas and toy around with them, not me!

When silence is the answer to Feyd's timid greeting, his stomach drops as if filled with lead. Blood pounds in his ears like the war drums on his birthdays and his breath becomes shallow, so that he no longer even hears the guard's antsy shuffling. What will he do if she never forgives him? 

A harrowing need for violence flashes through him cold and dark and his twitching hand jerks for the blade at his hip but the door rushes open before he can brandish it and his woman faces him with crossed arms, her face puffy from sleep but her eyes are wide and vulnerable.

She beckons him to enter and he follows, eyes racing to the crowns of thorns in the vase, the sarcophagus, the ruffled bed, everything the way it was. How does she deal with pain?!

"Hello," Feyd mumbles, voice reduced to a tiny, grated whisper.

"Hello."

"Can we… talk?"

The relic nods and waits, clammy fingers clutching her sleeves. But then Feyd says… nothing. His eyes are focused on an imaginary point somewhere behind her navel and his jaws strain as if chewing a brick.

So, she begins: "I'm sorry, but I was very upset." She paces, shoulders drawn up. "I know that customs are different around here, I mean, they obviously are," she guffaws quietly and shakes her head. "But where I'm from, it requires consent to have more than one partner and I never gave you that consent. I've never given my consent to anything that's happened to me since I woke up! And then I found out you're alive and I can be with you and I really believed everything would finally be better, but you-" Her voice hiccups. "I'm very upset, okay?" Her lips twist and she lifts a hand to her mouth, sobbing quietly into her palm. "You're so different in real life."

Feyd's frozen limbs regain their agility and he jumps to her side as she tries to turn away, a swift predator despite his anguish. He clutches her by the arms. "Wait! Remind me. H-How was I in our dreams?" 

"I- I don't know, you looked happy." Her arms burn where he's holding onto her with his broad palms and long fingers. "And you were kind."

"Have I not been kind to you?"

"To me, yes. But being kind only to me is not enough." She shakes her head bitterly.

"What do you want me to do?" 

"Be honest with me. Who are these three?! They said you don't play with them anymore like you used to, and they hurt me, Feyd!" She writhes out of his clenched fists and he lets her because when her fingers skim his wrists, all his muscles go weak. She yanks up her shirt, showing off the healing gash on her waist.

Feyd wants to kill his darlings all over again and his sinful mouth twists into anger. "They used to be my pets. Pleasure slaves, if you will. Just some meaningless toys, nothing more, I swear it to you."

"Pleasure slaves!" She blurts out, shaking her head. At least he's being honest but - what the fuck?! "You-" Stumbling over her own words, she backs away from him with disgust. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?"

More violence waits on her tongue. Does he respect anyone other than himself?

"You know me! You know who I am, where are you going?!" Doesn't she know she knows more about him than anyone else?

"I don't know shit about you!" She yells. "Where were you last night?"

"What?" All color is drained from his face. How could she know?

"Were you with them because I couldn't perform the way you wanted the other day?"

"What are you talking about?!" Feyd tries to grasp her by the arms once more but she twists away. If anything, he is at blame for being unable to make his woman comfortable enough to reach her release. What a pitiful good-for-nothing he is, pathetic down to the last, rotting cell. "I haven't touched my pets since I met you and that's the truth!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why was I not allowed to see you at night?" 

"What makes you say that?" 

"I tried to come to you last night, but the guard at my door said I'm supposed to stay in this room! So, were you with them?!"

Feyd stops his advance and an incredulous shimmer glazes over his blinking eyes. He could have held her last night, against his hurting heart. A dizzying lightness befalls his chest and sorrow becomes anger and anger wings his footsteps when he turns to the door, grinning, then giggling. Feyd slams his veined hand against the panel so hard, the screen cracks and inky blood slips down the valleys of his palm.

"Feyd? Feyd! What are you-"

The baffled guard faces the snickering na-Baron behind the opening door, last night's tiger resurrected like a Ghola for one last kill. A stammered 'my Lord' on diddering lips. Feyd-Rautha looks as bestial as his hyenas with prowling steps and rolling shoulders, searing eyes locked on his unmoving prey.

"You told my woman she couldn't see me last night? S'that right?" A slip of pink peeks out of the ghastly frame of black, gnashing teeth.

"My Lord, I beg your mercy, I didn't wish to distur-"

Metal flashes. The relic screams as the length of Feyd-Rautha's blade carves into the guard's pallid neck, Adam's apple bulging and sitting on the knife like a popped, black cherry. Blood sputters around Feyd's clenched fingers and laughter has faded from his lungs at once. He digs deeper as the guard draws in gurgling breaths, bubbles of air swimming in the blood around the metal.

The relic freezes like a mouse, glued to the spot as if she might turn invisible to the cold eyes of the beast who wears her lover's clothes. He looks nothing like Feyd-Rautha now, his features empty and alien with eyes that don't feel and hands unfazed by the death that stains them in thick, inky streams that roll down his victim's neck. 

This is how the universe sees him.

Feyd's blade slashes sideways, spraying a half moon of blood across the corridor and when the guard stumbles, he falls back into the na-Baron's knife, adding a vertical gash to the horizontal one, tip sinking into the flesh under his jaws, and with a jerk - up into his tongue.

The man grunts, still clinging to his life by a thread, and lurches forwards without drawing his sword. His head falls on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder. Feet shuffle in a grotesque waltz and Feyd's bloody fingers slip around the taller man's neck, holding him there while his blade plunges into his belly between armor plates so deftly, he could find all the weak spots blindfolded. The body slackens, weighing down on Feyd-Rautha whose ichor dripping fingers aren't ready to let go.

Shuk! Shuk! 

Is the sound of his blade sinking into soft flesh and viscera, whipping back out with a spray of blood and entrails.

The Bene Gesserit may have proclaimed her human, but the adrenaline that sets her nerves ablaze is a gift from her ancestors, animals, because that's what humans are at the end or the day when facing a bigger predator.

Fwump.

Feyd looks her way, the dead body dropped, and blood covers his hand like a shiny glove of ink, dripping down the blade tip in a drizzling stream. The light catches on the sharp edges of his alabaster skull and all she sees is a new, terrifying breed of human, birthed by a world of poison and decay. There are millennia between them. They may share the same DNA but that doesn't mean he is not an alien to her. 

