#and of course. none of them have white teeth. are you insane.

[meirimerens]

so about those teeth shapes headcanons you mentioned? 🤨👀

you're so crazy. i love that in a reader.

twirls hair anyways... so matching with this morning's anon let me tell you it all. let me tell you. i'll tell you like one would tell a close, intimate friend.

Dankovsky: he has. i think it's called snaggletooth(teeth?), where his upper canines are implanted higher and more forwardly than the incisors. he's the one dude i have like. a #claim for, which i'm very sorry mademoiselle [art commentary/drama youtuber that autoplayed on me one day] you get to be here again:

exactly. he also has the same high, pointy lower canines.

Burakh: wide upper row... big teeth. His upper incisors are mostly straight, with the outer ones being implanted just a tad higher than the front ones. his upper canines as well as premolar look quite sharp. his bottom canines are revealed, with the gum being lower than on other teeth, making them look longer and sharper. they, as well as his bottom premolar, are a bit crooked from his wisdom teeth pushing at the back.

Clara: her teeth are silly #moving and #squirming but what is sure is that she has a small gap between the front incisors, with the itty bittiest hint of a chip to the corner of one of them. her canines are small and low, but somewhat dull, and her premolars sharper in both rows.

Andrey: unilateral partial maxillary agenesis babyyyyyy i'm all about that. basically his left outer upper incisor is missing, and instead he has a canine. it's like this:

(Heilung singer(?)). on his left upper side, he has one (1) wisdom tooth, that grew because the back of incisor gave it some space to grow. Low and sharp canines on the top & the bottom. vampyric...

Peter: the same ^ but mirrored. 🫶 i'm crazy i'm insane insane asylum... so he's missing his right upper outer incisor + has his upper right wisdom tooth.

Rubin: straight row above, his bottom teeth slightly overlap in places (middle incisors slightly overlap, and his side incisors overlap the middle ones by being more forward). His upper canines are a little dull, with his upper premolar being sharper (having a wide maxillary, it's visible). his bottom canines are sharp enough.

Lara: she has quite a narrow upper maxillary, so her top front incisors are forward, with relatively sharp canines behind.

Grief: i'm seeing/extrapolating what his p1 portrait has, which looks like:

so i'm seeing prominent front incisors that kinda make a /\ shape forward out of the row of teeth. like a little bunny very cute. [the teeth. i will not pronounce myself on either bad grief or Yuri Reiser on this picture, who i do not know personally]. i also think he's missing his upper right premolar. got it socked out of him in a brawl. happens to the best of us.

Eva: wide front incisors slightly more forward than the row, rounded and smaller outer incisors with sharp canines somewhat tucked behind.

Yulia: pointy but somewhat dull outer upper incisors and canines, with the gum revealing a lot of the canines on both rows.

Khan: don't think i've drawn him smiling which is really funny. anyways i think he has a teeny gap between his two front incisors.

Notkin: computer CROOK THIS GUY'S TEETH! i was gonna go at length but i found the perfect stock image hold on

yes something of the sort. front incisors slightly overlapping, outer incisors somewhat tucking behind, canines sharp with one implanted higher that the others. bottom row as some overlapping here and there + canines implanted slightly forward. i also think both of his upper outer incisors have the little. don't know what it's called. serrated shape you see on the right side [our left] of this model.

Capella: she gets a gap too #gang i've drawn it a bunch on her actually. hashtag girl

i like to draw her in ways where she looks like a little bnnuy from the straight + downturned nose so she can have a gap and be a lil bit. what's the bame. buckteethy(?)

Catnip: my my. what big teeth you have. it's true! she also has a wide jaw that allows for big canines and she loves to do big wide smiles to show them off. it's like a power move.

also her front teeth all form a. somewhat "‿" whape? ykwim? slope. cup-line.

Dandy: what i know for a fact is that his upper front incisors have a gap accentuated by one of them being crooked outwardly. like he could hold a matchstick in the hollow if he wanted. very useful!

[my-castles-crumbling]

faded - april 4 - wolfstar - @taylorswiftmicrofic - cw: discussion of scarring (remus's scars) - word count: 420

For the first three years of his time at Hogwarts, Remus had done an excellent job of hiding his scar.

Not the little ones sustained by monthly Fulls. Those were impossible to ignore, and he’d long-ago accepted the creeping feeling associated with staring, the sounds of people whispering behind their hands. 

But the biggest scar. The one from where the wolf had actually put teeth to skin. He’d been able to hide it from everyone, save Madame Pomfrey. He slept in shirts or behind closed curtains, swum in t-shirts, walked around in layers and changed behind closed bathroom doors. Nobody asked–they understood. 

He should have known, though, that someday, eventually, someone would see.

He was in a rush, in the open air of the dorm room between classes, changing from the hot claustrophobia of a wool jumper to a lighter button-down. He only had a few minutes and didn’t expect anyone else to show up, so he didn’t bother going into the bathroom. 

Of course it had to be Sirius. The only one of his friends who made his heart flutter and his knees grow weak and his already-low self-confidence drop below-sea level.

The other boy stumbled into the room quickly, obviously with the same idea in mind, already pulling his jumper over his head, only to freeze at the sight of a shirtless Remus in the middle of the circular room, his stunning gray eyes wide with shock.

And it was obvious what Sirius was staring at. His eyes instantly had moved to the twisted, ravaged skin on Remus’s right side, the hardly-faded marks stretching all over his ribcage, bright-red and dark-maroon and pearly-white scar tissue making a gruesome painting on his pale abdomen.

Remus froze, too. Their eyes locked, and he had the insane urge to apologize. It must be terrifying, after all, for Sirius to see such a horrid sight.

But the shorter boy just took a step forward, mouth slightly open, and reached out slowly, gently trailing cool fingers over the destroyed skin.

Remus shivered at the light touch, his entire body tense with fear and confusion. “Sirius, what’re you–?”

But Sirius just looked at him again, awe in his eyes. “Shit, Moons. Sometimes I forget how…cool you are. Like….you got bit by a fucking werewolf and you’re just here, being you.”

Something like pride fluttered in Remus’s chest.

After that, he occasionally was able to change his shirt in front of his friends. None of them said a word about his scar.

[feyascorner]

10 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks, suggestive content!!!! (new warning hehe)

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. actual????? communication????? after 45k words?!?!?!?!?!? or is it...this chapter is literally them being loser teenagers i love them

To you, his touch is like a drug.

His breath, cool against your hot skin, presses against the shell of your ear as something dangerously close to a whine escapes your lips. You can feel him grin as he lowers his head and places a long kiss on your collarbone. His slender hands slide up your back, grinding you even closer than you already are as he mouths at every nook and cranny of your body. It’s almost like he wants to consume you whole. To drink you until all that’s left is a shuddering mess, your body still begging for his own.

White curls tickle your chin as the strings on your shirt finally come undone. His tongue brushes against the peak of your bare breast, and your eyes meet him in a lust-clouded haze, lips pursed as you swear you could reach your peak just by the way he looks at you. It’s so intimate, so vulnerable, so pleasurable that your eyes half close when the palm of his hand smooths against your clothed core.

He stills, lifting his head to kiss his way up to your neck again. As much as you want to beg him to resume what he’s been doing, he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers bring your face to his.

“Don’t hide from me.”

You shudder. You think you know plenty with how flushed your face is, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lowers back down your chest, grinning as he lays his cheek on your skin teasingly.

“If you look away, I’ll stop, my love.”

“Are you insane? Of course, he’s staying here!”

You lurch up from your pillow as the earth-shattering reality of the morning sun blares you awake. Cheeks burning, you rub at the bags under your eyes, humiliated in the face of nobody but yourself, as you hear more voices from downstairs. None of which even try to keep it quiet. You stare down at your legs, lips pursed.

Only still half-awake, you can practically feel his hands on your waist.

Curses. What are you? A prepubescent teen?

With a loud groan, you force yourself onto your feet. Considering how your dreams will only add to your stress, you might as well.

“Oh, thank gods you’re here. Tell him we’re not taking Astarion with us to the celebration, will you?” Shadowheart hisses as you descend the stairs, still half asleep. “Our wizard seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the leech upstairs.”

You swear Lae’zel snorts.

“It was only a suggestion. I wasn’t sure if we’d want to leave him alone here…isn’t that merely an invitation for him to run away?” Gale rubs his temple with his thumb, clearly exhausted.

You’re fully aware of Astarion’s nightly escapes into the city, but you don’t tell them that. It’s better not to cause a panic.

Shadowheart shrugs. “We’ll tie him to the counter. Hells, we can just lock him into the basement.”

Gale sighs. “He’s not a dog.”

“He acts like it,” Lae’zel grumbles, sinking her teeth into an apple.

“We could ask the Duke to spare some of his soldiers for the night. Make them keep watch while we’re at the party,” Shadowheart offers. “Anything to keep that dirtbag here instead of there. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

Gale’s eyes meet with yours. There’s a sort of expectancy in them that makes you squirm in your shoes as they bore straight into your soul as if he’s aware of your deepest secrets. There are bags under his eyes, surely from having to balance Astarion’s less-than-likable presence with all his other responsibilities in rebuilding the city. A part of you feels guilty for the work you’ve dropped on him, but both parties know it’s for the best.

It’s been made glaringly obvious that you and Astarion shouldn’t be anywhere around one another. It’s only a recipe destined to end in a yelling match or…

Your cheeks flare. Last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.

“We’ll keep him here. Lock him in his room like Shadowheart said,” You finally blurt. “Can you send the invitation back with everyone who’s going? I have someone to visit in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” the cleric smiles, obviously pleased with your decision. Gale only frowns. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

So are you.

You hear the door of Astarion’s room open upstairs and decide you shouldn’t stay any longer. After rushing goodbyes to your companions and another questioning glance from Gale, you scramble to fly out of the house, barely grabbing your bag in the process. The contents weigh more heavily than they usually do, and for good reason. Hopefully, younger vampires feed less than fully grown ones because otherwise, the squirrel you found the night before won’t be able to satiate Berry’s appetite.

It’s hard not to wonder how she’s doing for most of your day. You were initially planning to visit her last night until the unfortunate ambush Petras released onto your already sore limbs. Even now, you constantly rub at the ache of your thighs and arms. The healing potions did plenty, but they couldn’t do everything.

She must be starving, you think. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately for you, however, when you arrive at the Highberry residence, Berry seems perfectly fine. In fact, she’s helping her adopted siblings arrange decorative plants around the house, likely to liven up the place after what’s been happening the past few months. There’s a sense of calm here that doesn’t currently exist in your own household. The scene makes a soft smile pull at your lips, which is more than welcome.

“You didn’t visit last night,” the young girl finally says when you’re with her by the window, far enough from the siblings to be out of earshot. She looks up at you sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve gotten attacked.”

She picks at her fingers.

“Were you worried?” you stifle a laugh, and she shrugs, albeit flustered. “I brought you some—prey. You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” she still takes the worn sack and clutches it close to her. “I went out to find food by myself.”

At this, your eyes widen. “What? You left for the forest? You know that place is dangerous, Berry; it’s not safe for someone as young as you.”

“I’m a spawn. It’s probably safer for me than you,” she squints, and you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“...You’re still a child,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Where’d you learn to hunt anyway? The last time I checked, you could barely fight off a few forest animals.”

Her face flushes red, but she huffs regardless. “The haggard taught me.”

“Hag?...”

“Your friend,” Berry perches either of her arms on the windowsill, staring out at the passing civilians on the street. She whips her head to you and points at either of her fangs, opening wide. “He’s been teaching me to hunt with these.”

“Astarion?” you blink. “He taught you? Willingly?”

It’s rather hard to believe.

“No, I had to follow him. By the time he noticed, he didn’t have much of a choice,” she says proudly, puffing out her chest. Then she deflates again as if she just tasted something sour. “He got two big bears last night but wouldn’t share…So, I had to get my own squirrels because he told me I’d starve otherwise. That old hoot is selfish and mean.”

Well, it certainly sounds like him.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” you scold her gently.

“Maybe by him.”

You want to say that she’s wrong and that Astarion wouldn’t hurt her, but the blasted comb flashes back in your mind, and reality sits heavy in your throat. So, instead, you bite your tongue.

“Have you found any of them yet? The other spawn?” she pushes herself off the wall to stand straight.

“I did—if fighting them counts.”

Her face falls and a part of you regrets even alluding to what happened last night. She begins to fidget with the sharp ends of her nails again and stares at your shoes. “There’s too many of them.”

You’d most certainly know.

“We have the Fist fighting for us,” you assure her, albeit pathetically. Even in your own ears, you don’t sound entirely confident. “And besides, the murder count has been decreasing as of late. If we keep going at this rate, we won’t have more than a body every two weeks—”

“It won’t work that way, though. They’ll just keep coming back.”

Were children always this perceptive?

You’re not sure what to say.

She clenches her fists. “Not all of them are bad, you know.”

“I know, Berry. You’re not a bad person at all; it’s just that—”

“I meant the siblings,” she blurts, finally meeting your eyes. “Aurora…she was nice. She was nothing like Petras.”

Aurora?

You’re suddenly leaning down to her, shoulders tense. “You’ve met the other siblings? Since when?”

“Only once, months ago. Petras tried to convince the others to stay here with him, but they said no,” her brows furrow. “He was furious that day.”

Of course. Why didn’t you realize that earlier? Petras, Dalyria, and Leon were the only ones of the main spawn that remained in the city, and being so swept up with their antics, you’d forgotten to ponder on the motivations of the others. You swallow the dry lump in your throat as realization slaps you across the face.

“So not all of them want to go through with the ascension?” you gasp. Berry pauses but nods slowly. 

Help. You could ask them for help. Surely, if they don’t want another Cazador running rampant in the city, they’d be willing to stop the ritual as a whole. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek as your mind races. Were they even aware of what Petras was up to? How many lives he’d taken?

You take her hands to stop her from picking at them, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Berry, where are the other siblings?”

“They told Petras they were leaving for the Underdark like they promised you.”

Gods, bless this girl. Somehow, she’s been more helpful than any other resource you’ve had the past few months—including the Duke, and your vampire spawn. You’d think she might be a blessing from the heavens if it weren’t for all the other bullshit they’ve thrown your way as of late.

“Tell Cora I dropped by,” you smile brightly. Though it’s rare nowadays, you feel almost hopeful. “I’ll come back in a week. Stay put until then.”

