#homophobic rituals you were with us all along…

[jumpscaregoose]

i'm like so late to reading your slideshow but thought you'd appreciate the fact that the Anna panel on slide 6 is the same in the VIZ English translation from 2004 and wasn't just a Kodansha thing lol

NO WAY HOLY SHIT

happy 20 years homophobic rituals <3

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Feb 24th

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1. Eyyyy it's me boyfriend XD (eyyyyy hello again 😊 - Mod C)

I'm here for a fic (I think it's a time travel fic) that I forgot the name of. All I remember is a scene where a village in Lotus Pier was flooded and Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Ying went to aid the people. Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan also tagged along but Lan Zhan is openly courting Wei Ying on that fic while Jin Zixuan is being himself

And that's sadly all that I remember 😔. Thank you!

FOUND? This is probably a stretch but #1 isnt And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together), is it?

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2. There was this fic I read sometime ago and it was about how lan Wangji accidentally uses silencing spell on wwx too hard that wwx isn't able to open his mouth again and lan Wangji isn't able to lift the spell. It's during the cloud recesses study arc and the major issues with the permanent silencing spell is that Wei Wuxian isn't able to even eat anything and he can't practice inedia fir long. Please find this fic?

FOUND? 🧡 Couldn't Scream Couldn't Shout by mermorgie (T, 42k, WIP, WangXian, Not for jc stans, i tried to not bash jc too much but like, Muteness, Sign Language, references to selective mutism, Homophobic JC, canon jc characteristics, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Pining, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Supportive Sibling LXC, JZX Tries, LQR Tries, Protective JZX, Scheming NHS, Bisexual JZX, LWJ is Bad at Communicating, WWX Has ADHD, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Jiāng Family Bashing)

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3. hi !! this is for ficfinder, i'm looking for this modern au with crime elements ?? i think wwx is a thief/pickpocket, and lwj and the lan clan are organised crime ish but art associated. lsz and ljy were also heavily featured as mentees of lwj, wwx makes a playlist. it was multi-chap, probs over 30k. they correspond over email quite a bit, and it's set in multiple cities, there's an entire chap where they talk to each other in logical fallacies and friere is quoted. tysm !!

FOUND! (i’ve got) trouble in mind by seularen (E, 76k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, modern w magic, heist au, thief WWX, forger LWJ, consigliere JGY, epistolary, long-distance relationship, d/d elements, Canon wangxian kinks, happy ending)

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4. Brain cannot brain rn so I need you guys' help finding a fic

So like, it was a Canon divergent fic where wwx submitted himself to the clans and was ordered to be cleansed of resentful energy in order to... prove he wasn't corrupted? Something like that? For the Wens? And it was ritual dual cultivation. He was sent blindfolded to a room so he couldn't tell who it would be (it was lwj, of course.) Wwx knew it wouldn't exactly work cuz he didn't have a core, but he did it anyway.

There was a second.... part? Chapter? The was from Lwj's pov of after, where he finds out about the core, then JC? A Jiang disciple? Shows up to tell them to get their asses to the conference hall because JGS is being JGS and this whole thing was mostly just a distraction

That's all I can remember, thanks for the help!

Hi 👋 4 from the latest fic finder, a friend on discord found the fic I was looking for! It was 'the meaning of the ritual' by newamsterdam

FOUND! the meaning of the ritual by newamsterdam (E, 8k, wangxian, Explicit Sexual Content, Blindfolds, Light Bondage, Ritual Sex, Canon Divergence, Let LWJ Fuck the YLLZ 2k19, First Time Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings)

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5. I'm hoping you can help me find a fic.I haven't had any luck searching for it. I think it's a time travel fic. At one point it's during the Cloud Recesses classes. Jiang Fengmian is the Chief Cultivator and comes to talk to Jiang Cheng. They're talking in Nie Huaisang's room and he and Lan Xichen are standing outside it. Jin Zixuan walks by talking loudly about Jiang Yanli in a really rude way and Jiang Fengmian hears him and comes out to confront him. Any help would be appreciated!

FOUND! We'll Build A Dynasty (one the heavens can't shake) by One_eyed_God (T, 66k, wangxian, WQ & WWX, WN & WWX, JYL & WWX, canon typical Jiang family dynamics, BAMF WWX, Canon JC Characteristics, POV Outsider, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, WWX is a Wēn, Sect Leader WWX, Genius WWX, The Casual Intimacy of Hand-Holding, A Love Letter to WWX, Minor JYL/LXC, Not JC Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It) the scene described happens about a third of the way into the first chapter

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6. Hello and I hope I'm doing this right. I remember this fic that's set in the modern setting and mo xuanyu is recently married (engaged?) To lan zhan but wei ying takes over the body and then just decides to follow along. Lan Zhan ends up finding out that it's a different soul and ends up falling in love with him. I don't remember the name and I hope you can find it if it's not deleted. Thank you! @nightshade2017

FOUND! Write It on My Neck by diamondbruise (E, 23k, wangxian, A/B/O, Transmigration, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Jealousy, Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Spanking, usual wangxian cnc elements, Misunderstandings)

is it a transfiguration as opposed to resurrection?

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7. hello! love what you’re doing with the blog! i need help finding a fic: i remember it was lqr pov and at one point lwj left the lan sect behind to go to the burial mounds and lqr and some other elders go to investigate and find o ur lwj and wwx married and adopted a gaggle of children. i remember lqr nagging on lwj for disrespecting lan rules bcs he was wearing like too many adornments and spoiling the kids. also the rabbits had their own pen in there.

FOUND? 🔒 Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, Romance, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, LWJ Has Feelings, Protective LWJ, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Wangxian in Love, YLLZ WWX, Lan Clan Elders are Assholes, Minor Transgender Character, Qiongqi Path Divergence, LWJ loves his bunnies)

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8. Hello! I'm looking for a fic which I cannot remember the name of. The main things I remember are that Meng Yao stays for the Cloud recesses lectures and roommates with Nie Huaisang. The only scene I can remember is Nie Huaisang ends up mudering a Jin disciple who tried to kill Meng Yao with a rope. Wei Wuxian ends up finding them afterwards and getting help right after.

FOUND? somewhere to belong by KouriArashi (T, 62k, LXC/JGY, JGY & NHS, wangxian, JGY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing Relationship, Families of Choice, Class Issues, Bullying, Light Angst, Politics, Eventual Plot, Happy Ending)

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9. Hello, I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is not brought into the body of Mo Xuanyu. Rather a random cultivator does the ritual instead as revenge for killing his family in the nightless city. His terms are for Wei Wuxian to despair, so naturally WWX finds Lan Wangji and falls in love only for the ritual wounds to start trying to kill him for not despairing. He nearly loses his arm before they figure out how to save him. Happy ending.

There's also a few bits about WWX trying to get the sword of his body's og owner to come around and work with him. @shinyobsessed

FOUND! A Storm of Laughter in the Stillness of the Jingshi by OnlyMeAndMyBones, 2nd in series (T, 74k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, injury, recovery, mental illness, depression, PTSD, rehabilitation, slow burn, empathy, guilt, forgiveness, suicidal thoughts)

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10. Hi! Can someone help me find this fic, please?

Lan Wangji is a post-war-soldier and nowadays is actually helping people to adopt a therapeutic “bunnie”. A man named Wei Ying goes there trying to find a bunnie to adopt, lwj get supper mad because this “man” is loud and disastrous and ask (order) him to go out of there. Later he learns with lxc that “Wei Ying” is actually Wei Wuxian, one of the most dangerous people from the war.

Lwj gets sad about his treatment towards wwx, because both of them are very traumatized by the war. That’s the beginning for their future relationship. It’s setting in modern setting too.

Thank you! @weicongee

FOUND? Recovery by Unforth (G, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rabbit Breeder LWJ, Veteran LWJ, Veteran WWX, PTSD, therapy animals, Therapy Rabbits, LWJ is an Asshole Sometimes, Doctor WQ, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Former Prisoner of War WWX, LXC is a Good Brother, Gray Asexual LWJ, Anxiety Disorder)

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11. Hi hi! There's a modern au fic I'm looking for that I can't find no matter how many tag searches I do! It's a modern au where wwx gets drunk and sad bc he loves lwj and he doesn't think he cares for him back. Nhs calls lwj for a rise home for him, but wwx doesn't know its him and "services" him on the way home if you know what I mean

I think it ends with nhs texting one of them to talk to each other so they finally get together

FOUND!🔒Nie Huaisang plays cupid like a baller by KizuKatana (M, 10k, WangXian, Accidental drunken confession, Dirty Talk, sort of mistaken identity, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, so much pining, So many tropes)

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12. hello i am looking for a fic where lan wangji is a stripper and wei wuxian is the bodyguard who is protective of him, and it was probably xianwang @ahiku-chan

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13. hi! Last year I read a fic where Wei Ying is kept imprisoned or like in an unresponsive state in Jin Guangyao’s secret room behind the mirror. He’s accidentally consumes/cursed with a spell that requires him to have sex to stay alive? Jin Guangyao then calls Jiang Cheng to pick him up and they return to Lotus Pier where after a couple of days Wei Ying like I have to leave cause I don't deserve to be here. Lan Zhan then finds him in a state of delirium. That was the last update then. Thank you sm

FOUND? 🔒 The Return series by LtLJ (G, 63k, JC & WWX, wangxian, WWX & WQ, WN & WQ, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, YLLZ WWX, BAMF LWJ, five year old JL, ten year old LSZ, ten year old LJY, discussion of a canon suicide attempt, canon-typical curses, Angry sabre spirits, BAMF Everybody, Complicated Relationships, they're trying but they aren't there yet, BAMF NHS, Canon-Typical Behavior, Hurt/Comfort, WQ Lives, WWX & WQ Friendship, BFFs)

FOUND? till our ribs get tough by feelslikefire (E, 38k, JC/WWX, wangxian, WIP, Dubious Consent, Forced Feminization, magical pussy, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Possessive Behavior, Breeding Kink, Canon Divergence, Top JC, Top LWJ, Bottom WWX, Bondage, bondage via Zidian, Dubcon Somnophilia, WWX has possessive boyfriends but luckily he's into it, Intercrural Sex, Cunnilingus, Anal Sex, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Dirty Talk, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex, Rough Sex) It has fuck or die and starts with Wei Wuxian being kept in the secret room

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14. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that I clicked on in tumblr (possibly through your page, I have no clue) read about half the first chapter put my phone down and then reloaded the app it went all the way back to the top of the feed, never to see the fic again 😭

It was a Canon divergence AU, WWX thought Something Was Probably Up when he got the invite to JL's one month celebration so went in disguise as a woman, and the first line was him hitting on LWJ, who obviously twigged almost right away and took him to an inn, and that was all I got to.

Sorry it's not much to go on but hopefully someone recognises it! Thank yooou 💕 @scenicpixie

FOUND! My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

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15. hi can u plshelp me find this fic it's driving me crazy as i don't remember the name

Basically wwx and lwj are already married but wwx wears a mask all the time and tbh they barely get to see each other like during the cave scene here lwj kept on deliriously calling his name they then kissed for the first time (they were already married during this)and then lwj pushed him away like literally ...

also they like had sex for the first time at where wwx was sitting w his ghost girls(they were already married during this too)...the ghost girls were still there this time lwj jus appeared wwx waxed poetry abt him jus standing there(who woudnt)he indirectly told wwx to not commit infidelity wwx seductively walked to him seduced him they fucked then wwx pushed him away literally and yea lwj went away

also wwx had adopted some babies too at the end i rmb

and yea during all this wwx wore tht fucking mask

FOUND? sounds like A Price to Pay by wangxianist which unfortunately has been deleted. 😭

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16. hellooo, i'm looking for a fic where wei ying came from new york (i think) it was somewhere in america to china. wei ying lives with lan zhan along with his uncle and brother. i still remember a scene where lan zhan asked wei ying to take off his shoes but he misunderstood and took off his pants instead lol. thanks!!!

FOUND? The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut)

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17. Hi, I'm not sure if this is how this works. If I'm doing it wrong please let me know.

I've been looking everywhere for a story where Wei Ying is a reincarnated phoenix and doesn't know it. He eventually finds out and because of everything he goes through, he's taken over by the pheonix, and the firebird part of him wants to destroy the world.

I remember the sects locked him in the Gusu caves while they tried to find out how to control him.

Eventually Lan Zhan figures out a loophole where the Phoenix/firebird agrees to hold off until Lan Zhan dies...and then Lan Zhan cultivates immortality as a loophole. I remember it was on AO3 and was complete.

I'd be grateful for any help you guys could give me. @vitolieltrue

FOUND? Breathing Firestorm by ladyshadowdrake (M, 110k, wangxian, angst, fluff, captivity, creepy WRH, no non-con, dreamsharing, politics, people making the best decisions they can, epic length, mythical creature WWX, canon-typical violence, dark, happy ending)

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18. Hii i have a fic i cant seem to find anymore T_T. It was modern, explicit, with genderbent wangxian and pretty much just smut. I have this vivid recollection of butch lan wangji with short hair sitting in a bar (?). Then (but this might be me confusing two fics together tbh) they agreed to a deal where lwj showed wwx how to kiss, how to be intimate etc, and theyd have lessons at lwj's house every few days or such.

FOUND! throw the keys back by dustyloves (E, 31k, wangxian, F/F, Gender Changes, Cisswap, Modern, College/University, The Porn Is the Plot, Virginity Kink, Dom/sub, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Sexting, Dirty Talk, Non-Consensual Spanking, Mild Painplay, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Under-negotiated Kink, despite the tags it's actually quite soft)

NOT FOUND! sideways by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 20k, wangxian, F/F, Modern, Cisswap, butch dyke LWJ, Casual Sex, not so casual sex, many many orgasms, Fingerfucking, Cunnilingus, strap-on sex, So much kissing, WWX gets rekt, straight girl WWX, except for how she isn't)

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19. For the fic finder, I saw someone mention a fic in which after LWJ and WWX wander off with their donkey in the novel epilogue, they come back and find that LWJ's been voted Chief Cultivator behind his back. He does not take this well. Does anyone know of it? @kedaliya

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20. Hey I'm looking for this fic where either WY or LZ is a camboy and the other accidentally finds the account. They subscribe and continues to watch their channel behind their back.

But the camboy eventually finds out and they have a fight regarding respect and boundaries. All is well in the end but the camboy is extremely disappointed the other went behind his back to watch his channel and pretended like he didn't know anything. The other party apologises.

Does it ring any bell? @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

FOUND? For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm (E, 170k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed LWJ, sex worker WWX, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Background ChengQing, background NieLan, background XuanLi, Nonbinary NHS)

FOUND? ❤️ All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 52k, wangxian, modern, reincarnation, sugar daddy, kink negotiation, gentle dom LWJ) HGBun has reached immortality and finally finds WWX reincarnated

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[gold-snek-hoe]

Hello and welcome to Opinions from an Internet Nobody. Today's essay:

"Ger therapy" is the new "You need Jesus": One Weirdo's Navigation through Cultural Shame

This is a supposedly well-meaning sentiment that is often weaponized against people who are behaving outside of perceived cultural norms. It's a favorite of homophobes who see queerness/transness as a mental illness, but I've been seeing it used to demonize kink (which historically is often linked to queerness), and more generally any "weird" behavior that makes people uncomfortable.

For example, otherkin, systems (especially those with fictives), and people who take fictional characters as partners. Y'know, "weirdos" who "can't separate reality from fiction." And, sure, sometimes there can be a problem with that distinction, but I know as well as you that most internet strangers saying "get therapy" don't actually give a shit about the mental health of those they target. It's code for "your behavior makes me uncomfortable, stop it."

Same sentiment as "you need Jesus."

This has actually taken me a long time to figure out. I've been in therapy for my entire adult life, working through various traumas, severe depression, anxiety, all that. Those were the biggest problems as they negatively impacted, and often endangered, my life. It was only after my hospitalization in 2020, where I was finally put on much needed medication, that I could start to grow into myself.

I changed my name. I top surgery. I came out as polyamorous. I finally got my official autism diagnosis. Now I'm fuckin' married! But... there are still things I'm working through in therapy. Mainly, shame over my "weirder" behaviors. My current therapist has been a huge blessing in helping me accept the things I was too ashamed to admit.

Now, I feel comfortable enough to share.

I'm otherkin. Always have been. My connection to my humanity is tenuous, and I'm sure that's connected to my autism. When mad, I feel phantom horns sprouting from my forehead. I have a tail that swishes back and forth at the base of my spine. In my soul, I am monstrous, and years of therapy has not erased that.

I feel like I'm only half in the physical world most of the time. This doesn't hinder my real-world success (I graduated college Summa Cum Laude, have an IMDB page, and am on my third book), but informs the way I look at the world. There's a whole other universe in my head that hums along with me in my day-to-day. That's part of why I'm so skilled as a writer. To ask me to divorce from that is to tell me to stop existing. Sorry, it's how I've always operated.

Lastly, and this is the one I'm really anxious about, I have a fictional husband. Now, looking at my blog, you might say "yeah, no shit," but I don't just ship myself with him. I mean I practice pop-culture Witchcraft, and the Goblin King is my patron. I mean I have a Labyrinth-themed tarot deck that I talk to him with. I mean I held a ritual to spiritually marry him. Basically, I Snape-wived myself.