In the end, the man from her dreams is not the man of her dreams.

Out the door? - Blocked! Death!

Off the balcony?! - Death!

To the Sarcophagus then. To her gun.

She turns and sprints, feet skidding over the shards of her rose-colored glasses, but Feyd pounces, a beast hungry for carnage, and catches her around the waist, hurling her backwards with the strength of three men. His blade clatters to the ground.

"No, wait. No. NO! NO! You can't go," he howls. "You cannot leave me!"

Wailing, she thrashes in his grasp and slams her elbow into his guts, her foot against his shin, then his crotch and the soft flesh there is squashed by her heel. When his hold slackens, she twists away and bolts, bare toes slipping across icy marble, but blood-smeared fingers find her shoulder, tearing on the fabric. She throws herself away from him so hard, the seam starts coming apart, so his other hand flies to her throat, steel-hard fingers curling around clammy flesh, yanking her around and against the wall.

She can't be looking at him like that, like he's the devil. Like he looks at his uncle.

Desperately, his lips search for hers but she jerks her head to the side, bites, scratches, nails burrowing into his throat. No is the word that Feyd-Rautha raps out between violent kisses that seek her pulse point with his tongue and teeth, no, she can't ever leave him, no, not ever, even if she hates him like everyone else. Her fear poisons the sweat on her neck and her nails don't egg him on, they hurt. He takes a knee to the guts and his lungs pop open for a harrowed cry.

Pain used to be pleasure but everything hurts, she doesn't love him anymore. One more meek and quiet final 'no' as he abandons the assault on her neck and his slackened arms wrap around her middle, hiding his face from rejection in her shoulder's soft flesh. Tears drip hotly, finally. All day and all night he's been waiting for the cathartic downpour, but not even the most pitiful plea could rouse a sliver of empathy in the hollow of his chest. Now he bawls like a baby forgotten in its crib and his blood-soaked hands seek purchase at the back of her shirt.

The woman grows still, nails still wedged inside the bloody crescent indents in his neck. Her lungs ache when she draws a trembling breath and Feyd-Rautha's hard, heavy chest moves with her, no more fight left in him. Quietly, she cries with him and curls her arms around his round shoulders, holding him there as he clings to her like an abandoned child and sheds tears for all the hurt and all the fear.

The man of her dreams is still there, somewhere, under the alien shell, vulnerable, weeping.

"You hate me, don't you?" A broken sob.

Looking over his head, the dead guard's viscera glitters darkly on the hallway and she is surprised to realize that even now, she doesn't hate him.

Feyd continues: "This is why I never wanted you to know who I am. I am awful."

"You're not awful," she whispers, fingers slipping around the back of his head, nails rimmed darkly by Feyd's blood.

"I have to be awful. I was born to be awful." 

"That's not true…" He was groomed to be awful.

But Feyd isn't finished. In a fashion of now or never, confessions spill out of him like poison rain. "I killed my mother when I was four. I don't remember why. I killed my pets. I kill men for sport. I kill people for fun. I kill because it's the only thing I can do. Yesterday, I-" His voice breaks. "I killed anyone I could find and no one fought back. I lo-o-ost count."

A full glass can't get any fuller when pouring more water, so shock and disgust are lost to the acceptance that has smoothed over the crescendo. They're just information to be added into a folder in her head. Feyd killed his mother. Feyd kills people for fun. Still, she holds him, fingers sliding up and down the back of his head as his shaky sobbing turns breathless and ugly.

"Okay," she whispers and rests her cheek on his head, exhaling softly so her warm breath fans his scalp. "For fun?"

"Ye-e-es."

"So, you had fun last night when you-" She swallows. "Killed?"

"No."

She lets out a thoughtful hum and Feyd's grip on the small of her back tightens. Still, he doesn't dare look at her and tears and snot have soaked her shirt. With her emotions currently defective, her ability for logic is still sharp, and so she concludes, it does all make sense.

Her poor Feyd, a current had pulled him under when he was barely a child and then layer after layer, he has been building his armor so as not to drown in the maelstrom of abuse. With every kill, a little boy has been screaming for help in an empty room.

Soft lips press a kiss to the crown of his head and Feyd's breath trembles in her hold, a beast tamed by a loving caress. That's all it takes.

Just because she understands his actions, doesn't mean she endorses them.

"Will you still be my wife?"

"I haven't decided yet." Another kiss so gentle, it taunts the corpses stacked up in the processing hall.

"So, we're no longer engaged?" 

"I don't think we ever were, not to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Dizzily, Feyd-Rautha raises himself. If not for the fingers twisted into his woman's shirt, he might just topple back into the spinning vortex at whose edge he is teetering now, one foot in heartbreak, the other in salvation. Blue eyes crack open, rimmed with dark blood vessels. She doesn't flinch, doesn't bolt, only her hands slide to the front of his suit and slip under the lapels, thumb rubbing where his heart hammers.

Feyd sees the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and the shadow of horror tucked away in the corners of her eyes in a way that is all too familiar to him. More than anything, he wants to delete the images from her head and close the door, kick the blade under the bed, pretend it never happened. He tried to do everything right, got her flowers, hid her away in her own room away from state matters, made love to her with all his heart, but at the end of the day he is still who he is when he can't hide within a dream and it'll never be enough.

"Feyd, is… Is Lilia okay?"

"Yes, she is," comes the earnest reply and she exhales shakily, head sinking against Feyd's chest, arms sliding around his waist beneath the suit where his skin is burning hot.

"Thank God." Her voice warbles, the only warning before her knees give out and every other muscle along with them. The pair sink to the cold, hard ground.  "I just want to go home," she sobs and crawls in her beloved's lap which is still the only place in the cold, hard universe that soothes her soul.

Not her sarcophagus, although it is tempting to freeze herself up again and sleep forever. No, it is still him. A new home, not what she had imagined, but a home.

"Me too," Feyd sighs and squishes his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes to envision the bedroom of their shared dream, blue pillows, a white bed, a softly rustling fern in a terracotta pot, her in his arms. Home.

How easy it would be to demand of him: 'If you kill one more innocent, I will leave you!' But she might just kill more than she saves that way, and maybe him too, and maybe herself.

"Feyd, can you-" She sniffles. "If you get angry again, please never hurt Lilia. And whoever the new guard will be, don’t hurt him either. Can you do that for me please?"