By the time you realize how much time has passed being cooped up on your bedroom floor, the sun is already setting. You reach for a candle, flicking a match against the box before lighting a flame to illuminate the pages sprawled around you. In anyone else’s eyes, you might look nearly hysterical, but to you, it feels as if the weight of the entire city is on your shoulders again. In a way, you suppose it is. Unless you want more than just a couple dozen bodies on the city streets in a few months, that is.

Your eyes scan over Dalyria’s drawings for what seems like the millionth time. And for the millionth time, you find nothing. Since the last time you obsessed over her journal, there have been a few additions to your collection: some books on ascension, vampires, and, for some reason, a book on vampire lords. 

You’re not sure you see the point in picking up this particular book, considering the spawns’ master is long dead, which means none of them can become a true vampire unless they were to ascend—the exact scenario you’re trying to prevent. But perhaps spending an entire day at the library blossomed a newfound curiosity within you. 

There isn’t much in there you don’t already know from first-hand accounts Astarion would recall on the nights you couldn’t fall asleep. There are parts, however, regarding the vampire spawn they can compel that lure your attention.

“Vampire spawn were the masters of stealth and charismatic cunning,” you read mindlessly. “...vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators.”

Vengeance. Is that what it was when he tried to strangle you?

Your jaw clenches, and you feel a sort of buzzing on your lips. What an asshole.

Quickly, you shut the book with a slam as you decide that dwelling on information you’re already well accustomed to is a waste of time. You’d likely be a better source of knowledge than the book itself because of how basic its contents tend to be.

You stare at the cover, which simply illustrates a set of fangs. Cliche, you think, but it’s effective.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

Fortunately, the uncomfortably loud growling of your stomach snaps you out of your trance.

Shoving the book under your bed, you swing the door to your room open to pace to the kitchen. Hopefully, there’s some dinner left over from last night—-worst-case scenario, you have to eat one of those days-old fruits gathered in the bowl on the counter. You don’t have much time to ponder, though, because you hear a familiar groan from downstairs as soon as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Will you please stop leaving dead animals in the cabinet? As grateful as I am that you’re feeding on them rather than our friends, it bloody reeks, Astarion!”

Shit.

Astarion stares up at you with wide eyes on his way up to his room while you blink down at him wearily. Gale continues to mutter mindlessly about whatever trouble the spawn has caused in his sacred kitchen, but Astarion doesn’t seem to pay him any heed. You feel naked under his gaze, but you think putting on at least four more layers of clothing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of how you feel.

“Good morning,” he blurts.

He never greets you. Not like this, anyway.

It’s not even morning.

Fortunately, he looks just as confused at his words as you do.

Searching for a response that won’t come to you, you refer to the lamest solution. A scapegoat, if you will. “I need to walk past you.”

Astarion immediately nods. “Right. Yes, of course.”

He stands to one side of the narrow stairs, and you cautiously squeeze past him. Has it always been this much of a struggle to fit two people on the stairs? It’s terribly awkward as you shuffle by, holding the air in your lungs in hopes that he doesn’t recognize how uneven your breath is. You’re sure he does, but it was worth a try anyway.

Suddenly, Gale is standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of you.

“Where are you going? I thought you needed a healing potion for your stomach,” he aims at Astarion with a raised brow.

The said spawn coughs. You almost choke on the air.  “No, I—I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure? That bruise was pretty nasty, my friend. Letting something like that fester will surely only hinder you…”

Astarion closes the door to his room. Slams, more like.

You glance at Gale pitifully, who only crosses his arms with a sigh as he turns to return to the kitchen. “He’s moodier than I was when I was going through puberty.”

Wordlessly, you trail behind him until he resumes whatever dish he’s cooking up inside a pot while you reach for an apple. There’s a comfortable silence as you perch yourself on the counter, legs gently swinging as you chew, cringing whenever you feel a mushier part of the fruit. Gale lifts his ladle to his nose and takes a quick sniff before nodding in satisfaction. He then puts the lid over the pot.

“I’ve never seen Astarion as awkward as he was earlier,” he comments, and you cough.

“He wasn’t that charming in the first place,” you grumble.

“I never said he was charming. Just that he isn’t awkward.”

“Maybe he’s still drunk from last night,” you scoff, blood boiling at the mere thought of how he acted. A strange sense of pride spreads through you, knowing you hit him hard enough to do some damage, but you still think you could’ve hit harder. All those months pent up should’ve garnered far more strength, surely.

“Or perhaps it’s from the kiss.”

You do choke on your apple this time.

After you wheeze out whatever apple chunks were lodged in your throat, your head whips in the wizard’s direction. “Gale, you–”

“It wasn’t voluntary, I’ll have you know,” he cuts in, crossing his arms. “I just happened to leave one of my books on the couch, which I only wished to retrieve for my nightly routine of reading at least 100 pages.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your face deepens in color, even as you beg it not to.

“I, of course, being the most fortunate lad I am, had to walk into the room when his tongue was halfway down your throat.”

You nearly shriek. “There was no tongue!”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief!” he laughs. “I likely would have had to pry my eyes out with one of Lae’zel’s swords otherwise!”

On any other occasion, you’d bite back at him, but you’re too busy drowning in your own humiliation to register half of his words. A blessing and a curse in this case.

“It didn’t mean anything!” you blurt, even though he never really asked. “It was—he kissed me. I punched him afterward, too.”

Gale raises a brow. “Really? It appeared to me that you were kissing back, though it might have just been the angle. Quite passionately, too, but that might’ve been the trick of the light…”

You slap your palms over your ears, praying to the gods that he shut his mouth for once in his damn life. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Does he know that?”

“He hates me! And he’s kissed hundreds of people—I doubt one stupid kiss even bothers him.”

“Yes, but it’s a kiss from you. His ex-lover,” Gale shoots back. “And he doesn’t seem unbothered. Neither of you do.”

“So what?” You know exactly what, but it’s difficult to acknowledge at the moment.

“Tav,” Gale says carefully. “If you’ve—by any chance—begun to grow accustomed to his presence again…and I don’t blame you at all, by the way. I’ve become rather fond myself of forcing him to listen to magic lectures that nobody else is willing to listen to; however…if it’s becoming something more on your end–”

“It’s not,” your tone is more stern this time. Colder. “It never will be.”

“Really?”

“Do I need to punch him again for you to believe me?”

“That’s not quite what I’m getting at. I just witnessed the tension between the two of you, and it would be irresponsible of me as a friend if we didn’t work through what you’re feeling before things start to get out of hand.”

You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “There is no tension, Gale!”

“Now now, I might not be the most experienced out of all of us in romantic affairs, but I’ve had my fair share of them. With a goddess, no less! It would be wise if you heeded my advice and discussed what the kiss meant to both of yo–”

You clap a hand over his mouth, words gritting through your teeth. “Stop saying it!”

His response comes out muffled against your palm.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. I’ll go up to him right now and tell him how I’ll bury him alive if he tries anything again. Would that be enough to shut you up?” 

Gale smiles. You don’t return it.

The angry march up to Astarion’s room should’ve been enough to wake up your other companions, but it doesn’t. You knock heavily on his door, foot tapping impatiently as you glare at Gale, who stands halfway up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging. It only makes you want to shrink into your shirt.

When Astarion fails to answer after multiple knocks, you decide you have no time for this. “I’m coming in. Please don’t be naked.”

The door doesn’t even have a lock. His room is empty except for the cold air that hits your cheeks. You realize that the window is swung wide open, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the wooden floors where he’s left his cloak in favor of what you assume to be usual nightwear. You pull the door behind you and cautiously step into his room, eyes glazing over the rest. It’s a stark contrast from your own. Despite how much time he spends in it, there isn’t a speck of dust or an article of laundry where it shouldn’t be. His bed is neatly made, his chair pushed into his desk, and if it weren’t for his books organized on his desk, you’d think nobody even lives here.

You slowly inch toward the window, running your fingertips over his books. They’re worn but somehow still well taken care of. You can feel how old they are, yet their pages remain perfectly intact, without a single crease on any corners. 

When you reach the window, you finally notice the vines growing on the sides of the building that protrude just over the window sill. You hear soft thumps from the ceiling, resembling the pace of his footsteps. Or at least, what do you think they’d sound like if he made any sounds while walking.

The asshole knows you’re here. Of course, he does.

With a wary glance at the vines, you firmly grip both hands on the roots and slowly lift yourself off the windowsill. Thankfully, the stones making up the building make for good boosters to haul you up toward the rooftop, even though your instincts suggest you’d likely fall and die an unfortunate death here. Still, somehow, you manage to haul yourself onto the roof's edge with a final groan.

You slump rather unceremoniously onto the angled edge, and the slight snicker from the other occupant of the space doesn’t go unnoticed. You glare at him, and Astarion only grins, leaning back on both elbows. “Should I have lent you a hand?”

“I can climb a wall, thanks,” you snap, crawling to a spot that allows you to lie back and stay a generous distance away from the vampire spawn. The tiles of the roof feel cool against your skin. From only two stories up, you can see a full four streets further than you usually can from your window, where only a few people now shuffle through the city given the time of night. While you think it should be peaceful here, all you can focus on is the undead individual lying a good few feet away from you, staring up at the sky rather than the city.

“As much as I enjoy all the colorful insults you throw at me, I was hoping for some peace tonight,” he finally says.

“This is my rooftop that I paid for. I’ll go where I please.”

Astarion sighs, his eyes still gazing up at the stars. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight? If it’s about the dead animals, I’ve already told Gale I’d store them outside from now on—”

“Last night didn’t happen.”

There. It’s like a weight off your chest. At least, it should feel that way.

He stops, moving to stare from the stars to you. “And since when could you manipulate the very essence of time?”

“Don’t get smart with me unless you want another repeat of yesterday. Maybe I’ll knock out a fang this time,” you hiss.

“The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

This boils your blood just enough for you to tear your gaze away from him and back onto the city. “Just forget it happened.”

“Must I?”

“Yes! It was clearly a lapse of judgment!”

“It was,” he affirms. From the corner of your eye, you can see him put his chin against the palm perched on his elbow, fully turning on his side to face you. “An exciting one. I thought I knew you well enough that I could trust you would never kiss me again.”

You glower. “I was bleeding half to death—I was barely conscious. For all I know, I thought you might’ve been someone else.”

You can both hear the obvious lie in the statement, but neither points it out.

“I do wish you’d stop doing that,” he mutters, staring through lidded eyes. “It’s hard not to pay you any attention when you constantly smell like fresh bait. It’s like seeing an entire feast before you but being unable to have a taste.”

“Yes, because I wanted to get attacked by your brother.”

“Right. That.”

He stares up at the sky again. Hells, if he stares any harder, you’d think his damn eyeballs would fall out. His white curls blow gently against the breeze, and from here, it appears like nighttime was really made for him. Or do all vampires just glow during the night?

“For all it is, I’m truly sorry.”

Your eyes resemble barrels as you turn to look at him. He’s now occupied with his hands—those flawless hands of his that, by some miracle, don't have a single scar on them even after all the two of you have been through. Those very same hands you’ve once loved and that you’ve grown to hate.

“I, of all people, should know what it feels like to have someone forced upon me. And if I had any sort of control over my body at the time, I assure you what happened last night wouldn’t have happened.”

Though it’s not the main point of his apology, you find yourself focusing on the implications. He would’ve never kissed you if he was sober. You know this—you’ve known this—so why you’re so preoccupied by this confession, you have no idea. Internally kicking yourself, you steel your mind to remain calm. He hates you. You hate him. Simple. You only notice, moments later, that he’s still talking.

“---and I’m aware we aren’t on good terms,” he says, softer. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stoop down to the levels of the dirtbags I had to deal with for two centuries. I might have questionable morals about all else, but in that aspect, I’m unlike them.”

Still wide and unblinking, your eyes slowly relax as you soak in his words. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him so sincere (in a manner that isn’t insulting), and it feels like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, you want to deceive yourself that you’d never reached Baldur’s Gate. That you and your companions are still camping in the woods, and Astarion is still only learning to care for another. That he never went to Cazador’s palace, and you never needed to stop the ascension.

You would’ve indulged in such fantasies months ago, but now, they feel too artificial to derive joy from them. They feel too hollow. Fake. Like biting into a poisoned apple. You can sense him waiting for your response, and it takes a moment, but you manage to mumble it out. “It’s fine. I did kiss you back. We were both not in our right minds. Just…forget it happened.”

You don’t know how to decipher the look in his eyes, but you’ve long given up on how to do it in the first place. Because every time you think you finally understand him, it turns out to be a mask or a plot to deceive you. And every time, you don’t see it coming. It’s better not to try at all because it means he has no way to lie to you in the first place.

“Very well,” he says numbly. “It never happened.”

Both your heads turn to look up at the dark sky. The stars twinkle overhead, glistening in their own respectful glories. There’s one in particular that shines the brightest, floating right beside another that dims compared to all the other stars. It seems to drag behind the brighter star like a shadow, always following but never truly acknowledged.

You pity it.

“Why did you quit music?” he asks suddenly. “I thought it was…your passion.”

“I can’t see the beauty in it anymore,” you say simply.

Astarion hums. “A shame. I was rather fond of your lyre.”

The brightest star almost appears to move again. The darker one trails right behind.

You raise your brow. “Is this where you run off to every night? To stargaze? It’s pretty, but doesn’t it get boring?”

“It’s not pretty at all, darling,” he grins, attention never leaving the sky. “I watch every night, hoping that the dimmer star dies out before the brighter one notices it’s there.”

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer

[rainghoulgf]

pls I am BEGGING YOU say more about this post it makes me so insane AAAA

(obviously dont actually feel pressured to if you dont want to write it!!)

whoops 850 words!

Aether does it out of concern. Honest. He loves to take care of his pack, and that's all these little check-ups are. Seeing that the piercings they're all so fond getting of heal the way they're supposed to. Nothing else to it. It's just medical.

Even if he slipped his fingers into the gills on Rain's sides when he was making sure his belly button piercing healed up right. Even if he tugged and pulled at the new bars in Cumulus' nipples until she was gasping and begging for his mouth instead. It's strictly professional.

That's what he tells Phantom when he walks into his bedroom, uncharacteristically quiet. That there's nothing to worry about, it's just the same care and concern he shows for everyone else. A courtesy, really. All the same, Aether guesses why he's hesitant. He'd chosen what piercing he wanted to get based on how much of a reaction it got from the rest of the pack, but there's none of that brashness now.

"Breathe, pup," he says with a soft smile. "We're not doing anything you haven't done before." Phantom smiles back and nods, but he's still flustered. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable. You get ready and I'll be right over." He pulls on a pair of gloves and snaps them just to watch Phantom blush, grabs a bottle of medical lube just in case. The blush deepens.