And guess what? My therapist isn't concerned. It's not hurting my ability to live my life. I have other interests, hobbies, and goals outside of him, which he actively encourages in all our tarot sessions! I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't support me. My IRL spouse is usually there for whatever magical shit I'm doing, and supports me! Some of my closest friends know, and the only complaint I've gotten is "this guy seems important to you, I wish you told me sooner." Hell, my MOTHER knows and supports me, which is huge, because our relationship was pretty damaged after I came out as trans.

If you have a problem with the way I live my life, when literally nobody else does, take a good long look at why. You don't give a fuck about my mental health. You just don't like that I'm weird.

Tl;dr: My mental health is better than it's ever been since embracing the weird, so leave me and my imaginary husband Marak Sixfinger alone.

[autolenaphilia]

Child sex abuse is a real problem, and it’s an evil action that does deserve disgust. And there are intelligent ways to address it and how it is caused by systemic issues in our society. We can talk about how patriarchy and rape culture empowers men to rape, how abuse is caused by the power structure of the patriarchal family and by how children are denied human rights and are treated as property in our society. And how “pedophilia” as some kind of disordered sexual orientation is the wrong lens to look at it, instead of looking at it as a form of rape, an expression of power.

Yet the understandable disgust reaction people have towards CSA tends to overpower all rational thinking and it is exploited by the very people and systems that cause CSA. It cheapens the word. Like it’s almost impossible to take “pedophile” seriously as an accusation, because it is habitually used as an unfounded smear. As mentioned, “pedophile” is already abstracted from the actual act of child sex abuse, so it’s meaning can be stretched.

And “groomer” is even worse, like grooming children for abuse happens, but because it’s even more abstracted from the actual act of CSA, it’s even easier to abuse in that way. Giving basic sex ed is now “grooming.” Giving a child a honest answer when they ask the perennial question “where do babies come from?” instead of some condescending bullshit about storks is seen as suspect, instead of being seen as commendably honest and respectful of the child’s curiosity. And teaching them that gay and trans people exist and should be allowed to be exist, now that’s definitely grooming.

Even the serious sounding accusations are often bullshit. The moral disgust and outrage at CSA is so easily exploited by witch hunts. The Satanic ritual abuse panic of the 80s is one of the fountainheads of the modern pedohunting panic. It included a day-care sex-abuse hysteria which included the absolutely farcical Mcmartin preschool trial where claims of “children being flushed down toilets to secret rooms where they would be abused” (actually one of the less fantastical claims) were taken seriously. And like you think that kind of nonsense would be the end of it, but this kind of thing has just continued for decades. The early 00s British animated satire show Monkey Dust had a series of sketches about a “paedofinder general” parodying the british media pedohysteria of the time, and it has barely aged.

The Monkey Dust sketch linked above touches upon the fact that the victims of pedohunts are so often queer. One of the most common anti-queer tropes is the idea of “queer recruitment”, that queer people sexually abuse children, and that the abuse turns them queer. The idea of “acquired homosexuality” or “homosexual seduction” is one of the older tropes in the homophobic arsenal. In the current cultural moment, it’s often directed at trans people, and claims that young trans people are groomed into transness by older trans people, taking the form of the grooming conspiracy theory.

This is in part projection by the right-wing, especially outright fascists. They wish to uphold and strengthen patriarchy and rape culture and the power structure of the “traditional” patriarchal family. So they are not interested in looking at the actual causes of CSA, and instead look elsewhere. They explain CSA as caused by “sexual degeneracy”, which mainly includes queerness and other forms of non-normative sexuality like kink. The reason for sexual degeneracy is often explained through anti-semitic conspiracy theories about jews wishing to weaken the white race, and spreading pornography and other “degenerate” media among white people to that effect. Fascism relies on appeals on emotion, so spreading homo- and transphobia through connecting queer people to people’s disgust reaction to CSA is useful for them.

And queer tumblrites are not immune to this. Most discourse about “pedophilia” on this site go along right-wing or fascist lines of thought. They see CSA and other forms of sexual violence as being caused by “sexual deviancy”, often induced through consuming “bad” media or porn, instead of being caused by our society being a patriarchal rape culture.

The callout posts smearing victims as pedophiles often operate on flimsy evidence and tortured logic worthy of the paedofinder general (a pic of him would be a fun reaction image on here to these callout posts, but so few people know of Monkey Dust). They are a modern variation of the satanic ritual abuse panic of old.

And of course let’s be honest about the victims of these callouts: it’s mostly transfems. Societal transmisogyny primes people to view transfems as sexual predators, and it’s so easy to exploit that to destroy trans women. This form of transmisogyny is old in general society and in queer/feminist spaces in particular, Beth Elliott was a victim of it in the early 1970s. Texts like Hot Allostatic Load, “Crazy Trans Woman” syndromeand The Abuser’s Guide to Transmisogyny describe it well. The modern pedohysteria callout culture targeting transfems so prevalent on tumblr is another iteration in a long line. And it’s a variation on an idea that has fueled the persecution of queer people and justified fascism for over a hundred years.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 4

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 4: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter use the psychomanteum.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, drug addiction, grief, dead parent, psychomanteum, PTSD, flashbacks, cocaine use & dependence & comedown, cannabis use, homophobic hate crime mention, suicide mention, angst, YEAAAARRRRNING, fluffy things, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, cuddling

Notes: Chapter title from "The Past Is A Grotesque Animal" by of Montreal. Which is honestly one of my favorite songs ever. The lyrics are fucking beautiful and weird UGH. 10/10 recommend listening lol. Hey so, about this chapter... the top half is pretty heavy but there's some cute stuff in there. I read through research papers on psychomanteums to get reports of people's experiences, and these are things that were actually reported to fucking happen. Which I think is neat.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

Psychomanteum Recipe

Ingredients: 

Mirror

Comfortable Chair

Lamp with 25-watt bulb

Room draped in black 

Directions:

Mount mirror on one side of the room

Place chair about 3’ in front of and facing mirror

Place lamp directly behind chair

Surround area floor-to-ceiling in black

Eliminate all light except the lamp

“What now?” Dieter asks, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “Do we do some kind of a ritual or something?” 

He’s standing in your bedroom, hands on his hips, panting from the exertion of dragging an armchair from the living room into the closet. 

“Let’s see…” you hum to yourself, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you scroll down the webpage and nod along, “Ok. Yeah, ok, now you go in there and I murder you as my human sacrifice,” you keep your face neutral as you peak over the top of your laptop screen and watch his body relax into amusement. 

“Counter productive,” he states in an accusatory fashion, pointing at you, then adds with a scoff, “and rude.” 

He walks around the bed and sprawls out atop the terracotta comforter. The mattress shifts, jostling your body from side-to-side as he rolls onto his side, propped up on an elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. 

You smirk and return your attention to the computer screen, scrolling down the page as you skim the article, “I don’t think we have to do anything else. Just go in there and, I don’t know, try to talk to them? See what we see? I think it’s kind of up to you what you do. Pretty subjective.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his eyes on you. You turn your head and meet his gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, tinging your cheeks,  “What?”

His mouth gapes open like he’s holding words hostage on the tip of his tongue, then he shakes his head, “Nothing. Who’s going first?” 

“Do you want to?” your eyebrows press together, hope creasing your forehead. 

“I, um…” he glances at the closet, then back to you, Adam’s apple bobbing before he says, “Ok, yeah. I’ll go first.” 

“You sure?” you search his face, watching the way his jaw gnashes back and forth, the way he's staring at the closet door with dimly lit eyes. 

Dieter nods, then pushes himself off the bed with a grunt. He shakes out his wrists and rolls his shoulders as he approaches the closet, then turns back to you, “So I just go and think about him and ask him questions?” 

You close the laptop and slide it towards the foot of the bed, then sit up and cross your legs into a pretzel. Your guts are tangled in a similar knot. But you ignore it and confirm, “You got it, chief.” 

“Alright,” he strides towards the closet door, looking back to salute you before crossing the threshold, “See you on the other side."

Dieter sinks into the armchair. Black sheets hang on all four sides of the setup, which was a real pain in the fucking ass to hang up. It’s dimly lit and insulated by your clothing. His leg bounces on its own accord, and he stares down at his hands for a minute before gaining the courage to look up into the mirror you propped up on a tall chest of drawers. 

It reflects a black void. 

His hands find the tops of his thighs, thumb rubbing against the mound of coke contained inside his shorts pocket. Temptation hooks his insides. The barbs tug his skin tight and uncomfortable. It would be so easy to snort just a little before doing this. Just enough to make this bearable. Something, anything, to sheath the knife ripping his stomach into pieces. 

It would just take a second. Barely a second. He could have been done with it already if he didn’t start fucking arguing with himself. 

He shakes the devil from his head and slides his hands onto each armrest, feeling the grooves of the tangerine colored cotton upholstery on his palms. His voice is quiet and shaky when he asks the mirror, “James, are you there?” 

The blackness of the mirror stares back at him. 

Unease settles into his skin when he realizes that he may have to dig deeper than surface level into his memories. The painful things he’s been hiding from for decades. 

The thoughts of James have been locked away, buried beneath a growing pile of coping mechanisms and bad decisions. Every time James comes crawling out from his designated lockbox inside the depths of Dieter’s mind, he comes out swinging, seeking to collect the compounded interest for grief unfelt. 

Whenever he sees a man with straw blonde hair and an Appalachian accent, James peaks out and asks, "Would I look like that if I were still alive?" 

Each attempt to empty a screenplay from Dieter’s brain onto paper, James is there, reminding him, "You'll never be able to write without me." 

Once, Dieter met a flight attendant who asked him politely what he'd like to drink. When he looked up to meet her eyes, they were too fucking familiar. Brown irises bleeding into ocean blue like another BP oil rig spilling petroleum into the Pacific. As if they had been plucked from his dead body and squeezed into her eye sockets. 

He ordered a double shot of whiskey. 

And another. 

And another. 

Dieter’s brain is haunted by the ghost of him. Each brawl with James leaves Dieter broken and bruised, brittle and hollow. Alone. Guilty. He numbs himself, doing anything to get rid of the agony burning him alive from the inside out. Anything to get that beautiful voice out of his fucking head. Each and every time, right before the point of oblivion, he hears James whisper, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore," before disappearing into his lockbox again. 

When Dieter saw the way you were reeling from your drunken confession, wearing that tortured expression of self-loathing people only get when they're deeply ashamed of themselves, he knew he had to tell you about James. He needed you to know that you're not the only one who has wanted to go beyond the grave to get answers to the questions that keep you up at night. 

You’re not alone. 

He needs you to know that. 

Dieter stares into the black nothing of the mirror and opens the vault, willingly this time. 

As a kid, Dieter had seen best friends on TV shows and in movies, and his parents always talked about best friends, but he never saw them. These “best friends” seemed like a myth, only existing as pictures on screens and voices in telephones. But on the first day of school after the Bravos were stationed at Camp Lejeune, Dieter sat next to a kid that drew comics in the margins of his notebook. His name was James, and Dieter found out that best friends were real. 

They clicked immediately. Both boys were innately creative and rebellious, but not in a “cool” way, like the teenage heartthrob stereotype of a misunderstood bad boy. No, they were more like the stereotypical theater kids. Minus the theater, since, of course, Lejeune High School only offered sports as an extracurricular activity. 

Regardless, Dieter and James created new worlds, people to fill them, stories for them to live out. Dedicating whole school days dressing up and living as the characters they invented, bringing them to life. They made scripts and screenplays, then acted out scenes for the one person audience of Dieter’s mom. 

Then there were Saturdays at The VIP Lounge. 

Every Saturday morning, Dieter trailed behind James, eyes glued to the freckled, sunburned square of skin between his shimmering golden hair and sweat-drenched t-shirt collar. Tree branch shadow puppets danced on his shoulders as he breezed past the ferns and milkweed that littered the soft forest floor. 

And every Saturday morning, they stepped out from the treeline onto a secluded patch of sand that they had lovingly dubbed The VIP Lounge. A sanctuary for the boys to be themselves, carved from the New River’s bank with their awkward teenage hands. They packed blankets, snacks, sketchbooks, notepads, ditch weed, and stolen cigarettes. 

It’s all they needed to conjure half-baked schemes for fame and fortune, really. 

Over time, their close friendship had begun to take on a new dynamic. Touches and glances would linger longer, sending Dieter's heart racing. Soft, fluttering feelings crept around the edges and closed in on their relationship. Dieter, aware of the attraction he started to feel towards his friend, would test out these new waters occasionally. When sitting next to James, he'd inch closer, carefully studying his reaction for signs of disapproval as the proximity between them decreased. 

James didn't flinch away. In fact, he often would smile and blush, or sometimes even scoot even closer, until their legs were touching and their palms were sweaty. 

During one sleepover, James’s voice cut through the pitch black of his bedroom, asking Dieter, “You ever think ‘bout what it’d be like to kiss a boy?” 

Dieter remembers his heart thudding so loud it’s all he could hear in the silence. The wet squelch of his throat when he swallowed hard and whispered back, “Yeah.” The sigh of relief James exhaled through lips Dieter always felt drawn to. Dieter blinked his eyes open and rolled on his side to face James, trying to see his face through the darkness, "Do you?"

"Yeah," James confessed. 

“Do… Do you want to try?” Dieter heard himself asking, lowering his voice even quieter to make sure nobody else could hear, “With me?” 

James slowly rolled on his side to face Dieter. Adrenaline flooded their nervous systems and poured into their bloodstream. Teen hearts beating as fast as a hummingbird's. 

Dieter reached out with a shaky hand, finding James just inches away, fingers landing on his freckled cheek. His thumb brushed against the flushed skin. Their faces grew closer, until they could both feel the other's trembling breath, and they were certain they couldn't miss. 

It was awkward the way first kisses always are. A hesitant peck in the dark with stiff lips. They got better at it, though, over the next year. 

Until General Thompson found out about them. 

Dieter realizes the reflection shown by the mirror is no longer a featureless black void. He squints and sits up straight, leaning towards it. The image being displayed… isn’t really an image at all, because it’s in motion. A current of midnight blue with occasional sprays of white. 

A river running from the left side of the mirror to the right. 

Once he realizes what it is, he leans away, back pressing against the chair. His brain fires off smoke signals to the rest of his body, tapping into the ancient part of his brain that responds best to danger. He scrambles backwards out of the psychomanteum, trying to get the fuck away from the mirror as fast as possible. 

“Already?” 

Your voice faintly reaches Dieter's ears as he stumbles out of the closet. By the time the word has finished crossing your lips, he's no longer in your bedroom. All he can think is GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. 

He hears you calling his name, but it’s just background noise that’s silenced when the apartment door closes behind him. 

You’re perched on the edge of your bed, staring after the sound of your apartment door slamming shut, face twisting in bewilderment. The quiet lingers with an edge that slices your ego. You get to your feet and pad into the kitchen, grabbing your phone from the counter to see if he sent you an explanation. 

Nothing. 

What the fuck happened to make him storm out like that? 

When you call him, the loud hum of vibration sounds from your living room. You follow the noise like a beacon and sigh as you push aside a few stagnant takeout containers, then pick his phone up off the side table. 

You set the phones down side-by-side on your kitchen counter and return to your bedroom, then poke your head into the walk-in closet, narrowing your eyes at the black bed sheet hanging across as a divider. Your teeth clamp down onto your tongue as you take a step forward, carefully pulling a corner back to inspect the psychomanteum’s contents. 

There’s nothing odd about the setup that isn’t overtly obvious. The small space encloses a dim standing lamp, your plush, orange armchair, and a mirror that holds your reflection. Your hand rests on the back of the chair and you take a deep breath, thrumming your fingers against the upholstery. 

A compulsion wills you forward. You settle your body into the chair's embrace and swallow hard as you look up into the mirror. This new angle shows you a black abyss. You stare into it and fill your brain with fond memories of Ethan. 

You think about the passenger seat of his car, how you carved out a home for yourself there, tagging along when he went to do drug deals. The two of you would get stoned and drive around the city streets, listening to music, telling stories, doing whatever the fuck you felt like. 

One night you confessed that you missed seeing stars in the night sky. He drove out to Jones Beach and the two of you laid on the hood of his car, staring up at the expansive galaxy for hours. Neither of you could identify a single constellation except for The Big Dipper, but it was fucking beautiful. The next day he bought two packs of those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars and stuck them to the ceiling above his bed. 

“So you can see the stars every night.” 

Tiny pinpricks of white light surface in the black reflection of the psychomanteum’s mirror. The shimmering lights vary in size and brightness. Stars in the nighttime sky. 

Your lips part, and you’re struck by the sensation that you’re no longer alone. The already small space feels even more crowded. Your hair stands on end. Icy cold air surrounds the chair and you shiver. Your left hand begins to feel like it's been dipped in frigid water. 

“Heya, sweet pea,” a familiar voice echoes through your head. 

You haven’t heard it in ages. His presence wraps around you, squeezing you tight like one of his bear hugs. Memories flood out in an unstoppable tide. Being taught to ride a bike. Road trips to papa’s cabin. Playing scrabble. Watching baseball. Stargazing. Making breakfast for mom on Sundays.

On your next breath in, you smell pancake batter and maple syrup. Despite the temperature drop that raises mountain ranges of goosebumps across your skin, a warmth radiates from your chest. You feel completely at ease. It’s just like that feeling you had when you died. An omnipresent sense of oneness and belonging. 