"I promise." He squeezes her tight, eyes screwed up so tightly that he sees only dizzying stars. "I love you. I'm sorry."

She cannot fix the whole world, but she can start where she can see. It's not a solution, but a sapling, and a sapling can grow.

Mother Father How did I end up here, stone bound? All I feel ist the striking distance to the clouds My flesh is fettered on the skin of the soil But even so I almost reach the sparks in the void Sailing through the vacuum, am I drowned or alive?

- Cepheus by Fewjar

A/N: Okay, I promise promise this was the angstiest chapter, we're climbing uphill from here!! 🥺🥺🥺 Hand over your guesses, what do you think will happen from here? 😌💕 Thank you so much for all of your time!

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

[thesweetnessofspring]

Can you do a deep analysis of the last paragraph of MJ, before the epilogue? 😭 I can grasp the gist of it, but I feel like it's not all right

Bro you really want this? Deep dive analysis into possibly the most analyzed passage in the whole series? All right. Let's go. First, the whole passage:

Now let's break it up.

Peeta and I grow back together.

I think there are two ways to take this sentence, really they both apply. The first is "Peeta and I grow back together" as in, they become as they were before the hijacking, which was in sync and in love. The second is "Peeta and I grow back together" as in, they both heal from the horrors they've had to face and as they do this together, side by side, each one having the other's backs. There's a reason why Everlarkers are so obsessed with this line, it's spawned a whole subtype of fanfiction. Grow back together, like the meadow that grew back from the bombs of the Capitol.

There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children.

Suzanne's father was a veteran of the Vietnam War. I could have sworn I read an interview where she mentioned her father having nightmares, though I can't find it now. However in her picture book The Year of the Jungle, Suzanne notes some PTSD symptoms her father had, including spacing out and being back in the jungle. Here we see Katniss and Peeta both have intrusive symptoms of PTSD, similar to what Suzanne's father had. These are struggles that they continue to deal with because of the way the world used and traumatized them.

But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips.

Following Katniss referencing her nightmares, we get this information, that Peeta first holds Katniss after these nightmares. At some point in time, he's welcomed back into her bed as he was during the Victory Tour and Quarter Quell. Then, at some point following this, his lips comfort her, implying that after nightmares he kisses her.

Katniss and Peeta are familiar with kissing one another, though all but one in canon up to this point has been in front of an audience. Yet we see the difference in how Katniss kissed Peeta in the first book, where it was more calculated for the camera, and how it is in Catching Fire where even in the Quell, they kiss each other without a second thought about it, how naturally it flows into their interactions. Here, Katniss implies that same ease and natural path from holding to kissing. Peeta's lips become a comfort to her after she sees her worst fears play out in her nightmares.

On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.

There are two instances in canon that Katniss was able to fully immerse herself in kissing Peeta without worrying about the Games or Gale. The first is following Peeta getting the medicine in the first Games. Right before the kiss, Katniss says, "...the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread." The second is, of course, the iconic beach scene, where she says, "I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. 'I do,' I say. 'I need you.'"

We don't know what led up to this particular night, but from the two instances before, it was likely a great emotional connection. Perhaps it was even Katniss realizing that even if she had the two suitors in front of her, it would have been Peeta she'd have chosen in the end. And this emotional connection is what prompts that "hunger that overtook [her] on the beach."

This is how Katniss describes that "hunger" in CF: "The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind." This description is about Katniss's first canon experience with sexual attraction. The kissing only makes her "need greater" and the only comparable experience she has is "hunger." A hunger for "more." More what? They're already kissing and they become "wrapped up" in each other. It stands to reason, then, that her body is asking for further sexual stimulation. There is the emotional connection, with Katniss realizing the depth of her grief if Peeta dies and she lives, in connection to her sexual desire.

And here we also have another favorite of the Everlark community: "this would have happened anyway." Perhaps anticipating the response from "Team Gale" that Peeta won by forfeit, Collins and Katniss are clarifying that no, Katniss would have actively chosen Peeta. That "anyway" tells so much. It's not "if Gale had come back to District 12 but I still saw him responsible for my sister's death." It's anyway. No matter what condition or events, Katniss would have grown back together with Peeta, would have brought him back into her bed, would have felt aroused by him and chosen him as her life partner.

That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself.

Up to this point, Gale really only has two associations with fire: first when he and Katniss are at the lake and she's describing Snow's threats as he cooks them food. And last, the bombs that killed Prim. Here we see the dual nature of Gale's fire. One is homey and nurturing, the other destructive. Gale is both. There was a time when his fire helped keep Katniss's going, and she did to his. Katniss says it here, she has "plenty of fire" herself. Only Gale's fire is not limited to the hearth. When given the chance, the wind picks up his fire and flamed it outside of the hearth and into brush of "rage and hatred." He thought he was defending himself and other vulnerable people. But fire is difficult to control once it begins to burn and Gale lost control of his when he shared his plans with Beetee and Coin. And even in smaller instances, when Gale's fire fought Katniss's fire, they simply burned out. On a personal level, their similarities are what drew them apart from each other.

In comparison, Peeta is described as being a "whiz" at fires, even lighting up damp wood. Following Prim's death, Katniss says she has "no fire." Gale's fire burnt out hers. Yet we see here that Katniss says she "has plenty of fire" herself. Who stoked her fire back to life but the boy she grew back together with? The one who could rouse her from mental anguish and hopelessness, and also soothe her when her anger was roused up? Gale's fire puts her out. Peeta's hand steadies her flame.

What I need is a dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

Here I am going to go on a bit of a nerd-out on the dandelion here. In some variations of the Theseus and the Minotaur story (which THG is loosely inspired by), Hecate feeds Theseus dandelions for 30 days before his encounter with the Minotaur to give him strength. In others, he ate a dandelion salad after killing the Minotaur. The Minotaur is Crete's version of The Hunger Games, and Theseus ends it by killing the Minotaur.