When he makes it back over to the bed and Phantom hasn't moved to undress, Aether gives his pants a pointed look. Phantom catches it and hurriedly shoves his jeans and underwear down in one go, carelessly tossing them aside. Then he draws his legs tight up to his chest.

Aether tsks. "That won't do, pup. I have to be able to see it to give the all clear, yeah?" Phantom mumbles an apology and opens his thighs a bit. Just enough for Aether to see.

He rests his hands on Phantom's knees as he leans in, and fuck, it looks good. Phantom chose the jewelry well- a titanium barbell curves through the hood, with white gemstones on either end that sparkle against his purple-gray skin. Aether's breath catches when he sees it. If he didn't know better, he'd say Phantom's hole twitches just from the attention. Phantom tries to bring his legs together on instinct, but Aether's hands keep them where they are. And maybe Aether pushes them a little farther apart, too. Just to get a better look at it.

"I'm not seeing any immediate problems, but I'll do a closer examination just to be sure." Aether's voice, at least, is unaffected. It comes out firm and reassuring; he's had years of practice. He runs through the standard list of questions as he settles in between Phantom's legs. "Have you noticed any pain?" A shake of the head. "Any redness or swelling?" Uh-uh. "And you've been using the saline solution?" A nod. "Good boy." Phantom sucks in a breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Is it sensitive?" Aether continues as he carefully brings a finger to Phantom's outer lips. Just gentle touches for now, getting him used to the feeling. Don't want him to startle, after all.

"Very," Phantom breathes. He draws his lip between his teeth as Aether's touch grows a little more insistent, a little closer to the piercing. His finger comes away slick and Phantom's dick is starting to jut out underneath the jewelry, Aether's pleased to note.

"Certainly seems that way," he replies. "You're very wet for the amount of stimulation I've given you," he can't resist adding, and only then does Aether acknowledge he may be veering off the course of professionalism.

It makes Phantom squirm, flushed down to his chest. "C'mon, Aeth," he whines, but he doesn't say what it is he wants. So Aether ignores him and presses on.

"And your orgasms?"

The bluntness of the question catches Phantom off guard. "What?"

"Has the piercing affected the strength of your orgasms?" He keeps his tone flat and impersonal, but he finally brings his finger up to graze against the top of the piercing as he asks.

Phantom's voice wavers when he answers. "I- I don't- I haven't..."

"You haven't noticed?" Aether's skeptical, to say the least.

"No, I..." He swallows hard. "I haven't tried."

"...You haven't come in two months?" Phantom shakes his head no. Aether's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "Not even masturbating?"

"I just wanted to make sure it healed right," he says, sheepish.

"Seven hells, bug," Aether breathes, genuinely impressed and suddenly acutely aware of how hard he is.

"So can you show me?" Phantom asks him, a bit stronger this time. "If I come harder with it?"

Aether looks down at his hand again, where his finger's been circling that pretty piercing, at Phantom's hard little cock underneath it, at his hole that's warm and pink and wet and devastatingly empty. He squeezes himself through his pants. "Yeah, pup. I can do that."

He can claim all the good intentions he wants- they both know there's a reason he had Phantom come to his room and not his office.

[moronkombat]

op the breeding/preganncy stuff w reptile had me insane. can we get some for havik please?

hehe tw: dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, violence, afab pronouns and anatomy

Havik had gotten you pregnant purposefully. All to keep you closer to him.

All of you will belong to him and he will have you tied to him by laying his seed inside you

You would cry, you would scream and beg for him not to but this only fuels his sick intentions with blazing flames

How he will relish in painting your womb with crystal white pearls. How ravaging it will be gaze into your wide and pathetic eyes

There is no escape for you, not in the slightest. You will bear his child and deliver them to him through screams and blood

Wretched hands hook into her skin, the tattered flesh of wrists so abraded and worn from the metal that binds them. Chains dance and their song ripped from them as they are pulled and tugged. Crimson flees down the length of sore and beaten arms. Teeth brush against the shell of an ear and the breath that is whispered into her abhorrent and coated in grotesque chaffs.

She can hear him grunting, feel him moving torrid against flesh that trembles and grips. The body such a treacherous ally to her. Eyes so wet with tears but the velvet warmth slick with natural pleasure. How awful, how agonizingly euphoric the way Havik's cock, thick and full, continues to ravage her so wanton.

He's laughing then, a tongue layering over her ear. He can feel just her warmth dripping around him. What a wonderful orchestra she makes. Wet and sticky, there is music each time he thrusts within her. So already painted she is, so bleached in white all thanks to him. Yet there no stopping yet, no of course not. He must give to her all he can contain. His seed must thrive within her, grow and be nurtured.

A spine curls at the thought and Havik is ripping his nails into her flesh and he hears her cry out in pain. So beautiful, so wonderful...how she screams and screams. It will not be long now until he delivers his twisted seed to her womb.

He recalls her words, her petrified terror. "No! Please don't! I don't want to have your child! You can't! You can't!" That's it, give into the loss of control. Free yourself and be consumed by all that is chaos. Learn from him, become him. Havik moves faster now, blinding ferocity his guidance.

A palm comes to lay upon her stomach, oh how flat it is now...soon that will change. Soon it will grow with his twisted gift. Once his seed has taken its root she will belong entirely to him. Him, just him. She is claimed and the bearer of generations of chaos to come!

"Get pregnant, little pet" his words slither into her while his seed lays its seige.

You cannot deny him this, Havik makes sure of it and it is not long until you know he has succeeded

The illness spins, your body aching and stomach coiling. It not a blight to be cured with medicine and you know this. This a curse you have been condemned to enable its festering

Still, you try to keep it a secret...try to keep your pregnancy a secret from your tormentor

You must not let him know that his child grows within you. What a wretched child they will be, you cannot allow this to happen

But power is stripped from you, there is so escape. Mangled jaws are forever at your neck

You're sick, you can't stop bile from rising. It's too much, and it is expelled. You cannot hide

Havik comes to you then with a look so putrid and rotten, never has he gazed to you quite like this

"My pet...Why did you hide that you got pregnant?" Is what he'd say, eyes tarnished with insanity

You're terrified but unable to move as he approaches you. A damaging hand presses over your naval and soon a tongue is shoved into your mouth

He's celebrating, he's thank you but there is no joy in your soul. None at all

Havik does not relinquish his fixation over your body. He will lay into you again and again, making small cuts into your skin

No matter what, there is always a hand grasping your growing stomach. A constant reminder that you belong to him

There are whispers of how wonderful it is for you to be the mother of chaos

You will birth this world into anarchy and turmoil again and again. This is your purpose, this is your gift

A child is born and Havik does not allow for any sort of reduction of pain

There are screams and cries and Havik can only relish in its glory

Whispered venom is poured into your ear as you strain and break

You deliver your child in a room full of gore and death. A child baptized in it as Havik holds them up, mad and wild

The face of your child you do not recognize. Perhaps it the face Havik had lost all that time ago?

You are not sure, you can't be sure. The clouds of dismay far too grey knowing that you are bound to Havik forever

[3liza]

what kind of air travel accommodations do you miss? i'm young enough to not remember pre-9/11 airports so the hell we live in now is all i know

the changes theyve made are basically total. a major one is plane seats and leg room are now much smaller, and those inches are either being used to cram in extra passengers, or give first class even more room. this article from 2014 goes into detail but a horrible/hilarious point among many is that the average USA hip width in 2002 was a little over 20 inches wide, and economy class seating in planes is now regularly 17-18" wide. thats unbelievable. can you imagine a car seat or a bus seat with rigid metal armrests that clamped you in for 12 hours at a time. air travel is one of the few times i am incredibly grateful to be built like a praying mantis because i can just jacobs ladder my gollum ass into the plane seat with room to spare. but theyre intentionally torturing everyone who is normal sized

as of 2018, American Airlines 737 Max seats were down to 15.9".

just doing some real rough math here: average woman in the USA in 2021 wears a size 16-18. size 18 hip measurement for most brands rn is about 50" (approximate, varies a lot by brand). so the diameter of a perfect circle with a circumference of 50 is 15.9, but people's hips aren't perfectly circular, we're mostly wider than we are thick, so it's safe to say that the average person is not fitting into the average airline seat comfortably anymore. in fact fat people started getting kicked off of flights, just for being fat, after the seats and pitch areas started to shrink. this famously happened even to Kevin Smith in 2010. if you're too fat to put your armrests down they make you buy a second seat.

so ive spent two big paragraphs just talking about seats but everything has been drastically cut down. people used to get a lot more comped food on airlines: i remember making note of it in idk, probably around 2008, when i started flying a lot again after having flown a lot as a kid (middle class white family with relatives on either coast meant usually flying several times a year, every year of my childhood), that meals and sometimes even basic snacks were being offered less and less. thinking about how much the average person absolutely freaks out if their blood sugar is even a little low, thats definitely contributing to the air rage incidents. you used to just get a hot meal (and it sucked, but it was edible) for showing up, or at least a substantial bag of peanuts.

since peanut allergies become widespread the peanuts have mostly been replaced with pretzels, and processed carbs aren't going to stabilize a stressed person's blood sugar the way legume protein used to.

and naturally you cannot even get onto a flight these days without spending hours in line at the various security theater displays, taing off and putting on your shoes, jewelry, bobby pins, the fillings in your teeth, your breast implants, etc. none of which actually works to make passengers or staff "safer" from "terrorism", and people know they dont work. TSA steals your shit at will, gropes you, and/or doses you with radiation in a body scanner which allows the agents to look at a 3d render of your naked body on a public screen.

all of this started with the 9/11 airline freakout, and once the airlines figured out exaclty how much people would let them get away with, and were bailed out by the government multiple times despite losing money hand over fist, they just went mad with power. seats constantly get smaller, security theater gets more ludicrous, TSA agents get more brazen, planes get more cramped and dirty, flight attendants are way more stressed, maintenance on the planes is more ramshackle leading to more delays on the runway which make people insane (there's a whole episode of 30 Rock just about this) and now, finally, people are justifiably freaking out about it. but of course the freakouts are only affecting other passengers and the low level staff, not the airline CEOs and government regulators who created this issue.

my oracular prediction is that pretty soon here there is going to be a mass casualty event caused by an air rage incident. either someone is going to manage to get an emergency door out (this is borderline impossible due to pressure differentials but never say never), or set a fire without being noticed, or stab or shoot up or nerve gas a cabin full of passengers, or successfully break into a cockpit, or something., and then theres going to be a reckoning, and it wil probably end with like. economy class being put into little dog cages for the duration of the flight or something

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really��� know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[thebluespirit83]

debunking pro-snape/anti-james arguments and putting it on the internet because clearly i hate myself. buckle up. this is gonna be a VERY long post. im ready for the amount of hate i will get; im willing to take one for the team. 

1. james forced lily into dating/marrying/etc him 

this literally never happened? because its almost as if lily is her own person who is able to stand up for herself-

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

She turned on her heel and hurried away [from james]. 

-and so she would not allow someone to walk all over her. its almost as if james (canonically) matured as a person, and she appreciated this, realised he was a good person and got feelings for him? because james’ only negative traits were that he was conceited and a show off. people are able to mature and grow from these things! james did this! he did not ‘force’ lily to go out with him!

2. james and the other marauders bullied snape

you know what, i cant even disagree with this one. you’re right - they did bully him. but lets look a little bit at the context. 

sirius and james were both upper class, naive white rich boys. they are idiots. they were both stupid smart teenagers!! they were popular! and while this does not excuse the gross bullying snape was subject to-

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular ... Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

-it (unfortunately) makes sense with context. james and sirius also stopped bullying people, and even expressed discomfort/regret with the way they acted-

“I’m not proud of it,” said Sirius quickly.

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly, “we were all idiots!

[sirius talking to remus] you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes

A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.

-when they were younger! i’d also like to point out these little lines i noticed when i was finding quotes for my argument which snape stans like to ignore:

James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other

I mean, he [snape] never lost an opportunity to curse James

there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood

wow, look at that. the hate they felt for each other was mutual! snape also jinxed james! but oh wait - james was the one who matured! snape was the one who bullied his son twenty years later because he looked like james! 

3. snape didnt abuse the kids at hogwarts 

here’s a real argument i saw when looking through some pro-snape posts: ‘snape wasn’t an abuser, because abusers don’t let their victims retaliate, but snape did let the kids talk back to him’

what. the. fuck?! 

this is the dictionary.com definition of abuse: ‘to treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way’ or ‘to speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about’. i’m pretty sure snape did both of these things-

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!”

“So,” said Snape, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry’s hand was starting to feel numb.

Snape threw Harry from him with all his might.

[hermione’s teeth]  "I see no difference."

‘Idiot boy!’ snarled Snape [at neville]

-on multiple occasions. i’d also like to remind you guys that neville’s worst fear is SNAPE?! his TEACHER, a figure that is supposed to be there for emotional and educational support is his worst fear in this entire world?! above the woman who drove his parents to insanity? over failure, over his abusive grandmother, over everything? his teacher? and for the pro-snaper that used this quote-

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically.

-to claim that it was a joke, it isn’t a joke. because when snape came out of that cupboard, he was terrified. yes, it’s an embarrassing thing to have as your boggart, but the point is is that it is. he is terrified of that man. 

4. james only joined the order because his wife was a muggleborn and he ‘had to’

this is just factually incorrect. james had been sticking up for muggleborn rights since he was in school, far before he started dating or even became friends with lily: 

“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

“I’d NEVER call you a - you-know-what!”

so this is literally not true!! plus, at least he did join the order, whatever his reasons where (which were canonically good). snape didnt join the order. snape was friends with someone who suffered discrimination in society, and instead of using his privilege to help her and support her, he joined a group that was set on murdering people like her. when james had a friend who underwent oppression (remus/lycanthropy) you know what he did? he illegally became an animagus. 

5. snape had to be a death eater to survive at hogwarts as he roomed with blood supremacists

this is the shittiest excuse i have ever seen in my entire life. as a poc, this comment really reminds me of the argument ‘i was raised in a racist white household! i cant control my beliefs!’

you can always control your beliefs. i understand not going on big rants about blood inequality in front of a bunch of supremacists, and i understand wanting to blend and fit in (especially because he was unpopular and needed the support the slytherin boys provided), but i will never understand then becoming an active member of the group yourself. he got the dark mark. he helped voldemort. he was a death eater, and a proud one at that! no-one forced him to join. this argument literally makes my blood boil. 