You blink. 

When your eyes open, you’re in an infinite white space. Your father, as you remembered him when you were a child, is in front of you. He's absolutely beaming at you, radiating light that heats your skin like sunshine. An otherworldly sense of love spreads across your consciousness. 

Your vision blurs with tears and when you respond, your mouth doesn’t open. Rather, the message is sent telepathically to him, “Hi Daddy.” 

The "place" you're in, although to call it that might suggest it abides by Earth's rules of time and space, feels like a room. There’s an indefinable quality of insulation to the area, but there are no walls or floors or ceilings. Just this endless, bright warmth that hosts the two of you in its clutches. 

A sea of love. 

Your dad steps forward, holding his arms open, and envelops you in a hug. His arms squeeze around you tight, tighter, as tight as he can. As always, you try with all your might to match his strength when you return the hug. 

Safety and comfort radiates from him to you, and you hear his voice in your head again, “I love you, Lou. I’m proud of you. You're right where you need to be.” 

“I love you too,” you tell him, still squeezing him, inhaling the familiar scent of citrus and musk. Then you open your eyes to look up at him… and you’re back in the cold psychomanteum, holding nothing. 

It’s long past sunset by the time Dieter returns. 

In that time, you cleaned your apartment from top to bottom, dismantled the psychomanteum, made a batch of cannabutter, prepped for the next day’s orders, and started to worry-bake. You're pulling a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven when the intercom buzzes. The aluminum pan clatters on the stovetop as you toss it down and nudge the oven door closed with a thunk. You yank your oven mitts off and walk over to the white box, then press TALK. 

"Yeah?"

"Hey, I left my phone, can I come up and grab it?" 

You hold down the DOOR button for a few seconds. A current of nervous energy starts flowing from your scalp to your toes. You wring your hands together and start pacing the floor in an attempt to calm yourself. When he knocks, you swing the door open, "Jesus Christ, Dee, I was so-" 

Thoughts flee your brain when you lay your eyes on his face. It's pallid and gleaming with sweat, eyes hidden behind a pair of rectangular tortoiseshell sunglasses. His jaw gnashes from one side to the other as he raises his eyebrows, "What?" 

"Are- are you ok?" you reach out and grab ahold of his clammy hand, pulling him through the doorway. 

"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok? Totally fine, doll," he follows your guidance inside, then promptly shakes off your grasp as he peers around the apartment, "Do- do you have my phone? Did I leave it here?” 

His speech matches the erratic, jerky pace of his body movements. Dieter spots the device on the kitchen counter, picks it up, and starts texting someone, unbothered by your watchful eye. He rips off his sunglasses and tosses them on your counter, then resumes texting. A familiar kind of unease sets your hair on edge. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and cross your arms in front of you, "Where'd you go?"

His blown-out black eyes peek over the top of his phone and he shrugs, "Met some friends."

You nod and drop your gaze to your feet, "You left without saying anything. I- I was worried about you.”

"What is this, a guilt trip?" he scoffs, tossing his phone onto the counter with a thud that makes you jump, then tilts his head to the side and sneers, "Sorry I didn't want to do your little uhh... mirror trick thing. I had to get out of this creepy fucking apartment, Lua. I mean, you get that, right? How fucking creepy it is in here?"

Earlier today, before he left, it was impossible not to notice the way Dieter’s eyes would linger on the hallway or the spare bedroom door. You’d interrupt his teeth grinding, foot tapping, absent stare and ask what’s wrong, and he’d dismiss your question with a wane smile. 

But you feel it, too. The ever-present tingle at the back of your neck that tells you that you’re being watched. 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you nod again, trying to ignore the tears burning behind your eyes, "Yep."

"You know he's still here, right? Ethan, I mean. I see him in that fuckin' room. Saw him in there last night," he presses a knuckle to one of his nostrils and sniffs a postnasal drip back into his skull, "Just standing in the dark like a fuckin'- like a fuckin’ uhh…” 

He snaps his fingers a few times in rapidfire, trying to jog his own tenuous memory. Agitation spikes your blood pressure. 

“Fucking hell, Dee, go sit down,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and point to your couch, then breeze into your bedroom before Dieter can start running his mouth again. 

You pull open your bedside drawer, grabbing an ashtray and a joint out of its designated altoids tin. When you return to the living room, Dieter is pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself. 

“Sit,” you command while raising a lighter flame to the joint, puffing away until its tip is glowing orange and spilling thick plumes of smoke. He ignores your request, but stops pacing and watches you. The THC blooms in your lungs and a haze begins to settle in your brain. You take another puff and hold the joint out to him, “Hit this. You’re crashing hard.” 

He accepts the offering and takes a hit while you go fill up the biggest cup you own with ice water. You drop cookies onto a plate, then return to the living room, “You wanna stay out here or go lay in my bed?” 

His brow furrows and he frowns, “I- I- I- no, I have to meet-”

“No,” you shake your head, “You’re gonna be out of commission for a while, love, so… living room or bedroom?”

He takes a hit off the joint and exhales, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, swinging his hands around in grand gestures as he talks, “I’m gonna be fine, Lua, look, I know what I’m doing, ok? I just need to call my guy-”

“The fuck you are, Bravo,” you interrupt, setting down the glass of water and plate of cookies on the side table, “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m fine, I know what I’m about, babe,” he scoffs, puffs the joint, starts pacing again, “You- you- you can’t tell me what to do, you know. I’m my own person. Everyone always trying to tell me what I can and can’t do and I’m fucking sick of it,” he stops, sniffs away his coke drip, and narrows his eyes at you, “This is your fault, anyway. You know that, right, Lua? If I didn’t have to think of fucking James, and that- that- that fucking river,” his voice cracks and his shoulders sag, face falling into sadness as his eyes well up with tears. 

His accusations pierce sharp and precise into your heart. You remind yourself that this isn’t Dieter. It’s the obvious cocaine binge that has set his brain on fire, steering him towards self-destruction. Your lips remain sealed and your eyes drop to the black stain on your carpet. You remind yourself that this isn’t Ethan, either. Dieter can still be brought back to sanity. 

He takes a puff off the joint and exhales, staring up at the ceiling with watery, far-away eyes, “I loved him, you know. First love. But his dad-”

Abruptly, he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs as he buries his head in his hands. All is still for a moment before his body starts to heave with sobs. You crouch down next to him, plucking the loosely held joint from his fingers. As you stand up, you take another hit, then crush the glowing cherry in an ashtray. 

You return to the heap of a man crumbled on your floor and sit facing him, knees pressed against his shins, and remind him, “I’m here, Dee. Talk to me.”

“His d-dad saw us k-k-k-kissing, and he- he- beat the shit out of him, Lua. Almost fucking killed him. And I just stood there. I didn’t do anything. I- I let it happen,” he takes a deep, shattered breath, then continues, “He wasn’t the same after. It’s like he fucking died right there in front of me and I let it happen. Word got out, and we moved to a new base. And-” a high-pitched squeal of agony fades into more choked sobs, and he looks up at you, face sopping wet with tears and utterly fucking tortured, “He drowned himself.” 

“Oh, Dee-” tears blur your vision as secondhand sorrow aches your chest. Your hands find either side of his face, thumbs wiping away his tears in vain, “Can I hug you? Is that ok?”

He nods and you climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. You squeeze him tight. Your best attempt at a bear hug. He buries his face in your neck and continues to cry. You slide one arm around his head and cradle him against your chest, petting his sweaty, messy, hair, and you whisper to him the phrase you tell yourself every day, “It’s not your fault, ok? Not your fault, Dee, I promise. It’s not your fault.” 

His sobbing starts anew, and he pulls you close. Hot, wet tears drench your neck and shirt. Anguish rolls off of him in waves, and you wish you could absorb every ounce of pain from him like a sponge. He nuzzles in closer, and you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his body wrapped up with yours. You trail your fingers through his messy locks with one hand while the other gently scratches his back. 

Something stirs inside you, soft and sweet. 

You think about the numerous phone calls with him throughout the past few months. FaceTime, text messages, Snapchat. How his name popping up in your notifications always makes your heart skip a beat. How seeing his handsome face, or hearing his voice, always seems to make your day better. How he flew across the country for the sole purpose of spending time with you for a few days between projects. 

Granted, this visit has been a complete and utter shitshow so far, but there have been moments that you find yourself staring at his lips, longing for his hands on your bare skin, imagining the heat of his body pressed against yours. 

In his absence today, you couldn’t stop from wondering whether or not he would return, thoughts always drifting to the worst. You typed his name into Google, searching for the latest headlines to make sure he wasn’t found dead somewhere. Nothing surfaced, of course, except for the latest exposition on his divorce, which you avoided reading even though it piqued your curiosity. 

The idea of losing him ate away at you more and more with every second. You’re grateful to be curled around his shattered breaths, knowing that even though he’s crashing and burning, he’s alive. 

It occurs to you… that you care about him deeply. 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and it seems that the active flow of tears has slowed to a stop. You close your eyes and squeeze him hard. He pulls back to look at you, eyes all swollen, red, and glassy. His hands slide to your waist, and his thumbs smooth circles against your sides. The contact pools liquid hot in your belly. 

You search his puffy, tear-stained face, running a hand through his hair, “Wanna go lay down for a bit?” 

He nods and peers behind you, sniffling, “It smells good in here.”

The corners of your mouth upturn, and you bring your hands to meet at the nape of his neck, “I made chocolate chip cookies, do you want some? You must be hungry.” 

“Fucking starving,” he admits, but his grip on your waist tightens and he nuzzles back into your chest, “I don’t wanna move, though.” 

Warmth radiates across your chest and you hope he can’t hear the way your heart just started pounding. 

“We can cuddle in my bed. I’ll bring cookies and make a frozen pizza. Does that sound ok?” you rest your cheek on the crown of his head and stroke his hair.

He hums in the affirmative, pulling you closer, and mumbles against your drenched t-shirt, “Dibs on little spoon.” 

This pulls a chuckle from your belly, “Fine, but you have to drink at least two glasses of water and take a shower. Then you’re gonna stay here while your comedown passes. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

After eating half a dozen cookies and two frozen pizzas that have to be at least 50% cardboard, guzzling down 2 quarts of water, and taking a hot shower, Dieter lays his head down on your bosom and promptly passes the fuck out for 12 hours. 

Withdrawal keeps him pinned down at its mercy for another two days, allowing him to only exist as a hollowed out zombie who shuffles from your bedroom, to the bathroom to use your toilet, then to the kitchen for food and water, then back into your bed to sleep. 

It’s a miserable kind of half-existence. Blanketed in a thick, web-like fatigue that anchors him to the bed. 

He catches glimpses of your day-to-day routine while cycling through this pattern. Sometimes you would be in bed next to him, watching tv or writing in a journal. Sometimes you were in the kitchen, dancing and singing along to music while baking. Sometimes you were in the living room, reading or fucking around on your phone. Once, you were talking to a client who spotted him and asked, “Is that Dieter Bravo?” 

You gaslit the shit out of her and shooed her from the apartment. 

Now when he wakes, blinking his eyes open to find the sky is still a dimly lit dark blue, casting a cool light onto the room, he is relieved to find that the fog in his brain has lifted. There’s a tranquil silence in the apartment that he inhales like his first breath. He rolls onto his side, relaxing into this unfamiliar feeling of peace, sinking even further into your mattress. 

This is when he notices that you’re in the bed, too. 

Your back is facing him, body completely still except for the gentle expansion and compression of your ribcage, quiet puffs of air escaping your nose. 

His stomach churns when he remembers how he treated you when he was strung out. The hurt he saw in your eyes when he mocked the psychomanteum. How he tried to pick a fight with you. He was angry, lashing out at you for making him confront James. 

You didn’t really make him, though. It was his choice. His anger was misdirected. 

It was like all his emotions were collapsing in on him at once. This crudely pasted together façade of a man crumbled into pieces on your living room floor. And what did you do? 

You looked at him, a sobbing trainwreck on the ground, and embraced him. Told him it wasn’t his fault. Let him empty his tears onto your shirt. Fed him, sheltered him, nursed him back to some semblance of a human. 

Without hesitation, you graced him with a kindness he’s never encountered. How could he ever repay you? 

Nothing he can think of is adequate enough to express his gratitude. 

You take a sharp inhale and start to stir. Dieter scoots closer, drawn to the notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts that waft from your hair. To the warmth of your body that he longs to feel against his skin. 

He reaches out and hesitantly presses the pads of his fingers to your shoulder. Testing the waters. You hum and lean into the touch, scooting back towards him. 

In one swift movement, he pulls you into an embrace, snaking an arm under your head, draping the other over the dip of your waist. Your back against his bare chest. The sections of skin peaking out from beneath your tank top stick to him like glue, both of you tacky with a gleaming coat of sleep sweat. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath of you, letting your presence consume him. 

Tears burn behind his eyes as it dawns on him: you mean more to him than he ever anticipated.  

When he met you and recalled his visions of your future together, he expected something, of course. Although a skeptical part of him always had reservations.  

But he never expected to feel safe with you. Never thought another person could see his ugly, broken pieces and beckon him closer instead of shoo him away. His heart thuds with humility and adoration. 

You hum again, wriggling further into his embrace with a sleepy sigh, “G’morning.” 

“Good morning,” he whispers back. A fat, salty tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek, onto your shoulder. 

“Feelin’ better?”

 He nods, mumbles against your neck, “Much better,” then his voice cracks as he says, “Thank you, Lua.” 

You reach back, finding his cheek with your hand, and rub your thumb against his patchy beard. The motion sends tingles all the way down to the base of his spine. His hand at your side slides up to your belly and grips the fabric of your baggy tank top. 

“I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you,” he adds in a whisper, “I feel terrible.”

The gentle circles against his jawline continue to trickle down the center of him as you mumble, “I’m just glad you’re feeling better, love.” 

He hums and closes his eyes, concentrating on the tiny movements of your body against his. How you’re arching towards him ever-so-slightly. The soft little huff you let out when his grasp on your shirt tightens. He feels the muscles in your legs tense and shift, like you’re trying to create friction between your thighs. 

When he thinks about sliding his hand between them, his heart starts to thud in his chest. Blood laced with desire, spreading this aching, heavy-handed lust throughout his body like a virus. His fingers twitch at your belly, where they release your shirt and slip underneath, splaying across the heat of your skin. 

You hum in approval. He swears you try to move even closer. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he wets his lips, then presses them against your pulse. You gasp and grab ahold of the hair at the nape of his neck, and he starts to back away in a panic before realizing that you’re pulling him closer. 

He lays another kiss down on your neck, then mumbles against your skin, relishing the salty bite of sweat that transfers to his tongue, “No strings, right? That’s what you want?”

Beneath the covers, his fingertips slide across the soft skin of your belly, and you let out a soft gasp as you nod, “Can- can we still be friends, though?” 

His fingertips graze the elastic band of your underwear and he leans into your ear, “Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

Dieter props himself up on his elbow and stares down at you, watching your eyes flutter and face flush in reaction to his wandering touch. The tip of your tongue darts out and licks your lips. He imagines what the soft muscle would feel like in his mouth. Against his neck. Along the length of him. 

The thought pools hot lava that urges him to touch you more, grip your skin harder, move this along faster. He wants to feel your arousal douse his fingers. He wants to taste you on his tongue. He wants to hear your moans when you're falling apart in his hands. 

His muscles burn as he tries to keep himself tethered, reigning in this mounting animalistic need to devour you. 

“I want to show you how grateful I am, Lua,” he lays a slow, gentle kiss on your shoulder, pressing his lips to a torn up, blackwork tattoo of a pomegranate. His fingertips trail along your abdomen, entranced by the way your whole body trembles under his touch, “Do you want that?”

You nod, peering up at him through your lashes, meeting his lust-blown black eyes. Desire rolls off of him in waves, washing over you, condensation collecting hot and damp at your center. 

He tugs at your underwear under the sheets, sliding them down your legs inch by inch, his whisper burning in your ear, " Say it , baby. Tell me what you want." 

A whimper escapes your lips and you arch your back up towards him, "Touch me, Dee, please."

Your underwear at your feet, he pulls the covers back and reveals you to the morning light. 

He hovers above you, licking his lips, drinking in the sight of your pussy as his hands ghost along the tender skin of your thighs. When his gaze falls on your tank top, he shakes his head and yanks on the thin fabric, "We gotta do something about this."

Without hesitation, you pull it off over your head and toss it on the ground, "Better?"

"Fucking perfect. You are-" he cuts himself off with a groan, biting down on his plush bottom lip. Dieter sits up and stuffs a few pillows behind your back. The heat of his palm presses against the base of your skull and his warmth drips down to your cunt. His other hand splays across your sternum, pushing you back until you're resting atop the pile of pillows, head cradled in his impossibly large hand. 

You follow his wordless guidance, watching him in awe, completely mesmerized, aching at the thought of what he'll do to you. 

The bridge of his nose presses against your cheek, his breath a furnace on your skin, and his fingertip traces the outline of your mouth, "Open."

You obey, parting your lips for his thumb. It scrapes against your teeth and draws circles into a pool of saliva on your tongue. He withdraws and brings his hand to grip the soft flesh of your breast, brushing his wet thumb across the bud. The contact is electric, sending a current of pleasure rippling across your skin, dripping down your spine. 

