#I remembered the fanfiction I read on AO3 “do you like bees?”

[hansa-lao]

Bumblebee was a quiet child until he was about 6 years old. But after Jazz started learning how to be a scout, Bee turned into a little demon with an angelic face.

He didn't admit to his pranks until the end.

For example, he drowned (don't ask where) the nuts that the engineers used because they rudely kicked him out.

Or he made a simple virus that caused gadgets to glitch and change colors on the screen. And Bee uploaded it to the Prowl datapad just like that (he was too correct)

Bumblebee exhausted the nerves of almost everyone who was at the Iacon base.

[punemy-spotted]

Iris - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Pairing: SoftDark!Devil!Helmut Zemo x Sky-Captain!Reader

Warnings: Cosmic Horror; Dubious Consent; Dubious Morality; Estranged Relationship; Zemo and Reader are not in the Good Place; THIS IS A HORROR FIC; Soul Stealing; Incredibly Loose Relationship with Physics; This is a Fallen London x Marvel Crossover Moment; There are Space Bees; And Giant Lovestruck Space Crabs; Violence; Murder; Death; Poison; At Least One Reference to a Garrote; Estranged Relationship; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Sokovia rose, then fell, and then rose again. And now the stars will never be the same.

Notes: Hi, welcome, I really wanted to write an MCU crossover with the Fallen London 'verse so here we are. Imagine House of M except Wanda Maximoff became an actual factual God and it actually wasn't that bad after all. And now imagine all of that is background noise in favor of one unhinged Devil and one overly hinged Epistolarian. An Intrepid Epistolarian.

Oh also Wanda's waging war against Queen Victoria. It's fine.

For those of you who have read my other Zemo fics, finished and unfinished, if you notice similarities between this fic and the other ones... yes. I am Frankenstein trying to raise this fanfiction monster and put scenes, passages, and themes to better use than languishing in my Ao3/Tumblr cupboard. (Also if you've read my other fics, hi, hello, I love you.)

I crave feedback, so tell me what you think!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The First taught Restraint, and the Second Betrayed. The Third taught us Hunger and the Fourth we Remade. The Fifth will live on in the Heart of the Sun but the Sixth did quickly Fade. The Seventh City will never Fall, never ending the Deal we made.

She kept some of the old names when she took this place, you know. Built onto it, even when her Renewed Empress had to bend the knee to the Scarlet One, sealed away in her undying mausoleum.

The Proclaimers of the Cult of the Sanctified, still seated at the Avid Horizon’s High Gate and whispering Truths to their counterparts on the other side, were right — the Seventh City would never fall; the Bazaar would never be compelled to deliver that fatal missive to that Beacon of Bright Betrayal it loved so much; there would be no opportunity to argue that Seven Cities worth of love is proof enough of Her Worthy Love.

If there is one thing you know about opportunities, it is that they are also opportunities to fail.

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia — that Bulwark which once stood the test of time against even the Tsars of Russia — is not what it once was. There is, in fact, no such thing as Sokovia now, not the way you would think. There are Sokovian people, clinging to an identity lest it be lost in the abyss below, but all that remains of the Earthly land which remembered the Duchy’s history with the joint Empires of Austria and Hungary is now nothing more than a chasm of stone and steel.

A monument to violent delights in want of violent ends.

Cast your eyes not to the ruins of her past but to the gleaming future written in the stars ab—

The sound of a train whistle drowns out what remains of the tinned announcement, an earsplitting shriek you endure for what feels like forever, but is in fact — if the clock before you is accurate — no more than two minutes. Which — as it turns out — is plenty of time to interrupt the announcement’s conclusion and leave ringing silence in its wake.

Good. You were rather tired of hearing your own voice drone on any longer.

You turn your head away from the train schedule you had previously been pretending to occupy your mind with, watching the rails with mild impatience and fidgeting with your gloves.

He is late.

It’s not abnormal, really, for the more independent locomotives — those not on the Scarlet Empress’s own payroll, that is — to run on their own definition of time, but you’ve never known your contact to be anything more than a man of his word.

When you’ve properly interpreted his words, that is.

No matter. You have the luxury of time. Collecting your luggage takes little effort — a rather bulging handbag and a briefcase is not so terrible compared to the crates of fuel, souls, and hours you see being carted around you — as you step briskly towards the more busting central parts of port. The station itself has seen better days, almost empty save for a handful of dock-workers and the occasional Employee making sure the schedule runs on time, but as you pass through an open archway into the city proper, they seem eager to resume whatever activity they might otherwise have abandoned for your intrusive presence.

NORTH.

How did it happen? Was it prophecy — or maybe some mad interpretation of the scream-whispers of Distant Polythreme, a vision of the Garden — that led the Proclaimers to make their rhyme, completing the riddle and speaking for the Masters themselves?

Something must have rung true to the Masters, for them to solve the riddle.

Novi Grad rose, then fell. Fell until it could fall no further, until there was nothing left of decades of history but ash and blood for the ghosts of her denizens to wander through. Until there was nothing for the Masters and their bats to drag to cavernous depths.

So she, in her infinite tragedy and infinite pain, became the solution.

Your tea, madame. You look up from your scribbling absently, glancing briefly up at the server and then feeling your polite smile immediately fade off your face.

Must you always play games?

Helmut Zemo stands before you with a perfectly placid smile on his cruelly handsome face, So lovely to see you again, sweetling, and you’re quite welcome for the tea.

You narrowly avoid the temptation to roll your eyes, closing your journal and placing the cap on your pen, its nib glimmering venomously in the candlelight, You are late. A casual accusation, one he dismisses with an easy wave of his hand, just before seating himself before you and stealing a biscuit from your place.

And you are impatient. Surely this must mean you have missed me, little bird. If he notices the way you flinch at the sweetname, struggling to compose yourself before you manage to settle on sternness, he does not say.

You have faced worse things than Helmut Zemo, you know. Worse than the ache that slices through your heart when you look at him and his easy smile, the one you might have fallen in love with once again, if you forgot yourself.

You will not.

Instead, you breathe, letting the heavy air in your lungs out slowly as you tug the fingers of your glove until the whole thing is loose enough to be removed entirely.

You always hated getting biscuit crumbs on your whisper-satin fineries.

You asked me to meet you here, Helmut, a fact which he seems to dismiss with another too-sharp smile, eyes flickering over you.

It burns. Licking over the neckline of your dress before moving down to the delicate pearl buttons that hold shut your bodice, heat rising over the thin lace collar wrapped around your throat, and you wonder idly how often he fines pleasure in watching people struggle to breathe and die.

I’m told you have been busy, he tells you flatly, practiced hand snapping his biscuit in half before dipping one perfect semi-circle into the cup of tea he’d placed in front of you, Too busy, it seems, to inform your husband of your whereabouts.

The knifeblade edge of his voice is enough, slipping past the plates of armor you always try to wrap around yourself every time you agree to meet him, his joyless smile the barbs he leaves in your heart, ensuring it will bleed for him for a few months more after your eventual parting.

The first time he’d touched your cheek in the shadow of a clockwork sun while you wept, his lips ghosting  your skin, you nearly fell to your knees at his feet.

That should have been the last time you would ever see him, as he whispered sweet nothings and sweeter promises in a language you did not speak, burning intention into your skin and leaving you forever bound, words falling from his lips like a waterfall.

The third time you met Helmut Zemo, you cried. And the fourth. And the fifth.

You refuse to meet his eyes, smoothing out the wrinkles in your gown with trembling hands, Is this what you came to remind me?

He does not stop smiling, even as you make note of the uneasy tension sitting on his shoulders, the vicious gleam in his eyes as he continues his visual examination of your countenance, tea soaked biscuit melting idly on his tongue.

Yes, it is.

You should be grateful for his honesty — Devils rarely are, after all.

He continues before you have a chance to consider it, How much farther do you plan to run from this place, sweetling, before time returns you back to me?

You wish he wouldn’t call you sweetling.

You haven’t been sweet in a thousand years.

But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? He already knows that, anyway.

Though you suppose that maybe you ought to tell him about something he doesn’t know.

Why did you call me here, Helmut?

Why does any man call his wife back to the port where they parted last? I missed you.

You swallow thickly, avoiding the unyielding blade of his sharp-eyed gaze and even sharper smile, refusing to let your heart leap out to him as it aches to do, You are lying, Helmut, you accuse, pretending to busy yourself with the biscuits he brought to your table.

As always, as you should have expected, he only grins at you — a cruel, twisted grimace that makes your stomach twist not-wholly-unpleasantly — before reaching out and brushing his knuckles over your cheek, Would you let me lie, little bird?

I certainly hope you don’t expect an honest answer to that question.

His laugh is as sharp as his smile, a huff of bemusement you recall bringing you happiness before, a long time ago.

Now it reminds you of the taste of poison, of bile curling in the back of your throat, of blood and metal and the screaming agony of time stretched to its very limit.

The silence too, stretches between you, taut as the wires you would wrap around your palms to cut through cheese and impertinent throats, waiting for you to finally surrender and rise to your feet, gather your things and bid him as formal a goodbye as you’ll allow yourself — always just out of reach, I have no intention of playing games, Helmut, you challenge with the same tone of voice you might use to scold the Empress’s misbehaving sons, If you refuse to do me the courtesy of your honest, then do me the gift of your absence.

He watches you, eyes glimmering amber with insult, but does not dishonor you enough to reach out, There was a time, little bird, when you loved me without such reservation.

The words burn across your skin like living fire, your vows and his molded together in a single remembered sigil, a bond forced with the very language of Judgment, unbidden agony scorching your composure as you make a desperate, futile attempt to push away the memory; his voice soft, the low timbre of his accent sliding over your ears like honey in your mouth, gentle lips on yours as he sealed your fate with a kiss, I have memorized you like a prayer.

You could almost have forgotten he was a liar, standing lost in your memories as you are, forgotten the price of promise and the weight of truth.

Almost.

The tears burn at the backs of your eyes, but you blink them back, let bone grind against bone before, More fool I, then, for thinking you did the same.

You turn to walk towards the door, four sovereigns in hand to pay for your meal — interrupted though it has been — making a concentrated effort to not look back, even as you hear his voice cutting through the otherwise silent room, When everything goes wrong, it is a terrible burden to bear alone, don’t you think?

You cannot help yourself, can you? Shoulders slumping as you declare a reluctant defeat and turn to face him, swearing your heart has lit aflame.

You cannot ignore His Law forever, little bird.

You know nothing of responsibility, Helmut, your voice is cold as the icy expanse beyond the warm walls of Novi Grad station, still aching to leave and frustrated by your uncooperative feet.

There’s a twitch at the corner of his lips, amusement sparking in his own eyes, And what of you, little bird, what have you learned of responsibility since your escape from Perdurance?

You visibly flinch, the name sparking an endless array of horror and memories within you, just as his expression falls into uncharacteristic regret.

Nothing, clearly, you reply hollowly, words bitter on the back of your teeth, Much to your pleasure, I think.

That wounds him, to your surprise, hurt painting his face before he controls his features and buries both regret and rage beneath a placid mask, Infinite freedom is as tight a prison as an opulent cage, on occasion.

[qsmpficvault]

Welcome to the QSMP Fic Vault!

Are you someone who enjoys reading QSMP fanfiction? Do you want some recs? Maybe you need help finding a specific fic? Well, you have come to the right place!

Below the cut will be mod information, rules, and some basic information to know! This may be updated over time, so check it every once in a while to see if your questions may have been answered!

Mod Information

Head mod

Bee! @edgarallanpoestan here on tumblr, edgarallanpoestan on AO3, and eapstan over on Twitter

19 years old, currently in school for biology and creative writing, in EST (so asks will probably be answered in the evenings and on weekends in EST). Speaks English and some German, and is working on Spanish!

Favorite color is purple!!! Part of Yaoiverse, participant in sooo many exchanges, has never chilled ever. Enjoys crocheting, reading, writing, and the occassional doodle!

No other mods are here at this time. If you are interested, feel free to send a message either here or on my main blog!

Rules

1. Show everyone respect! If you use derogatory language, you will be blocked and ignored. Treat the mod(s), authors, and everyone who utilizes this blog with respect.

2. This is largely a space that is safe for everything, but the one boundary is nothing NSFW about underage characters. We will help to find fics containing all kinds of content, but that is one thing that I would prefer to stay away from. This rule may be updated to add more mod boundaries as time goes on.

General Information

What is a fic vault?

This is something present in many fandoms! It is essentially an archive of QSMP fics, while also being a place where one can ask for help finding a certain work! They also often have recs from the mods, which will be present here. If possible, I would also like to boost various exchanges, activities, etc.

Okay... so why are you doing this?

I have always had a fondness of fic vaults and archives in fandom, finding the people running them to be generally pretty kind. Then I suddenly realized that I could do the same, and I have yet to find a fic vault for QSMP, so I figured I could fill this certain niche!

Can you help me find this VOD/clip/art?

No, sorry. There are plenty of VOD and clip archives, and I have seen a variety of blogs that focus just on fanart. While there may sometimes be reblogs of these things, we will not be finding them for you.

What websites will you be finding fics on?

For recs, probably just AO3 (and sometimes Tumblr). If you need help finding one that you remember being on another site, though, we will absolutely still look for it!

Are you looking for more mods?

At the moment it is just me, so if more people find this, then I would absolutely begin looking for some more mods! At that point, I would create a form to apply, but you can send me a message before then if you are interested!

Any other questions? Feel free to send an ask about it!

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

Pondering my existence in this fandom...

I am not sure how much longer I am going to be here.  Personal musings under the cut.  

Okay, ramble-time.   I am still engaging as far as reblogging some art I like and reading Sweary She-Ra, which is a nice distraction.  I have not felt at all like engaging with fan theories or fanfiction ideas or any goofy fun stuff for the last several days for reasons that should be obvious to people who regularly follow this blog.  I am grieving the loss of someone very close to me and haven’t felt much like doing anything.   I’m also in the “herding cats” mode of family and friend interaction in regards to figuring out what to do with my loved one’s things and the whens and hows of a memorial service.  A weird way in which it might tenuously link back to fandom here is that it seems like we all agree to do something that is eerily similar to how I wrote clone-funerals in my original Horde-clones series.  There are definitely differences, I had clones see each other’s bodies as important to say goodbye to and we are planning to say goodbye to ashes.  However, a lot of what we are planning is more celebratory rather than grim, recognizing all of the little things that made my nephew up as a person, an individual, especially the goofy and the geeky and not a damn priest or preacher in sight (not needed, not welcome).  There is just a little bit of spookiness here in that I wrote that stuff 1-2 years ago and it makes me wonder if something in the spiritual realm (if there is one) was preparing me for something that I did not foresee.  I just wrote those stories after a thought of “what would happen with clones on Etheria post-canon in terms of remembering their fellows who lived and died without names and freedom” and they wound up being this whole entire thing in which I was contemplating my thoughts on death and it came... completely out of the blue.  These stories were not prompted by losing someone and having to deal with it.  They came before it and were like some kind of preparatory course.   And it’s some very off-canon fanfiction for a dumb cartoon.   I’ve found myself fading just a little for this fandom, even before this event.  I had lost most of my “friends” in it and was lingering on (making the new blog here) in part out of a sense of spite.  A “No, you don’t get to kick me out.”  I’ve had an awkward relationship with it, feeling like I just can’t review fanfic and art by a number of people (not just people who’ve blocked me) but over on Ao3 and such because “Okay, is this person I only ever kind of sort of knew, barely knew or even is new to the fandom going to enjoy a compliment from me, or are they going to be one of those people who erase all of my reviews?”  There are people in this fandom whom I didn’t even know / new to the fandom who didn’t see me have a meltdown who have treated me thusly - blocks review-deletion because, apparently people have talked about me, spread rumors and some people just don’t judge people for themselves.  This has left me over the past year feeling very awkward, even afraid to engage with new people in this fandom and with old hands who weren’t involved with the people I was fighting with with the “Am I bothering people?” idea, a feeling of being gatekept.  I know for a fact that the person who runs the Entrapdak fandom-events has blocked this blog (although only barely knew her), which means to see event-calendars, I’ve had to rely on reblogs by the fandom at large or my non-fandom viewer blog.  And, oh, yes, I’ve done Entrapdak-work, using the calendars out of spite.  Like “You might try to gatekeep me, I’m here, anyway.”   However, I have felt some of this spite fading.  I didn’t want to do the Entrapdak-Month (full month) this year because I’d felt a little tired for big fandom-events after doing a Legend of Zelda work prompt month and doing some of the mini-Entrapdak things. I felt like just writing what I want at my own pace and didn’t see any prompts in the collection that struck me with much inspiration.   If I had been planning on participating, I definitely would have dropped it, because of the tragedy in my life.  As it is, the one little fanfic I was working on is on hiatus indefinitely and I might take it down.  (Not that it has more than one or two readers who don’t review, as it’s a Horde-clone centric fic without Hordak and Horde Prime is only mentioned).  Also, it’s a general fic, lacking any hot Horde Prime x clones or clone on clone action (I’ve always felt a little weird in the clone-fandom for definitely not being into that).   What is more is that I am feeling ashamed right now for having too much of my life taken over by this fandom.  I got in touch with an old friend.  I hadn’t talked with her in a while because I thought she was too busy for me.  It turns out that she had avoided me because she’d thought that I’d abandoned her for this fandom. We misunderstood each other.  I got hyperfixated on She-Ra and she was not interested in it at all and I got too into my “She-Ra friends” (most of whom turned out to not be friends at all in the end) and had neglected my friendship with her.  I, in turn, had thought she had gotten too busy with her work and family-life.  I told her about my nephew because she had known him - not too well, but she’d met him.  (She reminded me that, yeah, we’d all played Cards Against Humanity together - good God, my memory’s a bunch of Swiss cheese).  We got to talking - I wanted to reconnect.  Matt was basically my best friend, a constant in my life and we’d had our insular little family and I really need to rekindle with friends / this has made me realize that I need more real friends in my life.  This friend and I used to be close before getting busy and my stupid hyperfixation drifted us apart.  She was actually mad at me.  I basically did the Entrapta “Are you mad at me?” type of speaking.  (And informed her of my autism diagnosis, which i think is pretty much why I don’t read between the lines well at all and didn’t realize that she was actively avoiding me).  This was a whole mess, but... we are talking again.  It’s horrible that it’s a death that got us back to talking, but I do want to do the things I used to do with her, like our silly Legend of Zelda / Fire Emblem Awakening roleplays, and maybe if we mutually play Kid Icarus again (fandom where we’d met) we can have something again.  Or she might realize she’s mad at me again.  I do not know.   As it is, I feel embarrassed that I’d let this fandom do this to us.  I was a bad friend to someone who was an actual, real friend who cared about me for the sake of a bunch of fake friends here, my silly shipping-interest in something she just didn’t vibe with.  Ultimately, my “friends” here scolded me when I was having clear mental health issues (and no, I am not claiming uwu victim blamelessness here, I was an asshole to some people on the Discords, but people whom I thought I was actual friends with who could clearly see I was in danger are what I’m talking about here)... And, well, I got accused of plagiarism over a mistake, continuing accusations of that after I thought the misunderstanding had been cleared up and I’d done what I was supposed to do to resolve the situation in regards to eliminating joint-fanwork, and ultimately someone infulential in the fandom doing a callout post on tumblr calling upon the entire Entrapdak fandom to not talk to me, telling everyone that I was just a manipulative bitch and insinuating that my very clear and public suicidal ideation was being faked.  In other words, my “friends” in this fandom drove me to a stay in a psychiatric hospital which... was actually more traumatizing to me than the events I am describing here.   Meanwhile, my late nephew was the one who contacted people to SAVE MY LIFE and my friend whom I was drifting away from because of the stupid fandom found out about what happened and was concerned for me and asked about me, even though she hadn’t talked to me in a while at that point.  I regret not being a better friend to her.  Reconciling might actually mean me giving up this fandom.  (No, she has nothing in particular against it, it’s just... it being a thing that sucked me away from her).   I probably will still participate some, because I like the show, the themes and the characters, but I’m realizing now that a lot of my new friends in this fandom are kind of arm’s-length friends still.  I’m not in any core friend-group and I really don’t know any of you all that well.  Certain former “friends” are absolute shit and Fuck You.  (You won’t see this, you’ve blocked me).  Some of my fandom-participation is just habit, or even a bit of spite, which is fading.   I know who my true friends are.  I have just lost one due to his health problems, which I had no control over.  I lost another one due to entirely my own fault and I’m trying to get her back.  I expect to become less and less interested in this fandom that has been incredibly painful for me as time goes on.   Thank you  / apologies for listening to my ramble if you clicked on it. 

[tobi-smp]

I’ve been avoiding addressing this for some time now because I knew if I ever did it would be a deeply emotionally taxing conversation. however I’ve continued to receive increasingly angry anons about it despite never speaking on it, so if it’s going to find me anyways I may as well address it in full on my own terms.

I’m putting this under a cut because it’s going to be discussing intense subject matter, both real and fictional, specifically in addressing the role dark fiction can have in someone’s life and why someone might be drawn to it (someone else might call it a conversation on the “anti” and “anti-anti/proship” argument, though I don’t enjoy using those terms personally). so don’t feel pressured to read or engage with this post going forward.

that said, I encourage looking through this whole thing (assuming you can stomach it) if you’ve ever messaged me about metaru before.

this will not be short, but I ask that anyone who chooses to engage with this after this point read the entire thing. I don’t want to be misunderstood and I’m not looking for any arguments in the first place. this is not me opening myself up to debate. Tw for discussions on csa, abuse, harassment, and of course dark fiction in general.

my first Real interactions with the internet was with naruto forums dot com. up until that point a computer was just the box that I used to play the “my gym partner’s a monkey” flash game in the living room, but I’d learned about forums in school and it was the literal first thing that came up when I’d decided to look up something familiar out of curiosity.

this was formative for me because this was the first time that I learned that you could find pictures of boys kissing online, and naturally I was hooked.

even better, it wasn’t long before I’d realized that all of this fanart was coming from somewhere. which brought me to deviantart and eventually led me to finding fanfiction (whole Stories where boys fell in love with each other, can you even imagine).

I was drawn to a subculture of the fandom that, in hindsight, was kind of silly. it was early enough in akatsuki’s introduction to the story that people treated them not unlike the “avengers all live in the same tower and hang out with each other” trend of the early 2010s. tobi was just tobi, it was simpler times.