6. snape had a lot of trauma from being raised in an abusive household

okay? so did sirius. so did neville. luna was bullied at school, just like snape. harry lived in an abusive household. did any of those people bully children? did any of those people join a blood supremacist group? and dont get me wrong, im not calling any of these people perfect - they all had a lot of flaws - but none of them hurt another people to the extreme that snape did. 

7. snape saved the trio’s lives many times

this is the absolute bare minimum. ‘oh wow, he didnt let harry die!! what a king! he should be respected and praised! we should excuse all of his other actions because he didnt let people die <3′ 

8. snape is not a perfect person, he also did good that many people overlook

you’re right, snape did do some good things in his life. but unfortunately, for me and many others, doing a couple of good things doesnt excuse all of the shitty, abusive things he did too. we’re not ignoring them - we just dont think they’re good enough reasons to forgive him. 

‘but james and sirius hurt others! you ignore all the bad things they did in favour of the good!’ you do the same thing with snape, first of all. second, they did a lot of good stuff. james’ and sirius’ only crimes were being annoying. for being a bit of a dick, conceited, knew they were hot and were a bit entitled. while these things are annoying as fuck, they were also stupid teens that eventually grew out of their behaviour and became better people. not perfect! better. while snape just stayed bitter at the marauders, long after their deaths, and even took his anger out on an innocent child. 

9. people only hate snape because he was poc and queer coded

as a poc and queer person, please stop. this is a very bad excuse. being poc and queer (which im pretty sure he isnt, but anyway) doesnt excuse you from your actions. plus, a huge amount of harry potter readers are poc and lgbtq. why would they hate snape for those reasons?! 

so thats all i got for today. im not gonna go into a deep snily/jily thing because i literally cannot be bothered. anyway im done. i need to go revise, i’ve already spent long enough on this. 

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author’s note: hello my dears! Sorry for not updating the past few days. I travel a lot for work and the circumstances lately made it difficult for me to update as much as I wanted. Although I did get enough inspiration to write this chapter. I come back to you with some juicy lemony goodness ;)

Minors DNI

Warning: NSFW content, mildly non con at the beginning, emotional sex, hurt, comfort and angst.

X.

Blinding jealousy was the only thing that could describe how Satoru felt. Boiling in his blood, licking flames of rage through his body.

Betrayal… his best friend, holding his wife’s hand as he walked her back home. Not only that! Suguru went in with YOU! In your apartment! As if this was the most normal thing in the world!

Did you invite him to stay the night? Did you both plan this ahead of time?

Warping to the top of the building next to yours he continued to watch from his position as you turned on the lights in your apartment. Setting your bag on the counter, taking off your shoes and jacket. Suguru followed you in taking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen after you.

Gojo saw you both laughing and talking like you always did. You were at ease, immersed in your own world… completely forgetting about Satoru.

Did the kiss from last night mean nothing to you?

“What the fuck is going on?!” He groaned removing his blindfold; now fully observing and analyzing every single detail of what you two were doing using his six eyes.

Gojo didn’t want to miss a thing.

He focused on you, your reactions, the way you smiled, the way you acted, your heartbeat, the tone of your voice and… that bright and warm halo of happiness surrounding you while in Suguru’s presence; the same halo that last night was cold for Satoru. All of your smiles, all of your warmth and kindness were dedicated to Suguru.

Satoru’s frayed nerves and chaotic mind debated wether he should warp there and steal you away (… of course then proceed to fuck your into oblivion, fill you with his cum to the brim until you knew there was no other man for you other than your husband) OR keep watching and see how far you would go.

As angry as he was right then, he had to remind himself that Suguru and you had always been very close. It wasn’t uncommon for Geto fo visit you and have dinner with you to keep you company whenever Satoru wasn’t around due to his work or even have dinner together all three of you. This wasn’t ‘abnormal’ per say. The difference was that NOW you ‘thought’ you were not Satoru’s anymore (the operational word being ‘thought’)Geto’s presence never bothered him before… until now.

Taking a deep breath Satoru saw you walking towards your bedroom. His hands trembled in anticipation.

Were you going to sleep with Suguru?

He walked along the edge of his rooftop following your movements inside until you stopped in front of your room. Suguru moved closer to you and Satoru almost snapped. Lifting his hand to use his cursed technic against his best friend he saw how you both hugged and after you placed a kiss on his cheek you bid him goodnight. You pulled back and Satoru sighed in relieve but then Suguru was the one that leaned in and kissed your lips. Satoru was as shocked as you were but you managed to recover faster than he did since you returned Suguru’s embrace for what felt like an eternity. Finally when you separated, Geto and you exchanged a couple words and after another hug he walked out of your room closing the door behind him.

Satoru’s eyes had been open like saucers while the exchange took place, he released a breath he didn’t know have been holding. He saw you turn around and touch your lips with a blush on your cheeks.

He lost his fucking mind right then.

-

After coming back home Suguru and you talked about the latest shows you were watching and the movies you wanted to watch so you could catch up. A couple jokes about your gory tastes in movies and series after and you were both ready to turn in for the day.

“So! You wanna do a ‘The Walking Dead’ marathon?” You asked with a smirk “sure doll, we can do that tomorrow. You have the morning free right?” Asked Suguru. Sunday mornings were your ‘me’ time since your instructor didn’t work on Sundays “yes I do!” You answered with a big grin. You felt like a kid and the sensation filled you with happiness.

Now that Suguru was here you felt so different, as if you had been numb but now you could feel again.

A yawn cut your next sentence making Suguru chuckle “come on sleepy head, you and I are both whipped” you complied with a sleepy smile and walked down the hall.

Geto stopped in front of your room and gave you one of his characteristic big bear hugs. He was so tall and muscular, you felt surrounded by warmth and muscles everywhere. The fresh and crisp scent of his citrus cologne and detergent made your stomach do a little flip. The intimacy and trust you felt with him reminded you that you were not alone.

It had been easy to bury yourself physically and emotionally in your work but now that Suguru was with you, it reminded you that despite of how tough things got, you would always count on him.

Reluctantly you both pulled back, his Adam’s apple at eye level with you made you swallow. When you looked back into his eyes you found his trailing on your lips before they moved up to meet your e/c eyes.

There was a growing tension between the two of you, too strong and obvious to ignore.

Before, when you were with Satoru; Geto and you had ignored it but now there was nothing stopping either of you from acknowledging it. Sooner than anticipated your lips connected in a tender kiss. He was soft and kind, not demanding. He just wanted to comfort you but also let you know he wanted you, all in his sweet particular way.

You returned the kiss. It was inviting like a balm, it didn’t mean to mark and conquer but to soothe. His plump lips still tasted of wine. It made your mouth avid to taste more.

When you pulled away a blush covered your cheeks “good night Kitten” Suguru tells you with his deep baritone making a very pleasant tingling sensation run down your spine “good night Sugu” only then Geto leaves to go to his room across from yours.

The door closes behind you, all you can hear is your heart hammering away from within, you actually….enjoyed that kiss. It was so sweet, so tender… so soothing. Everything that Suguru was to you was poured in that single action. Touching your lips you start debating whether this was something good or something you should wait before pursuing.

Satoru didn’t sign your divorce, technically you were still married. Suguru didn’t deserve a half assed relationship with someone who doesn’t have her shit together.

You were still healing it was true, but… when Suguru kissed you, it made you feel safe…. Like you could let go and trust him.

Feeling guilty about it, you compared it to Satoru’s kiss from last night. It was impossible to deny there was still passion between you your husband and yourself. But then again physical intimacy was never the problem in your former relationship.

The thrill of the danger, of knowing nothing good would come out of it and despite it all your stubborn desire to immerse yourself in the ocean that was Gojo Satoru. Was what terrified you.

No… you couldn’t think about him that way. Not anymore.

With a sigh you decided it was time for bed. You turned around to head to the bathroom but your body connected with something hard and warm. Looking up you saw Satoru’s crystal blue eyes but before you could scream he covered your mouth with one hand while wrapping the other one around your waist. “Oh no no no no my love… none of that, we are not going to alert sweet Suguru about me, princess” the smirk that pulled at his lips made you shiver, it was predatory… maniac even.

Before your senses could register the change in the atmosphere you were warped away with Satoru. You screamed, but it was too late, you were not in your home anymore.

The lavish interiors of an elegant dim lit suite received you “what the fuck are you doing!?” You asked when he let you go, taking a step back breathing heavily “are you insane!?” You asked the white haired sorcerer who in answer only moved closer to you. The more you tried to get away the closer he got, until you were trapped between the wall and his towering 6’4 frame.

—

“Now princess…. Just what were you and Suguru doing?hmm?” He asked with a terrifying grin that poorly attempted to disguise his anger. Moving his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Nothing of your concern!” You answered glaring at him, had he been spying on you? You tried to drop your body against the wall to escape from him but before you moved further than an inch down Satoru completely crushed your body with his “I am not done talking to you yet… my wife” he remarked making you ball your hands in fists. It annoyed and revolted you how he tried to use your ‘unfortunate’ marital status for leverage “I am your wife only on the paper… I don’t care what you think or say!” Satoru didn’t like your answer but his grin only broadened; grabbing your wrists and placing them on top of your head he held them with one of his large hands of dexterous fingers “you are right….” He started, giving you false hope “maybe it is time I remind you of your marital duties” your eyes opened wide but before you could attempt anything he kissed you. Fierce lips and teeth demanded your submission… this wasn’t a tender request… it was a display of dominance and possession.

You bit his lip trying to make him stop but Satoru took that as an invitation to grow bolder. His hand moved to your ‘V’ cut long sleeve top and ripped it right in the middle making you gasp; giving him the perfect opportunity to plunge his tongue in your mouth and intensify the kiss tenfold.

His free hand moved to your left breast squeezing the globe of warm flesh underneath. Groaning against your lips on approval, Satoru moved both his hands to your hips and using his inhuman strength he carried you across the room faster than you could tell and then threw you on the bed.

“Satoru… don’t do this! Are you mad?!” You asked in a trembling tone while scooting backwards on the bed in a miserable attempt at escaping him.

“Yes! I am! As a matter of fact… you are a good part of the reason why I am insane!” Grabbing one of your ankles he pulled you closer to him. Spreading your legs he laid on top of your body, giving you no chance to escape “SATORU STOP PLEASE!” You screamed but Satoru only focused on destroying the fabric of your jeans. He wanted all the obstacles between you to be gone! He wanted your clothes, your pain and Geto to be gone! So he could have you all to himself.

You tried to kick him but when you are struggling with the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of his generation there was absolutely nothing your body could accomplish without his approval.

A part of yourself hated the fact that you were just as revolted as aroused at the moment. Was that combination even possible? On one hand you felt dirty because your husband was trying to force himself on you out of jealousy…. But on the other part… the dark and twisted one… you were aroused by his display of pure male dominance, by his suffocating desire to have you and only you.

It was hard to fight so many years of habit, of fantastic chemistry… of love.

You would have to be blind or stupid not to see that your husband had been obsessing over you since you left but….

What good could come out of it?

If you both gave into your primal desires and fucked each other’s brains out. Would that change anything about your broken and unhealthy marriage?

His hot mouth moved to your neck to nibble and suck on that spot right bellow your earlobe that he loved to abuse. A big bruising mark was left in place, but he wasn’t content with just that. He wanted to leave the brand of his desire painted on your skin, like a beacon for him and a warning for others.

As the minutes went by his attentions became less frantic, instead they turned more purposeful and tender.

You stopped moving altogether, not fighting him nor corresponding his affections and careful treatment of your body.

https://youtu.be/qfFOzQVKuMs

Satoru pulled back for a moment to see you…. Only then it hit him like a train.

What the fuck was he doing? He looked at you and saw the tear trails that dried on your cheeks. Your top ripped in half displaying the soft skin of your breasts only covered by a bra.

“Y/N…” he whispered looking into your eyes. He caressed your cheek “I’m sorry… love” he mumbled trembling. “I’m so sorry…” a sob broke through his lips.

Did he…..? Did he…. almost forced you to have sex with him? How far had he gone in his endeavor to get you back by any means necessary? The notion that he almost…. Raped his wife made him sick.

He cried like a child. Wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face against your naked stomach; kneeling on the floor before the bed he crumbled to pieces. Repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. He was horrified with himself; he had done many questionable things in his life but this… took the cake. It made him a piece of shit! He didn’t deserve you! You were too good for someone as tainted as him. The dread that revelation brought made him cry harder.

He realized his obsession had been a result of the fear he was unwilling to admit having. The terror that made his insides coil. The absolute horror of losing yet another person he loved.

The fear of loosing you.

He had always been alone since he was a child. Satoru didn’t share much of his past with you but the few things you knew was that he had become an orphan at a very young age. He had to mature rapidly to overcome the obstacles of being a kid with so much power in the middle of a corrupt and outdated world of magic and intrigue.

Gojo always felt lonely, despite of how much he liked to mess around with people and play pranks on everyone. But you… had been one of the very few who got to see through his perfectly built facade and tell him the truth.

The night he told you he loved you was after you decided to stay with him in his apartment. He didn’t say or do anything particularly obvious but you somehow knew he didn’t want to be alone. He kept trying to fill the space with playful banter but you shut him up by hugging him and holding him tightly saying he didn’t have to explain anything all. That you would always be there for him, no matter what. It had been on the anniversary of the death of his parents.

Somehow, your empathetic and loving nature blindly guided you to stay with him and allow THE Gojo Satoru to be just…. human in your arms.

-

As much as you wanted to hate him and resent him, seeing him in such a vulnerable state made your heart ache for him. Unable to stop yourself you caressed his platinum locks while he held onto you and cried begging for your forgiveness over and over again.

When Satoru calmed down he removed his head from your lap slowly, you have been crying along with him. Your fates leaded you both exactly where you were at. Every decision and mistake carved this painful path you walked now.

Looking into your eyes he moved closer as if he was afraid to scare you away, his face stopped just an inch away from yours, giving you the chance to reject his advances but instead of doing that you closed the distance that separated you both. You lips met and melted together in a desperate kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, making him moan recognizing the intimate and passionate gesture he had missed for so long. He laid you back down again, climbing on top of you. His hands moving down to your waist in an attempt to feel you as close as possible, as if you were going to disappear in any moment.

Your legs wrapped around his waist when your tongues laced together and caressed each other; moans and sighs left your lips, filling Satoru’s ears and making his hands wander over the expanse of exposed skin.