A whimper escapes your lips and he hums in approval when you puff out your chest against his hand, "That's it, doll, I wanna hear how good you fucking feel."

Your gaze drifts to his face, and you lift a hand to his chin, turning his head to meet your eyes. When they lock on, all the air whooshes from his lungs. You drag your thumb along his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth for you to enter. 

Mimicking him, you collect spit from the soft velvet of his tongue. When you pull away, a web of his saliva gaps the growing divide and falls across your chest as you grab your unoccupied breast, using his lubrication to tease your nipple. He groans, eyes drifting back to watch you squeeze and pinch yourself. 

"Do you like to be handled rough?" he asks, gaze returning to study your face when he rolls your nipple in his fingers, applying firm pressure.

You shudder, "S-sometimes."

"Is that how you want it now? Hmm?" he brings his lips to your shoulder and catches your skin in his teeth, making you gasp. His fingers clamp down on your nipple hard and he growls, "You want me to fucking wreck you?"

And- fucking hell - the way he talks to you like this, so direct, so eager to learn exactly what sets you on fire, it fills you with a heavy, aching need. With a breathy moan, you answer him, "Yes- yes , fucking destroy me, Dee."

His grip on your head tightens, balling your hair tight in his fist, tugging at your scalp. Your body shudders and you bite your bottom lip, closing your eyes to revel in the ecstasy. His lips press against your neck in a gentle kiss that makes way for his tongue to roll circles onto your thudding pulse. 

A trail of trembling nerves follow the pads of his fingers down your torso to your vulva. He stops here and tugs at your thicket of pubic hair, "You like having your hair pulled?"

You gasp in surprise and your eyes snap open to meet his hot gaze on your face. He has a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he pulls at your hair from both sides, watching the way your face contorts with bliss. In a half-chuckle, half-moan, you admit, "That's really fucking good, actually, holy shit -"

"Yeah?" his smile widens and he pulls harder, sending a jolt of electricity to your cunt that makes you moan. 

"That's what I want, sweetheart, want you to feel fucking amazing. You deserve that, you know?" He drags a finger along the seam of you and purrs, "You're a caretaker, aren't you? Always taking care of people?"

Your eyelids flutter and you nod with a moan as he spreads your lips and runs his fingers through your arousal. 

"Mmm, yeah you are," he finds your clit and traces the swollen bud with precision, "Well right now, I'm taking care of you, ok?" 

"Ok," you pant, swallowing hard as you look up at him and whimper, "Fuck , Dee, that's so good ."

His dark eyes meet yours with intensity, searching your face as he draws tight circles that echo pleasure throughout your body. Ecstasy rolls steady in your center. You buck your hips against his touch, hungry for more friction as your body starts to feel weightless. 

He takes your cue and applies pressure through his fingertips, rubbing you harder, faster.

You nod and gasp, "Yes, just like that, baby, yes."

His grip on your hair tightens and a moan rips from your throat. He growls, "Pussy is just fucking dripping wet for me. So fucking-"

His hand slides down your front as he sinks two digits deep into your cunt. A wrecked sob bubbles out your throat as the sensation electrifies you. His palm bears down on your clit, and he starts to rock his hand back and forth, fingers squelching in your arousal as they slide in and out. 

You are enveloped in a haze of lust, completely fucking lost in the feel of his hand stretching your walls. 

"So- fucking- wet, sweetheart, do you hear that?" he starts at a brutal pace, broadcasting the unmistakable sound throughout the quiet apartment. His jaw is slack and his eyes wild as he meets your gaze. 

You nod and whimper frantically, glancing down at his parted lips as his tongue darts along them.

The thought only crosses your mind for a moment before you're grabbing his face and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips against his. He responds with a moan against your mouth and returns the kiss with enthusiasm. 

It's just like you hoped it would be. 

Messy and passionate, painting his saliva on your tongue and lips, bodies bumping together as his fingers slide in and out of your cunt mercilessly. Your body finds a new plane of existence, twisting and turning into a thick static of pleasure that starts to overtake you.

"Dee , I'm-" you whimper against his lips, "I'm gonna fucking cum, don't stop-"

"Good , baby, that's good, cum for me, Lua," he pants, stealing pecks from your lips between breaths, "Cum all over my fucking hand, baby- wanna feel you squeeze my fingers-"

Bliss crashes down on your body in waves, hot and all-consuming, making every part of your body tremble with ecstacy. You cry out as Dieter works you through the orgasm, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, to your cheek, breath hot against your face as he groans, "Fuck, yes, oh that's so good, sweetheart, fucking amazing."

"Holy fuck, Dieter," you pant as your body starts to soften and relax. 

He grins down at you, chest heaving, and pulls his pussy-drenched hand to his mouth. His lips wrap around each digit, licking them all clean before he leans in to kiss you. 

The kiss is soft and slow, generous with an intimacy that tugs at something warm and cozy inside you. He pulls back and meets your eyes again, a new kind of hesitancy lingering in his gaze. 

"Will you cuddle me again?" you ask in a shy whisper, face heating with embarrassment. 

"C'mere, doll," Dieter grins wide and nods, beckoning you closer. 

You roll to face him and his arms wrap around your naked body, pulling you flush against his skin. His hard-on, still trapped within the confines of his boxers, presses against you. Your body flushes when you start trying to picture it in your head, imagining what he would feel like inside you, wondering if that will ever happen or if this is a one-time occurrence. 

"So, are you going to run away from me now?" he rumbles, cupping your cheek, running his thumb along your cheekbone affectionately. He reeks of you. And you like it. 

The question rolls around your head as you consider it. What does this mean for the two of you? Your friendship? He said it doesn't have to change anything. Unlike the variety of bar and tinder hookups you've had in the past, you don't immediately want to banish him from your life. 

This is actually… really fucking great. The warmth of his body against yours, his touch on your skin, the closeness that feels natural when you’re with him. You don’t want him to leave. 

Which is a good sign, right?

"We're still friends?" you ask in return, searching his face. Your palm rests against his chest, soaking up the heat from his pounding heart. 

He nods and cards his fingers through your hair gently, "Absolutely."

"Then, no, I think... I think I'll keep you around," you meet his warm eyes and shrug jokingly, "I guess. If you want. Or whatever.” 

"Wow! So nonchalant, Lua," he grins, then pulls you into a bear hug against his bare chest as you giggle. He mumbles into your hair, "I do, I do want that." 

With a content hum, you ask, “What now?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[vennussy]

sapphic senate teaching robin how to drive 🙏

Driving and Hot Wiring in One day - Short Fic

There is a TL;DR at the end if yall dont wanna read all of this :)

Robin decided she wanted to learn how to drive during Nancy's exam week, so Robin had to practically beg Nancy to let Chrissy and Vickie teach her alone instead—not that it took much, Nancy was very weak towards the taller girl, so she let them teach her not without the hours of lecture from Nancy of course.

When Nancy's exam was finally over, she was dreading to find Robin or Chrissy at the hospital. Colour her surprised to see both of them perfectly in tact. What's more surprising, when Nancy decided to finally teach the girl for herself, she finds that Robin is doing really well!

"Well, would you look at that, Buckley, I'm honestly surprised you managed to even learn how to go forward." Nancy grinned at the other girl when they parked in some parking lot to eat their drive thru food.

Robin laughed, "You wound me, Nance! You need to learn to trust me more."

"Oh, I trust you alright, it's those two I don't trust. Honestly, I'm surprised that you managed to not get arrested with Chrissy teaching you," she replied back witha smirk.

At the sight of Robin's face paling, she didn't even try to hide her curiousity and annoyance because she knew it was bound to happen. Sooner or later. Vickie she can trust. Vickie with Robin? Not so much. For Chrissy, she just fears the safety of others and herself. That girl is a menace inside a cute body.

"Alright, what happened," she deadpanned, more of an order than a question.

She sees Robin gulp for a second, already sensing the ramble that's about to come out.

"Okay. So. I'm not supposed to say what happened because I promised the two of them I wouldn't say, but they know and I know that they know that I can't keep secrets from you and that should be their fault trusting me in the first place!" She inhales, "In any case, long story short- don't be mad!- but, uh, let's just say that Vickie has a restraining order and we may had to bail out Chrissy out of jail-" Robin finishes, biting her lip in anticipation.

"Okay. What. I leave you three for one week. One week! And you did what exactly?" Nancy felt all kinds of emotion but curiosity beats all of them right now.

"Well, funny story, I promise you'll laugh when you hear this. Well, actually, it wasn't funny for the other guy... But it was funny! So pretty much, Vickie was teaching me how to drive and Chrissy tagged along. It was going well when some guy accumulated hit me, and it was just a scratch after all so I didn't mind! Especially since my car is already pretty scruffed up. Speaking of, I'm still surprised that this old thing works so well, no major problems for the past week or anything-"

"Robin, love, focus."

"Right, right! So right this guy hit me and Chrissy wasn't having any of it and went out to confront him. It became a whole scene and since you weren't there, Vickie was the brain in the group and tried to calm the situation down. Apparently, this dude was a major homophobic dick and saw the way Chrissy and Vickie were talkinng and called them nasty stuff. And then uh, let's just say it did not end well."

When Robin finishes, Nancy was just shocked. She understood Vickie's anger and I guess she can let them off with that, I mean, they were just protecting Robin. That's something she would do too. She smiled softly at the thought, her friends might be a bunch of mess, but they were a mess together. Wait.

"Wait, so how did Chrissy get in jail?"

"Oh, yeah after Vickie beat up the dude, apparently it wasn't enough so that same night Chrissy took me out and taught me how to break in a car, hotwire it and to drift. She also taught me some weird ritual stuff to curse someone but other than that we also used the car to drive around a field. That wasn't ours of course. We got caught, but ut was no big deal. The Vickie situation was scarier." Then Robin shrugs, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Nancy gapes at her, "NO BIG DEAL?!"

Later that day, the three of them, especially Chrissy had to listen to Nancy's four hour lecture of driving safety and safety in general. She also forbade Chrissy to ever break in a car and trespass which Nancy knows she would do no matter what anyways.

At least in the end, Robin learned how to drive.

TL;DR:

Robin decided to learn how to drive during Nancy's exam week, leaving Chrissy and Vickie to teach her instead. She did learn how to drive but she also learned how to break into a homophobic man's car, hot wire said car and use said car to trespass the man'a field and wreck it the field and car. Also Vickie beat up said homophobic person. Nancy was not pleased.

[madlori]

Husbros in progress

Hard at work on the follow-up multichapter fic in the Life Cycles of the Southern Coastal Husbros series. This one, Bonding Rituals of the Southern Coastal Husbro, will be about Buck and Eddie’s wedding.

A wee sneako peeko.

“Wow, traveling light rules,” Eddie said, as they breezed past the baggage claim and picked up their car in short order. “Kind of impossible with a kid.” Buck plucked Eddie’s carry-on off his shoulder and tossed it, along with his own, into the back seat of the Kia Sportage that Hertz had given them.

“Hey,” he said, stopping Eddie from going around to the passenger seat. He took both of his hands. “Last chance for this before we get there, so…you okay?”

Eddie smiled. “Yeah. I think so. Kinda nervous.”

“Me, too.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“Why? C’mon. Your parents like me as a B-team parent and a helper for you and a best friend and all, but I’m not super confident how they’re going to like me as some guy who’s defiling their son on a regular basis.”

“Defiling?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think I want a demonstration.”

“Be serious.”

Eddie’s smile slipped. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease you.”

“I’m safer to hate. I’m not their son. I’m giving it about even odds that at some point they’re going to either imply or directly say that I ‘turned you gay,’” he said, using his eyebrows to connote the air quotes.

“Ugh,” Eddie said, tipping his head back. “Why is everyone so obsessed with whether or not I now like dick exclusively?”

“Because people are nosy as fuck. If I was more cynical, I’d say that people want to know how gay you are so they can determine how homophobic they can be.”

“Wow, that is cynical. I wish I could say you were wrong.” He smirked a little. “But how could they take one look at you and not get it?”

Buck made a face. “So I did turn you gay, is what you’re saying.”

“Or you were just too hot to resist.” He leaned in and kissed him, lingering over it a little. “Come on, we’ve put it off long enough. Want me to drive?”

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 18

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

Sergeant Nguyen drives me to John's place in sullen silence, clearly not pleased with being cast in the role of babysitter and chauffeur.

When we arrive and I get out, grabbing the plastic grocery bag holding my belongings from the back seat, he finally speaks.

"You sure you'll be okay alone? I got chewed out enough for letting you out of my sight once already."

"I'll be fine," I say, patting the top of the car with my good arm. "This place has state-of-the-art security. And have you seen John's dogs? Those things are massive."

"If you say so."

Nguyen gazes past me and looks up at the house.

"Honestly, I didn't think Turner was the type."

"The type to own dogs?" I ask, carefully modulating my tone between a clueless 'whatever do you mean?' and a warning along the lines of 'go ahead and say something homophobic, you fucker, I dare you.'

If any of that comes across, Nguyen shows no sign and instead says something that surprises me.

"No, the type to let a stranger live in his home. He's civil enough at work but real cagey outside of it. When he moved here, a bunch of us offered to help him unpack, get settled, all that shit. He blew us off. Never hangs out with anyone after hours, never accepts invites to parties. I get wanting to keep your work and personal lives separate but my mom would say people like that have something to hide. Plus, there's all the rumors about him."

"What rumors?"

Drawn by the promise of gossip, I lean down and peer at him through the open door.

Nguyen shrugs.

"You know how it is. Somebody knew somebody who knew somebody at his old precinct. Anyway, word is Turner's a good cop, on paper. No complaints against him, no use of excessive force, no dirt. On the other hand, perps who got away, the ones who were guilty as sin and slippery as fish, had a tendency to turn up dead on his watch. He's got vigilante vibes. That's the rumor, anyway."

I frown.

"So, all you have is speculation."

"Yeah but if there's any truth to it, you should be careful. Guys like that have something to hide and guys with something to hide are dangerous."

"Thanks for the warning," I say, straightening. "But I think I'll take my chances."

He nods at the fresh cast on my arm and the brace on my neck.

"Good luck with that."

I shut the door and walk up the path to the house.

He waits until I've let myself in, nearly getting knocked off my feet by Rick and Morty's enthusiastic greeting and given him the thumbs up before he drives away.

Inside, I re-arm the security system, climb the stairs to my room and collapse on the bed, exhausted from my ordeal.

Briefly, I consider locking the door but then the dogs leap on the bed and curl up with me and my anxiety subsides.

I didn't expect I'd see Kyle any time soon.

He'd used a massive amount of energy to push me and it would take time to build up his energy again.

Besides, as I'd told John, I didn't get the sense he'd wanted to hurt me.

He'd wanted me to get out his aunt's house for my own good.

That other thing Kyle said though... that somehow... this was all happening because of me... gave me pause.

He had to mean the Ritual of the Feasts, which meant the connection wasn't to me, specifically but to my family, to Aunt Toni and my mother, from whom I'd inherited my talent for getting possessed and maybe even further back.

My grandmother, Aunt Toni once told me, was a fierce warrior, La Cazademonios 'The Demon Hunter' who had personally taken a demon to hell, a journey from which she had never returned.

If anyone had dealt with something like the Feasts, it would have been her.

I needed to talk to her... to Aunt Toni, that is and find out what she knows.

If I could only get her to call me back.

Rousing myself, I push Rick off me and dig my phone out of the plastic bag of my belongings.

I hadn't called my aunt from the hospital because I intended to tell her everything and I was worried if the nurses or doctors overheard me talking about ghosts and demons and ritual sacrifice they might rethink their decision to let me go and send me to a different sort of hospital, instead.

There were things I didn't want John overhearing, either.

He seemed to accept what I'd told him about Kyle but as for the rest, he remained a skeptic, as far as I could tell.

As for what Nguyen had told me... Well, dogs are good judges of character, right?

John's dogs love him.

More importantly, they're sweet-tempered.

In my experience, cruel and violent people seldom raise gentle, sweet-tempered dogs.

Then again, he was almost like a different person at home than when we were working, maybe there was a side of him even they haven't seen.

Once again, Toni doesn't pick up but this time I make it clear that I'm not calling out of guilt or to say I'm sorry or to ask a favor.

This time, I talk until I get cut off, having reached the time limit for leaving a message.

Then I text her and send her an email for good measure.

There's no way she can ignore me now.

Finally, I give in to the exhaustion pulling my eyelids shut and fall asleep.

When I wake up, the dogs are gone, my room is dark, my mouth is dry and I'm starving.

A glance at my phone tells me two things... I slept for six hours and Toni hasn't called me back.

Rising, I make my way to the bathroom and relieve myself, then frown at my reflection as I wash my hands.

I look like I've seen better days, which is true.

Unstrapping the neck brace, which is already itching and which I really don't need, I take it off, wrap my cast in the plastic bag the hospital gave me and take a one-handed shower.

It's a lot less fun than the last shower I had but I feel and look better afterwards.

When I go to get dressed, however, I realize I'm out of clean clothes.

I don't want to put the funeral suit back on and the clothes I wore to the park are covered in mud.

The only other set I brought with me is in the wash.

I'll ask if I can borrow something of John's, I think to myself.

His clothes won't fit me but I just need something to wear until I finish the laundry.