I read fanfic of them all being friends, of them forming families, of them living their day to day together, the less grounded in canon the better.

one day I found one au fic in particular. they were all kids who were living together under one roof. foster children trapped in an abusive household that escaped together and had to learn how to grow and move on while staying a family. several of the kids had been sexually abused by their adoptive father, leading to them finally leaving in the first place. this fact wasn’t explicit but it was one of the first times I’d seen something like this in media and Understood what was happening. this was also a formative experience for me.

deviantart and forums and even fanfic dot net to an extent didn’t have the sorting and tagging systems that ao3 does now, you never really knew what you were going to find when you clicked on something. it was by pure chance that I found that fic just like it was pure chance that I’d find anything. I read it and I read it again, but it would be a while before I’d actively seek out content like that.

now why would I do that? what was I so drawn to about this story?

when I was a child I was diagnosed with ptsd, though it’d be later in life when I’d realize that c-ptsd was more accurate. obviously there was no way for me to process this, I wasn’t old enough for the birds and the bees talk (I was barely old enough to understand that I was a little person at all). and my brain agreed with me on that one, to this day my long term memory is fucked (and my rote memorization in general for that matter). I don’t remember kindergarten, I have a few scant flashes from elementary, I start getting more of a grasp of who I was as a person in middle school albeit with practically none of the details for what day to day life was like, and I have a bit of a firmer grasp on high school but no real concept of When specific things happened to me or where. and that’s followed me now into my adult life.

so what you’re left with is a situation where a child grows up with the Marks of something horrific that happened to them, the c-ptsd and the depression and the anxiety, but no real way to understand it at a point where it wouldn’t particularly be an appropriate conversation to have with them.

I was vaguely aware that it was a thing that had happened to me in the way that kids are aware that the economy is a thing that adults care an awful lot about. how do you empathize with yourself when you don’t have any of the details? when you can’t picture what it’d be like to experience these things and the effect it has on a person? when you can’t understand Why you feel the way that you do or even What it is you feel?

what’s more, what do you do when you can’t mourn for yourself? when you can’t be angry at a person that doesn’t have a name or a face? how do you reconcile a loss that isn’t yours but that has a deep impact on you anyways? it was like I was stepping into a life that wasn’t mine but still had to live with the consequences of it.

for a good while there I fully refused to believe that I could have anxiety and depression, which is silly to me now but was a fairly common reaction for children that grow up with trauma and mental illness. it wouldn’t be until high school that I’d start getting a real grasp on mental health and start making strides to understand it. but I still existed in the meantime.

I was drawn to dark fiction for the catharsis. for having the ability to feel the horror and the fear and the anger in a tangible way that was still Safe. and what I treasured the most was recovery fics, stories where the characters got to be okay in the end. I couldn’t remember what I’d felt, what I’d experienced, but this was a full narrative exploring what it was like to experience these things in depth, and for the first time I started to understand. I could empathize with them when I couldn’t empathize with myself, and that meant everything at the time.

I won’t pretend that this fixed my mental health, it didn’t. but this was a foundation to a relatively healthy outlet for difficult emotions that I could not have dealt with on my own. it was also the tentative start to what’d eventually Become my journey with tackling my mental health in a truly substantial way.

this is something that people are usually Vaguely aware of, even in spaces where dark fiction is a zero tolerance policy. what this will often translate to is an asterisk where people are allowed to engage with the Bad Thing if they have a permit to get away with it. but this isn’t viable for a couple reasons.

firstly, and most obviously, that requires people to out themselves about extremely personal and painful experiences, sometimes when they aren’t ready to talk about it at all let alone on a public platform. and if the person asking for proof wants to they can simply choose to ignore or not believe them, which can be a horribly upsetting and even traumatizing experience for someone all on its own. putting already vulnerable people into an even more vulnerable position at the threat of punishment is not, in my opinion, good activism.

and second being that that’s just not how catharsis works.

catharsis isn’t just seeing your own experiences shown back to you, though that can certainly provide some absolutely moving relationships with a work of fiction when it does work out that way. catharsis is experiencing extreme emotions in a controlled and safe environment. when you listen to sad music when you’re upset until you can have a good cry that’s catharsis. when you watch a horror movie to feel the shock and fear, your pulse racing, that’s catharsis. when the greeks first watched oedipus gouge his eyes out with pins upon learning that he’d unknowningly wed and had children with his own mother that was the Invention of the modern definition of catharsis.

people consume dark fiction to experience dark emotions in a relatively low stakes environment. to ask that people prove that they’re Allowed to view one negative experience by proving that they have a direct connection to the experiences being shown is to misunderstand Why people feel the way that they do when they interact with dark fiction.

and moreover, reading about and feeling compassion for experiences that you don’t have can help you understand the people who have experienced those things.

c!tommy and dream’s story is an Incredible work of dark fiction that covers themes of abuse, mental illness, ptsd, and more. and while I feel catharsis from that story because of my own experiences with mental health, my life doesn’t exactly mirror c!tommy’s. nor would I get upset with someone for seeing themselves in c!tommy because of their depression rather than ptsd.

okay, does this mean that I’m an anti-anti or a proshipper or think all dark fiction should be allowed everywhere all the time? no, not really.

firstly, in my opinion those terms are essentially useless on the large scale. shorthand like that is useful in small tight-knit communities where everyone knows exactly what everyone else means when they use that shorthand, but that becomes impossible once it spreads to a certain point. 

there are people who don’t know that “anti” is used in fandom spaces to describe someone who unnecessarily bashes something (a person, ship, character, show, etc), and there are people who don’t know that some people’s only experiences with those labels are people who stand against actual pedophiles and groomers. these two people using the same term without elaborating can (and in my experience Will) have the most draining and unproductive argument known to man.

there are perfectly normal people who exist under both labels, who even believe the same things for the same reasons, who’ve been lead to hate each other because they chose the “wrong” labels just because of the communities they happened to grow up in. moreover, the bad actors in those communities are incentivized to encourage this black and white us vs them mentality. both so they can encourage harassment for the sake of it and so they can use the other group as a scapegoat to mask their own behavior.

I understand why people are drawn to one label vs the other based on their own lived experiences. but the healthier relationship with it, I think, is to ditch the terminology altogether and simply call out the behavior that you find harmful in full. when talking about subject matter like this you Need nuance, you Need specifics, you Need a healthy middle ground along with an awareness of the extremes. otherwise it only serves as a tool for confusion and harassment.

secondly: dark fiction, like most things, is not black and white. not all relationships to dark fiction is healthy, not all dark fiction should be platformed, communities for dark fiction can be invaded and co-opted by bad people, and the availability of dark fiction in certain spaces can be a real problem.

like I said, I first stumbled into dark fiction back during the wild west. when warnings weren’t common or comprehensive and sorting was pitiful if it existed at all. I had access to content that I really shouldn’t have at my age.

I was lucky that I mostly kept to myself online until high school and I was lucky that I never really had any major adverse experiences with fiction when I was a kid, but that’s not the experience that everyone has.

ao3 is generally much better in this regard, with its heavy emphasis on tags, trigger warnings, and proper sorting. but even then there are things that show up where it shouldn’t through user error, and I’m not sure how well I would’ve intuited these things as a kid. 

even as an adult who has a good grasp on my own boundaries and healthy understanding of my relationship with fiction and its utility as a coping mechanism, I can’t always know what I’m getting into until I’m already there. I don’t get triggered very often but when I do it’s not a very good scene. and when you Aren’t in a good place, when you Don’t have as strong of a grasp on what you’re doing or why, it can very quickly turn into a tool for self harm by repeatedly seeking out content that steps over your own boundaries because it makes you feel something.

I can’t say that I have the answer to these things, or rather I’d say that there are a couple of things that we as individuals can do to try to make the specific spaces that we inhabit safer (tagging things appropriately, doing what we can to make sure nsfw content has to be Sought Out rather than stumbled upon, etc), but largely there is no one good answer for how to make sure that nobody ever gets hurt. these situations are extremely specific, personalized, and often contradictory and at the end of the day there’s no choice we can make that will erase people with bad intentions. it’s not a black and white issue and it’s not one with an easy answer.

and I do want to say that the gut reaction is typically that something that makes you uncomfortable has gone too far and doesn’t deserve to exist. and like, that’s a very human reaction especially if something has deeply upset you through your exposure to it, but it’s still a feeling that should be examined. we all have different boundaries and we all have our own threshold for catharsis. what’s cathartic to me could be triggering to someone else, and what isn’t outright triggering to me could still not be cathartic. to that same end, it’s Okay to not like dark fiction, just like it’s Okay to not like roller coasters. but just because You don’t have a certain relationship with a work doesn’t mean that the creator doesn’t or that other people consuming it don’t or can’t. that doesn’t mean that these things can’t be criticized, Especially published media with actual studios behind it, but it should be criticized for How it handles its darker elements not the fact that it has them.

none of this, of course, is touching on actual csa or the depictions of real people. this fandom in particular is plenty familiar with the problem of people overtly breaking cc’s boundaries either with the depictions of nsfw or shipping with their characters when that isn’t appropriate (when it’s against stated boundaries or when the characters are minors), or by explicitly depicting the cc’s themselves. this is made especially unfortunate by how often these things will show up in tags not intended for them. this content should not exist, it should not be distributed, and it should not be hosted. obviously.

now, why have I had this conversation about my relationship with dark fiction, laying out a nuanced relationship with the concept and with the anti/pro-ship/anti-anti discussion?

over the past couple of months I’ve seen a couple of accusations about proudfreakmetarusonniku being a proshipper, warning people that they need to be excommunicated from the fandom. asking why they’ve been “allowed” to have a space in this fandom At All when they’re Obviously a degenerate and need to be deplatformed.

this confused me, because in the months that I’ve followed them I’ve watched them Directly call out pedophilia, boundary breaking, and Rape within fan content in this fandom when no one else has been starting that conversation. (people writing nsfw for characters when they shouldn’t, for people who’ve explicitly stated they don’t want that and for the Minors. even worse being the same thing but with genuine rpf, writing out explicit pedophilia about Actual People.) I’ve watched them describe how running into that content on ao3 (something that I’ve experienced as well, because of a Persistent Issue of people misusing or not understanding tags) made them feel Physically Ill, how that content shouldn’t exist on the platform at all but that it Definitely Should Not Be Publicly Available to anyone just trying to find dsmp content.

I saw them directly calling out people who broke boundaries when that could’ve easily painted a target on their back. I saw them calling out poppytwt, but also showing compassion and Concern for the minors being groomed in those spaces.

on the surface level what I could see was that this was an 18 year old who Actively took a stance against boundary breaking and pedophilia, putting themselves in the hot seat when they didn’t have to, who just happened to use the “Wrong Label” for some people and got targeted as being a creep for it. as a csa survivor their stance on actual child porn and pedophilia mattered to me much more than whether they read dark fiction or not, so I left it alone.

or I Tried to leave it alone.

since then I’ve been sent anons repeatedly trying to “warn” me about following and interacting with them that have grown increasingly hostile and accusatory. I’ve also noticed several mutuals between us who’ve made their own statements about how they don’t mind dark fiction or proshipping, and while I haven’t asked I have to assume that I’m not the only one being sent anons.

the issue has Evolved into anyone (or perhaps anyone Prominent but it’s hard to know with anons) who happens to interact with them being spammed to Stop. and while there hasn’t been the Overt threat of that same harassment being turned towards me for not complying in my inbox yet, I can’t be alone in thinking that that threat is obviously there.

so I did more research.

what I found was a story not dissimilar to my own.

I followed those same posts calling them out to the content I was being warned of, and what I found was a Minor speaking on how they used dark fiction to cope with their trauma. I saw a history of a Minor facing harassment for finding comfort in that fiction, deciding to use the Oh So Horrible label that was being stapled onto them with Pride because it didn’t actually matter what they did. they were going to have that label and more forced onto them anyways. I saw that minor grow into someone whose now only Barely an adult, facing a harassment campaign despite Openly standing against pedophilia and boundary breaking and having openly stated that their relationship with dark fiction stems from trauma.

and I have to ask, am I supposed to feel comforted by this? as a csa survivor, is this supposed to make me feel safe? because it doesn’t.

what’s the difference between me and them? that I was quiet about it? I just happened to grow up in a slightly different era, before people were encouraged to wear everything about them on their sleeve. I often wonder what I’d be like if I’d grown up on tumblr instead of forums and deviantart. I wonder what I would’ve experienced if I had people watching over my shoulder to decide if I’m consuming the good pure content in the good pure way or not. I wonder what would’ve happened to me if I’d been confronted about these things before I was ready to talk about my trauma. before I was Able to stand up for myself.

and I have to ask again, am I supposed to feel comforted by this?

am I supposed to be Comforted by the fact that people are targeting survivors for harassment and ostracization? people who were minors just months ago? am I supposed to be Comforted by this growing trend of using accusations of immorality to target people who haven’t done anything Wrong because once you can prove that your victim Deserves It people stop seeing them as victims? am I supposed to be Comforted by the fact that I could be next for what I’ve shared in this post?

I’ve seen this song and dance play out a million times over, and I’m not playing along. I’m not going to listen to an anonymous person waltzing up into my inbox and telling me that they saw goody proctor at the devil’s sacrament, and I’m certainly not going to fold when those anons get angry at being ignored.

so no, I’m not going to answer your ask, I’m not going to ostracize someone who hasn’t done anything wrong, I’m not going to participate in a harassment campaign, and I’m not going to be used as a tool to blindly spread accusations of immorality at the barest indication from a stranger in the first place.

and to be clear about something here: I have not asked metaru about their trauma, and no one else is allowed to. they didn’t have to share as much as they already have in the first place and no one is Owed the detail that I’ve just given. I’ve shared what I have because this is something that I’ve felt strongly about for a while now. because this is something that has weighed on me that I’ve never had the time or the place or the motivation to share. because I know that there are people in my position or metaru’s position that will never get to stand up for themselves. but not one god damn person is Owed information about anyone’s trauma. do not ask them.

I don’t know if I ever intend to address this again, addressing this as much as I have already has been emotionally taxing enough as is. but I’m not going to engage with the people directly responsible, nor am I interested in “calling them out.” I’m making my stance on the situation clear and I want other people to understand why I feel this way.

[andylantsov]

PEOPLE OF THE AFTG FANDOM

Hi! Sorry for the all caps heading..

If you don’t read fanfictions, you can scroll right on, no problem!

If you do read aftg (All for the Game by Nora Sakavic) fanfictions, even occasionally, I could use some help in finding this one incomplete fic I read a while ago..

It is on ao3 (Archive of our own)

From what I remember of the story, Tilda Minyard (then Hemmick) falls in love with a guy, who’s a German man practicing medicine in the USA. I don’t remember his name, but he was very sweet and dedicated, and wanted to settle down..

Being married to Tilda wasn’t the best, his parents also resisted, but he did what he could and adored her and the twins. Tilda gets wilder with time and her actions get our dude fired. They move and find a cheaper place to live, and our dude has to work more hours. So he does.

His kids are growing up and he really wants to spend time with them and shower them with his love but he’s also working very hard and tired most of the time. On the other hand, Tilda gets worse and worse and.. this is the part I hate..

Our dude comes home to a horrible scene and does his best to protect the Twinyards- separated from Tilda, gets full parental rights- and takes off to find a safer place. Recovery is hard, but they’re doing better.

And then they meet Bee.

The last chapter, to my memory, ends with our dude asking Bee on a date.

So! That was the recap, and if you have read this fanfic, or come across it at some point of time, do let me know! It’s like this itch- I can’t remember its name, can’t find it. On another note, I was going to give continuing it a shot, in my own way and with full credits everywhere necessary to the original writer.

So. Yeah. Thank you for reading this far!

[jingerhead]

7, 10, 19, 28, 30, 33, 39

as always it's a lot

Omg it's okay though I love answering your asks hehe :)

7. Your favourite ao3 tag.

It's definitely a cross between "Neil Josten is an idiot" and "Andrew Minyard has feelings" because the first one is absolutely hilarious and the second one gives me feelings

10. Top three favourite fic tropes

Fake Dating

High School AUs

Celebrity AUs

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

“You were bitten by a spider?” Andrew asked, unable to stop himself from frowning after hearing the story.

“Yes,” Neil confirmed.

“How.”

“It’s really stupid,” Neil began, rolling on his side so that he could face Andrew, holding his head up with one hand. “Do you remember - that was a dumb question, uh, my freshman year. Riko was holding a party that one time.”

Andrew did remember. He remembered receiving an invite and turning Riko down, because he didn’t feel like going to a mansion for a day, much less for Riko Moriyama’s birthday. Instead, he’d spent that day with Bee and Aaron, baking the entire day. While it was much more fun than going to the mansion and breaking things for the hell of it, Andrew suddenly wondered if he made the right choice that day.

“It was boring as hell,” Neil mumbled, then shook his head. “Anyway, at one point I went to use the bathroom, but their house is huge. I thought I went into a bathroom but ended up in one of their fifty bedrooms.”

“How does this relate to the spider?”

“I’m getting there. So, I walked in, and there was this bookshelf that was clearly some kind of secret door, because it was cracked open.”

Of course. Andrew raised an eyebrow. “So you went inside.”

“No, I’m not that dumb,” Neil said through a grin. “I turned around to leave and spotted a spider on a dresser. I was taking it outside to rescue it, ‘cause they would’ve just killed it. And it bit me on the way out.”

Oh, Andrew was going to have to reconsider who he was dating. “You took a spider outside to ‘rescue’ it?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, clearly unbothered by what he just said. “It’s okay, I know you don’t like them. I’ll take care of any spiders in your path.”

Andrew reached up to grip the back of Neil’s neck, shifting so that they faced each other. “So, what about this one?”

“Ha,” Neil huffed drily, rolling his eyes. “You told this one to stay. Are you taking that back?”

“No,” Andrew was quick to refute. “Are you changing your answer?”

“Never,” Neil promised.

28. Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

To not push it if you don't feel like doing it. Every time I try to push myself into writing when I'm not quite feeling it, it's always ended with me not enjoying what I make.

Also to write for yourself. Don't write what you think other people would want, write what you want! That's what always makes it enjoyable to me.

30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

There's a lot that I've started and then didn't want to do anymore haha, but the one that I worked the most on was an AFTG volleyball AU, because I fell into Haiykuu!! and AFTG brainrot at the same time but it just didn't feel interesting enough to continue.

33. Give your writing a compliment.

You have good grammar and flow nice :)

39. Wildest AU scenario you have written?

I feel like it has to be Neil as a fanfic writer and Andrew as a professional exy player who discovers it PFF. I wrote a little thing for a collaboration but I also started writing an actual fic that I'll eventually pick up again:

XxDarkHeartxX

The fact that you’re apparently so dedicated to exy to write fanfiction about it is concerning. Ask someone to help you break your addiction, junkie.

Someone. Took time out of their day. To write that. To read five chapters of Neil’s work and then leave a comment talking about how he was an addict?

Neil wouldn’t block someone for writing something like that. In his opinion, anyone could leave a comment about whatever they wanted, and he’d asked for constructive criticism in the first place. But this was just war.

Demiexyual

The fact that you’re so dedicated to being an asshole to read all five chapters and then leave a comment like that is concerning.

Demiexyual

Also why would you bookmark this if you hate it, at least private bookmark it if you’re going to talk shit.

[unityghost]

Silhouette

For some reason I’ve become hesitant about posting fanfiction on Tumblr (in addition to Ao3), but I think people do read it here; so, instead of posting a link, I’ll just do what I used to do (starting way back in 2018) and share the entire text of the story. For those of you still following the Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels series (thanks!), we’re on installment number 30. You can read them out of order. Someday (soon) I’ll find a better way of organizing the material so that it’s easier to find on my profile.

Thank you, as always, for reading my work.

...

Rowena showed up half an hour late at an establishment somehow reminiscent of both a dive bar and an extravagant restaurant.

“We can’t narrow down any individual witches,” Sam explained to her, “But the whole area is being affected pretty much daily.”

“So then,” she replied, “The coven in question appears to be simultaneously powerful and aggravatingly diffuse.” She stirred her cocktail. “Are you quite sure you’ve exhausted your resources? I understand that witches can be a bit of a bee in your brother’s bonnet, given that our antics often call for brains over brawn.” She signaled to the waiter.

“You know I’m not paying for your hangover, right?” said Sam.

Rowena smiled. “Bold of you to assume my constitution is as rickety as your own.”

Gabriel spoke up. “I thought we were here to discuss taking down some tight-lipped harpies.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be sexist. Any one of those troublemakers could just as easily look like either of you two.”

“Well, do you have information? Or did Sam agree to foot the bill just for you to make googly eyes at the bus boy?”

“Jealous, are you?” She grinned. “Samuel, do remind me what this place is called.”

“You chose it,” Sam pointed out.

“Aye, but for its ambiance, not for its name. I had more than one place in mind: count yourselves lucky that I remembered a spot not so far from you.”

“We drove four hours to get here!”

“I could easily have requested just as glamorous a venue nearer your prospective targets out west. You should be thankful, the both of you.”

“Sleepy Cheetah,” Gabriel told her. “It’s the Sleepy Cheetah. I assumed you picked it because you look like one.”

“Shall I take that as a compliment? Tell me, why aren’t either of you boys out in Minnesota with Dean? You’ve got his chariot of choice, so naturally I had to wonder whether he was coerced into these witches’ company, or if he decided now was as good a time as any for cross-country cardio.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, gathered his patience, and replied: “First off, it’s not really any of your business; but when I told him we were going to look to you for guidance - which, for the record, I’m starting to regret - ”

“Hurt feelings, Samuel. You’ve bruised a tender ego.”

“When we suggested,” Sam went on, “That you were going to take us up on our request, and meet somewhere to talk witches, but that you insisted on somewhere several hours from home, it made sense for Cas to fly him out there. Because we were going to need the car as long as Gabriel isn’t - ” Sam glanced at him. “As long as Gabriel can’t, you know - ”

Rowena waved a dismissive hand. “No need for diplomacy. I know there’s still plenty of that road left unpaved.”

Sam sighed. “Listen, I need to run to the restroom. Can you maybe just gather your thoughts, Rowena? Give us some actual advice instead of running up the tab?”

She took a slow sip. “Ach, how my dignity does wither under the weight of such accusations.”

Sam stood up, lips locked tight, and walked away.

Rowena leaned forward. “It’s nice to see you again, Gabriel.”

“Nice to see you too. I take it you’ve been keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“Well now, I didnae show up to your party just to be interrogated.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

“Well, just maybe. In fact, however - ” She leaned in closer. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

She grinned and brought her lips up to Gabriel’s ear. “What is wrong with you and why are you so keen to hide it from me?”