Making him stand before you and between your legs his long sleeved black shirt was removed quickly, your admired his perfectly sculpted pale torso, this man has always been so… perfect; as if the gods themselves had decided to carve every inch of his person. Although, he did look skinnier, you knew he had not been really taking care of himself. The sight send a pang of pain to your heart. “Toru….” A little painful whisper abandoned your lips when you pulled him closer. Your mouth left a small path of kisses from his neck to the center of his chest, he gasped at the sweet and soothing action. Once more, your tenderness reminded him that he did not deserve you and yet he couldn’t come to make himself stop you. He needed you more than air to live.

Avid hands moved south of his stomach to undo his jeans and pull them down; a very vague part of your brain registered that you were now willingly doing this. Should you stop? Next to go were his boxers. He was standing naked in front of you.

His hardened cock stood between his legs with a small dribble of precum rolling down the reddened head.

He was an Adonis.

Looking into his eyes you saw the loving gaze laced with guilt in his cerulean orbs. You couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to.

He then helped you lay down to return the favor. His mouth kissed its way to the center of your breasts while his right hand undid your bra behind. Taking off the remains of your destroyed top along with your bra, next were the flimsy black lace panties that he rolled down your legs until you were fully naked before his eyes.

He was left speechless “you are so beautiful…” a goddess laid naked on his bed, with her inviting lips, glorious s/c skin, a halo of darker h/c hair around your head, perfect breasts and a pair of delectably shaped legs that he wanted wrapped around him.

How did he ever dare cheat on you? Not only your body was beautiful to him but your heart, you knew no boundaries when it came down to loving someone. You had given him everything and then some.

Kneeling before you he grabbed one of your legs and left kisses from the calf to the inner thigh. Placing it carefully over his shoulder he stopped for a moment to look in your eyes before his mouth delved between your thighs. He found your sweet pussy already wet and waiting for him to lavish his attentions. Like a starved man he licked your pussy, consuming everything you had to offer him. Your flavor coating his tongue made his stomach tight in delight, he recognized the addictive sweetness of your scent. Parting your lips with his tongue he penetrated your entrance with his tongue, going straight to the source. You screamed and he had to hold your hips so you wouldn’t pull away. He couldn’t let you go! Not now! Not ever!

Once he was satisfied he replaced his tongue with his fingers, pumping two digits in and out of your soaking entrance. His tongue looked for your clit and swirled around it, sucking at times and flicking at others. His reward were your screams, moans and sighs of pleasure. They were only for him and no one else.

“T… Toru… I’m gonna come”

“Come for me princess, give me all of you my love” Satoru asked quickly before his mouth returned to your slit and his thumb took care of the bundle of nerves at the top.

You screamed, arching your back when your orgasm washed over your body and completely overwhelmed your senses. Taking his time to taste and swallow your juices Satoru finally emerged from between your legs. Your eyes darkened with a desired that matched his.

Your arms inviting him to come closer encouraged him to lay on top of you after wiping his chin with his hands. Long legs surrounded his waist while you looked in each other’s eyes. “I love you…” he said at the same time he slid his cock inside you, slowly until he was fully sheathed and his balls slapped your ass, making you scream his name.

Satoru was not a small man by any means, taking all of his impressive length at once would have been impossible had he not prepared you beforehand. He knew it, so he moved slowly at the beginning, allowing you some time to adjust while he whispered sweet nothings on your ear.

The moment your legs pulled him closer and deeper he knew you were ready. Without a word he rocked his hips, retracting all the way until only the tip was left inside before he went all the way back in making you body jolt.

The rhythm was slow and purposeful at the beginning but as the minutes went by, the both of you became hungrier, more demanding, more… needy. Your hips met his thrust by thrust. The slapping of your skins intensified as did the moans.

Your tight and hot walls squeezed his cock so deliciously the man was having a tough time not behaving like an animal and rutting you through the mattress like a beast in heat. He wanted to show you he loved you.

He held both your hands in his, pushing them against the bed at both sides of your head. Looking into your eyes he moved deeper “I love you…” he said again and you couldn’t help but feel how the tears escaped your eyes “I love you too…” you admitted in a tiny voice that could barely be considered a whisper.

Satoru eliminated the distance between you both and kissed you, pouring his heart in that action. Your climax was close, he knew this so he angled his hips to continue pummeling your sweet spot while he drove you over the edge.

You came around his thick cock, your walls tightening around his member as if they never wanted go let go “I’m gonna come princess” he moaned and then with a few hard thrusts he spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his cum.

Your worn out, sweaty bodies stayed still. Trying to recover. Satoru refused to remove himself from inside you.. Not yet, he wanted to savor this moment, the intimacy and the love he felt.

You didn’t protest, instead you did what you used to do back when you both were still together. Cradling his head between your breasts you stroked his hair, lulling you both to sleep.

Your last coherent though before sleep claimed you being… That once again… you fell for it.

Guilt settled in.

————-> Chapter 11

-

Tags:

@sleepyamaya

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@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

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@sukuna1stwife

@tampon-earrings

[princeescaluswords]

#17 for the ask the writer game please 🥰 i love learning about your creative process

17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

When I was in college, I took a literature course with a professor, who gave the class a particular set of advice. It was a long, long time ago, so while I believe he was inspired by another author and gave the originator of this idea their due, I cannot remember who inspired that particular professor.

He told us to write for an hour a day. To open the notebook or the computer and write, even if that 'writing' consisted of staring at the blank page for the entire hour. I've incorporated that into my behavior, so I write for an hour a day, whether I get five words onto the document on a bad day or 1,200 words on a good one.

The way I look at it is this -- the fun and exciting part of writing is the emotional work, the transformative work, the flights of fancy, the wrangling of theme and character. But transforming that mental excitement into text is not easy. The best way to accomplish it is to simply get it done. When I wake up, I make my bed, brush my teeth, feed my cats. I do the dishes, empty the litter box, do laundry. None of these things thrill me to my core, so I rely upon habit. They're things that have to be done, so I make them part of my routine. Similarly, the act of taking my creativity and wrangling it onto the page has become a chore in the neutral sense of the word.

Now, there are times, and thankfully not often, when a story just stops going anywhere. That usually happens when I run into a knot of my own creation or something happened to disenchant me with the original creative goal. There are many reason this can happen, from having a discussion with my friends, or a there is a current events that recasts my thinking in a different light, or I realize that I no longer have the emotional desire what I wanted to happen. I've only completely thrown away two stories like that, both of which I realized had become insanely problematic. The others go into a cold drawer -- which once upon a time was an actual drawer, but now is a particular computer folder. When I finish a story and publish it, I look through the cold drawer to see if I can reclaim something that I thought was dead. There is only one story in the cold drawer right now, but I don't consider it a work in progress, because all I have is an outline. It may never actually get itself written, because it is a spitefic and the spite that created it only appears sporadically (but when it does, it burns white hot).

Habits are powerful things. By allying this power with my creativity instead of setting these two parts of my life in opposition, I've managed to write over two million words in seven years, and that's not including all the meta I've written. It works for me.

[keysmashingfantasies]

Bloody Comfort

pre borderlands!Niragi x fem!reader / Niragi x fem!reader

A/N:  i feel like i only post Marvel on this blog and i missed my show so here it is, finally an AiB fic! :D also, minigame: how many alice in wonderland references can you spot? also also, bloody comfort is an awesome name for a band and if you do name your band that, i want my money. enjoy the fic! also also also i didn’t proofread SHIT so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

trigger warning: bullying, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic, i think but beware nonetheless), death (graphic. i mean, i’m not that good of a writer but still, beware), very slight mentions of nsfw, especially torwards the end, niragi (HE’S A WARNING OK), niragi having disturbing thoughts (what else is new. but fr, ok), sliiiiiight yandere niragi torwards the end. (also I tried not to describe in too much detail the bullying that niragi and the reader suffer in the fic so it wouldn’t be too sad). 

@dreamingofanisland here it is bestie! 

Niragi couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped being sad and when he started getting angry. From a suffocating hopelessness came a desperation he could only describe as feral. He often fantasized about just jumping over his desk and strangling each one of them to death but his thoughts quickly ended with Niragi envisioning himself being overpowered and beaten. He started to not only get angry at his bullies, but people in general. Things. Life.

How could so many people turn a blind eye? How could life be so unfair to give people like this the upperhand and not him? Not him that clearly deserved it? This world was backwards.

-

He knew he was fucked when he saw the bat, and although he braced for the impact he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and wince at the sickening sound that the baseball did in contact with his nose.

He just sat there and while all he wanted to do was to rip their throats with his teeth all he did was to endure a few more punches before they left with a promise that there would be more. He sat there trying not to cry with sheer frustration. His papers were scattered around, the left arm of his glasses was broken and his pristine black outfit was now covered in dust from the gravel, his hands scratched. He could taste blood on his tongue and he felt a sick satisfaction, pretending for one moment that it was another person’s blood he was tasting.

“Do you need help?”, a voice woke him from his violent daydreams. Suddenly everything boiled over and he felt an overwhelming anger rise inside of him. In a blink of an eye he was standing up, yelling at a somewhat blurry image of a girl who he towered over, even more as she shrunk under his anger. If he wouldn’t be so busy screaming profanities, he would be madly aroused.

“WHAT, HUH? CAME TO SEE THE SHOW? TO LAUGH AT ME?”, he was furious, and as he approached her, she proceeded to walk back.

“No. I just wanted to help”, she said. It seemed another flash and suddenly he could see a bit clearer. Although startled, she didn’t seem afraid of him, and was extending him a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding”, she said, and Niragi wanted to scoff at her for stating the obvious. But she was being kind. And as angry as he was, kindness wasn’t something that he could say no to. He tried his best to control his shaky hands as he took the tissue from her hands and carefully dabbed his nose, as she ducked to collect his papers, and tuck them back into his bag.

“Saw what they did to you. ‘m sorry”, she mumbled. Niragi wanted to strangle her out of sheer embarrassment.

“And you just took some popcorn and enjoyed the spectacle?”, he spat.

“I wanted to help but I wasn’t sure what to do. Would you rather if I had called someone?”, she asked. He breathed once, twice. She wasn’t mocking him, but was unnervingly calm. Something about her being calm while he was practically foaming at the mouth had him seeing red and suddenly he regret having wiped the blood off of his lips.

“No”, he said, calmly. “No, I wouldn’t. Sorry. I have to go”, he said, ripping his bag from her hands with such force that he tugged her arm with it.

“Wait! I mean what I said! I want to help!”

“You, help me? What are you going to do, huh? Be my bodyguard?”, he mocked her one more time. He couldn’t help himself, his brain got used to this. Fight or flight. His adrenaline was pumping and everytime he was around school grounds he looked over his shoulder.

“Hmmm, sorta? Not exactly but I could show you a place. A safe place”, she said. He just looked at her.

“If we get there and it’s a prank of some sort I’ll let you punch me. Square in the face”, she said.

“Are you insane? You just go around letting people punch you in the face?”, his mouth was quicker than his brains and suddenly he felt his face grow hot at the irony of what he had said. But if she noticed it, she didn’t mention.

“Let me help you”, she said.

And he did.

He followed her through a wooded area near the school grounds after walking through a hole in a fence.

He was getting ready to beat you to the punch and hit you so hard that you’d bleed as hard as he did, until you stopped until you reached a very underwhelming toolshed with a padlock.

“We’re here”, you said, and he realized that she sounded different. All this time she was on edge. ‘Of course, Suguru, you threatened the girl like, 3 times’, said the voice in the back of his head. She pulled a key from her bag and the padlock opened easily and they heavy chains fell to the ground and she pushed open the door, going inside. He hesitantly followed.

The inside is nothing as he thought it would be. For starters, it was surprisingly clean and  it didn’t smell bad. And instead of tools and brooms and leafblowers, it had bean bags, blankets, a table with a radio full of knickknacks in the corner and a chair that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable none the less. The girl walked to a corner of the room and his eyes followed her as she closed the door, which had small sharpie drawings on it. She reached for a white box and settled it on the floor between the two bean bags, and reached inside a very small thermos to pull out an artificially blue isotonic drink and settled it down too. Then from the plastic bag he previously assumed was trash, she pulled a bag of chips.

She then patted the bean bag next to hers. “Welcome to my clinic”, she said, placing the white box on her lap.

-

After an entire afternoon of bonding over unhealthy food and an impromptu first aid rescue, Niragi learned that her name was Y/N, she was a year below and that this little world she created was her refuge from the girls in her class that picked on her.

“I found this and decided that it would be nice. No one’s using it, it’s far from everything. It’s on the Beheaded Woman’s territory”.

Niragi heard the rumors through his bullies. “One day we’ll drag you to the Beheaded Woman’s woods and fucking kill you”.  After further investigation, he learned that allegedly a girl was dragged through the woods and beheaded with a blunt axe.

“I made the rumors up. I had to make sure no one would find my safe haven”, she explained. “And once you write something in the girls’ bathroom stall, there’s no turning back. It’s out there and it’s truth”, she sighed. “I would know”.

He wasn’t the most up to date in all the gossip but she told him her story. The rumors they spread, the things they did to her. She almost seemed amused. He in turn told her his story. By the end of it, he could kill someone. She then offered him the other key to her safe haven.

“You can decorate it too. Don’t tell anyone else and make sure to lock it after you use it. Use it as much as you want, just make sure they don’t follow you, okay?”

He took the keys with shakey hands, a knot on his throat. Another type of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. When a few moments ago there were a fast white heat, coursing through him like an electric current, this was slow and almost overwhelmingly warm, like molten lava.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me?”, he whispered as if it was a secret, as if this moment was another fantasy, a deer that’s easily spooked. He had fantasized about this too. A safe haven, an ally. A friend.

“Because we’re the same, you and I”.

-

You hated him. You hated him with a burning passion. What was at first an act of pity, born from the empathy you felt by seeing someone go through what you did, quickly became a friendship and like a disease, it spread to beyond your safe haven. You would spend your free time together, walk home together. You became friends. And what did he do? Exactly what he told you he would.

“Sometimes don’t you wish to disappear?”, he whispered to you once.

“Yeah. Like, run away? Yeah, I do”, you replied agreeing with him.

 ‘You’re the only one that understands me. We really are the same’, he would say. What at the beginning of your budding crush on him gave you butterflies on the stomach now made you want to throw up.

You lost your only friend. You despised the sound of music now, because every single song you heard, you shared with him. For the same reason, you didn’t enjoy your favorite movies anymore. Your bullies banded together to target you. And the worst part of all, is that you couldn’t even care. There was no silver lining anymore.

“Don’t you get furious?! Don’t you want to hurt them, make them pay?”, he said as he watched you apply concealer to a bruised cheek.

“I mean, I get angry but I try my best to not let it get to me. It’s what they want. I despise those people, I can’t get in a funk because of them”, you said nonchalantly.