At the top of the stairs, I pause at the sound of voices downstairs, one low and male, one light and female.

The male voice belongs to John but I don't recognize the other.

Sighing, I retreat.

I'm only wearing a towel and if John didn't want me wandering around in my underwear, I doubted he'd appreciate the fresh-from-his-shower look.

I'll just grab the clothes and hope he doesn't mind.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, as they say.

I'm across the hall and in front of his door before I remember his other warning.

"This is my room. You can go anywhere in the house, except in there."

But that was before, I reason... before he knew me better... before he admitted his attraction and before he fucked me.

Surely, he wouldn't mind now. Would he?

I rest my hand on the doorknob and my heart speeds up, as if I'm about to do something risky, like sky dive or speak in front of a crowd.

'I just want a pair of sweats and a t-shirt,' I tell myself.

'I'm not gonna rifle through his porn or whatever he's got in here.'

Twisting the knob, I'm relieved to find it unlocked.

If he really wanted to keep me out, he'd have locked it. Right?

Pushing the door open, I step through and turn on the light.

It's a normal-looking room, overall, though larger than I expected.

His bed, draped in a dark-gray cover, stands against one wall, a desk and bookshelves occupy the other, with a good ten feet of open space between.

To the left of the desk is another door, which I assume leads to a closet.

I head for this when something on the desk catches my eye.

A folder lies open, the papers within spread about as if John had been interrupted while in the middle of looking at them but what snares my attention is a photograph.

Picking it up with a trembling hand, I examine it more closely, trying to convince myself I'm wrong but there's no mistake.

I've seen the picture before.

It's the one Aunt Toni gave to the police when my mom disappeared.

She smiles at me from the faded photo paper, as does the boy in her arms. Me.

I flip the photo over and look at the back.

It's the original, dated almost exactly twenty years ago, the day I turned seven.

She'd taken me to the beach.

Dropping it like a hot match, I scan the scattered papers, everything there was to know about my mom and her case is right here.

Aunt Toni always said the police had barely bothered to look for her but this says otherwise.

If the case went cold, it wasn't for lack of effort.

But why the fuck was John Turner looking into it now and why wouldn't he have told me if he already knew there was some connection to the current case?

Confused and beginning to feel a little angry, I open the closet, intending to grab some clothes, head downstairs and confront John face to face, when I freeze.

It's not a closet.

It's a supernatural armory.

Boxes and chests, all sealed with protective symbols, are stacked along the floor.

Rare books of occult lore line one wall.

Bottles of blessed water and sacred salts, herbs, crystals and strange instruments line the other.

Weapons cover the back wall, ritual daggers, blades short and long, several swords and even a couple of crossbows.

John didn't believe in the 'supernatural shit?'

That was bullshit.

What else was a lie?

I back out of the room, clutching my towel, with the beginnings of panic fluttering little wings in my chest.

Maybe this is what Kyle meant by get out.

I need to get out of here, get in my truck and get to Aunt Toni.

Racing for the door, I crack it open and peek down the hall towards the stairs.

It's empty and quiet.

I step through and cross to my own door, open it and find myself face to face with John.

Unable to conceal my surprise and alarm, I back away and bump into the wall.

He looks past me towards his room and his expression shifts.

"I told you not to go in there."

"John, I..."

A woman's voice interrupts me.

"John? Where did you... Oh. So this is what you've been hiding."

I turn my head carefully and see a well-dressed woman standing at the end of the hall, hands on her hips.

John rubs his forehead and sighs.

"Becky, I told you to wait downstairs."

"You know I'm not good at listening."

She looks me up and down and arches a brow.

"Huh. I was expecting a naked woman... maybe even two... but this is a surprise."

I swallow.

"John is full of surprises."

I look back at him and there's no mistaking it for a trick of the light when his eyes change color this time, from green-brown to green and golden-orange.

For one thing, they're glowing.

[fedonciadale]

I'm sorry for this, I'm just so MAD right now and I want vent to fellow historian. I hate this whole ooh historians are all homophobes, omg, today I got foolishly into argument with guy that claimed over and over that I have to be anti-homo (his words) because in my work I didn't say that X was in sexual relationship with Y. Aand when I got to tumblr, what I saw on my dash? "Another historian proves himself homophobic by not agreeing with bunch of random tumblr that Z wasn't gay" FFS, I'm mad.

Hi there!

I think the main reason for this is that people always think that historians know how it "really was" when we just don't.

Historians who do research often will answer something along the lines of "we can't really say" or "we don't really know" or "it is more complicated than that".

Historians also demand that you allow for the circumstances and the thought patterns of the past and that often means that our modern ascriptions simply do not work.

I actually think that categories like homosexuality and transgender are something that evolved with the strict binary system of the European 19th century, a system that people rant against today forgetting all the time that there were many times and places in history where human thoughts did no align to that rigid system.

Attributing something to historical persons is also often influenced by the time frame of the historian.

Richard the Lionheart is a good example: When academic history evolved people would keep silent about the fact that some sources tell us that he visited Philippe August in Paris and "shared his bed". Because they clearly understood it in a sexual way and wanted to keep the reputation of their hero king "clean". Times changed and in the 70s it was accepted that Richard was "clearly homosexual". His "affair" with Philippe became common knowledge and you can see echoes of this in the film "The Lion in Winter."

Recent research on rituals in the Middle Ages found out that "sharing a bed" was quite common. Like kisses it was meant to signal the determination to keep the peace. The king showed everyone that he trusted the other to such a degree that he would even share a bed with him, being at his most vulnerable in the presence of a friend. And speaking of friendship: this was often expressed in terms that were a reminiscence of Ancient Rome and therefore are often quite "romantic", but we honestly cannot say what is literary artistic and what is real emotion.

So, nowadays when asked about the homosexuality of Richard the Lionheart, most historians would answer honestly: We do not know. We know he had a bastard and that he had a wife. We know that he had deep friendships. It is possible that he slept with men? Yes. But do we have proof? No.

There are others where we do have proof. We know for sure that Earl Robert of Gloucester, illegitimate son of Henry I, had a male lover.

As so often, it is about nuance. And honestly, some people are out of their depth when it comes to nuance.

Thanks for the ask!

[tamamita]

hello! first of all, I apologize in advance for possibly upsetting you, but I noticed that you educate all of us on Islam and you seem extremely knowledgeable so I figured you're the person I should ask. Every time I try to talk about Islam to my friend, he always brings up what he calls the "homophobic/misogynistic teachings" and calls Muhammad a war lord. Im not familiar enough on Islam and its teachings to say anything back, so could you please educate me so that maybe he'd stop thinking Islam is so hateful and evil? Im sorry if it comes off as insensitive, i just really want to learn and then teach others too. Thank you!!

It’s a pretty simple answer and a very common accusation the most prejudical people have towards Islam. 

It is no secret that the Qur’an has verses that could be alarming as it commands the Muslims to kill. Certain verses such as “Kill them wherever you may find them” could easily be distorted misinterpretated. Now let us understand what the Qur’an is. The Qur’an was not a book that was revealed in its entirety. Throughout the Prophet’s life, chapters would be revealed to address certain legislative and socio-political situations. Thus the Qur’an is a book that has verses that are either connected to the subsequent verse or they are not. One verse could talk about a certain ruling, while the successive verse speaks of a topic entirely different from the previous. For such a reason, it was not compiled in one codex, nor was the order of the verses fixed. This is important to understand as it deals with how the Qur’an sporadically tells a story and then changes the narrative to deal with a different issue. The Qur’an is not concerned with chronology. The Imams (a) were divinely ordained with the knowledge to understand the Qur’an and offered their esoteric and exoteric exegesis to their followers.

With that said, your friend understands the Prophet (sawas) as a warlord, because certain verses were misinterpretated for such a reason, your friend views it ahistorically and dismisses hermenutics. If your friends took the opportunity to read the Biography of the Prophet (sawas) then may God substantiate him with knowledge. Regardless, the Muslims were initially persectured by a Pagan group of people who held that they wanted to retain their cultural traditions, which involved many barbaric rituals. Like Noah (a), The Prophet (sawas) warned his people of their transgressions and his message managed to reach many. The Pagans saw this as a threat as the Prophet (sawas) championed the rights of women, slaves and many others, which was seen as a threat to the upper eschelon of the Quraiyshi tribe and so ordered for him to be killed along with the subsequent converts to Islam. The Pagans at that time were concerned with a marketsystem that encompassed the entire Arabian peninsula and the Prophet (sawas) wanted it dismantled. Despite being patient for several years, the Muslims were forced to flee Mecca and seek refuge in Medina. Over the course of years, the Qur’an took a more aggressive stance towards the persecuters and even declared retaliation. Some of the verses deals with it, but also offers sanction to those who would lay down their arms. This is just a summary. To offer a complete analysis would take time.

[miyosamu]

Bokuto & Kenma with a boyfriend

Bokuto Koutarou 

everyone on the team learned that bokuto has a thing for someone once they noticed how he got even livelier and more show off-y when certain people were in the crowd during their practices 

so they went through a whole elimination process to figure out who it was

at first, they just looked at all the girls who’d often come to practice and if bokuto was acting show off-y even when they weren’t present then they’d get eliminated 

and they kept doing this until they went through all the girls

and it was none of them 

so they got ?????

and they did it again to double-check

same result

so then they were like    o k let’s try it with the guys i guess lol lol

and bam

they found you

konoha knew you cuz you were in the same class as him so he was like holy shit does bokuto have a crush on y/n

so they kept an eye on you for a whole week and observed bokuto’s reaction to your presence/absence and there was no doubt that it was definitely you that he was crushing on 

one day during their practice break konoha called you over to talk and bokuto imMEDIATLY perked up

‘konoha knows him?? what’s his name?? what’s their relationship? can he introduce us??’ a bunch of these thoughts went through his head

and while konoha was talking to you he was trying his best not to burst out laughing at bokuto hovering around over your shoulder trying to gauge if and when there would be a good time to insert himself into your conversation

you had just started coming to their practices recently after a friend of yours dragged you to one of their matches and despite you “not being into volleyball” you were totally hooked on watching fukurodani play

you were especially intrigued and impressed by a certain Loud Powerful Ace and so you had become addicted to bokuto’s energy during his plays

something about watching him play was very exciting and he just made you want to keep cheering him on

now

you said all this confiding in konoha

but he totally took it as a chance to drag bokuto into the convo being like ‘Yo ace !! y/n over here was totally touched by your plays’

and i swear to god you’ve never seen someone pop out of nowhere so quiCKLY before in your entire life

he just popped up by your side and he wAS ALL SPARKLY EYED AND EXCITED WITH A CUTE BLUSH ACROSS HIS CHEEKS

he was just as overwhelming talking to you as he was with his presence on the court.

honestly, you were hugely thrown off by how over-excited and slightly overbearing he was since you two didn’t technically know each other Like That

but his wholehearted energy and his obvious reverence to the game and just The Pure JOY he exhibited at what konoha said you said about him was just too wholesome you couldn’t help but be fond of him

and bam

that’s it after that bokuto just latched onto you whenever he could

always trying to get closer to you

and you obviously couldn’t reject his advances i mean come on look at him

and when you two finally got in a relationship 

god

g o d

the way bokuto loves is so overabundant 

it just swallows  you whole 

you can see it you can feel it

he loves in a way that’s so unrestrained he loves with every ounce of his energy it just pours out of him

he wears his heart on his sleeve more than anyone else 

which makes your relationship simple yet complex at the same time

in the long run however, he really ruins other people for you

bokuto is the kind of boyfriend you’d find yourself comparing others to

like if your significant other doesn’t love you as much as bokuto would, are they really the one for you?? 

hmm much to think about

bokuto has a Huge Thing for you calling him koutarou

it just hits different 

not a lot of people call him by his first name even amongst his bestest friends so it makes it feel ~extra special~ coming from you

he has another Huge Thing for you wearing his jersey, just seeing his fukurodani shirt with his number on it on you just hits all the right spots for him he finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself whenever you have it on. 

it’s also such a motivational boost for him during matches 

when he looks at the bleachers and sees you there wearing his spare jersey and smiling so brightly at him it just erases all of his doubts and clears all his fatigue making him feel rejuvenated

akaashi begs you to attend all their matches wearing that jersey now because you really level up his plays 

when you two are alone he gets surprisingly quiet

which i think is not something people would often expect from someone as eccentric as bokuto but it’s true

at the end of the day when it’s just you and him his body totally relaxes, he’s not as reckless, he’s not as loud

he just likes to lay down with you and touch you in some way and just   talk 

bask in each other’s presence basically

one of his favorites Come Down rituals when the day’s over is to lay down and have you kiss his bruises (cuz he gets those a lot) and have you stroke his back as he rests his head on your chest

bokuto can be very vocal with his love towards you he has no issue telling you he loves you or conveying how much he adores you, but he actually prefers to show it through special gestures he attained over his time with you

before going to bed, he likes to kiss your chest right over the spot where your heart is and it’s his way of demonstrating how much he cherishes you

sometimes during the day, he’d tap the nearest part of you he could reach three times and it’s his way of reminding you “i love you”  

and of course, if you ever wanted to hear those words out loud sometime, you can just tell him and he’d shower you for hours with the sincerest confessions

bokuto is not someone who can easily get genuinely angry

but if anyone were to make disgusting comments towards you and you guys’ relationship 

oohhh boy

that’s one of the fastest ways to fucking set him ablaze

he WOULD resort to violence he has no issue decking someone in the face for being a homophobic prick  

he prefers not to of course, considering his status and just the overall kind of person he is

but he has his limits too

and you are a limit no one is allowed to test.

which is something everyone came to learn fairly quickly 

god this is getting so long

i just   love bokuto so much i still have so much i wanna say about him ksdhfsjdfuhdf so many aspects of him i wanna cover

and i still have kenma to do jfc i have no idea what i’ll write for him

often times it seems like bokuto has an endless supply of energy and it fools a lot of people into thinking he’s a man with little struggles

which is Not True

he crashes quite often and he has mental breaks more than one would normally assume from someone like him

and during those times he has this weird phase where he gets extra clingy but then distances himself

and you have to work your way around that carefully and you have to think about what you’ll say cuz if what you say isn’t clear enough or if it’s something that could have double meaning it will throw bokuto off and make him think of the worst

as i said earlier, due to bokuto wearing his heart on his sleeve it does make the relationship simple but during times like these it makes it complex because of how sensitive he is

bokuto is extremely emotionally intelligent

he’ll pick up on any emotional cues from you

he’s especially aware of the ones that are along the lines of discomfort or distress

because it’s His Duty as your loving boyfriend to comfort you

be it with his words or with his hugs

speaking of which

bokuto, hands down, gives the best hugs

periodt

kisses from bokuto always border on make outs jdjcjd

he LOVES VERY STRONGLY AND WOULD LIKE TO SHOW IT VERY STRONGLY

so you have to ensure he doesn’t kiss you in public because it WILL take longer than it is socially acceptable to kiss your s/o in public

bokuto shows you off to everyone willing to listen

which, at this point, isn’t a lot of people but he’ll still do it

‘this is my sexy beautiful boyfriend and i love every bit of him look at him isn’t he the best? he’s the best trust me i know’

all in all

10/10 would date

totally worth it

best boyfriend

he adores you

kenma knew you through lev

you were lev’s best friend and so you were doing your obligatory duties as his best friend to show up to their matches and check up on him during practice

everyone on the team knew you really

and honestly, kenma always liked you

you weren’t as overbearing as most other people and you never pushed yourself into his personal space forcefully

kuroo thought you were doing an amazing job at making their resident recluse feel comfortable around you

now when i say kenma liked you

it wasn’t like anything serious

he just preferred you to other people

of course, he thought you were handsome and had a nice personality

but still

he just liked you as a person

but then one day

their manager fell extremely ill right before a tournament and they needed someone to fill in their place

all eyes turned on you

you usually helped the managers whenever you passed by during practice and you were familiar enough with everything to do a good job

plus everyone liked you so

they unanimously picked you for the job and called it a day

that was the first time you ever heard kuroo’s pre-game speech

yknow the one kenma found extremely embarrassing about keeping your blood flowing and supplying oxygen to the brain

you thought it was lovely and poetic when you heard it but you didn’t quite get the analogy

so you asked

and kuroo explained it to you while kenma was cringing half to death behind him

the more kuroo explained it to you the more you understood how truly amazing kenma actually was

by the end of kuroo’s explanation, you were in absolute awe 

you couldn’t help but turn to kenma with an expression of repressed excitement and go “KENMA-SAN YOU’RE SO INCREDIBLE!?!?!!!!”

and man 

your sparkly eyes, your slightly flushed cheeks, your  sincere astonishment, your grin

it made kenma’s heart do something

a flutter

a squeeze 

he didn’t know but it was something

he just stood there in bewilderment with his eyes wide as he started feeling things the longer he looked at looking at him like that 

you tugged at his little heartstrings

kuroo, being kuroo, totally knew what was going on and he just outright snorted 

it was in shock more than anything really 

he couldn’t believe what was happening he never saw kenma like that before 

kenma snapped out of his daze due to kuroo’s snort and he quickly ducked his head to hide his blush behind his hair and just let out a little “mhm” before passing you and going to the court

you knew kenma was often a man of a few words but you couldn’t help but worry if you had somehow upset him

he never brushed you off like that before this felt different 

maybe you stood too close in his personal space or something 

you had decided you were gonna apologize later and silently hoped that whatever just happened wouldn’t affect the game

surprise surprise though

kenma’s plays and calls throughout the entire match were impeccable

it left their opponents stunned he had them all figured out 

needless to say, nekoma had a certain victory that day

while the team was celebrating and rightfully fawning over kenma, you had been looking at him when he glanced up at you 

you smiled at him and gave him a rather enthusiastic thumb’s up

you saw firsthand how kenma’s expression instantly changed

how his eyes widened slightly, how his body stiffened from surprise, and how his cheeks were coloured red from something other than exertion 

and then    it clicked

you stood there stunned as the realization dawned on you 

could it be,,,, kenma   liked you-

you cut off the thought before it even fully started because that’s just ridiculous there’s no way

suddenly an arm was thrown over your shoulder 

it was kuroo’s

and one look at his face just confirmed everything 

and sent you in absolute panic

holyshitholyshitholyshitkenmapossiblylikedyouwhattheheckohmygod

kuroo, who felt your panic, laughed and patted you on the back reassuringly

“relax man hey take your time. this is new for both of you and we don’t know if it will even go anywhere.” 