Gabriel jerked back. “Did Sam - ”

“Sam hasn’t told me anything. I’ve been walking this earth and its many sister dimensions for generations. I recognize the signs of panic when they’re laid out before me.”

“I’m hardly panicking! But you definitely talked to Sam.”

She held up both hands. “I did no such thing. If you’ve confided in Sam, he’ll be keeping it close to the chest.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“No need for aggression, Gabriel.”

“You’re looking at me like the nurses are about to pull the plug, so beg pardon if I’m a little offended. And by the way, what counts as ‘generations’ to you looks more like a holiday weekend to me, so think twice about your spidey senses before weaving a web for somebody that doesn’t need to be saved.”

“I certainly don’t need those spidey senses to tell that I’ve tickled a sore spot. Forgive me for feeling a wee bit concerned.” Her expression soured, but it struck Gabriel as performative - as if she expected that he would want to see a touch of bitterness in her face. “Perhaps I was out of line for thinking I could help.”

“You sound as sorry as a kid who tripped the fire alarm before midterms. Go bite yourself, Rowena.”

“I suppose I should be flattered to have intimidated even an archangel.’

“Okay - ” Gabriel straightened upright. “One: I’m anything but intimidated, and two: I’d be able to turn you into a pile of potatoes and mash it if I was at capacity right now.”

“Sounds sexy. Nevertheless, as a witch, I have to keep attuned to changes in behavior, whether that’s to identify a threat or to home in on a particularly juicy weak spot. You’re tense, Gabriel. I could feel it the moment you sat down across from me. You haven’t even had a proper drink, and barely anything to eat. That isn’t like you at all.”

Gabriel couldn’t figure out why he felt defensive over this comment. “What am I supposed to make of that?”

Rowena gave a silky shrug and reached for her cocktail. “Could be you’d benefit from a pinch of introspection. Shadow-work, you know. Dip your toes into waters that have remained uncharted only because you’re afraid of what might be swimming in them.”

“No time for snorkeling these days.”

“Well, don’t discount it.”

This time, Gabriel felt sure he saw her expression change - but now she looked gentler. “The strongest witch is the one with a private Rolodex of her own vulnerabilities. Come now, Gabriel - why so paranoid? Nobody’s forcing you. It’s just a tad disarming to see how much you’ve changed since we last met.”

“I haven’t - ” But he paused. He both wanted to challenge the accusation and didn’t, and struggled to understand why either response tempted him.

“See what I mean?” asked Rowena. “Forgive me for picking up on a little discomfort, Gabriel, but I’m neither blind nor gullible. I know how to put a few digits together into a number that makes sense.”

A chill crept up Gabriel’s spine. She knows.

It was then that Sam retook his seat at the table and, apparently unperturbed, immediately began speaking to Rowena. “Any thoughts?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“About the coven,” Sam pressed.

“Ah.” She drained her second cocktail. “Have you checked the cisterns?”

“Cisterns?” Sam looked perplexed. “For what?”

“And to think you look so promising on paper. The hex bag, Samuel. The hex bag.”

Sam blinked.

“The Minnesota countryside is littered with abandoned cisterns,” Rowena went on. “And they’re not exactly easy to access or visible to anyone who’s not looking. Tell your brother to check there. That’s where I would conceal my precious cargo, but what do I know?” She met Gabriel’s eyes. “All I can do is strive to be of service.”

“Okay,” said Sam, “Great. Anything else we should know? Like, maybe, how to get into a cistern?”

“What am I, chair of the industrial spelunkers’ advocacy group? It’s not as if I myself have ever hidden a hex bag there; I may have had a coven sister do so at some point, but I cannae recall exactly who. My memory has become foggy in old age.”

“But you think - ”

“I think that’s where I would have concealed it, Samuel. I can only speak for myself. The town you’ve described sounds like precisely the sort of region in which a cistern or well - in this case, the former - would color the intuition of an able practitioner.”

Sam considered, looking wary. “I guess I’ll suggest it. But if that doesn’t pan out - ”

“Then I suggest your brother get his hands dirty on a farm, but only a lazy witch would bury her ammunition somewhere so obvious. Worst comes to worst, you two could make your way out west to assist, could you not? Although, if I may speak plainly, Gabriel - you look like you could use a little rest.”

Gabriel tensed. Rowena, tactfully, drained her glass and pretended not to notice.

The ride back from the Sleepy Cheetah (“She does look like one, doesn’t she?” Sam said thoughtfully as they walked across the twilit parking lot) was silent for the first half hour. Gabriel considered pretending to be asleep, or actually attempting to nod off.

Instead, he told Sam: “Rowena was right.”

Sam glanced at him. “Huh?”

“About me needing to rest. I’m not tip-top.”

“Why not? What’s going on?”

Gabriel paused. “I was trying to find an easy opening to a more difficult subject, which is that she was right about some other stuff too.”

“Don’t love the sound of that.” Sam kept his eyes on the road. “What’d she say to you while I was gone? Should I not have left you alone?”

“It isn’t that.”

Sam waited.

“Then what is it?” he asked finally, when Gabriel didn’t go on.

Gabriel shifted in the passenger seat. “The first thing she said to me was that she could tell I wasn’t … myself.”

“Why do you think she brought that up?”

Gabriel shrugged, although perhaps Sam couldn’t see it in the darkness of the Impala. “Maybe she was concerned. Or curious. She didn’t - I don’t think she was looking to get a rise out of me, or anything else.”

“Maybe she was concerned,” Sam said. “I guess there’s no reason she wouldn’t be, if she picked up on something.”

“Remember how the satori read my mind, Sam?” Gabriel watched the shadows deepen outside the window. “Remember how easily that thing could get into my head? I kind of hoped that would thicken my skin a little, but apparently I’m still as sticky as toffee, because she knew right away how messed up I was.”

“What do you mean? What’d she say to you, exactly?”

“She …” Gabriel considered how to frame the conversation. He wanted to cast Rowena in an insulting light, make her seem prying and taunting - but that didn’t register as true when he thought back to their exchange. “She asked me what was wrong with me and why I was keeping it from her. No - trying to hide it from her; that’s how she put it. And she said I was ‘different.’”

Under the glow of a streetlamp, Gabriel saw Sam frown at him. “Well, you are.”

“Yeah. You’re not wrong. And neither was she.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“No. Yes. No. I mean, I don’t like this version of myself. But the problem with the old version of Gabriel is that Asmodeus didn’t like it.”

“I’d take that as more of a compliment than anything else.”

“But it’s not a compliment, Sam; it’s a threat.”

“You know you were Gabriel then, and you’re still Gabriel now. I guess the main question is what that does to you when you think about it.”

“I took pride in being annoying. Asmodeus tried to beat that out of me. And the harder he pushed, the more annoying I seemed to get; and the more I realized that I couldn’t stop being an obnoxious, needy son of a bitch, the less I could get away from it. And the more I hated myself for being that way.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, this has come up a couple of times, hasn’t it? I mean - you not really wanting to give much thought to what you used to be like?”

“Yes. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s why Rowena thought maybe now was the time.”

“But time for what? Time to exhume the corpse of my pre-Asmodeus self?”

“Not necessarily. Gabe, I don’t think that version of you is dead and gone. In a lot of ways you’re not that different.”

Several minutes of silence passed before Sam seemed to understand that he had said exactly the wrong thing.

Gently, without jarring Gabriel, Sam pulled the car to the side of the road. He was more visible to Gabriel now under the grizzled light of a streetlamp.

Gabriel didn’t know what he looked like just then, but his chest was tight and the world had gone dark in a new way around its edges.

“Gabriel,” Sam said quietly.

Gabriel turned his gaze toward the floor. “He brought out something I didn’t know was in me.”

Sam waited.

“Rowena talked about the shadow-self,” Gabriel went on. “She - I know it’s an old psychological concept, not strictly a witchcraft thing, but she talked about knowing her own weaknesses and how important it is for magical practitioners to explore what makes them tic.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah, um - so what do you think?”

“I think that would mean digging into some of the behaviors Asmodeus targeted on purpose to make you afraid of them.”

“Why does it sound like you already know exactly what those things are?”

Sam hesitated for a moment, then offered his hand. Gabriel didn’t take it, and Sam lowered it again before speaking. “Gabriel, part of why it’s been so hard to watch all this happening to you is because I remember you before Asmodeus captured you. I think maybe I remember some of it more clearly than you do, because you’re so scared to look at the parts of you that he deliberately turned into sources of shame.”

“I don’t know if I have any of that left,” Gabriel said. “Any of that version of me. I’m afraid to ever become anything like what I was because he made it clear that there was nothing redeemable about it.”

“And do you believe him?”

“Of course I believe him. Because if I don’t, then what?”

Sam leaned back in his seat. “You think something would happen to you?”

“Why would I think anything else?” Sam didn’t seem to understand the obvious, and this irritated Gabriel. “What reason do I have to expect that it would ever be safe for me to be that version of me again? What reason do I have to believe that it’s not dangerous to ask for anything, or speak up about something?”

“Well, I like to think we’ve given you a reason not to believe that. Or at least that I have.”

“But - ” Gabriel set his jaw. “Do you not - ”

Sam waited.

When he was able, Gabriel continued: “Do you not understand how powerful he is?”

Sam slid his hands from the steering wheel. “No, I do. I mean, I think I do. His voice - ”

“Not just his voice, Sam. Not just the things he told me. It’s been physically drilled into me that resurrecting any aspect of what I used to be puts me at risk. I’m trying to be better than what he made me into, but I also don’t want to be the thing that made him angry.”

“You didn’t deserve any of what he did to you, though. It isn’t about what you were like. Especially not once he got control of you, and you did everything he said. I mean - not before that either. All I’m saying is that if he needed an excuse to treat you the way he did, there wasn’t one.”

“Fine, but that doesn’t change what actually happened. It doesn’t un-beat me or un-scold me.” Gabriel blinked away tears. “It doesn’t make me feel any less small.”

Sam grimaced. “I know.”

“Some of what I did then - what felt so easy and natural to me - I have nightmares about that sort of thing now.”

“What sort of thing, exactly?”

Gabriel gave a bitter laugh. “This is what she meant, right? This shadow-work schtick is all about getting your hands filthy, isn’t it? I’m talking about eating, drinking, being loud, taking up space. All of that. I could do it then and I’m sure I have it in me to do it now because - well - ” Gabriel halted.

“Because what?” Sam pressed.

“I don’t - I mean, I got the sense that - all right, this might sound crazy to an outsider looking in, but you’re not an outsider anymore, are you? For better or worse, you’re along for the ride, and - ” Gabriel took a deep breath. “My impression was that Asmodeus tried to get rid of it, get rid of me, all of me, all of what I was. And that he was rightfully upset when he realized that maybe he couldn’t do it. That there was something he was constantly trying to kill, and it wouldn’t die, and that was what kept getting me into trouble.”

This time, without hesitation, Sam gripped his shoulder.

“So you see what might happen if I let go at all?” Gabriel continued. “I keep trying to squash it out. If I don’t keep trying, it isn’t going to die.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘it’?” asked Sam.

“That thing I was, that thing he took apart to try and make into something better suited to his purposes. No matter how much Asmodeus hurt me, or how much he took from me, that thing - the thing that made him do all of that - it wouldn’t die.”

There was silence but for the hum of the engine.

Finally, Sam turned off the ignition and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not asking you to write a speech.”

“I … ” Sam shook his head again.

“Got water in your ear?” said Gabriel.

“Listen, Gabriel, I think this might be hard to hear, but it also might help, so - don’t you think you have come back a little? That some of your old self has come back to life? I’ve seen it. Everyone has. Not a lot of it, I guess, but you’re not that different from how you used to be. At least not in some of the ways that really count. Right? Don’t you think that’s true?”

“In what universe is that observation meant to be helpful? It’s making me sick.”

“What I’m saying is that we’ve seen bits and pieces of you come back and none of us want to do anything close to what he did. We like you. Even Dean likes you.”

“Again, how is that supposed to be helpful?”

“Asmodeus tried to destroy you and couldn’t, Gabriel. That’s something to be proud of, not a reason to hate yourself. You’re strong; and that’s terrifying, I know - because he didn’t want you to be strong. He’d swing harder if he thought he might lose.” Sam smiled. “But the joke’s on him, because he didn’t exactly come out on top, did he?”

Gabriel turned to look out the window, into the darkness, because Sam had seen him break apart too many times. “Guess he didn’t.”

“So what do you have to fear from your old self? From your shadow side?”

“Everything. And even if he couldn’t annihilate the worst of me, he definitely slaughtered a good chunk of anything else. I hate what I was, and I hate what I am. All I know is I can’t remember how to not be afraid. I can’t remember how to think of myself as anything other than an inconvenience or a germ. I do not want to look that shadow-self in the eye, Sam. I don’t think I could take it.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “I think we’ve needed to talk about this for a while.”

Gabriel shuddered.

“Hey - ”

Gabriel waved him off. “Goose walking over my grave.”

“It isn’t that we have to discuss everything right now,” Sam added, “But, I mean - is it not kind of obvious to you that …”

When Sam didn’t go on, Gabriel closed his eyes. “That what?”

“That … that you might be running away from yourself a little?”

“Like a leisurely jog? You don’t ‘run a little.’ You either stand still, walk, or bolt. I don’t know exactly what speed I’ve taken on but I’m pretty sure I’ve started to run out of breath.”

“Then …”

“What Rowena implied,” Gabriel told him, “Is that a witch is more powerful if she knows her own weak spots before an enemy does. I guess if I don’t grab the past by the nards then I’m setting myself up for disaster. Or, at the very least, for stagnation. Getting a little more upfront with myself about - I don’t know. About me.”

Sam spoke cautiously. “What scares you about who you used to be, Gabriel?”

“Everything. Because Asmodeus - ”

“No, specifically. What’s so terrifying about it? About you?”

“The things Asmodeus picked on.”

“But what things? Maybe it’s better to start naming them. So that you can see we won’t get on your case about you just being yourself. It is kind of funny that this is coming up now. Because last week you were trying to go back to your old self, weren’t you?”

“I - I thought it might make me look more healed. Guess I got a head start on Rowena. I was just sick of being vulnerable a hundred percent of the time. Speaking of which, please take your hand off my shoulder, Sam.”

Sam slid his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be; I just can’t handle any of that right now. Look, can we expedite this process? I don’t want to sit here wondering what you’re thinking. What’s your take on all of this? On what Rowena said? On me?”

Sam considered. “The fact of the matter is that you are” - He paused again, choosing each word with caution - “outrageously different from who we knew before you disappeared. It’s always been bizarre to me that that guy could be made to be scared of himself. It’s just - it’s just a huge change, and it’s hard to watch. But,” Sam added, “None of it is your fault, Gabriel, and I hope you know that I want you to get better no matter what it looks like. If it means turning toward your old self, I’d be the last person to judge you for it. No wrong way to be all right, you know?

“None of us are going to hurt you for being loud or taking up space, or for needing or wanting something, for eating or drinking or regaining power. And we’re not going to punish you for being afraid, or crying, or whatever else you can’t help doing or feeling while you wait to believe that you’re not in Hell anymore. Asmodeus didn’t like the way you were, but why should he get to decide what’s okay?”

Gabriel leaned his head against the windowpane.

“Do you want to be more like how you used to be?” Sam prodded. “I mean, when you think about getting better, do you have a vision?”

“What is this, a job interview? I just want to not be terrified all the time. And to stop breaking down - to get some dignity back. I guess it’d be good to have my grace up and running too. No more nightmares, maybe.” He looked over at Sam. “Too much to ask, you think?”

“Sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“I try not to think about it, though. About how I was. It bothers me. I don’t want to remember being any of the things Asmodeus had blacklisted while he was in the captain’s seat.”

“But specifically - ”

“Holy mother mackerel, what do you want from me, Sam? A lot of food, booze, sex, hedonistic gallivanting. He made me feel like a disease for ever being like that. I told you, right, that he accused me of being greedy and wanting to fatten myself up? Just the flaccid tendrils of self-centeredness were - ” Gabriel swallowed. “The prelude to a beating, or worse. Where am I supposed to go with that?”

“Forward. Just forward. Away from Asmodeus.”

Gabriel snorted. “Spoken like someone who understands how to walk a straight line.”

“It must have tormented you trying to pretend like you were back to your old self.”

“It was an experiment. One that fell on its face. I just figured you needed some PTO from my tantrums. Another of his favorite words, by the way.” Gabriel’s throat grew tight. “But I guess I did throw the occasional fit, didn’t I? In Hell.”

He was overcome by a vision of himself in tears, punching Asmodeus with weak fists in an indignant bid to finally obtain something of which he had been deprived: food, clothing, comfort, respite from the other demons who tormented him. Perhaps there had been a time or two when he’d begged for freedom, although he couldn’t easily remember an instance when he had seen the point in petitioning for release. Gabriel’s memories mostly featured what he had thought might be within reach so long as Asmodeus occasionally deigned to provide it. There were instances when Asmodeus did yield to his requests, however disparagingly and usually not without some form of penance on Gabriel’s part.

Gabriel made a sound of disgust and covered his mouth, momentarily persuaded that he was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, horrified.

Gabriel gritted his teeth and allowed the moment to pass.

“Nothing,” he told Sam. “Sorry. This is what I meant, by the way. Little jolts of memory here and there making it impossible to function. I hate that.”

“That’s happened to me before too.”

“But as an archangel, I - ”

“You got hurt. Same thing could’ve happened to any of your brothers. Like I said, it isn’t your fault.” Sam examined him more closely. “Maybe you should step outside and get some air.”

“No.” Gabriel didn’t want to explain how much he preferred to have some insulation with Sam in these moments, a closed den in a world gone thick and heavy with the darkness of his own mind.

He felt a sudden desperate desire to be back in the Men of Letters bunker. Without his grace, a handful of hours seemed like a much longer period of time.

“I wish she hadn’t said anything,” Gabriel told Sam. “She could’ve just as easily kept her trap shut.”

“Was she being nasty about it?”

“No, and that pisses me off! She seemed concerned. She could practically smell how much I’d changed and then asked if I was okay. Which obviously I wasn’t, and I’m not. When the satori got to me a little ways back - you remember - I thought, ‘Yeesh, I’ve got to get a handle on this BS before anyone else gets a glimpse of just how fragile I’ve become.’ For dignity’s sake, and because being the way I am now isn’t - well, with you it’s safe; but there are other Asmodeus types out there who’d be happy to play me like a greased-up trombone. And here comes Rowena, able to look through the squeaky-clean glass and watch me crawl around looking for a modicum of sanity. It’s degrading, is what it is. Sometimes it’s like - it’s like, just shatter that damn glass and stab me with it already. Then maybe I can learn how to fight back. That would be a step up from pity. Even if someone doesn’t want to do what Asmodeus did, even if I’m not putting myself in danger by being so transparent, it’s still nothing short of humiliating.”

Sam looked disturbed. “I like to think it’s better than you suffering in silence. Gabe, don’t worry too much: Rowena’s a witch and can pick up on things most of us wouldn’t think twice about. And she knows you, right?”

“Not that well.”

“Well - better than most.”

“There’s no need to tiptoe like a prude. Yes, it was a little uncomfortable, okay? She didn’t make it weird once she realized how scrambled my brains had become since we last saw each other. I don’t want to talk about it any more than that.”

Sam seemed a little uncertain, but gave a nod. “Yeah. All right.”

There was silence for a while. Gabriel’s shoulders tensed as he locked his gaze on the night.

“I’m not going to cry,” Gabriel said, “If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“I was just thinking.”

Gabriel turned to him. “Reconsidering?”

“Reconsidering what?”

“Giving a little extra contemplation to whether you want me around,” Gabriel clarified. “I’m obviously not moving forward. I don’t want to be who I am now, but I don’t want to go back to who I was, either. I can’t make myself make sense, and nobody needs that in their life. Puzzles are fun until you realize none of the pieces fits any other. Then it just becomes a mess to sweep up and throw away.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “Um, no. That’s not what I was thinking.”

“And then comes the moment you realize you’ve wasted money on a puzzle that had the potential to be entertaining. Money and time. So you keep working on it, just to make sure there’s no chance of making it worth your while, and all that happens is more wasted resources - time, effort, attention, hope.” Gabriel turned his gaze to his lap. “Persistence isn’t always the right choice. Not when things stop showing promise. You have to know when to cut your losses instead of chiseling the edge of each piece until you’ve worn yourself out. The end result is going to look crummy no matter how crafty you are.”

“Yeah, no, that’s definitely not what I was thinking about.”

“Oh. Good. Abandoned cisterns, then?”

Sam smiled, but it looked forced to Gabriel. “I was thinking about how you’re still hiding a lot, that’s all.”

Gabriel set his jaw. “Can’t a guy keep some things close to the chest?”

“I meant - I mean to say, you’re still not really letting yourself heal. You’re fighting against it by telling yourself you need to move on and not be …” Sam struggled for the right words. “Not be unwell anymore. You keep trying to take detours and dodge some of what’s really holding you back. This is a good example, actually. I don’t think you need to worry about whether or not you’re going to take up old personality traits. That isn’t the question. I think you just need to be honest with yourself - and with me too - about why your old self makes you feel the way it does. And that’s the hard part, because the reason is Asmodeus, and I know you’d rather not think about him on purpose since he gets in your head all the time anyway.”

Sam looked at Gabriel with worry in his eyes - as if, Gabriel thought, he feared his words may be taken as offensive.

When Gabriel didn’t speak, Sam continued. “It seems like you’re desperate to speed up the process of recovery. I get the sense that maybe you need more than you’re willing to ask for. You have gotten better - I can’t say what it is, exactly, that makes me think that, but you’re not a - a - ”

“Waterlogged jigsaw puzzle?”

Sam smiled more genuinely this time. “You’re getting better, and that’s good. It’s great. But if you try to force things in a certain direction then you’re probably not going to get too far.” He shook his head. “I never want to push you, but it bugs me that there’s still a lot you aren’t willing to talk about, because I think it would help. I think - I don’t know, Gabriel; I think sometimes you’re just as lost and afraid as you were when you first showed up, only you feel like you shouldn’t need help anymore. That maybe you need … I don’t know …”

In the pause that followed, Gabriel experienced the familiar creeping terror of I’ve done something wrong and the electric tightening of shame all across his body.

He didn’t harbor any particular suspicions about what Sam planned to say. He only knew that the silence felt like a warning.