But you had loved him. And now you felt like even moving around was an herculean task, like you were almost dead trying to get to safety. But there was no safety anymore.

Ironically, you started to understand him more and more after he disappeared. The anger, the hatred. How could anyone just follow their lives? When there’s people like you just suffering through yours?

Suguru Niragi was an illness, a parasite. He carved his way under your skin and into your heart, laid eggs of his hate on your veins and sucked you dry of your life’s essence. Then, after you were a shell of a human, he disappeared out of thin air, leaving you alone. Leaving you with those people. Leaving you to die.

And you were still in love with him.

-

You thought you were finally insane when it happened.

The streets were empty. Absolutely no one. You wondered for a moment if you felt so alone that your mind convinced itself that that’s exactly what had happened, if any moment now you would be locked in an insane asylum for running around and screaming until you throat got raw.

It took you two games to understand what was going on. You made sure to change clothes. Running shoes, leggings and a warm hoodie that you never let the hood down. You decided to significantly shorten your hair after you saw a man pull a young girl by the ponytail in a spades game. You loaded a backpack with food and bottles of water, anything you could find. And an axe that you took from an emergency box from the building you slept in.

It was on your 5th game that it happened. You saw people die in these games, but none of it was hands on for you. You just watched your back and hoped to win and let whoever was running this show take care of the rest. Honestly, you didn’t even wait to know if anyone even survived. You were done doing that.

When you got there, there were five people already. They banded together and whispered amongst themselves as you passed them by and grabbed a phone. Probably just a group of friends that got stranded at the same time and decided to stay together. You clutched you axe harder.

You didn’t even realize that you had zoned out until you heard hollering and four guys heavily armed walked you by. Where the fuck did they get guns? One of them let out a boisterous laugh that reminded you of someone that you wanted desperately to forget. You couldn’t even get over him during fucking Saw? That sound made your skin crawl.

Registration closed, said the mechanic voice. Difficulty: 8 of clubs. The first 5 players will be the first team and the last 5 players will be the second. One team must eliminate the others without losing any players. Both teams will be identified by the color of your screen, and will have one minute to hide.

You saw the armed guys’ screens light up red. You sighed in relief as yours did too. You made sure to keep your head down and thank whoever that not killing teammates was a part of the rules. They seemed amused and absolutely calm, and the guy with the rifle laughed again. You were shaking by now.

When the minute started, everyone bolted in different directions. You didn’t even look back to see if your teammates had accompanied you but by the sound of your footsteps crushing leaves, you were alone. You decided to go back after a while, looking around. A lamppost. Huh, lamppost it is. You leaned against the cool metal and focused on the silence. The minute had ended but they were still hunting. You didn’t come across anyone, which was good. After a while, all you could hear were distant gunshots.

You looked to the floor, only to see a shadow approaching you quick. You barely had time to dodge before a man hit you behind the head with a rock. You reacting made him lose his balance, falling to the floor and letting go of the rock. You looked at him. It was one of the boys from the other team. He had on a white button up blouse and a black hoodie. His hair had fallen over his brown eyes and he looked so scared and so alone.

This will have to do.

You didn’t stop, suddenly lifting the axe and bringing it down was like an automatic thing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A MINUTE, LEFT ME ALONE IN THAT HELL!”

You didn’t stop when he started praying and then screaming. You didn’t stop when he started bleeding profusely or when the strength of your movements made your hood slide down from your head. You didn’t stop when his head got detached from his body and if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve listened tfootsteps. You didn’t stop until you had made mincemeat out of his face. Just for the sheer audacity of reminding you of him.

He looked at you from afar while you looked at the body of the boy whose skull you just had destroyed, a maniac, victorious smile on your face. You were pretending the boy was him. You really thought he had abandoned you? He would be absolutely heartbroken if he wasn’t so aroused. That’s what he always wanted to see, the instincts that you tried to push down. You were right, you were both the same. He wanted to lick that blood off of you, use it as lube to take you right there. When he first arrived at the Borderlands, when he first killed someone and liked it, he thought you would be disgusted by him. But look at you now. You were here, perfect for him, soaked in blood, feral. He’s never been so hard.

“Y/N”, he said.

“Niragi?,” you said. He ran to you, held you even when you fought back, even when you screamed bloody murder that you were going insane, begging to die already, even when you passed out on his arms. He licked a drop of blood from your neck.

“Let me take you to our safe haven”, he whispered against your skin.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 28

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 28 - This Venerable One is A Little Confused

Elder Yuheng broke the rules and was punished. He might as well have sprouted wings. There was no need to wait until the next morning; Almost all the disciples of the sect had heard about it that same night.

Two hundred strikes; if he were replaced by any other ordinary person, they would probably be beaten to death. Even a cultivator isn't indestructible.

Xue Meng jumped up after learning about it: "What?! Master went to the Court of Discipline?"

"Young Master, go and talk to the Lord. He's already injured. How could he stand two hundred strikes?"

Xue Meng was going crazy: "My father? I can't. My father is still at the Snow Palace and hasn't returned yet. A carrier pigeon wouldn't even get there for another day. Why didn't you guys stop Shizun?"

Mo Ran and Shi Mei glanced at each other.

Stop Chu Wanning?

Who in this world could stop him?

"That's out of the question. I'm going to find him right now." Xue Meng roared and ran towards the Court of Discipline. Before he entered the courtyard, he saw a group of Elder Jielu's disciples blocking the entrance of the main hall, whispering about something.

"What are you standing there for? Move! Get out of my way!"

"Young Master!"

"Ah, the young master is here."

"Make way, the young master is here."

The disciples quickly separated and gave way to Xue Meng. The gate of the Qingtian Temple was open, and Chu Wanning was kneeling silently, his posture straight, his eyes closed. Elder Jielu, with an iron rod in hand, was reciting the laws of Life-Death Peak. Every time he finished reciting one, the iron rod slammed against Chu Wanning's back.

"The ninety-first law of this sect: do not indiscriminately hurt the innocent, and do not use cultivation against a mortal. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

"The ninety-second law of this sect; do not act arbitrarily, do not act selfishly. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

Elder Jielu didn't dare hold back and had to execute the punishment as he would with any other disciple. After more than ninety sticks came down, Chu Wanning's white robes were stained with blood.

Xue Meng respected Chu Wanning the most. When he saw this, his eyes went bloodshot, and he shouted: "Shizun!"

Chu Wanning ignored him. His eyes were still closed and he frowned slightly.

Elder Jielu glanced at the door and muttered: "Elder Yuheng, the young master is here."

"I'm not deaf, I heard him." Blood dripped out of the corners of Chu Wanning's mouth, but he didn't raise his eyes. "He's a noisy child, don't worry about it."

Elder Jielu sighed. ". . .Yuheng, why are you doing this?"

"Who is the one that is always punishing my disciples for being disobedient?" Chu Wanning said indifferently. "If I'm not punished today according to the law, how will I be able to face my disciples in the future?"

". . ."

"Carry on."

"Hah. . ." Elder Jielu looked at his pale, slender neck protruding from the edge of the wide collar that hung gently like thin smoke and asked: "Then can I at least make them lighter?"

". . . This is nothing more than deception." Chu Wanning said. "Don't worry. It's only two hundred strikes, I can bear it."

"Elder Yuheng. . ."

"Jielu, if you don't have anything more to say, carry on."

The iron rod finally fell again.

Xue Meng's voice was frantic: "Elder Jielu! Are you not going to fucking stop? Do you know the situation you've put me in? That's my shizun you're beating!!! My shizun!!!"

Elder Jielu had no choice but to bite his tongue and pretend he didn't hear him.

Xue Meng was about to explode: "Can't you hear me, old man? I'm ordering you to stop! You - If you dare hit him again, I'll, I'll, I'll—"

He thought for a while and couldn’t come up with anything to say. After all, he was only a fifteen-year-old boy. Regardless of the fact that he was "the proud boy of heaven," his strength and qualifications are far less than those of the elders. He could only blush and throw out an outrageous claim --

"I'll tell my father!!!"

Elder Jielu: ". . ."

Chu Wanning let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Ninety-seven strikes. Ninety-eight strikes. Ninety-nine strikes. One hundred sticks. . .

His clothes were torn and blood was glaringly seeping out.

Xue Meng couldn't hold back anymore. His eyes were red with anxiety, and he was about to recklessly rush in, but Chu Wanning suddenly opened his eyes. He waved his hand and a barrier instantly lowered, blocking the entrance. Xue Meng bounced back a few steps, almost falling to the ground.

Chu Wanning coughed up blood. He shifted his glare, narrowing his fierce phoenix eyes.

"Disgraceful! Leave!"

"Shizun!"

Chu Wanning sternly said: "Since when can the Young Master of Life-Death Peak order an Elder to bend the law for his own personal gain? Leave now!"

Xue Meng stared at him. His eyes widened and it looked like little beads of water appeared in them.

Next to him, Mo Ran stroked his chin, and the corner of his mouth was still playfully curled upwards: "Oh, that's not good. Little phoenix is going to cry."

Hearing these words, Xue Meng harshly turned his head and fiercely glared at Mo Ran. His watery eyes were red, but he kept any tears from rolling down.

He had no more objections and no more talk back.

He climbed up from the ground with a single movement. He lowered his head, grit his teeth and wiped the dust off his body. Then he knelt down facing the Qingtian Temple: "Shizun, I know my mistake."

Chu Wanning was still being tortured by an iron rod. His straight posture never wavered, but his face was pale, and his forehead was coated with a fine layer of cold sweat.

Xue Meng stubbornly said: "But I'm not leaving. I'll accompany Shizun."

He said while kneeling.

Mo Ran rolled his eyes towards the sky. Xue Meng, courtesy name Xue Ziming, the proud son of heaven, was only ever humble in front of Chu Wanning. In front of others, he was a phoenix, and in front of their shizun, he became a quail. If he wasn't positive that Xue Meng didn't like men, Mo Ran would start to suspect that this guy was probably in love with Chu Wanning, so much so that he would throw himself in front of death itself for him. If Shizun slapped his left cheek, then this little bitchy quail would humbly slap his right cheek.

Real convincing.

Like an obedient little puppy.

Although he despised him in his heart, he couldn't understand why he was feeling somewhat upset. Mo Ran looked at Xue Meng. The more he looked at him, the more uncomfortable he got and he felt that he could not let him show his loyalty alone.

Chu Wanning already didn't like him. If Xue Meng made such a fuss, does that mean Chu Wanning wouldn't be as harsh with him in the future?

So he simply went over and knelt beside Xue Meng.

"I'll also accompany Shizun."

Of course, Shi Mei also knelt down, and the three disciples all knelt and waited outside. When disciples under the other elders heard the circulating rumours, they all hurried to the Court of Discipline to watch the excitement.

"Oh my god, why is it Elder Yuheng. . ."

"I heard he went into a rage and beat a civilian."

"Ah! He's that cruel?"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. If Elder Yuheng hears you, he won't hesitate to whip you!"

Others: "Why is the young master kneeling?"

"Young Master Mo is also kneeling. . ."

Mo Ran was handsome and he had a way with words. He didn't know how many female cultivators he'd earned goodwill with over the years, but right now, there were several people who couldn't help but feel pity for him and whisper: "I feel so sorry for Young Master Mo. What should I do? Should we intervene?"

"We shouldn't concern ourselves with their shizun - disciple issues. Do it if you dare, I'm not that brave. Do you remember the senior sister who was whipped hundreds of times by Elder Yuheng..."

". . ."

The two hundred strikes were completed.

The barrier was finally removed.

Xue Meng quickly got up from the ground. He ran into Qingtian Temple and approached the scene. Seeing Chu Wanning's appearance, he cried out. He turned his head and grabbed Elder Jielu's collar. "You're dead, old man! Couldn't you have hit him a little lighter!!!"

"Xue Ziming." Chu Wanning closed his eyes, his blood-stained lips moving, and his hoarse voice carried a hidden deterrent.

". . ."

Xue Meng's knuckles creaked. He violently pushed Elder Jielu away, letting him go. This was when Mo Ran came in. He was still smiling, thinking that Elder Jielu must have taken into account Chu Wanning's status and wouldn't deal heavy blows. But looking down at Chu Wanning's injury, the smile on his face suddenly fell.

Didn't Chu Wanning tell Elder Jielu that he had a shoulder injury?!

The two hundred strikes had all more or less slashed across the older wound on his shoulder.

New wounds overlapped old wounds.

Chu Wanning, you. . .

Are you insane?!

His pupils shrank sharply, and a strong resentment surged into his heart.

Mo Ran didn't know what he was resenting, or what he was so annoyed about. He only knew that he felt a blazing fire in his gut, torching through all his organs. He was used to torturing Chu Wanning to death himself, crushing his self-esteem and tarnishing his purity. Mo Ran couldn't stand seeing injuries on Chu Wanning that were made by someone else!

He could move on from his past memories because Mo Ran subconsciously felt that this person was his. This person, whether dead or alive, hated or hated, was all.

He originally didn't care about Chu Wanning being punished because he thought that, since Chu Wanning was an elder, the two hundred strikes would hardly be considered a severe punishment.

At the very least, they would avoid the fresh wound on his shoulder.

But Chu Wanning didn't say anything! He didn't even mention it! What was this lunatic so stubborn? Why did he put up with this? What point did he so stupidly and stubbornly need to prove?!?

His mind was in turmoil. Mo Ran raised his hand to help him, but Xue Meng was already one step ahead of him. He took Chu Wanning in his arms and helped him up.

". . ." Mo Ran's hand hung in the air, and after a while, he slowly lowered it again.

He watched Xue Meng help Chu Wanning walk away, not knowing the feeling that was stirring in his heart.

He wanted to catch up with them, but he wasn't willing to move.

What happened in his past life was all in the past.

Nowadays, Chu Wanning was just his shizun.

Any chaotic, hateful, or intimate entanglement hadn't happened between them yet.

He shouldn't have such thoughts. Whether Chu Wanning was beaten by someone, supported by someone, loved someone, or was even killed by someone, it had nothing to do with him.

Shi Mei came to him: "Come on, let's join the young master and go take a look."

"I'm not going. It's enough having Xue Meng there. I wouldn't help much. Any more people would just create chaos." Mo Ran's face remained unchanged, but his heart was a bit confused.

He really didn't understand what he was feeling right now. What was this feeling called?

Was it hatred?