Katniss first associates dandelions with Peeta after catching his eye the day following the evening when he threw bread to her and he had a bruised cheek. This dandelion gave her hope and is one she associates with Peeta from the beginning of the story. This dandelion gave Katniss strength to keep fighting and providing for her family, the first Minotaur the Capitol puts up against its people, their hunger and poverty. Then on the way to the 74th Games, Katniss has determined that Peeta's kindness is a play of his and she throws out his father's cookies to be rid of any kindness from the Mellarks, but they land "in a patch of dandelions by the track. I only see the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it's enough. Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the school yard years ago." This dandelion then reminds her of the ways she braved the wood alone at first, how she made trades, took what her father had taught her and applied it. And this reminder lingers with her on her journey for the ultimate fight of her life (so far), the Hunger Games. She is once again fed by the dandelions on her way to face her Minotaur.

Through the Games, Katniss loses her free will, her privacy, and any remaining peace she had left. This of course launches into the whole of the series where she's deafened, manipulated, publicized, flaunted, scarred, terrorized, sees others killed and kills other. By the end of Mockingjay, she's "a badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister." Katniss has faced "destruction" on a personal, familial, and community level due to the wings staples on her and the fire others lit and she has little left at the end.

And yet, even when she so badly wants to die, when Peeta tells her he can't let go, she holds on. She holds on until "spring's in the air" and her dandelion in the spring, Peeta, returns. While the dandelions of his kindness fed her after her father's death and before the Hunger Games, here he is nourishing her again after the war. Reminding her of the goodness that there still is in life, "no matter how bad our losses." And for both Katniss and Peeta, they've had really, really bad losses.

And here it is: dandelions to Katniss are not just a pretty flower, or a symbol of wealth as the rose is to Snow. Dandelions are food. They are nourishment. Dandelions can even be medicine. They grow everywhere and can be found everywhere, bright little suns that can offer so much. Peeta is that to her as well. He nourishes her, strengthens her, is her medicine, and the only person she consummates a romantic and sexual relationship with and fulfills the "hunger" that is "an entirely new kind" to her. He gives her life in every way that is possible and gives her a rebirth, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

"So after" we can canonically take as whatever came after she felt hunger (aka sexual desire). It's difficult to interpret it other than that this is when they consummated their relationship, in the very least engaging in some sexual act beyond kissing. Because Katniss says that Peeta's arms and eventually his lips helped her through her nightmares, and this is more than that. It is enough to stand apart and prompt Peeta to clarify his greatest question in the series, about whether or not Katniss loves him.

"Real or not real" was a game Katniss and Peeta have been playing since the beginning. Was Peeta really that kind? Did Katniss actually have feelings for Peeta, even when both knew it had started as an act? What is their relationship if the Capitol is making them play at being a happy couple? Although the hijacking made Peeta question his entire life, even without the hijacking, this is surely something he would have had to ask anyway, and only more so after the hijacking.

Finally having taken time to grieve, to come back to life, to grow back with a partner she trusts, Katniss can confirm to him that yes, she loves him. The final word answering one of the earliest questions in the series: who does Katniss love romantically, if anyone? And the answer, that has been there since his name first appeared: Peeta Mellark.

[bxm-1012]

What He Wouldn’t Do For You, Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel ponders all the things he would do to keep you safe

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex

735 Words

You scream in pain, screaming for help, for anyone, the snow colored from your blood. Azriel watches in horror, moving to you as fast as he can, yet his feet couldn’t seem to bring him any closer to you. Your screams eventually stop and you slump into the snow, not dead, but maybe trying to conserve your energy to keep you alive. He keeps yelling out to you, telling you that he’s there but you don’t respond, you just lay in the snow. The clothing you are wearing also becoming stained. He stumbles forward, reaching for you and finally he gets to you.

His scarred hands reach to hold you, to warm you. He pulls your motionless body against his, his arms and wings encircling you. His only hope is the slow rise and fall of your chest. He goes to stand but something is pushing him down, some mysterious weight. But he has to stand, he has to fly, to save you. He can’t. The pain of that ripping through him as he holds you against him. He tries to fly, to lift off and he looks to the sides to see his wings gone.

Suddenly he’s sitting up in his bed, drenched in sweat as he tries to remind himself it was all just a nightmare, a deeply horrible nightmare. His eyes gaze out the window at the always unbelievably gorgeous night sky and then they drop to the body laying asleep next time him. Your limbs are tangled with the sheets around you in a way that you claimed certainly doesn’t look elegant, but you could be bent into some abstract pose and Azriel would still look at you like it was the most famous sculpture ever made by a great artist.

He watches you sleep for a few moments, still sitting up, his wings almost restless around him, his shadows coming to sit around his shoulders for a moment before retreating. He watches the sheets rise and fall with each breath you take before laying back down. His mind begins to wander.

Azriel is in love with you. Truly, undeniably, unequivocally in love with you. It is a simple truth, and while it comes with so much bliss it also comes with a bag of worry. The things he would do for you, to protect you. He pulls himself closer to you as he lies down, wrapping his arms around your naked form, courtesy of activities from a few hours ago.

He lies, staring at your peaceful form for a moment before gently kissing your forehead.

His mind begins to wander as he begins considering all the things he would do for you. The things he would do to protect you. The things he would bargain to know that no harm could ever possibly come to you. He starts whispering them out loud as if you are awake and can hear him. The shadows crawl around his shoulders again for a while as he quietly whispers anything and everything he would do for you. The things he would give up, the things he would do. One of his hands gently rests against your lower back. He would even crawl back into the cell and let his former family burn his hands again to keep you safe.

After a short while his shadows, as if sensing the inner turmoil within Azriel slowly start crawling over to you, your eyes still shut as you sleep. They begin swirling through the tips of your hair like a child playing with its mothers hair, exploring it. Azriel calls them off as your stir slightly. He offers the softest smile he can give in your direction as your blearily open your eyes stretching slightly.

“What time is it,” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, lazily leaning forward slightly gently press your lips against his.

“Enough time for you to go back to sleep,” he responds, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he presses his lips to your forehead again.

You nod, curling up against him, slightly untangling your limbs from the sheets before shutting your eyes.

“What I wouldn’t do for you,” he mutters quietly just before you slip back to sleep. He remains awake for a while longer, holding you against him as he stares past you at the sky outside before finally shutting his eyes and drifting back to sleep himself.

[kiyaar]

Possessed by Light: An AI Tony Exchange CREATOR REVEALS!