-but i kinda want it to- you thought

kuroo leaned closer to you and whispered sleazily “hhooo you want it to huh you have the hots for kenma dont ya dont ya hohohoooo what do you want to do to my best friend you fiend”

HE’S SO ANNOYING HELPJFKSHDKG WHY IS HE SO PRECEPTIVE 

before you could bite back at him he stood back at full length and looked at you “honestly though? i think you have a solid chance with him”

that single sentence repeated itself the entire bus ride back 

and it continued to plague your mind for the following couple of weeks as you were weighing the pros and cons of this situation 

over these couple of weeks, you were fixated a bit too much on kenma you couldn’t help but notice how cute he was

his little habits and the little faces he pulled as he played his video games were all too endearing 

you tried to test the waters a few times here and there by getting friendlier than you usually would

yknow just to gauge his reactions

which you came to discover were also so fucking cute 

he got nervous and a bit jumpy and the tips of his ears would tint red 

but he never refused you and displayed any type of discomfort 

so one afternoon while you two were on court cleaning duty you decided to ask him out 

“kenma-san, you know   the arcade a couple blocks over? i heard they installed some new games over the past weekend so,, i was wondering if you’d like to go check them out with me. yknow after we’re done here and all…”

you gulped at the tense silence that followed and wondered for a split second if you should add “haha yknow as two friends buddies good bros hanging out ahah”

as you were stuck in your own thoughts kenma let out a little huff and gave you a soft smile “i’d love to” 

you heart went wooOOSH at the sight of his smile

whether you were good or bad at video games it didn’t really matter to kenma

he enjoys your company regardless and your reactions to the games amuse him 

and this is something that’ll stay constant throughout your relationship

kenma loves games and you love him so whatever your stance was on video games previously didn’t matter because you loved engaging in something that kenma loved 

and you also knew that he loved sharing his interest with you

even if you sucked at one game or the other you could get a good laugh out of him from it and it totally makes everything worth it 

he, of course, would engage you in what interested you as well 

it’s a fair and sweet trade

you guys’ relationship would progress kinda slowly but also not really?? like the pace suit you guys 

one of the most hilarious things you had the pleasure of witnessing is kenma raging over a game 

you have never seen kenma so animated before and it sENDS

but that’s not your favourite part

your favourite part is when he’s decided he’s had enough so he just leaves the controller and searches for you 

he just plops down and burries his face in your stomach while wrapping his arms around you and, depending on how frusterated he is, he’d either let out a really loud groan or just sigh defeatedly into your stomach 

if you pet his hair he hums and you don’t think he’s aware but you’ll never tell him cuz you don’t want him to stop

KENMA LITTLE SPOON

something that can be a little puzzeling with kenma is that even though he’s touch and affection starved, he’s not a touchy person so   being affectionate is a hit or miss

he’ll never reject your advances for physical affection cuz you’re his boyfriend 

but it’s rare for him to be the one intiating it 

PDA is not a thing 

like ever

not even holding hands 

this is new for kenma and he’s so aware of the fact that you’re both guys

he’d just want it to be known between you guys and your trusted circle 

but he knows that it sometimes can be upsetting so he does what he can to make it easier

he stands closer to you, enough to feel his body warmth

when he walks beside you sometimes he’ll let the back of his hands brush yours 

yknow just little things that go unoticed to everyone else but it means a lot to you 

being in a relationship with kenma just means being in the recieving end of a lot of little things that come together and make it wholesome

kenma      gives these small quick kisses out of nowhere that make your heart stop for that split second but then by the time you processed it he’s already gone on his way 

they kinda feel like kitten licks they’re so quick and small 

!!!!!! THIS NEXT HEADCANON CONTAINS A SPOILER FROM THE MANGA SO IF YOU‘RE NOT CAUGHT UP PLEASE SKIP THE NEXT POINT !!!!!!!!!

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

on kenma’s youtube videos and streams there are a lot of videos where you appeared in the background doing your thing or just moments where you just check up on him, maybe bring him some food/water, and because of it a lot of his subscribers ship you guys together and whenever kenma comes by comments regarding that he smiles a little and even though he’ll never comment on it, it does kinda make him giddy 

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

!!!! OK YOU CAN READ NOW !!!!

kenma has this Special Look that’s reserved just for you and it’s so so soft and full of adoration and he usually gives you that look when you’re not looking

his friends see it though and it makes them so happy seeing kenma like this 

you make kenma happy

[qqueenofhades]

I want to hear about gay knights. Please.

Ahaha. So this is me finally getting, post-holiday, to the subject that was immediately clamoured for, when I volunteered to discuss the historical accuracy of gay knights if someone requested it. It reminds me somewhat of when my venerable colleague @oldshrewsburyian​ volunteered to discuss lesbian nuns, and was immediately deluged by requests to do just that. In my opinion, gay knights and lesbian nuns are the mlm/wlw solidarity of the Middle Ages, even if the tedious constructionists would like to remind us that we can’t exactly use those terms for them. It also forces us to consider the construction of modern heterosexuality, our erroneous notions of it as hegemonically transhistorical, and the fact that behaviour we would consider “queer” (and therefore implicitly outside mainstream society) was not just mainstream, but central, valorized, and crucial to constructions of medieval manhood, if not without existential anxieties of its own. Because medieval societies were often organized around the chivalric class, i.e. the king and his knights, his ability to make war, and the cultural prestige and homosocial bonds of his retinue, if you were a knight, you were (increasingly as the medieval era went on) probably a person of some status. You had a consequential role to play in this world, and your identity was the subject of legal, literary, cultural, social, religious, and other influences. And a lot of that was also, let’s face it, what the 21st century would consider Kinda Gay.

The central bond in society, the glue that made it work, was the relationships between soldiers, battlefield brotherhoods, and the intense, self-sacrifical love for the other that is familiar to anyone who has ever watched a war movie, and dates back (in explicitly gay form, at least) to the Sacred Band of Thebes. Medieval society had a careful and contested interaction with this ideal and this kind of relationship between men. Because they needed it for the successful prosecution of military ventures, they held it up as the best kind of love, to which the love of a woman could never entirely aspire, but that also ran the risk of the possibility of it turning (homo)sexual. Same-sex sexual activity was well-known in the Middle Ages, the end, full stop. The use of penitentials, or confessors’ handbooks, as sources for views or practices of queer sexual behaviour has been criticised (you will swiftly find that almost EVERYTHING used as a source for queer history is criticised, shockingly), but there remains the fact that Burchard of Worms’ 11th-century Decretum, a vast compilation of canon law, mentions same-sex behaviour among its list of sins, but assigns it a comparatively light penance. (I don’t have the actual passage handy, but it’s a certain amount of days of fasting on bread and water.) It assigns much heavier penalties for Burchard’s main concern, which was sorcery and the practice of un-Christian beliefs, rituals, or other persistent holdovers from paganism. This is not to say that homosexuality was accepted, per se, but it was known about, it must have happened enough for priests to list in their handbooks of sins, and it wasn’t The End of The World. Frankly, I am tired of having to argue that queer people existed and engaged in queer activity in the Middle Ages (not directed at you, but in general). Of course they did. Obviously they did. Moving on!

Anyway. Returning to gay knights specifically, the fact remained that if you encouraged two dudes to love each other beyond all other bonds, they might, you know, actually bang. This was worrisome, especially in the twelfth century, as explored by Matthew Kuefler, ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’ and Ruth Mazo Karras, ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago; University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179-214 and 273-86. I have written a couple papers (in the ever-tedious process of one day being turned into journal articles) on the subject of the Extremely Queer Richard the Lionheart, some material of which can be found in my tag for him. Richard’s queerness has been argued over for a long time, we all throw rotten banana peels at John Gillingham who took it upon himself to deny, ignore, or minimize all the evidence, but anyway. Richard was a very masculine and powerful man and formidably talented soldier who could not be reduced to the stereotype of the effeminate, weak, or impotent sodomite, and the fact that he was a prince, a duke, and a king was probably why he was repeatedly able to get away with it. But he wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t the only one. He was very much part of his culture and time, even if he kept running into ecclesiastical reprisals for it. It happened. If you want a published discussion that covers some of my points (though not all of them), there is William E. Burgwinkle, ‘The Curious Case of Richard the Lionheart’, in Sodomy, Masculinity, and Law in Medieval Literature: France and England, 1050-1230 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 73–85. Also on the overall topic, Robert Mills, Seeing Sodomy in the Middle Ages (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 

Peter the Chanter, a Parisian cleric, also wrote De vitio sodomitico, a chapter of his Verbum abbreviatum, fulminating against “men with men, women with women [masculi cum masculis […] mulieres cum mulieribus]” which apparently happened far too often for his liking in twelfth-century Paris (along with cross-dressing and other genderqueer behaviour; the Latin version of this can be found in ‘Verbum Abbreviatum: De vitio sodomitico’ in Patrologia Latina, ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Paris: 1855), vol. 205, pp. 333–35). Moving into the thirteenth and especially fourteenth centuries, this bond only grew in importance, and involved a new kind of anxiety. Richard Zeikowitz’s book, Homoeroticism and Chivalry: Discourses of Male Same-Sex Desire in the 14th Century (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), explores this discourse in detail, and points out that the intensely homoerotic element of chivalry was deeply embedded in medieval culture – and that this was something that was not queer, i.e. unusual, to them. It is modern audiences who see this behaviour as somehow contravening our expected stereotypes of medieval knights as Ultra Manly No Homo Men. When we label this “medieval queerness,” we are also making a judgment about our own expectations, and the way in which we ourselves have normalized one narrow and rigid view of masculinity.

England then had two queer kings in the 14th century, Edward II and Richard II, both of whom ended up deposed. These were for other political reasons, but their queerness was not irrelevant to assessments of their character and the reactions of their contemporaries. Sylvia Federico (‘Queer Times: Richard II in the Poems and Chronicles of Late Fourteenth-Century England’, Medium Aevum 79 (2010), 25–46) has studied the corpus of queer-coded historical writing around Richard, and noted that while the Lancastrian propaganda postdating the usurpation of Henry IV in 1399 obviously had an intent to cast his predecessor in as unfit a light as possible, the accusations of queerness started during Richard’s reign, “well before any real practical design on the throne […] and well before the famous lapse into tyranny that characterized the reign’s last few years. In poems and chronicles produced from the mid-1380s to the early 1390s, and in language that is highly charged with homophobic references, Richard II is marked as unfit to rule”. E. Amanda McVitty (‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77) examined how the treason trials of high-status individuals centred on a symbolic deconstruction of his chivalric manhood, demoting and exiling him from the intricate homosocial networks that governed the creation and performance of medieval masculinity.

This appears to have been a fairly extensive phenomenon, and one not confined to the geopolitical space of England. Henric Bagerius and Christine Ekholst (‘Kings and Favourites: Politics and Sexuality in Late Medieval Europe’, Journal of Medieval History 43 (2017), 298–319) traced the use of ‘discursive sodomy’ as a rhetorical tool employed against five late medieval monarchs, including Richard II and his great-grandfather Edward II, John II and Henry IV of Castile, and Magnus Eriksson of Sweden. In all cases, the ruler in question was viewed as emotionally and possibly sexually dependent on another man, subject to his evil counsels and treacherous wiles, and this reflected a communal anxiety that the body of the king himself – and thus the body politic – had been unacceptably queered. Nonetheless, as a divinely anointed figure and the head of state, the accusations of gender displacement or suspected sodomy could not be placed directly on the king, and were instead deflected onto the favourites themselves, generally characterised as greedy, grasping men of ignoble birth, who subverted both social and sexual order by their domination of the supposedly passive king. 

None of this polemic produced by hostile sources can be read as direct confirmation of the private and physical actions of the kings behind closed doors, but in a sense, this is immaterial. The intimate lives of presumably heterosexual individuals are constructed on the same standards of evidence and to much greater certainty.  In other words, queerness and queer/gay favourites could not have functioned as a textual metaphor or charged accusation if there was not some understanding of it as a lived behaviour. After all, if the practice did not physically exist or was not considered as a potential reality, there could have been no anxieties around the possibility of its improper prosecution.

This leads us nicely into the deeply vexed question of adelphopoiesis, or the “brother-making” ceremony argued by some, including John Boswell, as a medieval form of gay marriage. (Boswell, who died of AIDS in 1994, published the landmark Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality in 1980, and among other things, controversially argued that the medieval Catholic church was a vehicle for social acceptance of gay people.) Boswell’s critics have fiercely attacked this stance, claiming that the ceremony was only intended to join two men together in a celibate sibling-like relationship. A Straight Historian who participated in a modern version of the ceremony in 1985 actually argued that since she had no sexual inclinations or motives in taking part, clearly it was never used for that purpose by medieval men either. (Pause for sighing.) 

The problem is: we can’t argue intentions or private actions either way. We can understand what the idealized and legal designation for the ceremony was intended to be, but we cannot then outrageously claim that every historical individual who took part in it did so for the party line reason. Maybe medieval men who joined together in brother-making ceremonies did live a celibate and saintly life (this would not be surprising). It seems ludicrous to argue, however, that none of them were romantically in love with each other, or that they never ever ever had sex, because surprise, formulaic documents and institutional guidelines cannot tell us anything about the actions of real individuals making complex choices. Even if this was not always a homosexual institution (and once again with the dangerous practice of equivocating queerness with explicitly practiced and “provable” sexual behaviour), it was beyond all reasonable doubt a homoromantic one, and one sanctioned and organised according to well-known medieval conventions, desires (for two men to live together and love each other above all) and anxieties (that they might then have sex).

The medieval men who took a ‘brother’ would probably not have seen it as a marriage, or as the kind of household formation or social contract implied in a heterosexual union, but as we have also discussed, the definition of marriage in the Middle Ages was under constant contestation anyway.  The church was constantly anxious about knights: their violence, their (oftentimes) lack of religiosity, their proclivity for tournaments, swearing, drinking, and other immoral behaviour, the possibility of them having sexual affairs with each other and/or with women (though Andreas Capellanus, in De amore, wrote an entire spectacularly misogynistic handbook about how to have the right kind of love affair with a woman and dismissed same-sex relationships in one sentence as gross and unworthy, so he was clearly the No Homo Bro Knight of his day). So, as this has gotten long: gay knights were basically one of the central social, religious, and cultural concerns of the entire Middle Ages, due to their position in society, their necessity in a warlike culture, the social influence of chivalry and their tendency to bad behaviour, their perceived influence over the king (who they may also have given their Gay Cooties), their disregard of the church’s teachings, and the ever-present possibility that their love wasn’t celibate. So yes. Gay knights: Hella Historically Accurate.

The end.

[ashandboneca]

Racism, abuse, and why I don’t consider myself a part of the ‘community’

I’d like to talk about the event that pushed me away from the idea of a pagan community, and forced me inwards to further develop my own practice - and about the events of the last few years in regards to continued abuses in the pagan community. About 6 years ago, I started to look into the Norse pantheon. I had worked with Thor in the past, and about 6 or 7 prior to that I did an experiment where I worked with the Aesir for a month. At that point in my life, I didn't connect with them. I don't know why I didn't, I partially blame the terrible book I had for guidance, and the fact that the person who initially agreed to guide me flaked out. However, this time around I endeavoured to learn as much as I could from a reputable source, because the last time I had no idea what I was doing. I approached my friend, who is a practicing forn sidr heathen, and they agreed to teach me what they knew. We spent a number of sessions discussing cosmology and theology. I felt confident going forward, armed with book recommendations and a passion to learn further. I wrote a bit about my experiences openly on my previous blog with Odinn. Interactions with him were not sought after, but something that merely happened. When gods or spirits or ancestors come calling, you answer in some way out of respect. I wrote more about my experiences, and different techniques I utilized to connect with him. None of them were specifically Heathen - but I don't soley identify as Heathen, so I figured if that was an issue, Odinn wouldn't have shown up in the first place.