Sam glanced at him once, then twice - this time with alarm. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel shut his eyes and leaned back against the seat, drawing himself together so that he could reply. But the panic that had come on so abruptly was an outside force beyond his aegis, a hand around his throat, so real and so immediate that speech was impossible.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam told him. “Did I say something - ”

Gabriel shoved the door open, stumbled from the car, and had a split second’s thought of What am I trying to do? before crouching on the edge of the road and leaning backward against the front tire.

He felt stupid, but he was paralyzed.

Gabriel heard Sam’s door slam shut, then footsteps on gravel. “Gabriel?”

I think I short-circuited, Gabriel tried to explain, but he couldn’t speak. For a moment he feared there really was a hand around his neck, or something inside of his body preventing movement or expression.

Either he had truly lost his grasp of the present or he was physically broken. Insanity was preferable, because Sam could help with that.

Sam crouched beside him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Gabriel coughed, trying to clear the paralysis from his throat. He gave a strangled half-grunt, half-squeak that registered in his own ears as devastatingly childish.

Sam was quiet while Gabriel waited for the tension to soften.

By the time it had eased just a little, he was trembling and his breath was shaky. His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. “You didn’t do anything to upset me.”

“Then why - ”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel coughed again, trying to clear his throat and hoping Sam wouldn’t interpret the sound as the prelude to an episode of vomiting. “You - I just - ” The shallow breathing was making him dizzy, so he paused and focused on drawing in more air. “What is it you were going to tell me?”

“Huh?”

“What were you going to say? You said I needed something.”

“I …” Sam had to think. “Right. It’s not important.”

“Tell me what it is, Sam, because I feel like I’ve done something to offend you.”

Under the light of the streetlamp, Sam looked bewildered. “You didn’t.”

“Then why were you so nervous to explain yourself?” Gabriel gripped his knees with shivering fingers, not sure whether his vision was blurred due to the state of panic or because it was dark. “Just spit it out.”

“What did you think I was going to tell you? Look - ” Sam extricated one of Gabriel’s hands from its rigid, clawed position and held him by the wrist. “First take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Eat me. What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that sometimes I see something is bothering you and you need to get it out in some way but you won’t. You need to talk or you need to cry and you just won’t, because you think you shouldn’t have to ask for that anymore. It probably isn’t great for you to keep it inside. You know it hasn’t been that long, right? I don’t like how much you’re pushing and shoving yourself into what you think is the right direction. I know you told me to back off - ”

“What instruction manual did you read? Because I didn’t write that one.”

“You told me to stop forcing you into making yourself vulnerable. So I try not to. Really, I do. I get it. But - ”

“But I’m still doing this wrong?” Now that the adrenaline had kicked in, there were two emotions - fear and anger - blended into one. “I need to start keeping a checklist.”

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. There’s no right way to get better.”

“What I’m hearing is that there might be more than one right way, but I’ve hit on one of the wrong methods.”

“If you use words like ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“Oh! We can’t have that. Could you imagine, Sam? Me, crazy? Every grain of lucidity just” - Gabriel snapped his fingers - “gone?”

Sam sighed. “Do you want to get back in the car?”

Gabriel flinched. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Sam sounded exasperated now.

“I know I’m confusing and petulant. I just don’t want to fight this fight, that’s all. Don’t leave me by myself.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You sound - ”

“I’m not angry. I - look - it’s frustrating trying to figure out how to help you. Because I do want to help. You know that, Gabriel.”

“I know you do, and I wish you didn’t, and I hope you don’t change your mind.”

“You don’t gotta worry about that.”

“No, see, I take that as a challenge. What I heard was, ‘You’re obligated to worry about that.’”

Sam offered a wry smile. “Listen, I never want to come on too strong. But sometimes it’s hard to gauge what’s going to be good for you in the moment and what might not be the best thing to say.”

“It does change by the hour sometimes. You have no magical compass directing you to the right move.”

“I guess I wish you’d just tell me. Tell me what you need. But instead, you shut down. That’s not wrong; I just worry it’s going to hurt you in the long run. You do need help. You should ask for it. I want you to feel safe.”

“So what should I do?” Gabriel’s voice sounded small, once again repulsively juvenile and weak. He hadn’t intended it, but neither could he have prevented it. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Sam released Gabriel’s wrist and sat down next to him. “What are you afraid of? You know, what’s your motivation when you make a decision to talk to somebody or not? Or to show your feelings? Is it that you worry we’ll judge you or hurt you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What else?”

Gabriel considered, let the night engulf him for a few seconds, and came to a conclusion of which Rowena probably would have approved. He could picture her knowing smile.

“I think I’m afraid of getting better,” he told Sam, “Because if I go back to anything like who I was, I’m setting myself up for another round of Asmodeus.”

He half-expected Sam to express astonishment, but Sam just nodded, looking thoughtful. “What do you mean, exactly? Being captured again? Being treated the way he treated you?”

“Both, maybe. I don’t know. I can’t get specific because the only thing I know for sure is that whatever was wrong with me is whatever got me into the pickle I was in. I don’t want to be there again, and I don’t care what that takes from me. As long as I stay away from whatever it was that he saw in me. Whatever it was he saw fit to play ball with can’t have anything to do with me anymore; I don’t care what else happens to me as long as I - as long as that thing that I was - whatever he hated so much - ” Gabriel shook his head. “Who knows what might happen next? It might come from you or any of the others, or from another bloodthirsty troglodyte, or - hell, the way my senses operate these days, I figure it could just as easily come from Asmodeus himself. The risk isn’t worth it. Except since I’m not getting better like I should be - ”

“No, come on - ”

“ - then that, too, seems like a surefire way to incite some kind of punishment. You talk about the right way - or the wrong way - or neither of those things, I guess, since sometimes you’re so needlessly poetic - but really there are only wrong ways. Because it’s me, Sam. There’s no right way to be whatever it is that I am.”

Sam gave a bitter laugh.

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “I’m hilarious.”

Sam stopped laughing, then looked away from Gabriel to study the ground. “Sorry. It’s just - now and again I don’t totally relate to what you’re talking about. Some of what Asmodeus did, maybe - and some of what you describe about the aftermath. When you tell me about that dark feeling, the feeling of everything being different and otherworldly and nauseating - I don’t really know what you mean.” Sam looked up at him. “But in this case, I know exactly the feeling you’re talking about.”

“Hate that for you,” said Gabriel.

“It’s interesting, though, to see it from the other side. Not that I haven’t run into it before - Dean and Cas aren’t all that proud of themselves either - but that feeling of being a freak of nature …” Sam swallowed. “There’s something unique about that feeling. And I want to tell you how much it isn’t true for you. That if you could only look at yourself rationally and see how wrong Asmodeus was, you’d be okay. Except I get how hard it is to convince yourself that there’s nothing wrong with you. Not any more than someone else.”

“Right. Other people deserve good things; you feel like you’re the one and only exception, and if they could just get into your head and know that feeling of being a disease and a mistake - ”

“- then they’d stop trying, because they’d understand that for you - ”

“ - it’s not just low self-esteem,” Gabriel finished, “But fact.”

Sam laughed again, and this time Gabriel heard relief. “Does that make you look at this any differently?”

“Nope. All it does is bum me out that you won’t change your mind.”

“Good thing this isn’t about me, then.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel closed his eyes. “Good thing.”

“Wanna head home? Get back in the car, maybe take a rest on the trip? We’ve got a little while.”

“Yeah, I’m …”

Gabriel tried to say I’m tired. Instead, he buried his head in his knees.

A multitude of terrors crawled through his mind. There were thoughts of who he had once been, the charisma and vivacity that Asmodeus had forced into obedience. There were thoughts of who he was now, buckled over on the edge of the road weeping silently and shallowly into his knees while Sam watched.

Worst of all, there was the understanding that Sam looked inward and saw what Gabriel saw in himself, and the horror of knowing that Gabriel couldn’t do anything to change that.

He wondered if that inability spoke to his own powerlessness, his own worthlessness. If the archangel Gabriel couldn’t make Sam see something so painfully obvious as his own value, it seemed he had fallen even farther than either of them had ever suspected. There was a special breed of frailty in not being able to change Sam’s mind about this.

If they could just get into your head and know that feeling of being a disease and a mistake …

But Gabriel was in Sam’s head, because he knew that feeling better than anyone. He understood that that conviction was the most potent belief that torture could leave in its wake. There was no dismissing that feeling, no reasoning through it. It simply sat, content, as if it had always been there - as if it had always had a rightful and natural place in reality.

Gabriel cried so softly that Sam didn’t notice what was happening until Gabriel finally raised his head to breathe more deeply.

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” Gabriel muttered.

“I think we should keep moving. We need to get you home. You need to rest.”

Gabriel wanted to be home immediately, and the thought that he couldn’t have the comfort of his bedroom for another few hours was unbearable.

He didn’t want to try explaining that to Sam. He didn’t want Sam to see the desperate childishness that had emerged when Asmodeus gained control of him.

“Come on,” Sam said gently. “Let me - ” He edged Gabriel upright, into a standing position, and let him lean against the door for a moment before helping him back inside the car and then reseating himself behind the wheel.

Gabriel hugged himself, digging his nails into either arm, once more swallowed up by disgusting visions of his time in Hell - of being dragged, held down, berated; of begging, pleading, and groveling; of screaming for help until his throat ripped and he gagged on his own blood.

“Easy,” Sam said, and clutched Gabriel’s shoulder again. “If, um - if you need to be sick or anything, or you want to talk - ”

Gabriel shrugged Sam’s hand from his shoulder and seized it with both of his.

“I don’t want to talk,” he rasped. “But I - there’s so much going on in my head and I think my last marbles are spilling out my ears.”

“I’ll catch them.”

Gabriel didn’t try to smile. “Sam, I can’t talk about the pre-Asmodeus me. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But Rowena had a point. I need to figure this out.”

“Not right now. Not right away. And definitely not all at once.”

“I can’t think about it without hearing him. Without feeling like he’s with me right here and now. I never want to go back to the way I was; I can’t. It’s terrifying. It’s dangerous. I can’t be that. I can’t be any of that, ever again.” He began to sweat as he spoke. “I can’t - ”

“No one’s going to make you do anything,” Sam reminded him. “No one’s asking you to be someone you’d rather leave behind. But there’s no need for you to get scared to death of being yourself.”

“Even thinking about it, about how I was - and what he did with it - it makes me feel like he’s here with me in the car.”

“I know,” said Sam. “You’re shaking.”

“I can’t help it. I’m trying to stop.”

“No, no, Gabriel - geez - don’t. You can be scared. No one’s going to punish you for this, I promise.”

“I know that. I know. I know that.” Gabriel wiped a hand across his forehead. “What would make you punish me, Sam? So I know not to do it?”

“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Maybe a sign to slow down and take a breath, huh?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Gabriel inhaled, trying to steady himself. “Maybe. Sam, I can’t be the way I was. I wish she hadn’t brought it up. I wish she hadn’t gotten into my head like that. She knows. She sees what he did to me.”

“I don’t necessarily think that’s true. She just picked up on a difference in your behavior, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to think about it. About me. About what made Asmodeus so desperate to cause me pain. And that was - that was everything about me. That’s everything I ever was. Ugh, I hate it. I hate him. Not Asmodeus - me. I hate him; I hate that Gabriel. And I hate this one too, but - but this one hasn’t been hurt. Not like that. Not the way he hurt me.”

“Well,” said Sam, “That’s probably because I’m not Asmodeus, and I wouldn’t want to do to anyone the things he did to you.”

“Others, though. There’s gotta be another Asmodeus out there. There might be an Asmodeus in you.”

“Mm, no, I don’t think you need to be too concerned about that. Gabriel, are you going to throw up? You look sick.”

“No. I’m - I don’t know. I wish she hadn’t said anything.” It was as if he repeated it enough, Gabriel could unwrite the exchange he had had with Rowena. “I wish she hadn’t mentioned shadow-work. Haven’t thought too much about who I used to be. It’s too much. Too much, Sam. I don’t want to look.”

“Then don’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever, I guess, if you really don’t want to. Or, if you do, I’m here.”

Clear visions scurried through his mind once more, flowering in bursts of sound and color. Greedy: the way he had begged for food. Selfish: the way he had implored Asmodeus to stop hurting him. Spoiled rotten: the way he had demanded a blanket when he became so starved that his only warmth came from goosebumps.

Whiny: how he howled in pain when Asmodeus cut particularly deep. Lazy: how he curled up on the hard, sticky cell floor and listened to Asmodeus screaming for more grace. Ungrateful: how he had vomited what food Asmodeus did provide after eating frantically, terrified of never getting more.

“How do I look now?” Gabriel asked.

Sam squinted at him. “Horrific.”

“Good, then this won’t take you by surprise.” Gabriel leaned out of the car and began retching. His throat hurt, and he wondered if it was bleeding as it had when he’d screamed with such force and ferocity in Hell.

Gabriel didn’t vomit. There was nothing to bring up.

“Damn,” he croaked. “That would’ve been so funny if I had anything in my system.”

Sam eased Gabriel back into the car. “Here’s what I think we should do: I think we need to start on our way home, and you should try and get a couple hours of shut-eye on the way. Rowena’s right; you do need rest. You need to sleep, and when you wake up we’ll be back at the bunker, and we can talk more if you want. But in the meantime, I want you to take a breather and let all of this go for the moment. Okay?”

Gabriel didn’t say anything.

“Gabriel?” Sam prodded. “Are you ready to get moving again? If you feel sick we’ll pull over, but I think you just - ”

“Call your brother,” Gabriel interjected. “Tell him to get a move on and save that sad little Minnesota town from witches who have nothing better to do than shove their goody bags into rusty pipes.”

“Are you - ”

“I’ll take a nap. Just let him know what needs to be done and we can figure out how else to help him if he needs it.”

Sam looked reluctant, but he nodded and started the engine again. “I’ll do that. Try to relax, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shut his eyes and listened to Sam ask, “Yeah, hey, Dean - ever tried to get into an abandoned cistern before?”

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, no matter how badly he needed the rest. There was too much to remember.

[rosethornewrites]

Fics I read this week!

MDZS/The Untamed, entirely. Including Tumblr fics here now, even if I shared them as well.

A lot of these are super short since I decided to embark on a journey to clear my AO3 “Marked For Later” list of anything under 3k words by reading them.

This is also a lot of fanfiction and I might have a problem. Any fanfiction addict support groups out there?

Also, I learned that I can only post 100 links. So this is going up early and I’ll separate the Not Rated, E, and M ones into a different post for next week.

Finished:

Not Rated (or Tumblr fics):

Parents, by @bloody-bee-tea

Untitled, by @mondengel

Untitled, by @mondengel

Untitled, by @cerusee

Xue Yang - The Third Jade of Gusu, by inawritingfrenzy

As Long as You're Here, by Aitheriomeraki

You are the last person I need to tell me exactly what I already know. You’re going to tell me to go back to cultivating the righteous path. You’re going to tell me that this is against the principles of a cultivator. I’m going to hear you drone on and on about what’s wrong with what I’m doing. You’re going to tell me that I’m acting like a pure disgrace, completely out of line, extremely unhinged and unruly and every other word your Lan vocabulary can muster up.” His words felt heavy but unstoppable, tears making their way to his eyes.

“You’re-” He was about to continue before getting cut off.

“Wei Ying… zhiji.” Lan Wangji breathed out like a plea, like a prayer. -------------- OR Lan Wangji talks to Wei Wuxian the day after killing Wen Chao.

Things we lost in the fire, by KatAnni

Three instances in Lan Wangji's life that involved fire. One of them certainly ends better than the others.

OR Wangxian can be cute in any situation, even when someone sets fire to their inn.

Sleep Talk, by breezebrocolis

"...But being awakened through such ungodly hours is worth it after all, because Wei Wuxian discovered that, contrary to popular belief about his boyfriend's sleeping habits, there’s a moment when Lan Zhan sleep talks, and he's the only one who knows it."

and

"...for now, after all and a year more, he'd never choose to have those lonesome minutes back. It turns out that filling the gaps with emptiness was necessary once, but it doesn't really fit him anymore. Lan Wangji has Grace on his side for now, the print of Wei Ying's delicate fingers into his skin."

In other words, a study about WangXian's sleeping habits.

Hold On, by voxnoxsox

“And really,” Wei Ying continued, “it makes no sense. Why would they not want to hug you, Lan Zhan, or, like… Do you warn them off or something? Give them the ol’ icy Lan glare?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said, when it was clear a response was required. His mind was a little preoccupied with Wei Ying’s hands still running up and down, up and down.

Rated E:

The Dreams of Youth, by Sami (25 chapters)

"Mother, I have to go, with or without you. Please come with me."

"A-Zhan, you're five years old," she says.

"With or without you, Mother," he pleads. "Please come with me."

Lan Wangji starts again from the beginning.

Rough and Tumble, by SugarMilkTea (3 chapters)

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are paired together for sparring, because of course they are.

Wei Wuxian is better than the rest of the disciples, because of course he is - so Lan Wangji takes him to another field to train privately.

Things escalate, because of course they do.

and if we choose to fall (who's to say it isn't flight?), by KiaraSayre (2 chapters)

Wei Wuxian has an idea and makes a talisman. A sexy talisman.

to live this way is not for the meek, by la_muerta

Yiling Laozu and his band The Restless Dead are one of the biggest names in the rock scene, playing to thousands of screaming fans in sold-out concerts all over the world.

But underneath the black leather, makeup, and untouchable, arrogant facade is a side of Wei Ying that only Lan Zhan gets to see.

Awareness, by syriala (last in a series)

Awareness is slow to come to Jiang Cheng, mostly because he doesn’t want to be aware. He’s warm and comfortable and Jiang Xiuying is bound to be still around and that is really all Jiang Cheng needs in life.

But then there’s an open mouthed kiss to the hinge of his jaw, Jiang Xiuying slowly trailing his way down Jiang Cheng’s throat, and it’s enough to get Jiang Cheng’s eyes open, however reluctant he might be.

Jiang Xiuying seemingly knows him better than Jiang Cheng does himself because he is already looking up at Jiang Cheng, his eyes sparkling and a teasing grin on his lips.

“Good morning,” Jiang Cheng says, his voice still rough from sleep and Jiang Xiuying leans up to capture Jiang Cheng’s lips in a kiss.

The heat behind it tells Jiang Cheng exactly where Jiang Xiuying wants to take this today, and Jiang Cheng can’t say that he minds too much.

yours for the taking, by SugarMilkTea

“There’s still time to back out, you know,” Wei Ying says, quiet enough that even the attendants waiting at the corners of their table won’t hear.

Lan Wangji pauses in the middle of reaching for the sash on Wei Ying’s—on his husband’s—outer robes. A pit opens in his stomach. His hand falls to his lap, and he lifts his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s. “Is that what you want?”

---

The components of the marriage ceremony are easy in theory. The handfasting, the bows, the feast... and the Taking.

housed by your warmth, by wangxiians

wei wuxian may never grow to enjoy mornings but he enjoys this, he really enjoys this – stolen time together, bodies reuniting, waking up before the world.

Rated M:

Heaven Hath No Fury, by Lady Mythos (Lady_Mythos)

The two biggest mistakes Yu Ziyuan has made are as follows: assuming Wei Wuxian was the cause of all her problems and assuming Cangse Sanren was dead.

Or, Cangse Sanren has a lot of things to say to the bitch that abused her son.

weird and awkward, by sami (3rd in a series)

At the age of sixteen, Lan Zhan falls in love, somewhat against his will.

Have Your Cake and Eat it Too, by adrian_kres (4 chapters)

Like half of all sound-tied people, Wei Ying was born with words in his heart and needing the melody they belong to. It’s his soul marker, and he’s been searching for his soulmate his whole life. Things change when he hears a tune being hummed in a cafe that matches his lyrics perfectly. Except he didn’t see who was humming it! To help, his brother’s soulmate puts him in contact with the beautiful pianist Lan Wangji, who makes Wei Ying question if he wants to find his soulmate at all…

Until The End, by abCEE (40 chapters)

"When I - when I tied my ribbon around our wrists, I knew what I was doing and I privately honored it." Wei Wuxian's brows continued to meet as he tried to understand where the conversation was going until realization dawned on him. "Wa - wait! Lan Zhan, is it what I think it is?!!" "It is usually done at the end of a wedding ceremony -" "What-" "But it could have been acknowledged as an engagement." "Lan Zhan!" He cannot believe what he is hearing now. "But my ancestor revealed herself -" "And we bowed… three times. We bowed, Lan Zhan!"

In which wangxian are married since the Cold Pond Cave incident, knows how proper communication works, and had confessed in the middle of the Sunshot Campaign. Things went up and down from there.

Breaking The Ice, by aflaminghalo

“Why are are you asking for punishment?”

Bring Your Honor, Bring Your Shame, by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (21 chapters, third in a series)

Nie HuaiSang has a problem. His brother is losing his mind.

Rated T:

don't close your eyes, by howodd5ever

In which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian actually talk about the porn book.

Another Road, by Rynne

Something in the Guanyin Temple goes wrong. When Lan Wangji opens his eyes, he's fifteen again.

Phobia, by yougetsomekisses

What if Lan Wangji had been thrown in that dungeon with Wei Wuxian?

Snow Hunt, by InsanitysxCreation

A short scene of a winter hunt.

Entirely self indulgent, in that the idea of Lan Wangji in white leather gloves arrived in my brain and wouldn't let me continue until I'd written this.

真金不怕火炼 | True Gold Fears No Fire, by adrian_kres

In the immediate aftermath of a successful Sunshot Campaign, Wei Ying is kissed by Lan Zhan at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt while blindfolded. But when the blindfold comes off, Lan Zhan is nowhere to be found. Now, Wei Ying must deal with this heartbreak on top of forced therapy he was mandated to complete due to using demonic cultivation to end the war. Through it all, Wei Ying learns he has value, and that his assumptions about what happened at the hunt may not be entirely correct.

Fantasy, by snowberryrose (3 chapters)

In which Wen Qing leaves Or: Wen Qing rescues herself

Canon divergence from episode 20

Chapter 2: Qin Su’s choice Chapter 3: Xue Yang’s end

Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar, by masked (6 chapters)

“You know,” Ouyang Zizhen says thoughtfully over dinner one day, “I’ve never seen Wei-qianbei get jealous before.”

Lan Jingyi pauses for the briefest second, remembers the sect rule of keeping silence during meals, and decidedly forgoes it. “What?”

“Well,” Ouyang Zizhen continues, “Hanguang-jun always has a lot of admirers everywhere we go, but Wei-qianbei never seems to mind it.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Jin Ling asks flatly.