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

[i-mybrunettelady]

Husbands past and present

Preface: NO THOUGHTS ONLY ELION FLUFF, WHO GAVE THE BOYS THE RIGHT TO BE SO CUTE!!

spoilers: none

--- Black Citadel, 1334 AE

“So,” El says suspensefully, joining his fingers beneath his chin, “this is where you grew up.” 

“Yeah, in a manner of speaking,” Liv replies, raising an eyebrow. “So, what do you think?” 

El looks around the towering buildings, approaches them as if they will come to life each second. His movements are quiet and careless and he disappears like a little fox into the orange that are ruins of Rin. History towers over him even moreso than it does Liv, yet he looks absolutely irreverent as he studies them, feeling the stone beneath bare fingers. The dying light of day gives his hair and face and exposed arms a fiery, orange hue, a natural extension of the flame-ridden history of this whole place. His eyes, now white with bioluminescence, fly over Rin in an almost theatrical, yet genuinely curious level of suspense. 

Suddenly, he stops at a giant staircase, turns to Liv and tilts his head. “It’s so dead,” he says,tone professional. “I was curious to see if Searing magics lingered here, like they do in Nolani and elsewhere in Ascalon. But here it’s.. It’s dead. So dead, thorns.” 

“You studied Searing magic?” Liv asks, grunting as he stands up. His thighs have gotten used to the squat he was in and now need some persuasion to move. 

“I’ve been with the Priory for twenty years, Liv,” El laughs. “Of course I’ve studied the Searing. History was a bit too much for me but magically? Fascinating stuff. National tragedies and victories and whatever shit you humans and charr levy at each other is none of my concern.” 

“Not me,” Liv says. He’s thankful they’re alone (two high ranking Priory members, including an Archon, is more than enough to send away the teams doing their digs here on a break) otherwise he’d avoid the topic of the Searing altogether, for fear of offending sensibilities. You never know what strength does someone’s opinion on the topic have, though he knows more than enough to make more or less precise guesses. 

“Yeah. That’s not you. You wouldn’t levy anything against anyone, even when deserved. But I would in your stead so we even each other out. Yay for compatible romance.”

“Speaking of compatible romance,” Liv muses, “I don’t quite agree with you that this place is dead, actually.”

“No magic, no people, just ruins. From my point of view, all this place lacks is the smell of necromancy, to seal the point.” El perches at the top of the stairs, sitting down gingerly. The warm wind carries the long leaves of his skirt around his exposed thigh. Then, gently, he adds, “Though I’d be curious to hear your refutation of that hypothesis, Magister Stormbreath.” 

“Okay, Archon, if you demand it from me,” Liv teases, looking around his feet. He remembers finding a lot of gold coins here when he was a cub, though there were less expeditions then and thus more discoveries at the time. However, his eye is now much better trained to spot such things and it doesn’t take him too long to find an old coin near one of the walls. El’s face radiates amusement and appreciation once he straightens again and Liv observes him stretch his legs and back. 

“Imagine this is an exam. Some examiners don’t take kindly to waiting. Shouldn’t you come prepared?” El shouts. 

Liv laughs as he saunters over to where his boyfriend is sitting, stepping forward to rest one foot on one of the platforms. He then leans over, showing teeth, eyes locked with El’s as he says, “I believe this examiner will let me pass regardless. I have special privileges.” 

El lifts himself a little to meet Liv’s face half way. “Special privilege of being an insanely handsome man I happen to be in love with? That you do, that you do. Extra points for love, support and lest we forget, dick, and your lack of preparation negative points just magically disappear. Woosh.”

Liv guffaws, shaking with laughter as El’s lips pout and his eyes crinkle in victory. “You’re– Cogs, El, you’re–” 

“Funniest person alive, I know,” he crosses his arms, “but I’m waiting for that refutation. Hurry up, clock’s ticking, c’mon!” 

Liv hiccups with the remnants of laughter as he sits beside him, rubbing his eyes of tears and trying to get his face to be more or less serious. “Bud, okay. Okay.” He shows the coin between his claws. “So, this is a coin. King.. Laren. See these little triangle decorations near the end? That’s Laren. That’s… 11th century AE.” 

“Now he didn’t use it, precisely, but let’s imagine a story. You have this guy, right, he lives with his husband in Rin and after a long day of work, he remembers that his husband likes a special type of bread sold by this old lady who learned the trade from her father. He has some money, he got paid today, a bag of coins just like this one, and he goes to this old lady to buy it. But one of the coins fell from his hand when he wasn’t looking and he didn’t notice it, so he walks home carrying warm, sweet bread for his husband. Centuries pass and we’re sitting here and I find this coin. I don’t know who used it, but I can picture something like this. I can picture him exchanging the money for bread, laughing at the joke the lady’s granddaughter makes. I can picture his husband’s face shining in surprise when he sees it.” 

“You can?” El whispers, enthralled by the story. Earlier confidence has given way to something more intimate, more quiet; his eyes are big and his gaze never shies away from Liv, his face is open with curiosity and admiration. Liv almost feels self-conscious whenever El looks at him like that, like he’s the most interesting and precious thing to ever exist, even after five years together. He looks at the coin a little bashfully and gives a small smile. 

“Yeah, bud. History isn’t dead to me when I can picture stories like this.” 

“Does that mean that in a few centuries, historians will find the white noise machine you made me and construct a story? That someone loved someone else so much they… did something that made them happy?” 

“Probably, yeah.” 

“It’s.. It’s not so dead after all. It’s a little dead, but.. Not as dead.” He snuggles against Liv’s side. “I think this hypothesis needs further testing. Can you tell me more about these hypothetical husbands?” 

[theres-a-goldensky]

30 More The Untamed Fic Recs

Here we go again. Another Wangxian rec list. Are you bored of me yet?

Were these recs helpful to you? If so, you can check out my other Wangxian rec posts:

Part 1 - 40 recs

Part 2 - 23 recs

Part 3 - 23 recs

As ever, feel free to reblog.

You can also head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

1. say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn - ~69,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian after he adopts a small A-Yuan, because Wei Wuxian also has a past with him. Lots of adorable family feelings and emotional hurt/comfort.

As often happened, Wei Ying’s voice preceded his entrance, calling to his co-worker through the open door, “Frankie, they forgot to order spoons again, can you hold down the fort a little longer while I —”

Lan Wangji was already looking to his entrance, head turning as if magnetized toward the voice, so he saw the moment when Wei Ying’s eyes landed on A-Yuan and the smile fell from his face. He looked stricken, and Lan Wangji immediately looked to his son in alarm. A-Yuan seemed fine. His small eyebrows were pulled together in a small frown as he looked back at Wei Ying, but that wasn’t surprising, given the expression on Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji had seen that face beaming, laughing, whining, wheedling, and occasionally angry, but never like this. He looked blank and hollow and it stirred something fierce in Lan Wangji: he wanted to rise up and obliterate whatever was making him look like that. Then his eyes lifted to Lan Wangji and there was a flash of something almost like betrayal, before he pressed his lips together and turned his back.

“I’m going to run out to the store and get spoons,” he said in a flat voice to his co-worker, and left without looking their way again.

2. the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships - ~41,000 words, mature - This is an AU of the novel where Wei Wuxian puts two and two together when Lan Zhan sneaks that kiss from him. It changes a lot of things.

Against his own will, Wei Wuxian found himself glancing at Lan Wangji’s hands. They were… certainly large enough that one of them could wrap around both of his wrists. And Lan Wangji was certainly strong enough, tall enough, broad-shouldered enough to bodily pin him against the trunk of a tree with no chance of him breaking free. Lan Wangji was the first person he’d come across in his slow comb through the vicinity of where he’d been so headily kissed.

Wei Wuxian drew a sharp breath. There was a connection to be made here. He didn’t think he was crazy enough to make it. Perhaps he truly was going slightly insane with demonic cultivation if he could believe Lan Wangji, the paragon of virtue and respectability, who lived unflinchingly under Gusu Lan’s three thousand edicts, who had at best only tolerated his presence as children, would sneak up to him while he was blindfolded, pin him against a tree, and steal a kiss from him in broad daylight.

3. and his wanting grows teeth by yukla - ~25,000 words, teen - This is a very interesting AU where Lan Zhan is a traveling cultivator and runs into Wei Wuxian and the Jiangs looking for shelter during a snowstorm. No spoilers, but this fic goes to a pretty dark place that genuinely shocked me, but I enjoyed. (Still ends well though.)

Without further ado, they are hustled past the entrance and into a smaller greeting area. Huang-bobo approaches the brazier in the center with his hands outstretched, warming his fingers in the heat, but Lan Wangji hangs back. As he carefully brushes the snow free from his shoulders, he feels the burn of a curious gaze trailing up and down his body, lingering at the guqin still strapped to his back; when the sensation pauses at his face and stays there, he lifts his head.

The boy with the ribbon lights up at the eye contact, flashes another dazzling smile, and gives a little wave.

“You must be new here,” he whispers, something like laughter threaded into his voice, eyes scrunching into winking half-moons. “All dressed up in white like that! You might lose yourself in the snowstorm!”

Something stirs to life in Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s—uncomfortable, he decides, and so he steps away. Teasing should not be encouraged with a response.

4. Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller - ~15,000 words, not rated - After Wei Ying's death, his spirit seems to linger. The story is told from Lan Xichen's point of view. I love an outsider point of view. I also love the way the author fleshes out his character as well.

Lan Xichen means to force his way inside, angry ghost of the Yiling Patriarch or no, but then his brother lets out slow breath, settling, the pain easing from his face as he falls back into a more peaceful sleep.

His hair is moving on its own, so subtly Lan Xichen might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking at Wangji so intently. It’s like someone’s running their hand through his hair.

The window frosts over suddenly, thick enough that he can’t see through it. Anxiety spikes through him so quickly he’s nauseous with it, but then the frost melts away and the opening notes of Healing start up again.

He can’t tell if it’s a warning or not. Maybe it’s just an acknowledgement. Wei Wuxian knows he’s there.

5. **leading tone by silencemostofall - ~32,000 words, general - This is a modern AU set in a world where people who love you leave a mark of color on you the first time you touch. Wei Wuxian has no color on him. So much emotional hurt/comfort. So much of Wei Wuxian's terrible self-esteem.

He can cover up his palms with his gloves, so that the blankness does not draw stares. But he has no marks on his fingertips, which he cannot easily hide, and none visible on his face or neck, the blankness of which is even more difficult to hide. People look at him and, with a single glance, understand the single most devastating truth that he knows about himself.

They assume that he does not have very many marks. He may be an eccentric, dramatic person, but the likelihood that an individual has all of their marks on, say, their feet or their torso or other places that are not immediately obvious-- that probability goes down as your number of marks increases. He can laugh as much as he wants about how he loves touching people for the first time with odd places, like the knee or the elbow, but it doesn't quite mask the feeling of other that he knows he exudes.

They assume that he does not have a lot of marks. This, while a heavy weight, is not unbearably so. It is okay that they think he is not much loved. It chafes a bit, and feels occasionally like something he has to furiously push down within himself, but it is not unbearable. What would be unbearable is if they knew the truth: that he does not just have very few marks, but none. That he is simply an individual who is not loved at all.

6. **pastel by antebunny - ~7,000 words, gen - This is a remix work of the above fic. It's from Lan Zhan's point of view and just different enough to be interesting. Still lots of emotional hurt/comfort. I love this concept a whole lot, and both of these fics are great.

It’s a simmering day in May, and Wei Ying is wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves.

His choice of dress isn’t unusual for many reasons. For one, there’s plenty of people who don’t like strangers seeing their soulmarks. There’s plenty of people who wish to keep them private by covering them up. For another, Wei Ying spends most of his day in various chilly computer science department rooms, He could just be wearing long sleeves for that.

7. one good thing by Yuu_chi - ~27,000 words, teen - Wei Wuxian has died (or did he??) and is haunting his old home. Lan Zhan moves in. This story has a happy ending! And so much yearning!

To the flowers struggling to grow on the other side of the glass, he says, “We’re getting a new roommate. Well, I’m getting a new roommate - you’re getting somebody who might actually be able to water you for a change.” The flowers outside sway a little in the breeze, and Wei Wuxian nods contemplatively. “He can’t be any worse than the last guy who lived here. Remember when I spooked him while he was cooking and he nearly burnt the house down? Of course you don’t. You’re fucking foliage, your memory is worse than mine. I remember though, so it’s cool.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him and Wei Wuxian looks up to see the stranger has entered the kitchen, setting the last of the boxes down on the table. Disgustingly neat handwriting declares the box kitchen - homeware. The stranger carefully brushes his hair back from his face and, without so much as a second of hesitation, cracks open the box and begins unpacking.

“Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Wuxian marvels. “You literally just got here - who cares about unpacking? Sit down for a moment, breathe, have something to eat. It’s not going anywhere.”

8. with you, I am home by tellthemstories - ~47,000 words, mature - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is being forced to return home to entertain marriage proposals. So naturally instead he "convinces" Lan Zhan to pretend to date him. I love a good fake dating fic, and this one hits all the right beats.

Lan Zhan does that almost-smile thing that Wei Wuxian takes to mean he’s happy, or at the very least not-mad. “You don’t have any money.”

“Not true. I have the money from our last job, when we settled the vengeful spirit for the flower shop girl.” (He doesn’t. They have Lan Zhan’s money. Wei Wuxian spent his on a pack of loquats and three bottles of Emperor’s Smile wine.)

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “Do it for me.”

Thinking back on it two weeks later, standing alone in the middle of Jin Ling’s graduation banquet and watching Lan Zhan walk away from him, Wei Wuxian realises that this, this was the moment when he should have known. He should have realised in the way Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate or negotiate and just says with that half-fond, half-exasperated tone he gets sometimes, “Fine.”

9. and in the spring i shed my skin by wvlfqveen - ~11,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying can't find Lan Zhan, but hey, there happens to be a rabbit here instead. Features a very slow Wei Ying, emotional hurt/comfort and accidental love confessions.

Immediately, his heart settles and he grins down at his new friend. “Oh, hello there,” he coos, reaching out to pet the fluffy ears. The bunny is very, very still under his hand.

“Did Lan Zhan bring you today?,” he continues cooing. “I’m sorry I missed that, but your Dad didn’t tell me he was bringing you.”

Lan Zhan rarely brings his rabbits to work since they are as tolerant of crowds and unnecessary noise as he is. They were probably relevant to today’s lesson but…

Wei Ying frowns. “Why would he leave you alone? And where is your cage?”