Some time later, my friend had messaged me to let me know they had gotten some hate mail about me via Witchvox (which no longer exists, but used to be a connection board for finding pagans and witches in your area, as well as open groups, etc). I was initially gobsmacked. Why the hell is someone emailing her in regards to something I did? Wouldn't have been more productive to email or message me to resolve whatever issue? I found it who it was. This person was, at that time, a member of a well recognized organization locally who put on events and rituals - an organization whose first mandate is "We hold that each one of us has their own path to follow to truth and spirit." To be honest, I had never really interacted with this person beyond being paid to do so in my former job at a pagan bookshop. We attended a few of the same events, but never really interacted. There was no real beef. I wasn't particularly fond of said person, but I had no real issues with them - so this came sort of out of left field. I sat on it for a bit.  I did not reply to the sender. Instead, I decided to post the initial email on my previous blog. Inevitably, someone is going to disagree with how you practice or what you do, even if you're not doing anything wrong. The  point I think is important to underline is that you do not need to stand for other people trying to tear you down, assert some kind of moral superiority over you, or telling you how and when you should be practicing, unless your practice is appropriative - in which case you should be taking a long, hard look at yourself. As heathenry is an open tradition, I had no concerns. I also think transparency is very important, and when people behave badly they often do so to gain something from it. Whether it is attention, drama, or they feel they are in a safe space to do so due to anonymity.  So, by posting the email (albeit in edited format - I removed all identifying information about said person, because I wanted to focus on the behaviour, not the person), I felt I was addressing something that more people should have been addressing. Afterwards, my friend received a few more emails about how I was 'pissing on their ancestors' and etc. My friend told them, in no uncertain terms, that the emails were unwelcome, the issue was none of their business, and to fuck off. I also got a few emails, a few messages on Witchvox, a few comments, and a lovely comment from a sockpuppet account here on tumblr, as well as finding out my writing was posted to be mocked because I wasn't 'heathen' enough - with screenshots! I did not respond to anything, just kept record of everything in case it was needed. I disagree with the idea of bringing in some third party who is uninvolved to do one's dirty work. If someone has an issue with how someone else is practicing, they need to question whether it's something to address. Bringing in someone uninvolved is both cowardly and childish. They did not ask to be involved, and I'm not sure what involving another person serves to carry a point. Fight your own battles, or say nothing.

There were a few other instances. A series of screencaps of this person’s continued racist, sexist, and abusive behaviour was provided to a few of us. A known leader was accused of racism and verbal abuse by other members of the community with credible evidence. This leader had a pattern of setting up multiple Facebook accounts and when one was found they would set up a new one with a new name. They talked at length about their feelings on immigration, POC in the Heathen community, and interfaith. They advocated violence and celebrated terrorist acts. Some really troubling, disgusting stuff.

We did what we thought was right - we emailed the organization to tell them and offer proof via said screencaps. In the response, we were told, and I am not bullshitting, that this person was a valued member of the community, that they are 'proud' of their heritage (uh, so am I, but I don't run my mouth off about diversity being white genocide), and that we could essentially go pound sand. I quote "own personal outlook on (their) culture and (their) path. (They are) entitled to (their) own practice as much as anyone of us are, and (they) cares deeply for (their) culture.  (They) makes a significant contribution to the Pagan community with (their) efforts through (group). (They are) a hard worker and has accomplished a great many things in (their) time on the board, a commitment that is not to be taken lightly. (They) fulfill (their) duties as a board member admirably."

Do I agree with their hot take on this? No. I think if someone comes to you with an accusation of that kind of wrongdoing, you have a duty to do some manner of preliminary investigation, because if you are in a position where you are teaching people and have authority, those students need to feel safe. You need to determine if the accusations have any truth, and if they are found to be false, feel free to stand behind and assert your belief in the accused. I truly believe the harasser/abuser showed their group the email, and they spun it in some way to discredit us.

Complicity via ignorance is still complicity - it's enough to tarnish an organization's good name. In the working world, business owners have been hung out to dry because of their racist, homophobic, or sexist employee's actions. The whole Kenny Klein situation happened for years because people excused his behaviour and allowed other people to be abused.  We are all finger-wagging and clucking when people try to bring up this behaviour  - don't be starting drama, oh that's just how (name) is, oh that's just rumours. Look, everyone - assholes, creeps, criminals, and predators exist in every faith, every organization. We are so quick to sweep it under the rug, so rushed to prevent judgement, that we always forget that one important fact. While I think it's important not to jump on every bad thing you hear about people, I do think it's important to have an open and frank discussion about proper behaviour while in a position of power. Especially if proof of misdeeds are being offered.

This group, and their lack of action, stood complicit in this person's bad behaviour. If they made the choice to stand behind a racist, bigoted person who spends their time trying to harass people online (I am not the only one, I have been told - there have been multiple people, including some of their own family members), that is their choice. They have made that choice, and they have chosen to accept any repercussions going along with it. They chose to stand behind an abuser.

Sarah Lawless, back in 2018, named a number of known abusers in the wider PNW community. The flack she received for being brave to stand up and call that shit out was disgusting.

Abusers are coddled and protected in pagan communities. They are viewed as elders, as productive members of the community,  as local heroes. While I have been fortunate to encounter very little sexual harassment in the pagan community, I have suffered other abuses and harassment that has shown me that, just like the priests and cardinals in the Vatican, pagans protect and believe only those in their clique. And there are cliques in the community, have no doubt about that.

Sarah pointed out that the ideal community is a fantasy - I agree. Stories I have heard from others about their own experiences in the 'safe and welcoming' pagan community would break your heart. One person I spoke with said 'it's scary to even fathom trying to approach anyone, because it's hard to know who to trust, who might lure you in and take advantange of you'. That is a sad statement, and one I know too well. I have a tendency to keep abuse like this close to the chest because I have been burned by people in the past. There is no spiritual support for people who get abused - no chaplains, no pastoral care, no therapists.

These were people who were putting everything on the line to be heard, and the vitriol and hatred and lies I had seen made my blood boil. This is precisely why people do not come forward. They could put everything on the line - in Sarah's case, the safety of her partner at the time and children - and people will still find a way to claim the survivors are lying. Why? What do the survivors get out of lying about their abuse? What person would come forward, knowing they will be attacked, confronted, slandered, and encounter more abuse, if they weren't telling the truth? Why would any survivor put themselves through that unless there is truth? The most stalwart defenders claim 'they couldn't have done it, I've never seen them do anything to me!' Humans are complicated and complex beings, with many facets and many faces. The face you see may not be the same face others see. The John Doe you know and the John Doe I know may be the same person, but very different relationships. 

It comes down to this: You can't 'believe survivors' if you're supporting abusers.

You can't support survivors if you're sheltering abusers.

You can't help survivors if you're siding with abusers.

You can't call it a safe community if you don't protect it's members.

Standing up for myself and others lost me “friends” who ditched me about the ‘drama’, and my community.  Something needs to change. It is inevitable that change will befall the community, and those denizens had better wise up quickly. There are a lot of young, vulnerable people looking for guidance and safety, and the community better fucking step up and prove they are willing to protect their members, or they have become no better than the Christian groups who continue to enable their abuse. We need willing leaders to push forward to make the community better. We need dedicated, smart, and savvy people to navigate a new and better future for paganism, because it's got a death rattle going on and it needs the kiss of a new life.

Burn the whole of the modern pagan community down. Burn down the groups that perpetuate abuse, that enable abusers, and grow something better and safe from the ashes. Dismantle the sexist, enabling, racist, oversexed community with it's abusive elders, cleanse it with fire, and create a place where people can come together without having to fear predators.

The only I have learned from watching my and other’s experiences is that we shouldn't call out wrongdoing in the community, because I have gotten abuse hurled at me for it and I have seen others who have done the same get more and worse abuse. People get mad, they accuse those who come forward of 'causing drama' or 'rocking the boat'.

That is a terrible lesson. A witch is sovereign unto themselves.

Bitches, this boat is rocking. Grab on, or drown.

This is my own story. I have posted links for further review down below.

Further reading:

Dealing With Toxic People in the Pagan Community

Sarah Lawless’ post about her suffered abuse, via the Wayback Machine

Abuse, the Pagan Community, and Our Commitments

Abuse Within Paganism - a taboo topic?

A Crisis of Faith

Authenticity and Racism in Contempory Paganism

This is not a new issue - via livejournal, 2006

Cultural Appropriation in Neopaganism

[darkangel0410]

First Lines of Last 20

Saw this going around and it looks like fun so: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20,  just list them all.) Choose your favorite opening line, tag some friends!

i just wanna be (a part of you), Brady/Matt (a/b/o, sibling incest, Neckz 'N Throatz au): Matt doesn’t tell anyone before the fact.

He knows a lot of people are going to see it: Neckz 'N Throatz is a porn mag, sure, but it's also an institution in a lot of ways and everyone he knows has seen at least one issue of it.

take my hand, Brendan Lemieux, background Brady/Matt (bdsm au, background sibling incest): Brendan knows that look, understands the glint in Tkachuk's eye; he's played against Matthew before, knows he's a sub and that he's been collared since he was a rookie, but Brendan's never given much thought to the kind of sub Matthew was, how alike they might be in some things.

But now playing against his younger brother and seeing a familiar smirk twist his lips, Brendan thinks they might be more like each other than not.

hold me tight, Dylan Cozens/Ryan Johnson (getting together, wjc shenanigans): Dylan opens the door in a faded pair of sweats, barefoot and shirtless, and it takes Ryan a few seconds to get his brain back online; he knows Dylan's huge, knows how tall and built he is, but it's like his brain forgets that Dylan is exactly his type and every time he sees him in person it's like a fresh jolt to his system.

“Ryan,” Dylan says with a bright smile and pulls him in for a hug; Ryan hugs him back and absolutely doesn't think about the fact that Dylan could probably manhandle him any time - any way - he wants to.

just to feel you, Brady/Matt (sibling incest, a/b/o, heat fic): Brady knows it’s going to be him and Matt.

They still fight like cats and dogs, as eager to use their fists on each other now as when they were kids, but there's an edge to it recently that wasn't there before, something that makes Brady want to pin Matt to the floor and take him apart, bite by bite.

just like oxygen, Jack/Connor (werewolf au, graphic violence, courting rituals): Jack's fourteen the first time he meets Connor.

It's at the U16s, both of them the youngest players on their respective teams and both convinced they were the best players on the ice.

i love the way you hurt me, Brady/Matt (sibling incest, werewolf au, graphic depictions of violence, courting rituals): Courting probably wouldn't have been such a big deal for any of the wolves Matt played with growing up if it wasn't for Eichs and Davo.

From the first time Davo laid a dead bear on the patio of Eichs billet's in Detroit until he presented Eichs with Murray's head at center ice during the final game of the world cup, every wolf Matt knows had paid rapt attention, endlessly fascinated by the story unfolding in front of them.

nobody loves you (like i do), Brady/Matt (sibling incest, bdsm au, sadism, masochism): The thing is Matt doesn’t consider himself romantic or anything like that. He loves Brady: as his dom, as his brother, as his boyfriend, and yeah, he needs him in the same ways, but those are just facts to him.

They’re feelings, too, of course they are, but Matt is as sure of them as he is the sky’s blue and hockey is the best sport: irrefutable facts that shape every day of his life.

beginnings in death, Jack/Connor (in death au, first meeting, pre-relationship): The first time he sees Connor is at a funeral.

Jack's there mostly for Noah's sake; they go back a long way, just two street rats who somehow dragged themselves from the back streets of Boston to New York City and become successful along the way. He would rather spend his time finding who did this, but Noah needed the closure and he needed support so Jack stayed.

charlie, Charlie/Brandon (godlings au, alternate universe - Greek mythology): Charlie doesn't remember anyone ever explaining what death, or the afterlife was to him.

He's pretty sure he was born with the knowledge in his bones.

got you under my skin, Jack Hughes/Quinn Hughes (sibling incest, a/b/o): Everyone in their immediate family are betas, even their cousins, so it's something of a shock when Jack finds out Quinn's an alpha.

They're playing ball hockey in Chucky's driveway and Matty's back from Calgary for the summer so they're playing two-on-two; it's not a particularly intense game, just some friendly chirping and half-hearted shooting.

in between, Jack/Connor (godlings au, homophobic language): The locker room afterwards is quiet in spite of winning and Connor knows part of it is his own bad mood bleeding over to the rest of the team, but he can't bring himself to care as much as he should.

not a day goes by, Brock Boesar/Elias Pettersson (a/b/o, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, frottage): Brock is just so pretty, it's hard for Elias to concentrate when he's around.

He wants to buy Brock new suits, ones with some color and a good cut that would make him look even better than he already does. Take him out to dinner, spoil him so he knows how much Elias wants him.

He's never looked at an alpha and thought mine. Never wondered how one would look with his collar around their neck.

all your fevered dreams, Brady/Matt (sibling incest, hellhounds, sirens): Most preternaturals don’t recognize Matt’s scent right away.

The ocean part of it is simple: all sirens smell like saltwater, even if they’re not born at sea the way their ancestors were. It’s the brimstone that makes wolves and other shifters wrinkle their noses in confusion and lean in closer to get a stronger smell, like their noses lied to them the first time.

eyes closed, fingers crossed (i swear), Sam Girard/Erik Johnson, background relationship (bdsm au, spanking, kneeling): It’s just a quiet moment between the two of them, after a bad game. Sam pulls him closer, makes sure he’s surrounded so all Erik can see is Sam, makes sure Erik is only focused on him before he tells him that the loss isn’t his fault.

Erik knows he wasn’t playing his best hockey, but he breathes in Sam’s scent, listens to his voice and lets go of the loss faster than he normally would.

those words, that kiss, Patrik Laine/Nik Ehlers (werewolf au, a/b/o, heat fic): The first thing Patrik notices about Nik is his scent: it’s light and airy, almost, the bright scent of oranges and some kind of flower scent that drives Patrik crazy because he can’t place it; it’s not until halfway through his rookie year, when they’re in Florida for a roadie, that he catches it in the middle of a store and has to follow it until they’re in the middle of the gardening department and he’s asking a bemused worker what flower is in the trays by the register.

feel good (on my lips), Dylan Strome/Ryan Strome (sibling incest, a/b/o, heat fic): Ryan knows his parents aren't getting back together, they split when he was still in mites and considering how badly they used to fight, it was a decision that was met with relief on his part, so he's never secretly hoped for a reunion or anything like that.

It's still a surprise when his dad tells him that he's dating someone new, a female beta from his company who is also divorced and with a son a couple years younger than Ryan is; he's happy for his dad, though, and agrees to stay at his place during winter break to meet them.

just swimming in our sins, Brady/Matt (sibling incest, accodental dick pics, panty kink): Matt gets the snapchat notification as he's getting ready for bed and his phone goes off almost immediately after.

"Don't open that," Brady tells him in a loud whisper, his voice weirdly echoey; Matt goes over Brady's schedule in his head and remembers he's in Florida this weekend. "I sent it to you by accident because I can't see shit in this fucking bathroom."

sweat drips (love sticks), Brady/Matt (bdsm au, sibling incest, masochism, sadism): Matt knows the kind of sub he is and he's always been ok with it.

There's worse things for a hockey player who happens to also be a sub to be than a masochist; at the very least he always has a bruise to press when he's jerking off, aches and pains that he can pretend someone put on his skin during a scene if he wants to. Usually he doesn't.

strike us like a match, Brady/Matt (sibling incest, sentinel and guides are known, canon typical violence): They've always been close, closer than most siblings Matt knows: Brady's always been protective of him, even when they were younger and Brady was smaller than him; he's selfish about Matt's attention, always wanting Matt to pay attention to him and only him.

There's never been a time where Matt hasn't wanted Brady with him, even when they fight Brady's always the one Matt wants to be around.

*

So now, my fave 🤔🤔🤔 I think probably it's love the way you hurt me because it's a good intro for the entire series as well as the fic itself.

Tagging: @007waffles007 @adamsgirl42 @candy-belle @caixxa @colubrina and anyone else who wants to do it!

[stayextrafrosty]

I am Your Future, I am Your Past

A Roswell New Mexico soulmate AU

Description: Soulmate AU based loosely off a manga I’ve read recently. The Manes and Guerin family lines have been drawn together for generations. A curse placed on the original lovers forces them to endure trials where the Guerin’s take any damage inflicted on the Manes’. Present day, Alex Manes has no idea about his family history. Then Michael Guerin, of all people, shows up saying he’ll protect him no matter what.

Warnings: Homophobic and racist language, violence, angst

Pairing: Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Minor/side pairings: Michael Guerin/Maria DeLuca, Alex Manes/Forrest Long, Liz Ortecho/Max Evans, Isabel Evans/Maria DeLuca

Rating: Explicit

Title from the song “Take on the World” by You Me At Six

Read on AO3

-

Prologue

Back in the days of ritual sacrifice, there were two families. The Guerin family served the Manes. The two children grew up together, playing, studying, learning to fight. As they got older, their parents began forcing them apart, for the Manes Princess could never be seen with a Guerin slave.

The two children snuck out at night, talking about how it would be different someday. Someday they could be friends openly. As they moved into their teenage years, things changed again. Nights were spent in each other’s arms. Soft sighs as they memorized the feeling of their bodies. It was bliss.

They were discovered by the princess’ father one night. He beat the slave boy, breaking his hand for daring to touch his daughter. They were forbidden to see each other. The slave boy was held back and hidden from view when the Head family was around. The princess cried for her friend and lover.