Four times Wei Wuxian doesn't get jealous, and the one time he does.

sweet dreams, by ShippersList

Distance won’t hinder Wei Wuxian from giving his Lan Zhan a goodnight kiss.

Sugar Baby, by nirejseki

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, and uh oh, that sounded like his ‘bad news’ voice. “We need to talk about your spending.”

That was worse than Nie Huaisang had thought.

“Is the talk going to be about how amazingly economical I am in making intelligent and aesthetically appropriate purchases?” he asked hopefully, clutching his latest and most aesthetic fan.

“Oddly enough,” his brother said, “no.”

Somehow, Nie Huaisang hadn’t thought so.

He was...No, He was Incompetent, by Corundum_Creations

He was Lan Wangji, a Twin Jade of the Lan Clan and he could face anything... so how did he become so incompetent with taking his Wei Ying and hiding him away?

The Resentful Cultivator Who Cried 'I'm Fine', by Mikkeneko

"Who's possessed?" another voice joined the scrum, and Wei Wuxian moaned in despair as Jiang Cheng came marching over to join the rest of the party, glaring daggers at Wei Wuxian for being the source of all this trouble. Purple lightning crackled on his wrist as his eyes narrowed. "This idiot got possessed? I can take care of that with Zidian! Stand back!"

"Ahaha, Jiang Cheng, there's no need for that!" he protested hurriedly. "Really, I'm not possessed!"

"Ah," Lan Jingyi nodded knowingly. "That's exactly what someone who was possessed and trying to throw us off the trail would say!"

---

While on a night-hunt with his friends and family, Wei Wuxian takes a near miss from a dangerous beast. Fortunately he wasn't hurt... but for some reason, they have trouble believing him when he says I'm fine.

Why I Can’t Help But Love Red, by spiralingbutmakeitanimerelated

Lan Wangji takes a bath after a night hunt. Wei Wuxian has questions about the night he branded himself.

Not Till Then Dare I Part From You, by forgottenenvy

WangXian share a tender moment as Lan Wangji braids flowers into Wei Wuxian's hair.

Snowmelt, by sugar_shoal

Lan Zhan has been badly injured on a night-hunt. Wei Wuxian panics only a little. Jiang Cheng drags them all to a nearby abandoned hut to wait out the encroaching blizzard.

Head Empty, Only Wei Ying, by nana_banana

Wei Ying is getting married? To someone not Lan Wangji? Fuck. Not if Lan Wangji has anything to say about it.

sparrow heart, by CeliaBlair24 (fourth in a series)

They pass notes through the spaces between their desks about nonsensical, inconsequential things. About the weather and birds, romance novels, and the forest behind the Cloud Recesses where they spend all their afternoons playing.

And Wei Wuxian is smart, both by the books and on his feet. If he wanted to, he could easily play Lan-xiansheng’s favorite class pet --studious and diligent about being studious; creative besides-- but he doesn’t. He listens to Lan-xiansheng and Jiang Wanyin’s complaints with half an ear and when all is said and done, he turns his back on them both and greets Nie Huaisang with his cheeky smile.

Otherwise known as "Nie Huaisang falls into like."

Retrospective on the State of the Field: Qinghe Patron X (QPX) Studies, by bladedweaponsandswishycoats (jeweledichneumon)

"Qinghe Patron X, eh?" Nie Huaisang chuckles, noticing the heading. Licking his lips, he circles the listing for the conference panel with a yellow highlighter. Despite the moniker having become common several years ago, he still gets a kick out of it. Of course he'd have to go to that one. He takes a moment to feel the faint touch of regret that he isn't on the panel himself; it is always more fun messing with people as a panelist than trying to rely on the Q&A period to say something provocative but relevant.

or

In which immortal cultivator Nie Huaisang likes to fuck around with scholars attempting to study what they think they know about him, and other shenanigans he gets up to (both with and without the help of his friends) in the modern age.

or

The year is 2021. Lan Wangji still goes where the chaos is, though these days that can mean a lot more than night hunts. Especially when Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang are dedicated to making sure being immortal never gets boring.

A Story for the Ages, by Supernova_Sage

Lan Wangji saunters over to the mystery section. He can hear people whispering, but he isn’t close enough to make sense of the conversation. The lilt in the voice makes it sound like one person is asking a question. Hmm. If he can hear whispering, they’re still being far too loud. He shakes his head and continues his browsing. He pulls his phone out to check the time. It’s nearly 6p. He really should get home. He still needs to feed the bunnies and feed himself and look over emails and—

He stops in his tracks. Stops when he sees the book that he’s been waiting to check out for months now. Every time he’s stopped by, though, it’s been checked out by someone else. And now it’s finally here. Sitting on the shelf in front of him. Once he manages to collect himself, he reaches for it. His fingers don’t touch the spine of the book, though. Instead, he finds his fingers brushing against the fingers of another.

DanTian - Into the Dark (LWJ), by ArchiveWriter (fourth in a series)

Wangji's memory holds images of Wei Ying. Wangji does penance by reliving his memories, and by making sure Wei Ying is loved. Wangji burns the millet porridge he's supposed to stir whilst Wei Ying fetches water for tea.

chasing echoes, by SWANPYRE

Lan Wangji must learn to co-exist with what he has learned his entire life to despise.

Snowfall, by nightflower

During a winter storm in Cloud Recesses, Wangji's old scars ache. Wei Ying takes care of him.

relics of love, by cl410

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Lan Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The bunnies were almost eaten.”

“Our son was almost traumatized for life,” Wei Ying said, choking on a laugh. “Lan Zhan, he almost witnessed a double homicide on our own balcony.” He wheezed with laughter, clutching his ribs.

“We will install higher locks,” Lan Zhan said grimly.

Rated G:

A-Yuan's guide to eat the rich (a.k.a. How A-Yuan single handedly stopped a siege from happening and saved everyone), by fanficaddictXOXO

A-Yuan is only three years old. But he knows many things. He knows how to write his name. He knows potatoes are better than radishes (Xian gege said so). But the most important thing he knows is that the handsome gege with a white forehead ribbon is rich.

Obviously You Hate Me, by Sarehz

Wei Wuxian leans across the round table. "Okay, this isn't going to work."

From across the very same table, Lan Wangji raises one puzzled eyebrow. "Mn?"

"This!" Wei Wuxian gestures between them.

Begotten, by ecorie (6 chapters)

“He’s mine.” He echoed what had once been teasingly said in jest, and added, “This is my son.”

Against all odds and without a choice, Lan Zhan brings A-Yuan back to Cloud Recesses. Xichen keeps his brother’s secrets, and shields the child when Lan Zhan could not.

Alone Stands the Quiet, by ecorie

The story of the Yin Iron starts with a celestial war and ends with Lan Sizhui.

A Good Plan, by nirejseki

“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.

Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.

“It'll be a good fit,” she added.

The Late Great Custody Debate, by stiltonbasket (5 chapters)

"You owe me child support," Lan Zhan blurts, before Wei Wuxian can open his mouth to say hello to him. "Take responsibility."

Or, the one where Lan Wangji's pet rabbit has a better love life than he does, and single father Wei Wuxian develops a healthy fear of attorneys, courtesy of his next-door neighbor.

Switcheroo, by nirejseki

Mo Xuanyu thought that this Wei Wuxian person whose body he’d stolen must have been a really interesting person, mostly because he’d been here for three days so far and nobody’d noticed the switch yet.

A Kiss for you, my love, by Speechless_since_1998

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Suddenly the attention of the whole hall turned to Nie Huaisang, near the orchestra with a microphone in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, "On this wonderful evening I would like to share with you all the happiness I feel. for a wonderful couple who got married today. " Wait a minute did he say marriage? He must have heard right, even Lan Zhan had stiffened. “Let's give him a wonderful round of applause. To Wei Ying and Lan Zhan newlyweds. " Hot shit. They weren't supposed to attract attention.

The attention of the room focused on them, whispers in the crowd, some scandalized, some excited. Nie Huaisang motioned for him to keep the game, but what was she supposed to do ?! "Lan Zhan, we mustn't ..." He didn't have time to finish the sentence as Lan Zhan kissed him. In front of everyone.

Soulmates, by Yacs_Weasley

Ever since he was a little boy, Wangji had longed to find his soulmate.

Stay with me, by KatAnni

Sizhui's memories come to him in pieces, and some of them in dreams. This time, he dreams of Wei Wuxian putting him in a tree. He runs to the Jingshi immediately, to find his Baba.

The truth, by syriala (first in a series)

“Do you even remember a single person of those you killed after the war?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng turns his glare on him.

“Why should I?” Jiang Cheng asks and a fearful hush falls over the crowd. “Do any of you remember even a single person you killed in your lives?” he asks them and is met with a pretty telling silence.

“You’re a monster,” someone whispers, but in the quiet it rings out loud and clear.

Jiang Cheng has heard these words a lot in the past sixteen years, and so he simply smiles at them, even though they sting like always.

He reminds himself that the people that matter know the truth, that they know him for who he truly is, and that it has to be enough.

Boys, by nirejseki

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

Loss, by FlutterFyre

Lan Wangji knows something is wrong.

Hearsay, by syriala (second in a series)

“A girl went missing a few days back,” Wei Wuxian says, voice serious, and Jiang Cheng can just imagine the accusatory look on his face. “Coincidentally you were seen in that area during the same time.”

“So?” Jiang Cheng wants to know and Wei Wuxian makes a frustrated sound.

“What did you do with her?” Wei Wuxian asks him, even though he clearly already made up an answer for himself.

An ally, by syriala (third in a series)

“I just don’t want you to force yourself to face them,” Jiang Cheng finally says and Jiang Xiuying smiles at him.

“I’m not forcing myself. I am going on my own free will. It will be fine. And besides, Lan Xichen was never the reason I left.”

“But he didn’t stop you either,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and then rolls his eyes. “Fine. Accompany me, see if I care.”

“All I see is you caring,” Jiang Xiuying honestly gives back and Jiang Cheng flushes bright red.

Escalation, by syriala (fourth in a series)

“How can you lie to him like that?” Lan Wangji wants to know but it seems to be morbid curiosity more than anything else, because he goes right on. “You’re coming with me to the Cloud Recesses. There will be a trial.”

“A trial,” Jiang Cheng scoffs out, because it’s a farce and nothing more.

Lan Wangji has already decided on his sentence. And they all know it's going to be death.

Resolve, by syriala (fifth in a series)

“Regarding the accusations made against me today,” he starts and cuts his glare over to Sect Leader Yao, who has the good grace to shrink back at the venom in that glare, “I have something to say.”

“Speak,” Lan Wangji demands, but he doesn’t sound too sure all of a sudden, doesn’t seem too happy with the proceedings, and Jiang Cheng does rather enjoy the feeling of triumph it brings him.

“I am innocent. I did not kill any demonic cultivators, nor did I torture them.”

His voice rings out in the courtyard because everyone is silent for two seconds, but then chaos erupts. The voices calling him a liar are the kinder ones, and Jiang Cheng shakes his head at them.

“And I have proof,” he continues, raising his voice so that it carries over the others.

Devotion - Gather, by syriala (sixth in a series)

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks, because for once he is in no immediate danger of being murdered by the other Sects and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t think that look is fair.

“You absolute asshole,” Jiang Xiuying hisses at him and Jiang Cheng knows that if he wasn’t injured Jiang Xiuying would try to slap him over the head or shake him until he sees sense.

“What? What did I do now?” Jiang Cheng wants to know because he was asleep! There is no way he could have done something to upset Jiang Xiuying like this!

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jiang Xiuying says and starts to pace Jiang Cheng’s room, without giving any thought to the fact that this is Jiang Cheng’s bedroom and he really shouldn’t be here.

Well, Jiang Cheng is not going to say that to him, because with the mood Jiang Xiuying is in right now it wouldn’t go over well for Jiang Cheng, Sect Leader or not. Not that he actually cares anyway.

It’s Jiang Xiuying after all.

Home in Lotus Pier, by syriala (seventh in a series)

Jiang Cheng's angry frown turns into a confused frown when he sits down for breakfast and finds a box next to his bowl of congee.

“What is this?” he asks into the room, because someone is bound to be around, but he doesn’t get an answer and Jiang Cheng heaves out a sigh.

He tugs the box close and opens it and he’s surprised to find that his favourite tea is in it. It’s hard to come by lately, as it is entirely seasonal and only grown in a small spot in Sect Leader Yao’s territory, and after everything that happened at the Cloud Recesses a few months back, he already mentally said goodbye to it.

He wouldn’t be getting any more supplies from Sect Leader Yao after all, so this is more than surprising.

But the gifts don't stop there.

Parallelism, not equivalence, by DreamaholicsAnonymous

Wei Wuxian reminded him of Xingchen, Song Lan thinks, not for the first time.

Bring Your Secrets, Bring Your Scars, by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (fourth in a series)

Nie MingJue keeps his promises.

All Your Madness, I Will Tame, by Terri Botha (Isilwath) (fifth in a series)

Wen Qing in the Burial Mounds.

Puppy, by Speechless_since_1998

Returning home, Lan Zhan found his husband hiding behind the sofa and A-Yuan sitting on the ground playing with a puppy dog.

The puppy must have been a few months old, probably hadn't even been weaned. It was harmless, but Wei Ying didn't care. It was enough that it was a dog to be afraid.

“Ah, Lan Zhan! You finally arrived! Take that monster away!" Wei Ying pleaded, refusing to come out of hiding.

A-Yuan puffed out her cheeks, "Shiro is not a monster!"

Heaven, he had already given it a name.

Being Good, by ricochet

Lan Wangji tries to be good.

no shadow can touch, by sunflowersfield

When it is time to hand out the mics, Lan Zhan forces himself to lower his expectations. Their exchange will be fleeting, and Wei Ying will barely even look at him.

Or: Wei Ying is cast in a musical at his local community center. Lan Zhan is the theater technician.

make a mess (inside my heart), by avenqelic

Wei Wuxian looked comfortable against Lan Wangji’s white sheets, curled up in his blankets. Lan Wangji’s chest ached, mind swirling with possibilities – falling asleep looking into Wei Wuxian’s eyes, waking up in his arms, holding each other close as the moon shifted across the sky and the sun rose.

Finding a way home, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens

Prompt idea for a less than one thousand words one shot! Lwj walks into a coffee shop and barista wwx cannot stop flirting with him while both of them are dying on the inside because the other is so handsome! Wwx writes his number on the cup! Up to you if lwj has an existencial crisis after finding the number or if he even finds the number. Bonus points if the oneshot ends with lwj going back to the cafe and wwx smiles at him when he sees him! — this is a.a. now with a prompt

DanTian - Planting Gentians (LWJ POV), by ArchiveWriter (1 chapter plus art)

Wei Ying's been up their old mountain early in the morning. Wangji does needlework and indulges in watching Wei Ying's hands. A slice of domestic contentment because I like them happy.

Tease, by annjellybean

Now, Wei Ying had long outgrown teasing his husband mercilessly the way he used to back in their childhood days, they had been through so much since then, he had honestly forgotten how to do so. That being said, it did not mean Wei Ying had completely forgotten his gremlin roots, and as a self-proclaimed gremlin husband, today he wanted to tease.

Pure Morning, by ShizunThirst

It’s on mornings like these that Lan Wangji can love Wei Wuxian the way he deserves to be loved.

deeper etchings, by fensandmarshes

“And remember, a-Yuan,” comes the voice, lowered but still loud as though it shuns the petty boundaries of the house, “you absolutely cannot tell diedie about this.”

Lan Wangji pauses, there in the middle of the portal array, halfway through setting down his bag, and tilts his head just slightly.

Caring Warmth, by MountainMist

Wei Ying is sick and lonely. Head empty only Lan Zhan.

And how Lan Zhan takes care of him.

just them, together., by adeptiwings

It was okay, now that it was just them.

the boy with rabbit ears, by dragontea

Lan Zhan got lost in an amusement park and found his way home in the company of the boy with rabbit ears.

heart-shaped knots, by twigofwillow

There’s been a ghost in Cloud Recesses for over thirty years, but no one has talked to her until now.

Setting Suns and Dawning Realisations, by wereworm

Wei Wuxian's plans for a romantic night out in Caiyi with Lan Zhan are ruined when he works late, the sun already setting by the time he makes his way home to the Jingshi. Instead, they enjoy a quiet night in and Wei Wuxian comes to terms with the peace that he'd fought so hard to earn and the life that's he's finally allowed to have.

[For the prompt: a sweet wangxian date night in]

Won This For You, by Preludian_Staves

He looks up as his husband comes into the room with something suspiciously large hidden behind his back.

A single soul (no more), by Lysdance1

The core transfer surgery goes as in canon BUT it leaves the spiritual link open between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian and, well, what goes one way can go both ways.

"It's what keeps him (mostly) sane, a tether in this dark place where he cannot feed and cannot sleep and cannot escape; through the link he feels - trickles of love, Jiang Cheng's worry for him. It shouldn't be enough, but somehow, in this dark, dark place, it is. It reminds him, faintly, of home, and in the dark he hears the rhythm of one, luminous, far away soul."

To Need Someone, by Preludian_Staves

"A-die?"

"Hm?"

"What does mean to need someone? To want them with you?"

Approval, by Speechless_since_1998

"You look tired, "he said, sipping his tea. He shouldn't, it wasn't kind. But he couldn't resist teasing him a little.

Lan Zhan stared at him blankly, "I've been drinking."

"I saw."

"I kissed Wei Ying."

"I saw that too."

And thanks to the gods there was no uncle because he hated worldly occasions, otherwise he would have a heart attack.

"We had sex at his adoptive parents' home."

"And?"

Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you surprised?"

"Oh, sorry, now I'll try again ... Really? !!"

"You're not funny."

Unfinished:

Not Rated:

An Obsidian Among Jades, by bluebeads

What happens when a sad lost mantou cheeked Lan Zhan teams up with a cheerful one to find his family in the unfamiliar streets of Yilling. A Yu Ziyuan Ultimatum AU which I submitted a while ago on angstymdzsthoughts Also a Gusu Lan Sect Wei Wuxian.

I've had enough, by pluma1007

He is ascending. They’re minds unhelpfully supplied.

Then, Wei Wuxian is gone.

The cultivators are in disarray.

“Wei Wuxian… Wei Wuxian ascended!”

“How can this be?! A monster ascended?!”

“No! My core! My powers had diminished!”

Hearing that, the cultivators checked their cores. Gasps rang out the mountains. Enraged cries are heard, cursing Wei Wuxian. There are also those who kowtowed, praying for forgiveness. There are others who praised him.

Song of Joy and Regrets, by HelloKitten

The Archery competition at Qishan this year has hit a snag. As the Sects face the wrongs perpetrated by their future selves, Wei Wuxian finds himself adopted by half of the cultivation world who are determined to save him from himself.

Baby Wangxian suffers. Adult Wangxian's job here is done.

"I'm starting to see a pattern to all his plans..."

"Do they all involve him being bait?"

"Yes" came deadpanned responses.

Hua Cheng is not amused.

Rated E:

the long way back home, by Misila

Wei Ying always knew he was the single discordant note in the Jiang household. That was why, after graduating from university, he didn’t return home. With him gone, Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t have anyone to compare her son to, and Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t have to keep avoiding his own family to prevent further conflict.

…Right?

(Seven years later, married to the man of his life and with a four year-old son, Wei Ying returns to his hometown and tries to reconnect with his siblings and befriend his nephew; but, most of all, he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with his brother and how to help him, despite Jiang Cheng not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.)

Will You Stand Beside Me, by trashgavin

Wei Wuxian takes all his strength and spits blood in Wen Chao’s face. His eyes narrow and he speaks, though his voice is quiet and full of pain.

“Go to hell.”

It only makes Wen Chao laugh. He releases his hair and stands to his feet. “Bring me a whip.”

Rated M:

For the Dust and the Dirt, by Nyxelestia

His breath came out in shaky gasps, but still he could do nothing as the demonic copy of himself brought the blade down to the bare skin of Wei Wuxian’s uninjured shoulder. He whimpered when he felt a small cut, then when the blade lifted. He didn’t have time to even think of relief before it came back, right next to the first cut in a different direction, then again below in a line, multiple small lines in multiple directions like…like a character.

“Like I said,” the demon mused as Wei Wuxian realized what it was doing. “I’ll write it down for you.”

A brutal assault on a Cloud Recesses student leaves the Cultivation world reeling. Wei Wuxian struggles to recover, while everyone else tries to make sense of an ominous message. But since when do demons care about sect politics, anyway?

Between Wen Ruohan's rising aggression, simmering tensions across the guest disciples, and the mysterious fierce corpses still popping up all over the place, Wei Wuxian would rather ignore the confusing, horrifying visions the demon left him with.

If only the demon's taunting predictions didn't keep coming true at every turn.

I Know How Those in Exile Feed on Dreams of Hope, by rabbit_habits & saltedpin

“What does it mean, that Wen Ruohan has all the Yin Iron?” Jiang Cheng asked, dragging himself up into a sitting position – her medicines must have worked quickly, because his ribs gave only a twinge when he moved.

Wen Qing settled down beside him, head bowed as she packed away her supplies, her shoulder brushing his arm when she moved. “It means that no one in the cultivation world can oppose him,” she whispered.

—

Canon divergence AU in which Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are captured by the Wens after escaping from the Xuanwu's cave, before they can return to rescue Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Misunderstood, by Silver_Flame_2724

There is something called a memory ball that shows the memories of a chosen person.

In order to further incriminate the already dead Yiling Patriarch, the cultivation world decides to use this memory ball at the next Discussion Conference to show how evil the demonic cultivator can truly be.

What appears, though, truly shocks them all.

laughing shadow, by ich_bin_ein_stern

During the commotion involving Wei Wuxian, A-Ling refused little sleep. His screams carried across Koi Tower, putting wailing ghosts too shame. He was inconsolable by everyone. It was only when Jin Zixuan unintentionally passed the room holding Wei Wuxian while trying to calm down his son did A-Ling miraculously settle down. Since then, he has slept peacefully every night. Yanli expressed, in the quiet and security of their bedroom, that perhaps Wei Wuxian's spirit soothed A-Ling and continues to do so.

At the least expected times, Jin Zixuan swears he can hear the distant sound of a flute.

But when he stops to actually listen for it, he hears nothing.

Come From My Inkstone, by magicgenetek

“So your plan,” Nie Mingjue said dubiously, “is to move into the Burial Mounds to write and illustrate erotica about you and Lan Wangji seducing the Yiling Patriarch to earn his trust and sell the public on the idea that he's not a threat, then convince him to give up the Yin Tiger Seal?"