POSSESSED BY LIGHT: An AI (Steve)Tony Exchange has come to a close! Thank you to our creators, our cheerleaders, and our esteemed pinch hitter. Here is a masterlist of 13 delicious works (4 art, 9 fic) featuring our sad blue boy. This exchange was designed to generate more comics SteveTony works, so most works feature 616, but we do have 2 Noir works and 1 Ults work! We hope you enjoy this feast and please remember to show your chefs some love in the comments! Works under the cut:

art: Ballet Aérien by @oluka for @tinystark616

Tags: superior iron man, digital art Summary: SIM has taken an interest to AI Tony.

art: PbL: Dissonant Messages by @somekindofsheepl for @mserm

Tags: hydra steve rogers, hurt no comfort, tentacles, sharing a bed, these tags are a mess Summary: Tony has a little bit of a headache. Don't worry about it, everything is fine.

art: artificial intelligence out of time by kenobleeaaarrrgghh for @ayapandagirl

Tags: alternate universe, role reversal Summary: my fill for the AI tony exchange! for the prompt: [noir universe]'s version of AI tony

art: "Error 1610 File not Found" and "Wired to Obey"  by badworldgood for @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Possessive Steve Rogers, Creepy Victor von Doom, Victor von Doom Being an Asshole, Cancer, Angst, Fanart , Ultimates, 616 Summary: UltsTony saves himself from the brain cancer by becoming an AI...or so they think. File corruption becomes an issue / AI Tony ends up in a damaged Doombot. Doom may grow attached, Steve is not happy once he finds out.

fic: no happy endings by @mserm for @kiyaar (8.8k)

Tags: choose your own adventure, POV second person, unhappy ending, everything feels wrong and nobody is ok Summary: AI Tony's greatest fear is that he'll be replaced by flesh-and-blood Tony. What will he do to stop it? That's for you to decide.

fic: hold me (like it's the last time) by @tinystark616 for @ralsbecket (3.8k)

Tags: hydra steve rogers, pining, angst with a happy ending, getting together, fix it, I mean first I made it worse and then I fixed it, sad AI tony, alternate universe - canon divergence Summary: Hydra Cap attempts to convince AI Tony to stay with him with promises to make Tony real. Tony wants to be real, but he wants the real Steve back even more.

fic: You don't have to be a ghost here amongst the living by @ayapandagirl for badworldgood (3.2k)

Tags: secret empire, existential crisis, transhumanism, artist steve rogers, modeling, timeline what timeline, AU - canon divergence Summary: AI Tony Stark struggles with identity and Steve offers a novel approach to the problem: modeling.

fic: Imagine Being Loved by Me by @ralsbecket for @rowantreeisme (2.5k)

Tags: established relationship, touch-starved, frottage, pining, references to depression, implied/referenced alcohol abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous/open ending Summary: He lifts his hand, fingers hovering just over the slope of Tony’s nose and side of his cheek, blue light washing over it. There’s a hesitation there, in Steve’s eyes, as he inquires, “Can I touch you, or…?” Tony can guess what Steve doesn’t have the heart to finish: Can I touch you, or will I pass through you like you were nothing?

fic: body and mind and sun by @dirigibleplumbing for @oluka (5.2k)

Tags: secret empire, hydra steve rogers, AI tony stark, AU - canon divergence, transhumanism, body horror, body modification, angst, dark, forced intimacy, ambiguous/open ending Summary: Steve's engineering team insists that learning Stark's secrets is a waste of time. What can he offer Steve that they can't? Hydra has a spy in the resistance. They are on their way to completing the Cube. What more could he want?  He wants Tony.

fic: do iron men dream of warm flesh? by ves.larkinson for @dirigibleplumbing (21.1k)

Tags: Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, action/adventure elements, Coming of Age as an AI, Attempt at Humor, Philosophy, Existentialism, Time bullets, Identity Disability (sort of), tony is de-coma'd just before steve is de-HYDRA'd, Queer Themes, Civil War, Amnesia, Guilt, Betrayal, Post-Marvel Comic Event: Dark Reign (2008), Post-Marvel Comic Event: Secret Empire (2017) Summary: The artificial intelligence called Tony Stark is in it way over his head. The “real” Tony Stark is isolating himself, trying to ignore his part in the Civil War and the Dark Reign that followed it; and Steve is falling into guilt over his part in the Secret Empire. Tony has no history, and his human counterpart has too much. Somewhere between them, there might be a way forwards—for all three of the men in this shitshow.

fic: fate, commitment by @rowantreeisme for kenobleeaaarrrgghh (40.5k)

Tags: Edwin Jarvis, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, World War II, Comic: Iron Man Noir (2010), Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Nazi Germany, Pre-Slash, Time Travel, Espionage, Canon-Typical Body Horror Summary: Cell fate commitment: the process through which a stem cell becomes committed to it's final state, and the means through which this is determined through genetics and molecular signalling.

fic: Similitude by @winnifredburkle for ves.larkinson (1.5k)

Tags: BDSM, armor kink, dubious consent, selfcest Summary: Tony gives AI Tony control of an Iron Man suit. For sex purposes. It doesn't quite go how he expected.

fic: Eidolon by @kiyaar for @starvels (22.9k)

Tags: established relationship, threesome - f/m/m, intellectual strap sucking, a dead celestial is sometimes a home, consent issues cockwarming, electroplay, secret empire, civil war II, canon compliant, angst, alcoholism, wistful flesh hunger, transhumanism, not-a-fixit, unfixit Summary: "What if we fucked," Carol says, "and we also fucked Steve." "I don't know if I can take that kind of rejection right now," Tony says.

You can view all of the works in the Ao3 collection here. You can join the endless AI Tony conversation in the 616 Steve/Tony discord here. And, as always - you can thank your creators by circulating their work and leaving comments and kudos on ao3!

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 30: Whump

Agape | @tami-ryver Rating: Mature Word Count: 2,421 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), First Kiss, Dean Winchester Swears, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond Summary: Cas, I don't know if you can hear me, I need your help. I got myself kidnapped by a demon; you told me to pray in case something like this happened, so, please, help me! With his eyes closed, Dean doesn't see the way the demon starts leaving his old vessel and starts drifting toward him. Only when the smell of sulfur fills his nose, his eyes open quickly and he sees the black mass of the demon right in front of him, he sobs. Then a bright light fills the room.