10. how, or when, or from where by sarahyyy - ~10,000 words, gen - Wei Ying wakes up in the hospital with amnesia and can't remember the last few years of his life, including his best friend and the guy he's in love with.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes so hard Wei Wuxian is surprised his eyeballs don’t just fall out of his eye sockets. “That’s the worst part. He did. Whatever mating ritual you both have going on is so fucking weird, Wei Wuxian.” He snorts. “If you’d stayed asleep for any longer, I’d have lost my shit and thrown my myself out a window just so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lan Wangji again.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Is this a good time to ask who Lan Wangji is?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Your Lan Zhan,” he says, annoyed. Wei Wuxian must look as confused as he feels, because Jiang Cheng’s annoyance bleeds out into concern. “Your Lan er-gege? Your soulmate, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No bells are ringing.”

11. ** a shared plate by yukla - ~26,000 words, teen - This is an absolutely gorgeous fic about Wei Wuxian traveling the world post-canon to rediscover himself and restore his faith in humanity and eventually find his way back to Lan Zhan. The whole thing is great, but the last two chapters are just *chef's kiss*

Lan Zhan,

Just as the mountains stand unchanging and the green rivers flow ceaselessly, we will meet again — and between then and now, you cannot hope to avoid my letters, either! Haha! Lan Zhan, I’ve seen so many things and met so many people, and it’s only been a month!

I miss you already

It’s so hot that I find myself missing the wind in Gusu’s mountains. Your poor Wei Ying is I’m melting away, Lan Zhan...

I’m realizing now, sixteen years is a long time to be away — the world is vast, and quite a bit different than I remembered. And in sixteen years, a child can also grow up into a man! It’s your job to catch me up on A-Yuan’s fun childhood stories! I do remember hearing something about a pile of rabbits...

12. with your arms outstretched to me by annemari - ~14,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan finally gets up the nerve to ask Wei Ying on a date, but things don't go as expected. Features emotional hurt/comfort (are we sensing a theme with these recs??) and just regular hurt/comfort.

"Oh, man, I was hoping you had some water with you," Wei Ying says. "I totally forgot to bring any for myself. Stupid of me."

"There is enough for both of us," Lan Wangji says. He has another bigger bottle in the car, as well.

Wei Ying hums but he only takes a few sips. He presses it back into Lan Wangji's hand. "I don't need any more."

Lan Wangji is considering arguing, but then Wei Ying shifts a bit, moving his ankle, and gasps very, very quietly.

13. ** A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart - ~22,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian has finished traveling and returned to the Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan. But their lives never do run smoothly.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, recognizing him after a moment. His heart slams against his rib cage. “Where is Lan Zhan? What’s happened?”

Lan Jingyi flaps a hand at him, gulping air. Wei Wuxian hands him the water, and leans back against Little Apple’s side as he waits impatiently for the boy to get his breath back.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Jingyi gasps, just as Wei Wuxian is about to throttle a proper answer out of him. “Hanguang Jun was in such a state when he woke up, we didn’t know if you’d come and gone already.”

“Where is he, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, as evenly as he can. “What happened?”

14. So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend - ~14,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel extraordinary pain unless he's touching Lan Zhan. Yet more of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues and Lan Zhan's steadfast devotion.

“Are you hurt, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing his hand to Wei Ying’s forehead to feel his temperature. There is no fever, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate Lan Wangji’s worries.

“No—I’m not hurt,” says Wei Ying, sagging forward to lean his weight into Lan Wangji’s hand like he can’t help himself.

It’s so strange—Lan Wangji can feel what Wei Ying is feeling. Although the relief is still very profound, wisps of other things are making themselves known; happiness; wistfulness; guilt. It’s all so fleeting that Lan Wangji can’t even begin to deduce what has provoked those feelings, but he wishes he knew their source.

15. puzzle pieces by Anonymous - ~6,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are roommates, and Wei Ying has started borrowing Lan Zhan's clothes.

“Hm? Oh.” With sleepy eyes that does— things to Lan Zhan’s heart, he blinks and tugs at the lower hem of the shirt, which is riding just above the curve of his thighs. Does Lan Zhan’s mouth water? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. “Ah, yeah, sorry. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ He blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that Lan Zhan wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks. But he can’t say that, and his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything else. So he stays silent.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “If you—oh, damn, I should’ve known, this is like real silk, must’ve been super expensive. Fuck. Okay, here, uh, I’ll take it off—“

16. ** Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl - ~60,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Ying is trying to be a good brother and get Jiang Cheng laid. Somehow this plan involves pretending to date Lan Zhan.

"I won't!" Wei Ying insists. "I'll ask out someone...high stakes. I'll find someone. I'll...okay, how's this? I swear that I'll ask someone out and keep at it for at least two dates."

"No."

"Three dates."

"Nope."

"Okay, okay, five. That's fair! That's more than fair! One person, five dates." He points at Jiang Cheng. "You have to do it, too. That's how a pact works."

Jiang Cheng stares at him. "Five dates," he says flatly. "Five. And yours can't be Nie Huaisang."

17. i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) - ~43,000 words, explicit - This is a Modern AU and a Cherry Magic AU! (Side note: GO WATCH CHERRY MAGIC IF YOU HAVEN'T.) But in short, Wei Ying turns 30 without losing his virginity and gets the power to hear people's thoughts when he touches them. He gets more than he bargained for with Lan Zhan. The author does a good job of translating the story to these characters. Wei Ying is not forced to be like Adachi, the main character of Cherry Magic. He's still himself, and the same goes for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s voice is so clear, so sudden that it’s as though it’s spoken, the slice of a sharp object through velvet.

He’s touching me.

Wei Ying startles for a moment, wonders if he’d somehow heard his own thoughts instead, but — no, that had definitely been Lan Zhan’s steady, factual baritone, loud and clear.

God, this is still so weird. It still doesn’t seem totally real. But how else can he account for hearing Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, as clearly as if he’d spoken to Wei Ying directly?

18. like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar - ~37,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are roommates, and Lan Zhan just finds himself wanting to take care of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s roommate. Is a problem.

He doesn’t get an answer to the roommate problem until the next morning, when Lan Xichen texts him telling him that the apartment he’d suggested (and helped pay rent for) to Lan Wangji said in the small text that it’d be two people per apartment, the second bedroom wasn’t actually a guest bedroom, sorry, Wangji, you can move in with me if you want, I have space —

No. Thank you for your kind offer, Brother, but I will be quite fine, Lan Wangji texts back.

19. ** some impulse of delight by handclaps - ~20,000 words, explicit - College AU where Wei Ying decides he needs to help Lan Zhan get used to touching people. Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying is dumb and in love. Lan Zhan is less dumb, but still as in love.

Lan Zhan shakes his head and fumbles, tries to push the cotton wool into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, realising. “Touching people, I know.”

He feels dumb. He thought he’d worn Lan Zhan down more than this, that they were friends now and that his whole no touching thing was mostly overcome. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand easily, right? He looks down at his belly full of scratches, dabbing at them moodily.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

Lan Zhan makes some kind of noise, but he is busy packing the first aid kit back, placing everything exactly where it was before.

“Lan Zhan, you’re going to have to do something about this,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I know you don’t like touching people and usually it plays as a kind of gentlemanly thing, but what about emergencies?”

20. And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene - ~43,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian returns after a year of traveling and rejoins Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. He's doing a good job of pining and ignoring the obvious. Look, at this point, it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm a sucker for stories where Wei Wuxian deals with his ~*~issues~*~ and Lan Zhan takes care of him, whether he asks for it or not. This story has lots of that. I also enjoyed the case fic aspect of it.

“I do, I think,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Would be nice to see his face again after so long. And at least this time, I’m going to show up draped in finery. What do you think, Lan Zhan? I can’t possibly disgrace him—or you—wearing a cloak like that.”

“You could never disgrace me,” Lan Wangji says gently, that soft, affectionate look back on his face.

Wei Wuxian grins, warmed to the tips of his toes.

“I’ll remind you of that later. The next time I’m three jars deep and feeling especially shameless, you’ll have to remember those words, Lan Er-gege.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says simply.

Wei Wuxian smiles some more, overwhelmed by fondness.

21. darling, am i a chore? by martyrsdaughter - ~7,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian really, really wants Lan Zhan to call him 'gege'. Lan Zhan knows a trump card when he sees one.

“You know what I want,” Wei Wuxian purrs, reaching up on his tiptoes to throw his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “Call me gege, won’t you? Call me and I’ll stop.”

Lan Wangji knows he will not stop, regardless of what he calls him. Still, he thinks about it. If there really is a way to make Wei Wuxian stop, should he not consider it? He doesn’t have any real interest in curbing his husband’s insatiable mischievousness, but he does like knowing things about him—everything there is to know.

If there’s something that persuasive in the world, that it can bring Wei Wuxian into submission when no one is under threat, could he stop himself from seeking it?

22. your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian - ~11,000 words, gen - Wei Wuxian & Lan Sizhui fic with the Wangxian in the background. Lan Sizhui wants another dad and Wei Wuxian wants a son, they just don't know how to explain that to each other.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

Lan Sizhui tucks his chin into his uncle’s shoulder, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Wen Ning whispers to him kindly.

Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath, and takes stock of all his aches, his ringing ear, his hollow chest, the way he had selfishly wanted Wei Wuxian to keep speaking to him in that careful voice, like he was just a child to be soothed and there was no real danger. How dangerous, to pretend. “No,” he lies. “It doesn’t hurt that much at all.”

23. when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool - ~26,000 words, teen - AU where Lan Zhan with Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration. Things go down, and it leads to Lan Zhan discovering Wei Wuxian's missing golden core. This obviously will not do, and oh look, the best doctor in the world just happens to be right here.

“How—“ Lan Wangji chokes. “His core —?” He looks at Wen Ning, half accusatory in his shock. “Jin Zixun could not have—“

“No, no!” Wen Ning says, holding out his hands. “He hasn’t had one for years, don’t worry!”

This is not as reassuring as Wen Ning seems to think.

“Please explain,” Lan Wangji says, pained. He feels for Wei Wuxian’s pulse instead; in the absence of a golden core, it will have to do as reassurance that he’s still alive.

Wen Ning is so anxious that the story comes out in a ramble, out of order. Lan Wangji wants him to hurry up, but he’s also not confident in his own ability to speak, so he just keeps quiet and lets him talk. His heart feels as if it’s about to fall from his chest, beating nearly twice as fast as Wei Wuxian’s does under his fingers.

24. A Match in the Making by lareine - ~30,000 words, teen - A Modern AU where Wei Wuxian sees his single and bad ass friend Lan Zhan and his single and bad ass friend Mianmian and gets some very dumb ideas.

To return to the point: Lan Zhan was peak adulting. Mianmian was peak adulting. And if they were both at the peak, then they were on the same level. What level? That mysterious level thing that everyone mentioned when it came to dating.

Whatever level it was, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were on it together. Wei Ying nodded to himself. So, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were allowed to date each other. The next question was: were they compatible? Did they have chemistry or whatever the fuck people called it?

25. Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo - ~16,000 words, explicit - Lan Zhan gets cursed to say whatever he's thinking. So his worst nightmare. Mutual pining, first time, all good stuff.

Lan Wangji freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, lifting his eyes to stare at Wei Ying.

"I know! Just completely paralyzed." Wei Ying mimes being still as a board. "I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been two days at least. Good thing for Little Apple. He wandered back to the village when he got hungry, and eventually a few of them got brave enough to come look for me. When they rolled me over, the figure fell out of my hand and I could move again. Cunning little thing." He shakes his head. "I was weak as a kitten for a little while after they took me back to the village, and by the time I recovered, they'd burned the whole place to the ground. Such a waste."

Lan Wangji slowly lowers his chopsticks, heart racing unpleasantly. In his head, a picture of Wei Ying slowly wasting to death alone in the middle of the woods, with Lan Wangji a hundred miles away and none the wiser.

26. Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller - 13,000 words, no rating - Lan Zhan wants to bring his boyfriend home to meet his family. There are some things he definitely didn't realize about Wei Ying.

“He has a life here,” he says down the line. He doesn’t say that he has a life here too, one he likes a lot more than the one he had before. He misses home. He’d miss Wei Ying more. But he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say how vibrant he is and how beautiful and how little interest Lan Zhan has at seeing him among the high society he grew up with.

“Well, your life is here, Wangji,” his brother says. “You can’t stay away from home forever. You’re going to have to see how he does with the rest of us sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

It might as well be never, as far as he’s concerned. His family can meet Wei Ying at their wedding.

“I’ll ask,” he says.

Wei Ying has no interest in cultivation politics. They’re horrible, the five clans have an iron tight alliance that’s thirty seconds away from collapsing in on itself the moment someone from one sect steps on another sect’s toes. It’s the worst and he hates it. Surely even just the idea of it will be so horrifying to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan will be able to tell his brother no.

27. just our hands clasped so tight by electrum ~4,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan really, really, really just wants to give Wei Ying everything he wants.

“Despite your best efforts,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He shakes his head in mock-dismay. “How much longer do you think that will last if you keep buying everything I look at?” When this, too, fails to soften Lan Zhan’s resolve, he tries a different tactic. “We couldn’t even afford potatoes,” he says. “Back when I was with the Wens, at the Burial Mounds. Only radishes! If I survived that, I can certainly survive without another pretty comb.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is at once unmoved and yet somehow stricken. “I would have bought Wei Ying potatoes,” he says, like Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, by this point, that Lan Zhan would buy him anything. “If I had known…”

28. ** Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller - ~64,000 words, no rating - Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian with Wangxian in the background. Jin Ling is the best boy! And as he tries to rehabilitate his sect and his family and keep himself alive at the same time, he realizes, horrifyingly, that he has to be the mature one.

29. ** an act too often neglected by Ariaste - Lan Xichen / Meng Yao, ~61,000 words, explicit - The Wangxian is in the background here, but the main story is about Lan Xichen meeting Meng Yao on a dating app and getting immediately dickmatized. Meanwhile. Meng Yao refuses to be won over by Lan Xichen's charm. It goes as well as you'd expect for him.

The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.”

Lan Xichen feels a low simmer of arousal kindle in the pit of his stomach, and he gazes at that word-- demanding --for nearly as long as he’d stared at the photograph. He swipes right.

A few minutes later, a notification pops up: < Hm, the size of your hands is promising.

This is familiar. This is the flirtation stage. Lan Xichen knows the steps to the dance.

30. My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit - ~30,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is cast out of his sect and out of China to America. And Lan Zhan just...follows.

Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”

“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.

Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”

It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.

“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”

*

Interested in 86 more The Untamed fic recs?

Part 1 - 40 recs Part 2 - 23 recs Part 3 - 23 recs

[servicetopkaradanvers]

I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3