“The way I said it sounded better,” Nie Huaisang said. “And you forgot the part about me seducing the Ghost General, that is crucial.”

“I hate this, and as your brother, I am begging you not to actually stick it in a fierce corpse. How much money do you need?”

Rated T:

Here We Go Again, by Alliandra

He looked over to where the swordswoman was still fighting, but her focus seemed entirely locked onto that fight so it was unlikely that she could have had anything to do with the energy drain. He was still wracking his brain for something else to do to assist, so this thing didn’t kill them both, but now he was feeling weak, dizzy and currently not far from helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been several months since the events at the Guanyin temple and Wei Wuxian is wandering around on his own. After he helps a stranger kill a very dangerous beast he uncovers what seems to be a conspiracy aimed at ending his life. He heads back to Cloud Recesses with his new companion in tow, looking to get Lan Wanji's help in working out what is involved.

Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling made a surprising discovery under Koi Tower that may well be linked to the threat against Wei Wuxian's life.

Can they all work together to find out what is going on and put a stop to it, before something disastrous occurs?

A place of Gold, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens

A few days after Wei Wuxian has parted from Lan Wangji on a forest path, he gets surrounded by Jin officials in an Inn, who formally ask him to return to Jinlintai to fill in the position of Sect Leader, as is his right and duty.

Wei Wuxian thinks it is an artful prank. Until it is not.

Blossoming flowers in a full moon - 花好月圆, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens

What if Wei Wuxian wasn’t able to get out of Lan Wangji’s grip at the cliff in Nevernight? What if Lan Wangji refused to let go?

All will be well when the day is done, by abCEE

The one where Yu Ziyuan time traveled but she thought that it was her visions of her alternate life.

She learned that there is a brat named Wei Ying who brought destruction to her and her family's life.

And so in her present, she vowed that she will never allow that to happen.

In which Yu Ziyuan found the four-year-old Wei Ying, newly pushed out of the inn where his parents left him, and decided that no, this child must never be associated with her, her family, and their sect at all.

And so Yu Ziyuan thought that she could bring him somewhere where someone may or may not find him but definitely far from where her husband could find him. If he's lucky, he'll survive that winter, if he's not, then death awaits the fevered child.

This is the extent of mercy that Yu Ziyuan could give a child.

With this, she'll raise her children without having to deal with a brat that brings trouble where he goes according to her visions of her alternate life.

Like the tag stated, this is definitely not Yu Ziyuan centric.

Rated G:

How Jin Zixuan Helps Everyone, by BryxcrSt

The Yunmeng Heroes, Twin Jades, Nie Huaisang, The Peacock, Cinnamon Roll Ghost General and Lan Qiren suddenly transport back to the past before the Conference in Qishan, with their very memory of how all their clans battled Wen Rouhan's and now they're all ready to prevent it from happening now that they're back to the past. Especially Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

Surprisingly, Jin Zixuan wants to help them instead of standing out of the front line like how he used to but what can he do?

To Repeat, Repay, and Repair, by adrian_kres

Wei Wuxian has died again and his family grieves. Lan Sizhui, now married and with children of his own, grieves the loss of both fathers, as Lan Wangji has entered seclusion. But somehow, he unknowingly sends himself back to the time he spent in the Burial Mounds at three years old. Will his family take his confused, nonsensical warnings seriously? Are they doomed to repeat the same fate?

[oswaldsleftbicep]

Hii! I really love your account. Oh btw HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! So my appearance is that I'm 158cm (5’1) Pretty long hair with purple highlights streaks. I have a natural beige skin tone. My eye colour is black like my soul lmao.

I’m a Libra. I hate reading but I love to read fanfiction. I love cats and dogs (I’m a cat person) I hate crowded places. I'm an introvert. I love spending time alone. I love physical touch and giving my s/o gifts. I don’t like a guy that is too quiet in a relationship and a dry texter. I hate a guy making assumptions about who I am.Fun fact I’m allergic to bees… and I wanted to become a lawyer

ok so since yours was a lil bit shorter, and since i genuinely couldn't decide just one boy to ship you with, i decided to give you two!!

so with that being said, i ship you with....

Mikael and Oswald!!

❧ mikael would for sure be intrigued by your dyed hair streaks, he thinks it's a nice way to shake up your appearance, and he might contemplate doing something to his own hair to add a splash of color but would ultimately chicken out cuz he doesn't want to ruin the white

❧ libras are pretty compatible with tauruses, which is oswald's sign, although it's not like a super compatible match, it's more like a medium match

❧ mikael on the other hand is a gemini which is a great match with libras!! yay astrology!!

❧ oswald also isn't much of a reader, but he would love to hear you talk about the fanfics you read. i feel like fics are more geared towards specific interests and are more what people want to read. like it's hard to find a good enemies to lovers novel, but there's plenty of fics with that trope that are super good. so the fics you read are more specific to your interests and likes, and oswald would love to hear you go on about a really good fic you read at 3 am on a tuesday

❧ mikael i feel would like reading books, but he's not a huge bookworm; he's just a casual reader since he likes stories. i can guarantee that this man has never read or heard a story similar to that of a good fanfic. he loves them because they can expand on already existing series so he can get more of what he already loves, and he also likes how they can provide alternate tellings of said existing series. he loves how there's just endless possibilities with fanfics and he would for sure have ao3 bookmarked on all his devices. you guys would also send each other links to interesting fics to one another and subsequently ruin each other's sleep schedules. remember when ao3 broke and everyone was like "what am i gonna do without my bedtime story"? that's him, he has to read a new fic or at least a couple chapters every night before bed lmao, bonus points if you read them together

❧ mikael is definitely more of a cat person; i could see him with a persian or some really fancy cat breed, and he spoils the living daylights out of the feline. he could also be easily talked into getting multiple cats, so he's your man if you want someone to be cat owners with :) but like i said, mans spoils the cat, he probably gets a portrait done of the two of you to hang up but decides last minute to make it a family portrait and gets the artist to add the cat in. the cat also totally sleeps in bed with the two of you, and he'd refer to it as "our child"

❧ oswald could go either way with having a cat or dog; he likes both of them cuz they each got their perks. like he can work outside with a dog and have a little fella to hang out with all the time whenever you aren't there, and they're also good workers. cats he likes because of how lowkey and independent they are, and they're also quite calming. he'd love to adopt a cat with you, for sure opting to get one from a shelter, and it hangs out in the garden with him, just lying around in the dirt or in a pot; it's the most cottagecore vibe ever

❧ mikael can relate to being an introvert and not liking places that are super crowded. he also enjoys his alone time so that would not be a problem at all for the two of you in your relationship; it becomes such a normal and unspoken thing that the two of you can just tell when the other needs their alone time and you just busy yourselves with an independent task until alone time is fulfilled. a lot of your dates would likely be at home or in parts of town that are more secluded and less prone to foot traffic so you won't have to worry about crowds

❧ oswald isn't so much an introvert, he's just more prone to keeping to himself and spending time on his own as a result of people either being scared of him or him not wanting to potentially hurt anyone. the only times i could see him wanting alone time is after a mission, when he's super stressed, or when he's been thinking too much about his past and his condition. however, he'll totally understand you wanting your alone time, and he fully supports it! he'd probably need a verbal clue as to when you're taking your alone time since he's not great at picking up on body language clues; in other words, he would need to be told "hey i'm gonna spend some time alone" or else he would unintentionally bug you until you yelled at him lol. crowds are something he doesn't do either; i remember reading in someone else's hcs that he would feel uncomfortable in crowds due to his condition, so he's totally down with spending dates in secluded and less busy areas so that the two of you are comfy

❧ mikael's love languages would include physical touch and gift giving too, in addition to words of affirmation, he loves to be told how great he is ajkshf, so gift giving and receiving is a common thing between the two of you. he loves spoiling you, and he loves it when you play with his hair and cuddle with him, although he prefers that the two of you keep those things in private

❧ oswald loves physical touch too! he's a little hesitant at first to give it because he doesn't want to hurt you but after a while he becomes much more comfortable holding you and touching you without hesitation. he loves feeling your touch on him too because it feels so gentle and he's not used to being handled with such care, but he can definitely get used to it lol. he loves that you give him gifts too, but he can feel a little awkward receiving them as he's not used to being spoiled. he for sure keeps every little thing you give him, even if it's just a cool rock you found. he'll decorate the garden and outside of his cabin with things that can bear the weather, and everything else he finds a special place for inside, and he feels bad when he runs out of room and immediately tries to rearrange things to make everything fit. he's not great at giving gifts in return, but he feels he should do at least something in return, even if you insist he needn't do anything. this is where his acts of service love language comes in; he thanks you by making you tea or growing you some flowers, but he'll also keep his eye out for any cool rocks or plants to give to you in return

❧ your dislikes in a relationship is what made this decision a little difficult cuz pretty much every character made assumptions about mc when they first arrived in nightmare. mikael was one of the last ones to get rid of those assumptions, but when he did he seemed to change his tune completely. oswald was more quick to lose the assumptions as his main reason for pushing mc away was so he wouldn't harm them

❧ mikael is more on the quiet side for sure, but i feel like the two of you could have some decent conversations to fill in the silence. he's always asking for a story, and of course he can tell some in return! he's definitely prone to comfortable silence and has a habit of not speaking unless prompted or he has something to say, basically he's not good at small talk. this doesn't mean he won't talk at all though, it's just less than others would. strangely enough, i don't think he would be a dry texter. he probably wouldn't use emojis frequently, but he's got a sarcastic sense of humor and quick wit that keeps y'all's text convos spicy

❧ oswald isn't super quiet, so you don't have to worry about him straight up not talking ever. he'd be good at small talk and also has several stories to tell; it's very easy to talk to and with him. as for texting, i could see him texting kind of like a dad or an uncle: capitalization, fragment sentences separated by periods, quite a few typos and autocorrect mistakes cuz of his big fingers. it doesn't often take him long to respond tho, and he never sends one word responses. he'd send a lot of pictures of his plants and i feel like kurt would also steal his phone to send terrible pictures of oswald. his texting conversations are never dry and boring, but they aren't like super interesting and funny either; it's very average but in a good way

❧ the whole allergic to bees thing would only be a problem with oswald lol cuz of his garden. he'd make sure to keep you away from where the flowers grow when it's bee and pollination season so that you don't get stung. he'd also check the outside of his cabin and the wood objects in the surrounding area regularly for bee hives so that he can get rid of it and keep you safe

❧ lawyer is an interesting career path!! idk if you're still pursuing it, but i assume it means you love a good debate and have a good sense of justice. mikael would be a good person to have debates with, he's very educated and has a lot of interesting viewpoints and loves learning more about how you see things. friendly debates are another thing the two of you use to talk other than just telling stories. i feel like the two of you would make a list and whenever you're bored you'll take turns selecting a topic and have a debate about it for fun :)

[perriewinklenerdie]

Stuck with you (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! How are we, guys? Alive and kicking? Getting enough sleep? Drinking water? (also tea, tea is awesome, 11/10). It’s been (again) a while since I’ve posted anything on here, huh. I’m working on another fic as we speak (summer theme cause summer is ending and I’m not ready for it), so we’ll see how it goes :D

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013712

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements,  @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie

Enjoy! <3

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

Claire noted with an overwhelming sense of relief that as the end of her shift approached, the intensity of the day decreased significantly. What used to be a fast-paced march in the early hours of the morning, was now a slower stroll. It was mostly due to the fact that all her patients were stable, and her pager miraculously wasn’t going off every five seconds like it tended to do almost every day of her life at Edenbrook.

Her contemplation was cut short when she felt insistent tugging on her white coat. She moved her eyes towards the source of the movement, being only half surprised when she saw a seven-year-old girl, smiling widely at her.

“Dr. Claire! The nurse came to take my blood, to see if it was good and she gave me a high-five.”

“I’m sure you were so brave.” a smile blossomed on her face as she kneeled down to be on the same eye level as her little patient.

“I was! Can I have a lollipop now? I didn’t even cry or anything, it was just like you said, barely a pinch and it was over.” The girl asked, thinking back to the conversation they had that morning. It wasn’t even something that Claire did only for this patient, not a one-time event.

It has become a sort of a legend among younger patients and nurses, that she always had a bunch of sweets in her pockets, giving them out to the kids on occasions. Mostly because of it, along with how good she was with young people, she was a liked doctor that was invited into all the tea parties and book readings organized by kids, with a bit of help from the nurses.

“As promised, here it is.” Her hand disappeared into the pocket and emerged with a pink and white lollipop in a colorful wrapper.

“Thanks, Dr. Claire! You’re the best.”

“Don’t run while eating it, we don’t want you to get hurt, okay?” she warned her before standing up. The girl was already running away, though, waving the candy in the air in excitement.

“Sure thing, doc, have a nice day!”

Claire shook her head in amusement, straightening the creases on her coat as she turned away to walk towards the ER. She was stopped short in her tracks, however, by the sight of an eyebrow raised so high up that it might as well have flown off his face altogether, accompanied by a curious gaze of Ethan Ramsey. His arms were folded across his chest, his posture meant to intimidate.

“You’re a doctor, Herondale. Giving away sweets in a hospital? That’s promoting diabetes.” He pointed out, waiting for her to explain her behavior. She imagined that a comment like that had the potential to make some interns cry; hell, even less resistant to pressure residents tended to avoid confrontation with him if they could help it. But Claire? Hell no.

“It’s a little reward for being brave. I can attest that it works, they are much more likely to go through their procedures- “

“- and not be scared. Good call, Rookie, even though I still think you’re spreading diabetes in the hospital.” Ethan smiled, breaking the act of trying to reprimand her. Instead, he took a small step towards her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her eyes sparkled teasingly, holding his gaze in a tight lock with her own as she decreased the distance between them even more.

“The only diabetes you’re going to get is from me being so sweet.” Claire’s voice dropped to a gentle whisper the more she talked, then she slowly stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. The corners of his lips went up, forming a smile, partly concealed by her hair. Before anything else could be said or done, the sound of a phone ringing caused them to, albeit reluctantly, step away from each other slightly.

“As much as I would love to continue this conversation, I should get going. Us Herondales really do hate waiting, you know.” She grinned, beginning to walk away from him.

“Yeah, I think I do. I wish I could go with you.”

“I know you do, Ethan. Maybe next time? Actually, definitely next time; I don’t think my Mom will let you skip the next family lunch, no matter how much important work you have.” He laughed, shaking his head as he watched her retreating form.

“See you this evening?”

“You can count on it, Ramsey.”

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

It was slowly getting dark when he got home, and by the time he got round to cooking dinner, the sun has already set. He didn’t think much about the lack of contact with her; he knew how those family meetings went, so if he had to guess, Will most likely kidnapped her phone.

The ringing startled him a little, but still, nothing seemed wrong, hence why he walked towards the sound calmly. Claire’s name flashed on the screen, pulling a smile onto his face.

“Right on cue, Dr. Herondale. Dinner is almost ready, will you be home soon?” he asked, leaning against the back of the couch. There was a short moment of silence before she spoke, her voice just a little on edge.

“I don’t want you to freak out, but I got shot.”

“What?”

It was good that he had something to fall onto, because the initial reaction of his body caused his knees to go weak. He should have known that something wasn’t right, but never would he have thought that while she was supposed to be with her family, she would get hurt.

“It’s nothing, really, a clean in and out wound, I’m already having it treated.” Claire’s voice was steady, nothing indicating any unbearable pain, but then again, he didn’t know what exactly happened, so she might as well have been trying to calm him down.

“Where are you?” he asked, already running to the kitchen to turn the burners off, grabbing his car keys along the way.

“Edenbrook, but as I said-“

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He cut her off, walking out of the apartment in rush.

It’s funny how fluid the time is. The more one is anticipating something, the slower it goes by. Consequently, the more one is dreading something, the more it rushes forward. Ethan was experiencing something entirely different. The whole ride to the hospital felt like it lasted two eternities, and yet he couldn’t remember a thing from that time, like it happened in a split second.

His feet carried him forward, recklessly running through the maze of corridors, ignoring stares he was getting from his coworkers. Any logical thought has evaporated, leaving only blinding panic, unprompted by her way of speaking, but pushed forward by what she said.

Danny didn’t even question his disheveled state when he asked for the room number, knowing better than to stand in his way. His muscles screamed, more tired than after any other exercise, but the fear of the unknown was pushing him towards her. He opened the door, only to see Claire sitting on the bed, discomfort clear on her face. Not pain, not distress. Discomfort.

Because in front of her bed were two people, sitting in a pair of chairs. The room was filled with crying of a little boy, shaking in his mother’s arms. He was muttering something incoherently; Ethan wasn’t able to figure out what exactly the kid was saying. Meanwhile, Claire was trying her best to calm the boy down, her hands trembling in frustration that she was stuck in bed.

Ethan expected everything. Literally anything but this. Because how the hell could he have predicted that he would find Claire, shot and panicking because her nephew was crying. The woman sitting on the chair, Claire’s sister in law, Louise, made eye contact with him, her face twisted in a mixture of helplessness and horror, not communicating a lot to him about what had happened.

Then he turned towards Claire, his eyes running over her, searching for the wound or any additional injuries. Her calf was bandaged and resting on top of the covers, but other than that, she seemed fine. Her head moved slightly, signalizing that she was indeed okay, after which she nodded towards her nephew giving him a clue.

How the hell did an eight-year-old boy shoot his aunt?

Ethan ran a hand over his face, breathing in deeply. With no idea how to even begin the conversation, he looked at Louise. She sighed, then started explaining.

“Our genius uncle decided that Toby was old enough to try shooting an air gun. He tried to aim towards the target, but it fired early by accident.” She took a break to look at her son, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “It just so happened that Claire was in the bullet’s way.”

“But I’m okay.” Claire rushed to reassure them, smiling softly at Toby. He started crying again, hiding his face in his mother’s sweater. Ethan sensed what she meant, walking over to the little boy and kneeling by his side.

“How are you doing, little man?” he asked, trying to test the waters before saying anything else. Toby didn’t respond, but he did turn his head to look at Ethan, his eyes red from crying.

“I- I hurt aunt Claire.” He muttered before another batch of tears gathered in his eyes. The older doctor extended his hand towards him, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“I can assure you that your aunt is going to be okay. I saw her leg, it’s going to heal before you know it, yeah?” he caught Toby’s gaze, seeing him already feeling a bit better. “Let me tell you a secret. When she feels better, give her a big hug. It always works.”

“Hugs won’t always get you out of trouble, Ramsey.” The blonde doctor warned, grinning from ear to ear in a teasing manner. He schooled his features when he looked at her, then dropped the act and smirked, mischief spelled across his face as he took a step towards her.

“Ethan, no.” she warned him, her eyes growing wide. He took another step. “No.” She moved back into her bed, scooting away from him. Before she could give him another warning, he reached her and dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her mercilessly until she laughed. Claire tried to slap his hands away, to no avail, but the torture didn’t last long. Soon enough, he wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in his warm embrace.

“Am I forgiven?” his lips brushed against her ear as he muttered the question. She took a moment, keeping him on his toes, giggling when he leaned away to look at her in consternation.

“For now, you are. We’ll see later, Mister.”

Their little game seemed to do the trick; Toby calmed down, and by the time Louise took him home, he was smiling. The door closed behind them, leaving Ethan with Claire. Visiting hours were long over, but there was not a one person that came to kick him out, courtesy of them both being doctors. He remained seated in the chair next to her bed, holding onto her hand as they talked.

“Shouldn’t you go home and rest? You have a shift in the morning.” She muttered, tracing his knuckles with her thumb.

“No, I don’t. Naveen let me stay with you, make sure you don’t injure your leg further. No walking, no running, only being carried.” He grinned, leaning towards her a bit, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “I’m your very own, private taxi.”

She laughed, pulling him onto the bed by his hand. “Okay then, since you’re not going home, you’re sleeping with me.” his eyebrow shot up in a teasing manner, opening his mouth to protest, but she was faster than him. “Yes, you are forgiven, and no, I won’t take no for an answer, Ramsey. Get in here.”

Sighing heavily, he removed his shoes and sat next to her, mindful of her injured leg. He looked at the wound for a long moment, being stopped by Claire pulling him to lie down. “I’m never leaving you again when guns are involved.” He pressed his lips against her forehead, muttering the words quietly.

“Only when guns are involved?” she joked, embracing him a bit tighter. Rather than seeing, she felt him laugh.

“Okay, you just scored yourself a lifetime of being stuck with me. Is that what you wanted, Herondale?” their eyes met, sparkling with humor and love. Stretching herself to her best ability, she pressed a short, sweet kiss to his chin before falling back into his arms.

“Give me the ‘brave patient’ candy and it’s a deal”

They remained in that position for quite some time, conversing silently, his hand running up and down her leg in a soothing motion. A short while after he turned the lights off so they could get some rest, she gave him a more serious answer, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “I’m perfectly fine with being stuck with you.”

[indestinatus]

tiva fanfiction author recommendations plz I need some good tiva to read

OKAY SO

This has been sitting in my inbox for a couple of days because I had to think SO HARD about my favorite authors and I was sure I would forget some of them. I started reading fanfiction almost ten years ago, so a lot of the titles and names have been lost in my memory by now. There are some more recent stories (which the authors are active) and the ones I get back to reread, so I’ll list those. Some works are still in progress. Here are some of my favorite tiva stories in no particular order:

Christmas Meeting by @beatrixacs [M, 368,073 word count, in progress]

Christmas 2015. Prague, Czech Republic. An unexpected meeting between two former co-workers after more than two years from their parting in Israel that will make them realize that their feelings towards each other are stronger than before. But will they do anything about it? And what does the future look like for them? AU Season 13.

Kissing Deal by @beatrixacs [M, 247,815 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva are posing as a married couple in a hotel for a week to keep an eye on another married couple that is involved in their last case and to find some evidence against them. As a part of marital necessities they make a deal about kisses. Will they finally find their way to each other thanks to it?

a crawl to cross the distance by @benditlikepress [M, 6,258 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva’s first date ended up happening 15 years after they first met, 5 years and 7 months after their daughter was born, and just over a month after they were reunited for good.

leave before the lights come on by @benditlikepress [M, 9,049 word count, complete]

The night before Ziva is assigned to NCIS, she crosses paths with one member of the team in a bar. Set between Kill Ari Pt 2 and Silver War.