The Confessions of Buried Bones | @Joysprings-a03 Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,120 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Dean Winchester, Protective! Castiel, Hunt Gone Wrong, Curses, Blood and Injury, Worried!Sam, Worried!Castiel BAMF!Castiel, Trapped, Love Confessions, Case fic, Summary: On a case gone wrong, Dean is seriously injured while Cas is running low on grace. The two are trapped together and running out of time. Things come to light, feelings and desperation take place. ********** The cave rumbled again and a few loose rocks fell, which only served to raise Dean’s hackles even more. They’d definitely missed something. “There’s a catch to the curse! After it’s broken, the place it was protecting starts to self-destruct! You have to get out of there now!” Suddenly crystal clear, Sam’s words came through his phone just as the mouth of the cave popped into view. Time slowed, and Dean’s stomach plummeted as he realized what was happening. “Run!”

Take Enough Soul | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,450 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean/Human!Cas, Alternate Universe, summoning demons, Selling of Souls, Angst, Hurt/very little comfort, cock bulging, Bottom!Cas, slight body horror, Ambiguously Happy Ending, temporary major character death, rape/non-con Summary: Dean is summoned to an old cabin in the middle of the woods by a man who has lost his brother. After making sure Castiel's soul is worth the bargain, Dean goes in search of Castiel's brother only to find that he's not on Earth, but in Hell. Unfortunately for Castiel, deals are addictive and once he's made one, he finds he has Dean wrapped around his finger.

Entirely Unacceptable | @samanddean76 Rating: Mature Word Count: 10,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Modern Royalty, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Alpha Gabriel, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, BAMF's, BAMF John Winchester, Rescue, Revenge, Or Justice, First Time, Knotting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, True Mates, Love, Happy Ending, All The Bad Guys Get Punished, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Kneeling, Past Abuse, Mpreg, Dean Winchester Whump Summary: Alpha Castiel has unexpectedly acquired a very well-trained Omega Dean when he escorted his brother Gabriel to a public auction house. But the Omega he brought home harbors not only secrets, but enemies as well. Will they survive long enough to reach their happy ending? And can they really be true mates if neither is sure that they even believe in such a thing? Love, rescue, and some revenge in a modern-day A/B/O setting.

The Penitent | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17,832 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean, post apocalyptic AU, memory loss, temporary MCD (Sam), hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, whump!Dean, top!Castiel/bottom! Dean Summary: Ten years have passed since Demon! Dean murdered his brother Sam and devastated the land. His footprints have become almost untraceable by the angels, who've lost faith in and defeating the one in possession of the Mark of Cain. Everyone except Castiel, who after incessantly searching for a way to save Dean, finds one last hope. He must request something extraordinary from Heaven to heal the mark. block the demon, and recover Dean. Dean must reverse the events, bringing Sam back to life. To do this, he must use the Penitent's Ring, which had once belonged to Cain, and with it, he must defeat the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. Yet is Dean capable of such this? And can Castiel heal the darkness within Dean? This is a dystopian fic, based on canonverse, post 10x20 episode. Dean had lost his memories and he will be slowly recovering them. This will bring a lot of angst, and sad moments but Castiel will be there to comfort him. It's an angsty story with action, romance and a happy ending.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Dec 5th

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1. Hello do you know any fics where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan travel to the past and meet their past selves? @lianetteeee

💖 vinegar jug by dandelion_san (G, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Humor, Awkward Crushes, Jealousy) Only Lan Wangji time travels and it's been incomplete since 2020 however it's really funny 😭

How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

How to get anxiety from time trave and not mess up (by fall out boy) by SerlinaBlack (T, 5k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Fluff, Family Fluff, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pining LWJ, Pining WWX, WWX in WWX's Body, Slightly, Canon JC, he isn't there much, like two lines mentioned at tops, but JC fans might jot like it)

🔒 ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water by RoseThorne (G, 1k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JYL & WWX, JC & WWX, WWX & WQ, LQR & LWJ, LQR & WWX, Time Travel Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Future Character Death, Timey-Wimey, Truth, Honesty, Guilt, Crack and Angst, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, Voyeurism)

花无百日红; the flower that withers by yiqie (M, 29k, wangxian, Time Travel Fix-It of Sorts, Case Fic, Spells & Enchantments, Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness)

Wei Wuxian’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good First Meeting With His Future by Enigmatree (T, 3k, wangxian, Time Travel, Cloud Recesses, YLLZ WWX, POV Outsider)

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, Parallel Universes, Modern with Magic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Mild Horror, Case Fic, mildly sci-fi, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Married Couple, Love Confessions) link in #11 LWJ/WWX and LZ/WY meeting

Though I'm Gone (Still Think Of Me) by sami (M, 7k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LWJ & Madam Lan, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, WWX/WWX (kinda), honestly what did you expect, Chaos Gremlin WWX, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Asexual JC, yunmeng bros reconciliation) Also, for 1, you can try Sami’s contribution to the fabulous fix-it time travel series The Same Moon Shines, a later episode “Though I’m Still Gone (Think of Me) even if you must (oh, the ‘torture’ to have to read a great work to get to this point!) to have it all make sense

~*~

2. Hi, this is for itmf. Do you guys have any recs that’s based on this scene. Anything angsty or with miscommunication. Thanks in advance !

You are not enough by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 2k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, POV LWJ, Episode 21, drama queen LWJ, bitchy LWJ, resting murder face LWJ, Unreliable Narrator, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Constipation, LWJ thinking with his sword) my fic is a retelling of that episode from LWJ’s point of view.

Futile Devices by beautiful_crimes (G, 3k, WangXian, Fix-It, Episode Fix-it, Making Up, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Swearing, Friends to Lovers, kind of?, Mutual Pining, spoilers for later epsiodes)

~*~

3. Hello. Thank You for all your recommendations. This blog has been Godsend.

This is an ITMF request: I was wondering if there were any WangXian versions of the Taiwanese BL drama We Best Love? @shenmiao98

~*~

4. Itmf wwx finding/adopting a baby (or kid) during the sunshot campaign & how that my effect things (his actions, people's perception of him) was the kid orphaned or abandoned? Lost parents due to elements/resources/bandits/animals/monsters? Were parents refugees? Part of razed village or sect? Etc.