That We May Forgive by @justkindaoverhereobsessing [G, 12,875 word count, complete]

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first (makes a comparison between Tali’s pregnancy and a second child in the DiNozzo family)

We Are an Ocean by @justkindaoverhereobsessing [M, 120,164 word count, in progress]

The first time they sleep together, it's easy. It makes sense, partners transitioning to friends and maybe friends with benefits. Letting emotions in, though? That might be a different story (tiva sleeping together and the repercussions of it throughout the episodes)

Heat wave by jelenamichel [M, 24,685 word count, complete]

What was it they said about excessive heat having an effect on a person's ability to think clearly? A heat wave in DC brings the tension between two agents to boiling point. 

Famiglia by jelenamichel [T, 83,903 word count, complete]

When DiNozzo Senior's health takes a hit Tony finds out about long-kept secrets and lies. His life begins to change as his two families collide, and he battles with who he wants to be versus the man he seems destined to become.

I See You by @storywriter30 [T, 8,491 word count, complete] 

And suddenly, it is the Fall of 2009 and he is seeing her for the first time again. All of her strength, all of her scars, all of their history, lay bare in front of him (Tony finds Ziva is alive in Paris).

The Liaison by @hundan [E, 28,470 word count, in progress]

Some days it's hard to remember why it is you do your job, this was highly evident today for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. When he left Gibbs, his boss, in the motherland to take a overseas deployment to Israel he thought the whole thing would be an experience of a lifetime. Maybe he was wrong, but maybe he was right. AU

The Past Forgotten by @hundan [T, 75,315 word count, complete] 

"I'm sorry, I don't know you" Tony said, simply. Like that one single comment hadn't ripped her heart out and stomped all over it. She was his partner, she's not meant to be forgotten by him of all people.

Hoping for Happiness by @jaelke421 [M, 265,887 word count, complete]

Tiva romance. Chronicles their transition from friends to something more. Departs canon after Child's Play. Warning: Mention of rape and torture. 

Cold Tiles and Warm Air by @factoffictionwriter [M, 3,658 word count, complete]

But staring? It just wasn't her thing. Touching, kissing, stroking… these were all forms of intimacy she could get behind. But leave her to look - just look, not touch - and she typically grew antsy. Or worse: Bored. Tag 11x02. Bitter Sweet.

Family Second by @factoffictionwriter [M, 26,865 word count, complete]

Alternate ep 13x24. The team gets ahold of Ziva before the mortar attack. Follows along with the storyline of the episode for the most part. A true to character AU of sorts.

holding on (and letting go) by @thewintersoldierdisaster [G, 1,322 word count, complete]

Tony and Ziva are reunited again. Set in S17.

Cool Hand Luke by @thewintersoldierdisaster [G, 1,959 word count, complete]

Tony and Tali spend Ziva's birthday in Paris.

Of Plenty by Strawberry Shortcake123 [M, 28,748 word count, complete]

While celebrating their reinstatement as NCIS agents, Tony and Ziva drink too much and go too far. They decide to put the night behind them- until Ziva finds out that she is pregnant.

Treasure Map by @belletylers [T, 11,285 word count, complete]

"Tony had always considered himself fairly good at finding people who were missing. Especially if those people were Ziva." Tony and Tali go to Paris, searching for Ziva after the events of 13x24.

A Helping Hand by @loudlooks [M, 16,928 word count, complete]

Ziva comes up with a creative solution to help Tony, who refuses to take painkillers after injuring both arms.

Something I Left Behind by @aksannyi [E, 5,894 word count, complete]

This is a missing scene from Past, Present, Future, which explains how Tali came to be. Yes, the M rating is there for a reason. This is angsty, given the nature of the episode it comes from.

Under Pressure by @aksannyi [E, 4,338 word count, complete]

She didn't need to kiss him then, but she did, and suddenly they were no longer pretending. Tony and Ziva learn a lot about each other while they're under cover. Tag to 3x08, Under Covers. 

Treading Water by Mechabeira [T, 191,744 word count, complete]

"You can still swim, can't you? You're going to have to tow her in, DiNozzo. We aren't going to let her just tread water."

There are so so so many more great authors out there, so I’ll list their FF.net and AO3 pages (the ones I can remember): Zays, jae-vous, brightblue, Anonymous033, Strawberry Shortcake123, AliyahNCIS, quotelation (@quotelation), McGeekle (@mcgeekle), LittleSammy, pro-bee (@pro-bee), xoxonessie (@xoxonessie), alacarton (@ahtlolevad-fics) and MANY OTHERS THAT I SURELY FORGOT (for that I’m sorry, but I tried my best).

Please feel free to fangirl with me about all those stories (haha I’m always opened to that) and to click in their accounts to see more great ones!! I just linked some I like most, but there are authors who wrote about 20-50 tiva stories with the same quality I linked it here. Be sure to check their profiles out!!

ALSO IMPORTANT TIP

From someone who loves tiva fanfiction, the works about it are scattered throughout more than a decade, so there’s A LOT (a lot, no joke) of good fanfiction both on FF.net and AO3. Some of the authors are still active on Tumblr, and if you like someone’s type of posts, try to ask them if they wrote something (what I love here is that most people active on the fandom eventually turn into writers) or even if they haven’t I’m sure they would recommend some great ones!

I hope I could help you somehow, and I’m sure Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David will still have a lot of new authors to cherish them, their story is not over yet. 

thanks, anon!! xoxo Sofia

[pidgebeifong]

atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and  lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

[ethospathoslogan]

there will come a poet: chapter seven (a vampire sanders sides fanfiction)

A/N: story of my life, this chapter was supposed to be longer!! but, not only was i getting antsy to post a chapter, but what you’re about to read became a lot more narratively important than originally planned and, because what’s coming next is fairly dramatic, i wanted each moment to stand alone!!!

ALSO this is something i should've been doing from the prologue, but i have to give a huuuuuuge thank you to my friend bee ( @bumblebeekitten )!! she has been beta-reading this fic for me from the start, and has been the one hearing out my ideas, helping me piece together the plot, and giving me ideas as well!!! this fic would literally not be what it is now without her and, for that, i must give her all my thanks and love <3

summary: Virgil finally looked back down at him. “Why do you like the rain?”

ships: moxiety stans come get ur slowburn juice (also eventual logince)

WC: 1,976

content: light death mention

read on ao3

masterlist

spotify playlists

taglist: @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute , @glitchybina , @ab-artist , @daring-elm , @crazydemigod666

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

On Patton’s fifth morning in the Anguine Kingdom, it was raining.

It took a moment for him to realize it as he drowsily looked out the window in his room but, as he watched the rain drops drip from the canopy above and could just catch the sight of grey clouds through the gaps in the leaves, his heart surged.

He loved the rain.

Grabbing his cloak, he quietly made his way out of the guest corridor and through where the brothers rested. As he was walking down the stairs, he only faltered momentarily when he found Virgil already sitting on one of the cushioned benches in the parlor, his dark eyes trained on the rainy skies as well.

And then, Patton smiled and continued down the stairs.

“Morning, Virgil,” he said, his voice soft as he came up beside him.

Virgil, looking up at him, gave him a small smile. “Oh, hey Patton.”

Patton sat on the other end of the bench. “I didn’t expect to see you down here,” he said. “Thought you’d be sleeping.”

Virgil chuckled. “I could say the same to you.”

“I’m just an early riser!”

“And I barely sleep.”

“I can see that!” When Virgil gave a shrug, Patton giggled. “But are you enjoying the weather, too?”

“Oh-” Virgil looked back out the window “-Uh, just thinking, really.”

“About what?”

A hesitation. “Nothing important.”

As Virgil kept his eyes on the rain droplets tapping against the window, Patton took it as a sign to not push the subject.

So, instead, Patton looked out the window as well.

“I love the rain.” He put a finger to the window and followed a raindrop as it travelled downwards.

Virgil moved his gaze to Patton. “You do?”

“Always have.” He smiled. “Back home, I always liked to go outside when it rained. Well, more like sneak out because, you know, princely duties, but Logan always covered for me!”

Virgil laughed slightly. “Didn’t take him for the renegade type.”

“He has a little rebellion in him!” Patton laughed, too. “Just don’t tell him I told you.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Virgil said with a smirk.

Patton beamed.

Virgil then cleared his throat, looking back out the window. “Do you want to? Go outside, I mean.”

“Oh! I- I was planning to, but if I can’t or-”

“You can if you want. You’re not trapped.” Virgil hesitated before adding, “I mean, if you’re uncomfortable or anything, I can go with you…”

Patton smiled. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he said, “But you can still join me. If you want.”

“Oh-” Virgil scratched the back of his neck “-Uh, yeah.”

“Great!” He then stood and offered his hand out to Virgil. “Shall we?”

Virgil eyed his hand. “You haven’t seen much of the capital city, right?”

Patton shook his head. “Other than the Wall? Not really.”

“Well-” Virgil took Patton’s hand and pulled himself up. The sudden flush to Patton’s cheeks distracted him enough from the coldness of Virgil’s hand. “-I can show you around. Won’t be as nice as it once was, but...”

“I don’t mind,” Patton said with a smile before remembering to take his hand away.

As Virgil opened the large castle doors, Patton relished in the cool morning breeze that blew in. The summer air was tempered by the gentle rain and Patton, equally calm, stepped out onto the stone steps.

“It’s beautiful out,” he said softly, looking out at the capital city down below before back at Virgil, who still lingered in the doorway. “Don’t you think?”

Virgil stared up at the canopy, still shrouding the kingdom in shadows but occasionally breaking through to grey clouds. “I guess.”

As Virgil stepped up beside him, Patton looked back out at the kingdom. “I think the trees are giving us some shelter,” he said. “You can hear how hard the rain’s hitting the leaves.” He breathed in deep. “It’s… calming.” 

Still, though, he gave an exaggerated frown as the raindrops blurred his glasses. Pushing them up on his head, holding back his curls from sticking to his forehead, he turned to Virgil and smiled. 

“You ready?”

Virgil’s eyes passed over his face before he sharply looked forward again. “Try not to trip,” he mumbled.

“I’ll do my best!” 

As Virgil led him down the spiralling steps (with Patton being extra careful to not slip on the stone), he said, “I don’t- I don’t have an actual tour or anything like that. If Roman was here, he’d probably have more to say. Might surprise you, but he was our, uh, socialite.”

Patton giggled. “Never would have guessed,” he joked. “But were you super busy? You know, back then?”

“Not really,” Virgil said, shrugging. “Just… didn’t go out a lot. Still know the kingdom, though.”

Patton nodded. “I don’t need a tour anyway,” he said. “I’m just happy out here!”

Virgil chuckled. “I can tell.”

When they reached the courtyard, Patton pointed down one of the side paths to the right that lead to the Vine Wall. “I’ve been there, and that’s about it!”

“Then let’s try to make things interesting,” Virgil said, and led Patton to the left.

The main thing Patton noted about the kingdom was that it was quiet. Always quiet, and always still. It was a small kingdom already—mainly consisting of a large capital city—and, after all this time, it seemed more like the brothers had come second to the foliage. Ivy clawed up the walls of the dilapidated buildings, and those closer to the Wall had been taken over by the vines as well. Most of the paths and stonework had become overcome by roots and weeds, and Patton had to watch his footing to make sure his feet didn’t snag.

“What was it like?” He asked after a couple minutes of walking. “Growing up in the middle of the forest.”

“Quiet. Isolated,” Virgil answered. “The Anguine Kingdom has been here for almost three centuries, but-” and he vaguely gestured to the city around them “-we don’t really have a lot to work with. I guess we could’ve tried to make villages farther out but, I don’t know, we did just fine with our capital city. For the most part.”

Patton worried his bottom lip, nodding. Before the climactic battle and the fall of the Anguine Kingdom, they had been a source of trade and commerce for the Hartt Kingdom. Even for a smaller kingdom, almost miniscule compared to the Hartt capital and all its attached villages, the Anguine Kingdom was once pivotal.

And then things changed, and the Hartt Kingdom adapted.

Patton kept his mouth shut about that, though.

“Did you like living out here?”

Virgil shrugged. “It was fine,” he said. “Again, didn’t really go out much.”

Patton nodded. He hesitated before saying, “Can I ask why?”

The Hartt legend said that the fourth son—that Virgil —hid away inside the castle because of the prophecy surrounding his birth, that the Queen’s death and the darkness that followed were only omens for worse things to come.

Patton found himself wanting to know Virgil’s side of it.

“It was just better for everyone if I… stayed away.” Virgil looked down, his steps slowing to a halt. “I’m not really… good company to have.”

Patton stopped in front of him. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

Virgil huffed out a dry laugh. “What about your legends? What do they think?”

Patton frowned. “That’s the past.”

“Is it?” Virgil arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know me like everyone else did.”

He took a step closer. “Well, what if I want to know who you are now?”

“There’s no difference,” Virgil said, crossing his arms.

“But… I think there is,” Patton pushed, his tone gentle. “I can’t… change things, what you think or- or what the past says but… I know what’s in front of me.” A pause. “I know you’re not as bad as you think.”

Virgil scoffed, sharply looking away. “Figured all that out so quickly, huh?”

Patton bristled. “I’m just telling you what I see!”

“Well I don’t see it!” Virgil, exasperated, dragged a hand through his hair. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate you trying but- but this has been my life for a hundred years! I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. His dark bangs clung to his forehead and, once again, he shoved them out of the way. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

Patton bit his bottom lip. “Just what?”

A hesitation.

“I want to believe you,” Virgil finally said, quiet. “That there’s something-” He gestured to himself “-Here but… people get hurt when they’re around me, and that’s a pretty fucking hard thing to just forget about. If you stick around, and something happens...”

Patton frowned, tugging at the edges of his cloak. “But can we just make decisions on… what-if’s?”

“Patton,” Virgil warned, “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“What if I want to?”

The air in between them was suddenly still.

Whatever Patton was getting into, the way his heart hammered against his chest made it feel like he was falling.

Virgil’s voice was low as he asked, “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“Sorry,” Patton whispered.

“Don’t be.”

Patton’s eyes widened as Virgil looked up at the sky, shutting his eyes as the rain dripped onto his forehead. 

For a moment, the silence between them felt like it would last an eternity.

“I hated the rain when I was a kid,” Virgil finally said. “My mother died the day I was born, and it stormed so badly for the next month that everything—farming, trade, commerce—plummeted.” He paused, his hands clenching. “A bad omen, you know? Cursed, even. And, after, it’s not like things were suddenly fine. I can’t just… ignore the signs.” 

“You said you used to hate the rain,” Patton said quietly. “What changed?”

Virgil shrugged. “I grew up, maybe. Got used to it.”

Patton’s heart cinched.

Virgil finally looked back down at him. “Why do you like the rain?”

“Virgil, if you’re uncomfortable or- or sad, we don’t have to talk about this...”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “I- I want to know.”

Patton studied him for a moment longer. “Well,” he began, and couldn’t help but smile, “Because our gardens always looked best after the rain. Because it was the best time to try and catch frogs out by the pond. Because we had this huge weeping willow tree that was just so peaceful to sit under. It always felt like the world just paused. The rain makes it easy to… breathe, and just be. I think the rain refreshes us… takes the weight off the world’s shoulders for a little while.”

Virgil stared at him for a long time.

And then, finally, his lips turned up into a small smile.

“Not what I expected,” he said.

Patton laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just really love the rain.”

“It’s… different.”

His smile fell. “Is that bad?”

Virgil quickly shook his head. “I- No, it isn’t. I… I like it. It’s new.”

“Well,” Patton said, his smile returning, “New can be fun. Good.”

Virgil nodded, glancing away before meeting Patton’s eyes again. “I guess I’ll try to take your word on it.”

When the pair were finally walking back to the castle, the rain starting to come down a little harder, Patton instinctively gasped as his foot snagged a root and, even with his glasses on top of his head, he could see that the forest floor was coming in fast, and-

And Virgil immediately caught him on the forearm, his grip cold yet secure.

“Thanks,” Patton said, blushing as he looked up at Virgil.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Told you to be careful.”

He grinned. “Well, it’s good that you were here, then!”

Virgil faintly smiled, too, as Patton righted himself, before both continuing on their way.

[sorrelstream]

entering “proper grammar” mode because I’m writing this on a google docs first and I don’t want to deal with all those ugly squiggles ahdfsdfds…

But!! Here’s the fully answered Ailuornymy question list, as requested by anon :D! More below the cut!

Favourite canon warrior name?

Hmm… let’s see… Honestly? Probably Silverstream! I don’t think we get many -stream suffixes anymore and there’s something soooo pretty about her name and the way it flows !!

Least favourite canon warrior name?

Snowbush. There’s something so clunky about the way this dude’s name reads in my head and I don’t know why!!! Also Harrybrook >:(

Warrior you’d most like to rename?

Harrybrook. I just!! It doesn’t sound nice at all please give him a better name :( Best name-change name? One-eye! I’m not sure if she asked for her name change or not, but I’ll admit “One-eye” is a pretty baller sounding name and I love that. Also Deadfoot has a cool name too (though I wish he had asked for that name change rather than saddled with it :/)!

Favourite canon character overall?

 Mousewhisker and Hazeltail! They’re two unimportant side characters that don’t really do anything ever but man do I love them with my whole heart <3!

Least favourite canon character overall? 

Thistleclaw and Crowfeather. I’ve talked about why I don’t like either of them a lot before so to keep it short they both make me incredibly uncomfortable nor do I enjoy reading about them at all.

Favourite Warriors book? 

The Darkest Hour! It was my first Warriors book that I read from the main series (Sasha's manga was the first Warriors book in general and how I got into Warriors), and MAN does it still stick with me! So many scenes from that book are just iconic. 

Least favourite Warriors book? 

Anything from Dawn Of The Clans honestly :'). I tried so many times to get into reading that arc and I never could get into it -- it just bored me any time I tried. Same for AVoS, eh.

Favourite canon scene or dialogue of all time? 

Such a random scene but there’s a scene I think about all the time from Power Of Three where Lionpaw has a nightmare about Hollypaw, and she just playfully (? ominously?) says “I’m going to get you” while hidden in the shadows before turning into a fox and attacking him. I think about it SO much…...

Favourite canon leader of all time? 

Crookedstar, followed closely by Tallstar! I love them…. 

Character you think deserved better? 

SO, SO MANY. IT’S UNREAL. Hollyleaf didn’t deserve to get killed off the VERY NEXT BOOK after she came back to ThunderClan, Snowkit didn’t deserve to get killed off just to push Speckletail into the nursery, Nightcloud didn’t deserve… literally anything she got both in canon and how the authors and fandom demonized her, Honeyfern…. Silverstream… the list goes on really :’/

Character you’d like to see “morally” flipped (made “bad” or made “good”)?

Leopardstar, kinda?? But not like. Morally flipped? I guess? I just mean I wish they had gone more into her redemption arc and why she allied herself with Tigerstar besides just “oh she was in love with him”. So it’s not that I wish she was morally flipped, but I wish they went more into her morality because she’s soo vague as it is (and, frankly, maybe I’m biased because I like her but I would’ve loved to see her overcome her initial prejudice or perhaps work for forgiveness for her Clan - perhaps her alliance with Tigerstar was out of worry for the entirety of her Clan since she saw him as the strongest cat and not just… because she “loved” him). Same for Breezepelt, honestly! They kept dancing between “he’s a troubled son of a negligent/abusive father” and “he’s evil :)” and personally? As a child of a negligent father who also abandoned me, it would’ve been way more … I’m not sure WHAT the word I’m looking for is but I think Breezepelt’s story would’ve been better if they focused on making him a troubled teen of a negligent, bad father and actually embraced Crowfeather being an antagonist in PO3 instead of not wanting to make him look bad. It’s just weird the erins flip flop between “this character is evil” and “this character is ok” so much it’s FRUSTRATING :/

Favourite AU (alternate universe) concept? 

Answered here! 

Warrior code rule you think is best?

Always help a kitten in need, no matter their heritage! I know that’s not the exact wording but anyways. Perhaps I’m biased because I, in general, don’t like reading about child death (I know it happens and I can handle it in some plots but sometimes it’s just so excessive), but in general I think it’s one of the best and genuinely helpful code laws, especially because kittens always deserve a chance at life. I think the second best rule would be the one that states a warrior does not need to kill to win a battle, because I think that adds a lot more depth (potentially) to how warriors value the lives of others and creates a bigger scene? scandal? when someone is killed in battle versus dying of wounds later on. It also, again, keeps the youngsters like apprentices safe!

Warrior code rule you think shouldn’t exist/should be changed?

If you know me, you won’t be surprised because it’s the same answer as always: the leader’s word is law. I’ve spoken a lot about that code before and even have a comic about its flaws, so I won’t go into it too much here, but I just think it’s a recipe for disaster.

Describe your ideal vision of Starclan/clan afterlife.

Hmmm let’s see… my ideal vision of StarClan/clan afterlife would be a little bit like what it’s like in canon at the moment but with a few twists. I think the borders would dissolve in StarClan so there’d be less in-fighting (though I imagine, after growing up your whole life hating your neighbors, a lot of cats have a hard time getting used to the no-boundary life-style of StarClan, and a lot of young/new spirits tend to stick within their own Clan cliques before venturing out and meeting former members of other Clans. Older spirits would be the ones most used to interacting with former members of other Clans). I think there’d be sections that mimic the corporeal Clan’s territories in theme, but with different landmarks and such so that new spirits have a new world to explore. I’d also take away the fading aspect because I don’t really think that’s… fair? I guess? It’s weird to me but I’d prefer not to go into it. I’d also make it so that there’s no great wisdom to these cats - or, at least, the wiser StarClan spirits are the ones that have been around for as long as anyone can remember. They wouldn’t be able to interfere with the living as much in canon and can only really visit medicine cats, or possibly leaders, in dreams; anyone else has to go to the sacred area to commune with the dead. Not sure what else though! This is just kind of a general idea.

Traditional or non-traditional naming. Thoughts?

I think both have their merits! While I prefer traditional naming systems because I enjoy seeing the way people develop suffix meanings and assign well-known meanings to them (and even connotations!), plus it helps me personally assign even the smallest trait to a side character so they feel just a little more real, I see why people would enjoy non-traditional naming systems as it does give more breathing room for individual name creation. Also, I’m not gonna lie, there’s some gorgeous lyrical names out there that flow beautifully. My heart will always belong to traditional naming, though, I think. 

If traditional: What non-traditional suffix would you include in your system? If non-traditional: What’s your favourite canon suffix?

Traditional! I actually have included some non-traditional suffixes in my system, just for variety! But those are: -throat, -pool, -belly, -fern, -bee, -berry, -chirp, and -tooth, for example. There’s actually quite a few more but I don’t wanna list every single addition shfbd!

Best thing about the clan system as a concept in your opinion?

Hard to pick, honestly! But I do think the best thing about clans as a system is their unity; they’re a little society that has each other’s backs, and the care for young and elderly a lot is touching!

Favourite Warriors fanfiction (or fanfiction writer)?

HA this might be an obvious answer, but 100% solacefruit on ao3 (also: @/ailuronymy and @/burnt-sycamore on tumblr!). His worldbuilding is to die for and there’s something so charming and attention grabbing about his writing style that always has me waiting for the next update. Seriously, probably one of my biggest writer inspirations. 

Favourite Warriors fanartist (includes animators)?

Answered here!

Most interesting villain?

Mapleshade and Sol, honestly. I’ve rambled about Mapleshade before, I think, but I think her story could have had a lot of potential to call out the misogyny and bias of StarClan and the code, and how mollies are often punished harsher than the toms for their code-breaking. Her story also features how weird the warriors are with the warrior code - it’s like they cherry pick what they want to believe? Oakstar sends three innocent kittens out of the Clan, presumably to die (which they do), despite the code speaking to never endanger a kitten’s life no matter their heritage, and no one ever questions him, or the rest of ThunderClan, for standing by to watch kittens die? Even Frecklewish outright stated she watched the kittens die and did nothing about it. Why? Why was everyone okay with punishing Mapleshade for breaking a rule of the code but no one questioned Oakstar or anyone else in ThunderClan for kicking out the kits alongside Mapleshade, when it was Mapleshade’s crime and not the kits? And why doesn’t Appledusk get punished or ostracized by his clanmates as severely as Mapleshade did? It had a lot of potential but it’s just a mess. Anyways - onto Sol. Another interesting concept kinda messed up by the Erins. In general, I really love villains that are just nuisances at best and no real threat - kind of like Heinz Doofenshmirtz - and with Sol’s backstory being the way it was, he was the perfect opportunity to have him be this little antagonistic shithead who, while annoying and causing problems, wasn’t actually a serious threat, and he of all villains would have had the best shot at redemption I think.

Favourite canon clan?

RiverClan! I love their aesthetic, their territory, and their general vibes. In love with water-based places <3!!

What would you ask Erin Hunter, if you could?

“Would you hand the series off to a new team of writers?” All good series must come to an end, but with Warriors being as broad as it is, I think this is a series where spin offs can be made and still thrive - just not with the current author staff we have at the moment. There’s lots of people with amazing, creative ideas for Warriors, and I know this is just a fantasy at best, but I would love to see a new writing team take over and weave brand new stories and worldbuilding with it in spin-offs. Hell, even I’d love to take a crack at publishing a Warriors spin off, but, again, it’s a fantasy at best.

Top five prefixes (canon or otherwise)?

Sorrel-, Chub-, Mink-, Rose-, and Vervain- (you can tell I like these prefixes considering these are all prefixes of characters featured in my webcomic besides Sorrel-, which is used for my wcsona’s name ha!) Honorable mentions to: Black- (or any color based prefix like Yellow-, Red-, Ginger-, Blue-, Gray-, White-, etc. I don’t know why but I’m fond of them), Beetle-, and Fidget- (which isn’t a traditional prefix, but I think it’s cute hehe.)

Top five suffixes (canon or otherwise)?

Just narrowing down for traditional because I need a smaller pool to pick from habdfsd but! -face, -flower, -stripe, -storm and -nose! 

If you were on Drunk Warriors Rants, what would you talk about?

I have no idea what Drunk Warriors Rants is actually but I’m assuming it’s something where you get drunk and rant about warrior cats so… I would absolutely rant about Hollyleaf and mainly the wild mischaracterization the fandom has made of her break down and the murder of Ashfur. It irks me to no end how so many people have pushed this weird concept that Hollyleaf was aware her parents were Crowfeather and Leafpool when she murdered Ashfur to the point that most people I talk to genuinely don’t realize this, because not only does it just make so sense narratively but I feel like it really does take away from the depth that is her character. I think Hollyleaf is one of the few characters we get, like, an actual depth to, who is developed beyond “typical protagonist with love interest”, and has an interesting arc, downfall, and redemption. When she killed Ashfur, she was totally unaware that Leafpool and Crowfeather were her parents - in fact, the entirety of Sunrise is about Hollyleaf, Jayfeather, and Lionblaze trying to figure out who their parents are, so I honestly don’t know where this whole “Hollyleaf knew about her heritage when she killed Ashfur” thing came from. It really ruins her arc by making her out to be some nonsense cat who killed to keep a secret she spilled anyways, and not a cat who killed to keep a secret she didn’t fully understand yet, who then completely unraveled once she discovered the origins and how her existence completely went against everything she was raised to believe in.

What would your warrior name be?

Pretty obvious answer but my warrior name would be Sorrelstream! Or possibly Sorrelstripe, but I lean towards Sorrelstream. I love to swim a lot actually but I wouldn’t say I’m a particularly strong or skilled swimmer but hey… It’s my warriors sona and I get to give him one (1) skill.

Bonus questions:

Describe your favourite original Warriors characters! 

HONESTLY this question is a little tough because I have such a huuuge cast of original warrior characters it’s hard to narrow down! I’d say if you’re interested in hearing more about my ocs or seeing them in action to check out my @/roseface blog, which is dedicated to my wc comic, or check out my ao3 account (kiittenteeth) because I’ll probably be posting warriors-centric original character stories there soon!

Describe your original Warriors clans! 

Heyyy fun fact! I’m actually working on a small novel fanfic (only about ten chapters long) featuring my fanclans! They’re a group of four Clans set in an abandoned gated neighborhood/area - FernClan (located in the local abandoned mall), PondClan (located in the abandoned golf course), GleamClan (located in the local abandoned restaurant/diner), and FieldClan (located in the abandoned K-12 academy school). I won’t go too much into them here since I want to explore their worldbuilding in my fic, but keep an eye out for them when I drop the first chapter of Ribs! 

Talk about your feelings about the Warriors series! 

Oh man. A lot. The series itself is… disappointing, at best, but I’m awfully attached to it no matter how many times I try to break away from it. It was my biggest media interest growing up (keyword: media), so it’s a pretty big part of me and the way I grew up. Plus I met a good chunk of my friends through warrior cats related areas, so :’)!!! It’s a series that despite all its flaws is incredibly close to me but I’m mainly here to read everyone’s fan content because MAN does the fan content go above and beyond!

(Asked by @/whocares-idont) What’s your opinion on fan made Clan pantheons? 

I LOOVE fan made Clan pantheons actually! Mythology was always something I loved learning about as a kid, and I’m particularly fond of the worldbuilding people make for the Warriors setting. I feel like creating a pantheon and mythos tied to it adds to the depth of the world and makes it all the more interesting and realistic, especially since mythology is such a huge part of so many cultures, both ancient and modern one. I think creating pantheons really adds to the setting people make with warriors, and, honestly, they’re always really fun to read about!!

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, sorry for the longer interval that usual.  It took me awhile to work out where to go from here.  The hazard of not working to a plan.  Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”  You can read it on AO3 and Fanfiction.  Chapter 28 The following morning, I set out for work as usual.  All is quiet in the Village.  Peeta would still be sleeping off the effects of sleep syrup but there’s no sign of Johanna or Haymitch.  I modify my usual route to the school and walk down the main street, curious to see if Lace is working today.  She doesn’t open this early, but she can usually be seen behind her shop window bustling about, either sewing or sorting through fabrics.  Today there’s no sign of her.  Even more oddly, the tailor’s shop is closed.  Arthur starts early and finishes late, eager for as much business as possible to fund that factory he intends to own one day.   The bakery is open though.  Cass and Saffy are serving behind the counter.  Saffy replaced Sateen after she quit her job to marry Roy.  Her full name is Sapphire and she’s aptly named with dark blue eyes and pale blond hair.  She’s someone I might have been jealous of if Peeta hadn’t already been with Lace.   Very pretty, she flirts with everyone, male and female alike.  Peeta told me she had been training as a career before the war put an end to the Games.  Her favored weapon was the bow although she admits that she was only middling good at best. But if Glimmer – also from 1 – had made it through on good looks and charm, then why not her?  It’s the early morning rush and there’s quite a few people ahead of me.  While I wait, I take the opportunity to examine the contents of the display counters.  Bee stings must still be popular as they take up an entire shelf.  Below them are apple pastries and jelly slices.  Chocolate eclairs and fruit tarts, cupcakes and . . . yes, iced cookies, each decorated with a floral motif.  It’s clearly Peeta’s work.  In one corner of the bakery is a large glass case displaying a dazzling array of celebration cakes. “Amazing, aren’t they?”  says Cass behind me.  I look around and see that the other customers have left and there’s only me, Cass and Saffy, who is occupied packing loaves of bread onto shelves.   “We’re really lucky to have found him.  He could get work anywhere, if he wanted.”  He points to the central cake, a large multi-tiered wedding cake decorated with an intricate vine design in gold.  The pattern and the shape of the leaves stirs a memory, and I wonder if it had for Peeta too.  “We even got an order for one just like it to be shipped to the Capitol.” “The Capitol? Wow! That’s a long way to come for a wedding cake.   How did they know to look here?” Cass chuckles.   “She actually came in for the beestings.  She recognized us from our bakery in the Capitol.  But when she saw that cake, she just had to have it. It was the strangest thing.  The tattoo on her head was an exact match with the vine decoration on the cake.” “Oh, that is strange.   Did she say why she was in 12?  We don’t usually get tourists here.” “She didn’t say.  But the beestings was a treat for her crew, I know that much. Construction, maybe?  There’s a lot of that going on.” “Yeah, probably.” Despite my efforts to keep my voice even, I can’t help a sense of urgency creeping in.    “Did she ask to speak to Peeta?  You know, to talk about the cake?” “No.  She didn’t ask who iced it.”  Cass’s brow pinches in worry.  “Is there something wrong?” “Of course not,” I quickly assure him.  “Just curious, that’s all.  I thought she might have wondered how the cake and her tattoo happen to match.  But it’s probably a standard design.  Peeta likely saw it somewhere from his days in the Capitol.” His face relaxes into a smile.  “Well, there was plenty to choose from, fashions changed so fast.  None as popular as your Mockingjay symbol though.” “Yeah, it did seem to be everywhere.  Although I bet there’s a lot of people who regret they got a tattoo of it,” I say with a laugh.  I search for a change of subject. I really don’t want to revisit those days.  “Do you have any cheese buns ready?”   “A batch is due out of the oven now.   Just wait a minute and I’ll get them,” he says, and disappears into the rear of the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked cheese buns would normally have me salivating, but all I can think of is the woman who ordered that cake.  Cressida! What’s she doing in 12?  The last I heard, she and Pollux had been sent to the Districts to cover the wreckage of the war.  This was not long after the Capitol had fallen, Coin was in charge, Snow awaiting trial, and I was in hospital being treated for burns.  Maybe she’s here to do a story on District 12’s recovery. That would make sense.  I just hope Peeta and I aren’t the subject.   Paylor would certainly put a stop to it if we were, wouldn’t she?  She didn’t want me attracting any attention when I was in 8, after all.   I think as far as the government is concerned; we outlived our usefulness long ago.  Nowadays we’re more of an embarrassment. The lunatic who went berserk and kicked a fellow combatant into a pod to his death, and the lunatic who executed the wrong president.   I think, if the government have its way, we’ll never be heard of again.  No ill will, just please quietly fade into the sunset. Max sheds no further light on the Cressida mystery.  When asked if I’d missed anything while I was away, he only commented on Arthur’s uncharacteristic behavior at the pub on the Saturday night.  Max describes him as an odd mixture of concern and excitement. “Like he was happy about something, but felt bad that he was happy about it.   He didn’t stick around for long.  Said he had personal issues to attend to.”   Lace, probably.   That could explain why his shop wasn’t open as usual.  Arthur wouldn’t, would he?  Spend the night with her?  To give comfort, or maybe something more? Maybe he’s heeding his own advice: be adaptable, be open to possibilities.   “Lace and Peeta broke up,” I say, and wait for Max’s stunned reaction.  To my surprise I don’t get one.  Not beyond a raise of eyebrows and a sardonic laugh, that is.   “Did they now?  Well, you could see that coming.” “How?” I ask, disbelieving.   It’s so typical of Max to claim credit for knowing something after the fact.   Peeta and Lace were never anything less than a devoted couple.  No one could have seen it coming. I get a disbelieving look in return.  “You must have been too preoccupied with making plans for your weekend in the woods with Nature Man.   Because while their hands might have been all over each other their eyes weren’t.  His were on you and hers were on Arthur.  I was surprised Lace held out for as long as she did.  If looks could kill, Johanna would have been dead a dozen times over.” Max finishes collating the work sheets on the table and sets to work stapling them together.  “So, what’s between them? Obviously, they’re more than just acquaintances if he knew her secret before Psycho Boy did.” “They knew each other in 8.  They’re related through marriage,” is all I say. I doubt if Arthur would appreciate me giving away more than that.  Certainly not that he’s had a crush on Lace since childhood. “And stop calling people names.  It’s immature.  And unnecessary.” “But I like calling people names.  It’s fun.  You’re just jealous I haven’t one for you yet.  How about The Scowler? Yes, that fits,” he says, grinning at me. I try to wipe the scowl off my face but give up.  Max gives me so much to scowl at. “And now the big question is, who will she choose?  Nature Man or Psycho Boy?  It should be no contest but there’s no accounting for some women’s tastes.” “There is no choice,” I snap.  “And mind your own business.”  I plonk my still half-full cup of tea in the sink and stomp out of the staff room before remembering that I’ve just committed the grave offense of not washing my cup and placing it back on the self.  Maybe I can get back in time later to do it before Mrs. Matson sees it.  But I’m not going back in there right now.  Not while he’s in there, no matter the consequences.  That man annoys me so much.   And the most annoying thing about him is that he can see right through me. Because if I’m honest with myself, the thought had occurred to me too. Which is really, really dumb.  The situation bears no relationship whatsoever to the choice I had between Gale and Peeta.  Because then there really was a choice.  Two boys who were in love with me compared to one man who isn’t, and another I can’t say.   But somehow, I sense that there’s still a choice to be made.  I don’t know how, or why.  Just that at one point, I’ll have to make one.   If Max can be trusted with anything, it’s to spread information in the fastest time possible.  By lunchtime everyone knows.  I get a few looks, especially from the newest members of staff.  I suppose I’d better get used to it.  People will speculate and assume the way is clear now for Peeta and me.  In their minds, anything other than a star-crossed lovers union is unthinkable, an aberration that shouldn’t be tolerated.   It’s unfortunate for them that they’re going to be disappointed a second time. I walk home the way I came, down the main street.   Lace’s shop is still closed, but Arthur is open for business.  I watch him through the window as I walk past.  Arthur has really only one expression, but it manifests in varying degrees according to his mood and the situation.  Today it’s serious light, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.  It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.   Johanna calls by soon after I arrive home. Marcus isn’t here so I lead her into the sitting room where we can talk openly in comfort. “How is he?” I ask as soon as we’re seated. “Better.  There haven’t been any more flashbacks, at least.  I think the long sleep broke the cycle.  Not that I’ve seen much of him.  He kept to his room most of the day, except when he came down to talk to Aurelius on the phone.” “And?”  Neither of us pretend that Johanna hadn’t listened in.  We’re both shameless.  Johanna for eavesdropping and me for asking her to repeat it.  But justified, we tell ourselves, because we care about his welfare. Johanna’s forehead crinkles in concentration. “Well, I only heard Peeta’s side of it, of course.  And it was muffled at times.    But he talked about the flashbacks.  That’s how I know they’ve stopped.  And then about the break-up.  I got the impression he must have already talked to Aurelius about the possibility, because he didn’t explain why they broke up, just that they had, and he felt badly about it.  And then, all of a sudden, he started to cry.  He kept saying over and over that his life was ruined and he’ll never find a love like that again and that it was his own fault.” It’s a knife to the heart.  I know Peeta doesn’t love me anymore but he has some awareness that he once did, and that it was, by his own account, overwhelming in its intensity.  But Lace has supplanted me in that too.  She’s the love that can never be surpassed.   But something doesn’t quite make sense. Why break-up with her if he feels that way? She was the one who had to be forgiven.  Peeta did nothing wrong.  But then I remember what Peeta told Johanna when she asked him why they had broken-up.  He said they’d both lied.  Could Lace have initiated the break-up?  That whatever Peeta had lied about was a deal breaker for her?  And then I think about Arthur and his closed shop this morning and the little smile on his face when I saw him later in the day.  That’s more than relief for a disaster averted.  He’s had encouragement.  From Lace.   Poor Peeta.  Poor, poor Peeta.  Everything about her he adored – her laughter, her bright personality, her ambition.  He even liked that slobbering dog of hers.  And after everything he’s suffered. The Games, losing his leg, his torture at Snow’s hands.  And the loss of his entire family in the bombing too.  He had no one except Haymitch and me – a drunk and a depressed recluse, as battle scarred and broken as he.  And then he meets Lace.   The ray of light in the darkness.   And the amount of money he spent on that wedding!  To please her, to show her and the world how much he loves her.  And now, oh, how could she? “It was heartbreaking.  I just wanted to leap out and tell him that little bitch isn’t worth it.  But I couldn’t, you know.”  No, not without revealing yourself.  “But he calmed down eventually.  He talked about going the Capitol for treatment but I think Aurelius persuaded him to stay here.  And that’s about it.  Except to talk again tomorrow.   Oh, and Peeta promised to think about returning to work as soon as possible and to get out and see people.  And to continue to work on his memories.” That’s similar to the advice Dr Aurelius gave me when I told I was in love with Peeta.  To work on myself, to find my direction. “No, that’s not quite right,” Johanna adds.  “I left out an important detail.  He promised to work on his memories with her.  I guess Aurelius appreciated my input.  And he did make a lot more progress once I took over.  Sorry, Katniss, but he did.” I nod wearily.  It hurts, but it’s true.  All I managed to do was confirm what he had already convinced himself of. A disaster from start to finish.   “Are you going to see him?” asks Johanna. “I think it will help him to know that he still has friends.” I want to say no.  But I know that if the positions were reversed Peeta would put aside his own hurt feelings and support me any way he can.   “Yes, in a day or two maybe. I want to give him time to adjust first.”   It’s a lame response but Johanna seems to accept it.  If I were Peeta I could leave a bag of cookies or cheese buns at his front door as a convenient way of conveying support without having to actually engage. But I can’t think of anything I can give him that he’d want so I’ll have to face him.  I can’t delay it forever. I tell Johanna about the cake with the vine design and the woman who ordered one just like it.   And of my suspicions of who this woman might be. “Yeah, that’d be Cressida.  She’s been covering an ongoing story about Marcus and the national parks.  She comes around this time, just as Marcus is almost finished wrapping things up. Although, in 7, she was almost there from the start.  You know, because of all the trouble we had with the logging companies.  I don’t know if you saw it, but she did a special feature on me.  It was called “Johanna Mason – Environmental Activist.  Her Life After the Games.”  It was sensationalist rubbish really.  They kept on showing footage of me chained naked to a tree.  Even asked if I’d do the interview like that.   I did, but I want to be clear, it was their idea, not mine. And they tried to fabricate a love affair between me and Marcus too.  Marcus hated it.  Especially when memes appeared on social media transposing me naked against the tree with him next to me with his hands in various places.” “But why?” I’m aghast.  This is dreadful news.  If they did that to Johanna, what would they do to Marcus and me?  Or to Peeta and Lace?  Or to Peeta and me?  This is juicy fodder for the tabloid media.  “I thought they wanted us to lay low.  To just blend in and be ordinary people again.” Johanna looks at me askance.  “Well, maybe you and Peeta.  But not for the rest of us.  Beetee writes for a science magazine and does frequent guest appearances on “Cool Science” and Enobaria has her own reality show.  “Keeping Up with the Barbarian,” or something like that.   Annie likes to keep a low profile though.”   “Does Marcus know she’s here?” I barely whisper the words. Johanna shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Maybe not if she’s just arrived.  But he would have known she’d be here eventually.  Marcus doesn’t like it, but he relies on the publicity.   And when he goes to 13 next – “ “13?” “Well, yes.  He’s doing all the Districts.  You know that.  And 13’s practically virgin territory.  That’s one advantage in living underground I suppose, nothing on top gets damaged. He’ll want to move quickly to preserve the area most in need of conservation before developers make any more inroads.  I don’t envy him though.  That’s one place I never want to see again.”   Me neither.  There’re no good memories for me in 13.  And they hate me there. I killed their president. Johanna leaves shortly after, but not before extracting from me an assurance that I’ll visit Peeta soon.   I have about an hour before Marcus arrives home.  Enough time to use his computer to do some research.   I find the memes Johanna talked about.  One has Marcus with one hand at Johanna’s crotch and the other inside his trousers, pumping away.  I search Beetee’s name and find links to articles he’s written and his TV appearances.  There’s very little about his personal life other than he still lives in his home district of 3 and has investments in an electrical company.   Enobaria attracts the most publicity.  As well as her reality show, she’s a regular on the celebrity circuit, her trademark pointed teeth bared for maximum effect.   On Annie, there’s been no media reports since the War ended.  And there’s none for Haymitch, Peeta and me either.   I can understand why Peeta and I have been left alone.  At least, I thought I did. Haymitch and Annie would be fair game though.  Annie, slightly mad Annie, Victor and the widow of the handsome and seductive Finnick Odair, himself a Victor, the most notorious womaniser in Panem turned war hero.  Surely the birth of their son would have garnered some attention.  And Haymitch is a news story too.  A popular Victor and a prominent player in the Rebellion, you’d think they’d be some public curiosity about where he ended up.   But nothing.  Either there’s been no interest or it’s being squelched.  It dawns on me that maybe the lack of media attention isn’t just because we’re a national embarrassment.  It’s because we’re being protected.  Enobaria, Beetee and Johanna have chosen to be in the public eye, and they must take the bad with the good.  But not Annie, Haymitch, Peeta and I.   We’ve lived quiet lives, eschewing the lime-light.  I let out a long breath, not realizing that I’ve been holding it.  We’re safe then. Cressida will do her news story about Marcus and the new national park and then leave. Peeta and I have nothing to worry about.   A door opens and shuts and there’s footsteps in the hall.   I close the computer and replace everything as it was.   Marcus is home.