🧡 Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WangXian, WWX & WQ & WN, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Angst, Not JC Friendly, BAMF WWX)

❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together, And Time is But a Paper Moon [PODFIC] by sami, Winterstar1412, [Podfic] Cold read of And Time Is But A Paper Moon by kisahawklin) (many translations and 2 podfics available) this has WWX and LWJ adopting A-Yuan during the war, but they aren't able to spend much time with him during the war so the way he changes people's perceptions of WWX mostly comes up after the war

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5. Hi, thank you all for your great help! ❤️ I'm here again with a long ask lol

ITMF for fics where Wei Wuxian is a bit (or a lot) more angry at the cultivation world. At their bigotry and cruelty, corruption and ignorance to the suffering of innocents. Where he really reacts to everything that happened to him and his, admits to himself how hurt he really was and still is, how he does not deserve it. Speaks or screams about it cleanly, exposes their flaws with words and actions.

Maybe he says "go to hell" and leaves to live heal on a faraway island with lemurs and bunnies, leaving the cultivation world to rip itself apart with political conflicts or just rot like a swamp.

Maybe he takes revenge, either with calm head or in saint anger-induced agression, though i would prefer him as still the Wei Ying we know and love (like, more bitter, and on the same level of violence as the MDZS itself is, but no sudden OOC with him becoming a tyrant, or commiting genocide just for it's sake, etc.)

I don't mind there being or not being any good people among the sects, but if he gets someone nice and kind to snuggle at the end or stand by his side, it would be awesome.

Can also be an ending where Wei Ying remains bitter, angry and depressed and does not let these feelings go, though please mention that there is an open/unhappy ending. Thank you!! ✨️🥰 @shellennium

🔒 Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

If only you knew by 10thNoNamePerson (E, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, JC & WWX Reconciliation, dive into wwx mental health, And LWJ being there for him since the beginning, Suicidal Thoughts, Angry WWX, Supportive LWJ)

even wildflowers wilt. by cop_ulate (Not Rated, 1k, Angry WWX, Guanyin Temple Scene, Canon Universe, Canon Compliant, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Golden Core Transfer) Please note that the last one does not have a happy ending.

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 196k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX) has one of the greatest diss scenes I've ever seen. Yiling!wei sect, he dolls himself up all badass and crashes a conference to yell at the cultivation clans

~*~

6. Hello! I am in the mood for a fic that goes differently from the cave scene

the cave scene being after LWJ took WWX and WWX is out of his mind, LWJ confesses and then fights the elders

Are there any that start here and change up the rest? Like for example maybe WWX actually heard the confession, or LWJ realizes WWX is not in his right mind, and then maybe takes him away / protects him / etc

A Measure Of Time by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 309k, WangXian, Revenge, Darkji, jiang bashing Protective LWJ, protective wwx, happy ending but things are gonna get bad first, Time Travel Fix It, good uncle qiren, Murder Babies, Heavy on the angst in the middle but i swear it gets better, Canon Typical Violence, Rewrite of the story, Kidfic, Hugs, Good Parental Figures, Found Family, bad Qingheng-Jun, Heavenly Trials, destroying the Yin Iron pieces)

~*~

7. I'm in the mood for ...

so i finally read 'Life without regrets' and now have the urge to read a fic where Lan Xichen gets told off for his part in everything that went wrong - like how he completely blindly trusts JGY, even over his own brother - that he was definitely told by Wangji what the burial mounds are really like but just ignored it / didn't brlieve it / believes JGY when he says it's war criminals - and so on

probably too much to ask but i would love if the setting was somewhere after WWX rescues the Wens - but this is not a must!

(disclaimer: i love Xichen and equally enjoy reading fics where he is tge kindes, most trustworthy human being ever - but not this time 😅)

Mourning Dove by jaemyun (Not Rated, 29k, WIP, WangXian, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, WWX is dead at first, dark LWJ, rogue cultivator LWJ)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, POV LXC, Post-Canon, Yunmeng brothers)

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone? by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC  critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded)

~*~

8. hi do you have any fics where wwx compliments lwj's physical attractiveness a lot? his body and muscles, his face, etc. @ashxi-wx

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)

~*~

9. Hey! So I've come to realize that I have quite the masochistic streak when it comes to reading WangXian, so the angst is chef's kiss these days.

This goes for the ITMF fics, so I re-read "Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You're an Asshole)" by piecrust, and oh, the burn was so good!!! I mean, I did want to bang Lan Wangji's head on a wall a couple dozen times throughout the fic, but I liked it. No, I loved it rather.

So please do me the biggest favour and give me fic recs where Lan Wangji is a complete asshole to Wei Wuxian but also like he has to realize that he's being really really mean for no damn reason and over-compensate because please let the man grovel. I liked how piecrust portrayed the characters, so yeah. I don't mind if it is Canon or AU, I just need some fics to relinquish the sudden thirst for these types of fics.

Thank you in advance. @poetic-writes

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

the river and the sea by sasamelons (T, 7k, WangXian, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Mutual Pining)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

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)

~*~

10. heyy so I've been looking for some friends with benefits fics! I'd prefer modern but canon is all right too

Threadfic by SpearmintMimi If you don't mind threadfics this one is really good and one of my favs

Almost Lover by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 37k, Wangxian, modern, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, a bad thing happens to WWX, LWJ gets very sad, Hospital Scenes, Dubious Medical Science, pining for the person you’re fucking, Friends With Benefits, friends who come together stay together, learning to use our words, there are also rabbits, Traumatic Injury, mention of past WWX/WQ)

be still, my foolish heart by mirrorofprinces (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Misunderstandings, One innocent rabbit who did nothing wrong, based on a reddit post, Getting Together)

got your way with me by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 51k, wangxian, modern, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, in which brain cells are barely used, WWX is always the last to know, wangxian/others very briefly, otherwise it’s OTP all the way, LWJ FUCKS)

the moon lives in the lining of your skin by sarahyyy (M, 9k, wangxian, Modern, College/University, Friends With Benefits, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, Pining, Love Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Roommates)

~*~

11. I'm in the Mood for fanfics where WWX is someone special. Like he has special ability/powers or he's just someone really unique. Thanks!

🔒care by everbrighter (T, 35k, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, modern w/ magic, resurrection, family bonding, getting to know each other, past character death, pining)

Pure Imagination by Witch_Nova221 (T, 119k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, JYL/JZX, LSZ LWJ & WWX, WIP, modern w magic, Romance, Toys, Toy maker, Magic, Found Family, Family Feels, Family Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitals, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s))

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, Parallel Universes, Modern with Magic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Mild Horror, Case Fic, mildly sci-fi, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Married Couple, Love Confessions)

transmuter by WithLoweredVoices (Not rated, 113k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Magical Realism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Devotion of Love by SaiaiSaiko (M, 47k, WangXian, 3Zun, WWX Lives, NMJ Lives, MXY Lives, Servant WWX, WWX in MXY's Body, Sentient Burial Mounds, Healer WWX, BAMF WWX, LWJ and WWX Adopt LSZ, POV Alternating, Canon-Typical Violence, Petty LWJ, Petty WWX, Canonical Self-Harm, LWJ Plays Inquiry, WWX answers Inquiry, Golden Core Reveal, Family Fluff, Family Dynamics, Good Sibling JC, Franken-canon, in the sense it's canon from donghua manhua drama and novel mixed and matched as I like, Good Person JGY, Domestic Fluff) maybe? Wei Wuxian has all the skills of making spiritual tools and this deep Connection to the Burial Mounds.

~*~

12. Is there wangxian fics where they were using double end dildos? Trans4trans wangxian or cis4cis wangxian are welcomed.

~*~

13. ITMF! Given how yzy resents wwx because of his mother I wonder how she'd be if jfm actually had an affair only yzy was the other woman. Recommendation for such fics please (canon or modern au anythings fine) @aristocraticteacup

~*~

14. Hi!! This is for the itmf!!

I recently read Watch Me Ignite It by Tawaen and I was wondering if you knew of anything similar? Or in the same vein as YLLZ!WWX being sect leader/WWX taking over the Wen sect. Thanks!! @namjoonsc-cuptits

Heliocentric by Coolio101 (T, 8k, WangXian, in which WWX is born as part of the Wen Sect, Mutual Pining, LWJ and JC are friends….kind of, Wen Sect WWX, Fix-It, LWJ has zero chill and is always 2 sec away from throwing hands, but that’s basically canon, also WRH is still an asshole, so if you were expecting redemption fic this might not be for you, Canon Divergence) features Wen Ying who was Wen Ruohan's son. Wen Ying becomes sect leader after killing his father, so hopefully, this is close to what they're looking for.

~*~

15. Hi, thank you so much for all the work you do! I'm in the mood for fics where any or all the Jiang family pay for what they did to WY. Not just with political consequences, but also corporal punishments or even execution, if possible. Thank you so much! @boxedbutterfly

Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, NHS/WX, JC/NMJ, JYL/LXC, A/B/O, Alpha/Omega, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming,bFluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Feelings,bAbusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Modern, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Scents & Smells, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC) It's a bit of a beast but ooo the pay off is worth it imo

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)

Reclamation by CordialCoroner (CordialCrow) (M, 6k, Major Character Death, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence, Angst, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WQ is understandably angry, WQ gets some revengeas a treat)

Symmetryby Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, One-Sided JC/WWX, One-Sided JC/LSZ, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by WWX, WWX still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC’s Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit)

so i cut the shackles and changed my name by MichelleFeather (T, 34k, WangXian, LQR & LWJ, LQR & CSSR, LQR & WWX, CSSR/WCZ, WWX & The Lan Clan, WIP, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, WWX is a Lan, Good Uncle LQR, Supportive LQR, Protective LQR, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, JFM & YZY Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, Abusive Jiang Family, Running Away, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Hurt WWX, Genius WWX, No Sunshot Campaign, Gusu Lan Sect Rules, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cultivation Sect Politics, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Canon Divergence, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, WRH isn’t a power hungry tyrant, mostly)

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 260k, HuaLIan, WangXian, WIP, TGCF Crossover, Jiang Family Bashing, Madam Lan Lives, JFM and YZY Bashing, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Overprotective Hualian as parents, WWX is good at feelings, WWX knows self preservation and self love, WWX NHS and JZX are friends, JC Bashing, No Golden Core Transfer, Canon Divergence, Ghosts and Gods are wrapped around WWX's fingers, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, WWX is kinda sickly, WWX is not named Wuxian, HuaLian Adopt WWX, WWX has selective mutism, PM is the uncle that teaches you how to flirt, Grandfather JW, MNQ is the grandmother then?, SQX is the aunt/uncle that spoils WWX, all of them spoils him actually, Creepy JFM, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, HUA YING DOES NOT GET RAPED!, Can't say the same for some unwanted...people, DLDR, This starts of mild and fluffy though) If the requester doesn't mind a crossover with TGCF, then Hua Xianle also works.

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16. Itmf canon era wedding fics. Wedding fics with proper wedding with traditions and wedding rituals and the 100s of relatives. I ask the relatives because my country's tradition is fairly similar to Chinese traditions and well, different relatives with different roles for the wedding rituals is kind of a given thing. So hope for a wedding fic like that please!

I'm not sure if these are quite what the requester was looking for but maybe: With Absolute Splendor by Lise (T, 43k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Wedding planning, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a happy ending)

蓝色生死恋; a blue love (to live and to die for) by yiqie (M, 24k, WangXian, Post-Canon, wedding fic, Psychological Trauma, Empathy)

A Lifetime of It (Please, and Thank You) by misscam (M, 5k, WangXian, Wedding, a mix of series and novel, Humor, Fluff, Angst, some naughtiness, Switching)

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17. In that same vein, I would love stories recs similar to Aftermath by KouriArashi. Where Jiang Yanli kills to protect her family, quietly and unassuming, in the background, if possible. @marietsy40-blog

A Bell That Tells Us to Rise and Fight by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (T, 120k, WangXian, ChengQing, XuanLi, SongXiao, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Everyone Needs A Hug, Women Being Awesome, BAMF Women, Minor Character Death)

Sail Away Sweet Sister by sami (M, 73k, WangXian, YZY/CSSR/MDM Lan, MingLi, Time Travel, EXTREME Canon Divergence, Wide Focus Narrative, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Most Named/Canon Characters Live, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Families of Choice, Parenthood, this work contains a major tonal shift, Fluff, Angst, Underage Sex, not particularly explicit, but not at all ambiguous, PTSD, Only a tiny bit, Unforeseeable consequences, The butterfly effect, Slightly Dark JYL, Asexual Characters, but that’s not really the focus, Canon-Typical Violence)

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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!***