The yearly sacrifice to the gods was upon them. And a white flag sat in the front courtyard of the Manes estate signaling it was to be their daughter presented. The lord stole his daughter away, forcing her into a small shed in the dark corner of the grounds. He had no intention of getting in the way of the sacrifice for she had disgraced him. But he knew the slave boy would try to stop it.

The slave boy knew the grounds like the back of his hand. He had to memorize the best routes to take when the two of them had been sneaking out. He located the small shed with ease and tried to encourage the princess to run away with him. She cried for him, wishing she could. But this was her duty. She didn’t want to anger the gods, or worse, her father.

The slave boy went to her every day and every day tried to talk her out of being the sacrifice. Her resolve weakened as she listened to the promises her made her. He would protect her. They would run as far as they needed, until they could be together. The night before the sacrifice was to take place, they ran.

The family chased them, the slave boy protecting the princess with everything he had. But it wasn’t enough. They had almost made it out of town before they were caught. Lord Manes had come prepared to perform the sacrifice himself.

She made no sound as the arrow pierced her back and heart. She stumbled and fell to the ground. The slave boy cradled her body in his arms. He was going to be next. But the lord didn’t kill him. He wanted the boy to suffer without her. They were left among the trees.

The boy pleaded to the gods to save her. Let her live. Let him take the pain instead. They heard his plea and granted his wish. With conditions. The future generations would be forced to feel this same pain. They would be drawn together as the lovers were, facing trials to prove they were truly meant to be.

The boy took on the princess’ wounds, dying in her place. She wept but continued living for his sake. She would always love him and every one of her reincarnations would too…

The story of the original lovers was passed through generations. Every few generations would go through trials. The pair rarely survived to complete them. Men and women died senselessly. Always drawn together by the curse for the sick enjoyment of the gods.

-

Chapter 1

Michael Guerin always scoffed at the old books and stories. Or at least he did. Then the marks appeared on his chest. A geometric looking flower with five diamond shaped petals. He fought the urge to go looking. No way was he going to start taking on the pain of someone else. Besides, Alex Manes was in the past.

He didn’t even know the history. And why would he? He had three brothers who probably all knew it, and nothing ever happened. All the reincarnations had been a man and a woman. So, unless Alex had a cousin, some mistake had clearly been made.

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket while he was elbow deep in a junk car. He tried to convince the customer that it was a lost cause, but the guy wouldn’t hear it. Michael could fix almost anything, even this old ford. But he knew when it would just be a waste of time.

He wiped his hands on his jeans before pulling out the phone, trying to avoid getting too much grease on it. His girlfriend’s name lit up the screen and he smiled. They had gotten off to a rocky start, but things were easier now.

“Am I running late for something again?” He grinned even though she couldn’t see it.

“No, but would it kill you to be on time for once,” she said sarcastically.

“Look DeLuca, I gotta make an entrance. So, what did you need from me today?” He wished he could see her roll her eyes.

“I just wanted to remind you that we’re having a welcome home party for Alex. You remember him, right?” How could he forget? Michael clenched his fist, flinching at the pain from the areas that were broken.

“Yea. You want me to come along or something? I will for you, but I don’t want it to be weird. We weren’t really friends.”

“Ok but Liz is bringing Max so that doesn’t really matter. You’ll know someone.” Michael sighed. Him and Max haven’t exactly been on talking terms. He and Isobel had been able to escape the thumb of the family. They knew the story of course but no mark had ever appeared on them. In fact, it was a miracle one had appeared on him at all. It usually made itself known in the high school years. At least, that was the pattern.

“Alright. Are you hosting at the Wild Pony?”

“Yea. Open bar and everything,” she said knowingly. Michael laughed.

“You know me so well, Maria.”

“But of course. So I’ll see you later. Love you!” The line clicked off. The sun passed behind the lone cloud in the sky, providing the briefest of relief from the desert sun.

Ten years ago, Alex left. He didn’t even say goodbye. They weren’t good for each other and they both knew it. Michael slammed the hood of the car a bit harder than he meant to.

“Hey! Don’t need you breakin’ customers cars,” his boss, Sanders called to him. The old man was half blind and pushed a lot of work onto Michael but he also let him live on the lot. He couldn’t complain.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m heading out for the day. I’ll come in early to finish this up. Or maybe you could just call him back and convince him that this is a lost cause.” Sanders shook his head.

“If I do that, then he won’t pay.” He stepped back inside the small trailer he used for paperwork. Michael headed over to his own trailer. The least he could do was change clothes. He considered hooking up the hose to his trailer to shower too but then Sanders would be all over him about operating costs. He tossed his dirty shirt on the pile that needed to go to the laundromat.

“Ah, fuck it,” he mumbled to himself. He didn’t want to embarrass Maria by smelling like sweat and old car. He laughed at himself. Alex has always liked-

No! He wasn’t going to let himself finish the thought. It doesn’t matter anymore. They weren’t friends. They were hardly acquaintances anymore. Alex Manes was just a guy who happened to share the same name as the stupid prophecy.

-

Alex sat outside the Wild Pony in his car. He hadn’t been here in ten years. Was he ready to get back to life as normal? He wasn’t the same kid that left to escape home all that time ago. He was broken. More than he was then. Missing a leg. Nightmares that haunted him.

He shook his head and stepped out of the car. He knew he was early, but he couldn’t help it. It eased the anxiety. This wasn’t war. It was ok if his brain wasn’t running a million miles a second.

The dust covered his shoes as soon as he set foot back in Roswell. Something that didn’t change when he went to Iraq. It felt new and familiar. He raised a hand to his chest where his friends had slapped a tattoo on him but refused to admit it. It wasn’t bad, just strange. A geometric flower with diamonds for petals.

The pull of Roswell was never something he understood. He just knew he had to be here. Leaving was hard but it was for the best. The first thing that had happened when he got back was his father lecturing him. No familial connection at all.

Alex clenched his fists and moved toward the doors. This was no time to be thinking of the past. The door stuck in that familiar way. His crutch stuck to the ground but not enough for it to hinder his movements.

A smile settled on his face as he took in the surroundings. Nothing had changed except for the neon sign that had all the letters lit up. Maria must have had someone fix it. No one sat around the pool table though it was set up. A group laughed and he turned toward the bar. He watched as Max Evans and Maria DeLuca attempted to hang a sign. It was clearly much bigger than they had planned. Liz and Rosa Ortecho held a glass of something and laughed as Max wobbled on the step latter.

“You guys know this wasn’t necessary right?” The four of them turned to look at him. The three girls jumped up and rushed over to him. Maria dropped the sign, leaving Max to stop it from knocking bottles over.

Liz and Rosa wrapped him in a tight squeeze and he laughed at their excitement. He had missed this. Hugs were rarely exchanged in the air force. It usually requires an almost death. Maria joined the group hug, but the extra weight was pushing him off balance.

“As much as I love all of you, I think this would be easier if it was one at a time.” They all laughed, letting him go slowly.

“I told you not to be here until six! Why don’t you listen to me,” Maria whined? She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Because when have I ever listened to you,” he joked back.

“Ok so you’re still that little boy who is a good kid but trying to be bad? Got it.” Rosa grinned as she pulled him in. “I’ve missed you, Manes.” Alex rolled his eyes at her.

“Rosa, come on. No need to pull out the friendly insults as soon as he walks in. You could always insult her back you know.” Alex laughed as she hugged him.

“Nah, I think I’ll spare her for now.” The group laughed again as Max came up beside Liz. They had never been close but they got along. And Alex knew Liz loved him. He reached out a hand, smiling kindly at him.

“Welcome back, Alex. Oh, and thank you for your service,” Max said. He reached out and shook his hand.

“You know I just did this for attention right?” Liz’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise as they all started laughing. Alex followed the group to the bar. Max and Maria resumed their task of trying to hang the banner. Alex offered to help but they refused, stating he shouldn’t set up for his own party.

Other people showed up as the evening went, some helping add decorations that he truly believed were unnecessary. Old friends from high school stopped to catch up and thank him, though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His time in the service wasn’t always for causes he believed in. He lost count of the number of times where he realized what they were doing could be considered wrong.

Maria checked her phone for the twentieth time, mumbling about how “he was late.” She mentioned in a letter she had fallen for a guy that ended up being surprising. Apparently, he used to be some regular at the bar. She didn’t think good of him, but something changed.

“So, do I get to meet that guy you were raving about in your last letter?” Alex took a sip of his drink, raising an eyebrow at Maria.

“I mean, that was the plan but apparently he’s ditching. Or he just wants to be fashionably late,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Of course, I guess you might know him. He did go to school with us.” Alex racked his brain, but no one stood out. Maria sighed and shrugged.

Alex felt a tugging in his mind. In his heart. It happened occasionally overseas when he was homesick. Must be the nostalgia of the Wild Pony. He jumped as Maria moved suddenly.

“There you are! Took ya long enough.” she bounced out from behind the counter. Alex chuckled as he turned in his seat to meet the mystery man. He took a sip of his drink as he did and nearly choked.

A cowboy hat sat on his head but the curls refused to be tamed. Alex watched as Maria wrapped her arms around his waist and he kissed her head. Then he turned his eyes on him.

Every memory he had successfully suppressed while he was away came flooding back. Alex glanced down at his hand. It was still messed up from when his father had- He looked away quickly. Michael Guerin… he never thought he’d see him again. Pain tugged at his heart but also something so incredibly right that that world could end and he wouldn’t care.

“Alex. Welcome home,” he said. He wanted to cry. There was a warmth in his voice that was so familiar. Memories of nights in Michaels truck or in that shed overwhelmed him. He was a still just a boy when it came to Michael.

“Uh yea, thanks. Nice to be surrounded by sand again,” he said, trying to sound confident. A small grin made its way onto Michaels face. Alex returned the smile, hoping it wasn’t as nervous as he felt.

“Alright, DeLuca. You got me here on the promise of free booze. Why not pour shots for the three of us?” Michael took a seat next to Alex, arm brushing against his briefly. Alex ignored it in favor of the tequila Maria was placing in front of them.

-

Michael didn’t know how to react. He hadn’t expected to simply look at Alex and have every old feeling resurface. His heart tugged at his chest, telling him to just reach out and touch him. To hold him close. To protect him with every fiber of his being.

“Ok but just because I could now kick Kyle Valenti’s ass doesn’t mean I want to. I’m trying to avoid violence.” Alex took another sip of his drink, his cheeks beginning to look flushed. Michael tried to hide his grin. He had never heard Alex so confident and comfortable. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking but it was a side of him he’d never seen.

“Maybe a bad idea to kick his ass these days. Guy’s a doctor,” Michael pointed out, taking a sip of beer. Alex raised an eyebrow and looked to Maria for confirmation.

“He’s not kidding. But hey, maybe he’s changed. Not like you’re the same kid from high school,” she said, raising her glass in a half toast.

“You can say that again. I might have wanted a tattoo then but when my buddies slapped one on me, damn I wanted to kill them. Course they deny everything. Assholes,” Alex said, laughing. Maria’s mouth dropped open, but a smile soon replaced it.

“Oh my god, where?” She could hardly contain her excitement. Michael had to admit he was curious. Alex shook his head and began to unbutton his shirt and he had to stop himself from choking on his drink. Was he really going to strip here? “Woah, maybe I should have cut you off earlier,” Maria joked. Alex rolled his eyes and grabbed the shirt to move it to the side.

“No. I’m not that far gone.” The flower on his chest reflected some of the lights, making the diamond petals look iridescent. Michael's eyes widened at the familiar pattern. There was no way this was happening now. Not after all this time.

“It’s not horrible considering,” Michael said, trying to act natural. Maria agreed with him as she reached out to touch him. Not that it would feel different than the other skin. As Alex readjusted his shirt, Michael felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Max, a serious look telling him to come right now.

He told the two he’d be back and followed Max outside. He must have overheard the conversation. Maybe even saw the tattoo. Michael knew what lecture was coming. The look of pity and misplaced apologies.

“Michael. You have to talk to him. He doesn’t know anything about that mark.” Michael sighed.

“Yes Max. I get it. You forget I’m part of the main branch. Just because my parents are dead doesn’t change that.”

“And yet you’ve avoided learning anything about the past incarnations.”

“What’s there to know? Things are going to happen that will likely kill us both and we have to get through ten of them or the curse will just continue to a later generation. Actually. Better idea. Why not just not have kids? Then the curse can’t continue, problem solved.” Max scoffed at Michael's plan.

“You idiot. That’s why there’s side branches. We took you in when your parents died and you’ve done nothing to try to survive,” he scolded.

“I didn’t ask you to do that! Why not just let me figure it out myself?”

“We are family, Michael. Isabel and I refuse to let you do this alone.” It was Michael’s turn to scoff. His humorless laugh must have made something in Max snap.

Max grabbed his shoulders. Shaking him and eventually shoving him back. Michael lunged at him. He hadn’t been in a fight in a while and he needed it. Michael swung his fist at Max’s face, only hitting his arm. He thought tackling would have been a better strategy but he tripped. Max grabbed him again, wrapping him in a chokehold.

“You care about Alex, don’t you? Of course you do. You can’t fight it Michael! If you do it for anyone, do it for him.” He clenched his jaw and tapped Max’s arm.

“He’s better off without this. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Max shot an accusatory glare at him.

“You know that’s not how this works.” Michael shrugged and started back inside.

“We don’t know that,” he called back.

Michael looked around for Maria and Alex but they weren’t where he left them at the bar. He wished his heart didn’t immediately kick in to panic mode when he didn’t see him… them. He didn’t have to look hard. They had taken up residence with Liz and Rosa at one of the pool tables.

He watched from the door as Liz tried to convince Alex to play. He insisted he wasn’t good at pool and refused to play. Michael smiled, watching Alex run a hand through his hair. So what if he cared about him? Anything they had was over now. And he loved Maria.

Until Alex looked at him. Caught him staring. But he couldn’t look away. The tugging at his heart refused to let him. His fingers twitched in his pocket, aching to touch him.

Alex broke eye contact first. Though not by choice. Alex stumbled when some guy rammed a shoulder into him. Michael shook his head, brought back to reality.

“Watch where you’re going faggot,” the guy snickered. Michael thought he recognized him. The wrinkles on his face suggested he was older but he seemed to know Alex. Alex’s eye twitched slightly but he didn’t respond. Michael came up to the table just as Liz stepped into the assholes personal space.

“First of all, get the fuck out. You have no right to talk to a hero like that. You did nothing with your life after high school. You never stopped being a bully Chris and I’m glad it made you look like a fucking prune. Of course, the cigarettes also caught up to you. You are a worthless piece of shit and weren’t invited anyway.” Michael smirked. He saw why Max liked her.

He vaguely remembered the guy but he needed to reach way back. He thought this guy was an old friend of Kyle though he wasn’t sure about it anymore.

“Shut up you stupid alien. Don’t they teach you about respect where you’re from?” She looked surprised. But Michael wasn’t. This had gone far enough.

“Alright you fuck, time to go,” he said, grabbing his collar. Chris struggled in his grip but couldn’t pull free. Michael was pissed and anyone who was a regular here knew they couldn’t beat him when he was pissed.

Michael almost didn’t see the hand flying at his head. He released Chris and he stumbled, obviously drunk. But this asshole wasn’t giving up without a fight. His lunges were sloppy and slow, easy for Michael to avoid. He caught a glimpse of Max, watching from a table not far away.

“A little help deputy,” he asked, annoyed. Max sighed and grabbed Chris’ arm before he could throw another lame punch. Michael took the other and they hauled him out, throwing him to the gravel.

“Do everyone a favor and don’t come back you piece of trash,” Michael spit at him. Chris scowled before reaching behind him and pulling a fancy revolver from his waistband. Max and him shared a look before raising their hands slowly. He wasn’t sure if Max had a gun on him but because he was off duty, Michael wasn’t counting on it.

“Guerin!” Michael's eyes widened. He jerked his head to look behind him, at Alex. Michael heard the gunshot. He knows he did. He felt no pain, at least not right away.

Alex crumbled, clutching his arm though he hardly made a sound. Chris was stumbling away but Michael could hardly focus on that right now.

“Go after him, I’ve got this,” he said to Max. He nodded and ran after him. Michael rushed over to Alex trying to hold him up. His face was scrunched in pain, blood seeping into his flannel. “Damnit, Alex, why’d you follow us out here.”

“Cause I was worried,” he mumbled out. Michael sighed.

“You’re going to be fine. And don’t worry about me.” Alex raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was just shot. I would actually appreciate it if you called—” Alex blinked. Michael's arm started to ache, growing quickly to an agonizing throb. He ground his teeth together and stood, stumbling away from Alex. He could feel the blood start to flow down his arm. Alex was right. He would need a hospital.

“Wait, Guerin. What’s going on? What happened?” He grabbed at his arm where the wound used to be. Michael cursed. Of fucking course this happened. Now he had to explain it to Alex. He tried to make it to his car. Alex stood to follow him, though he was slow with the crutch.

“Damnit,” Michael muttered to himself. He jerked on the handle of his old truck. His arm was going cold. Losing too much blood.

“Michael.” He looked over his shoulder at Alex. There really was no use running.

“Look, Alex. I will explain. But right now, you need to drive me to the hospital.” Confusion danced on every one of his features, but his face set with determination quickly. He tried to help Michael as best he could to the other side of the car, but neither of them was steady with the extra weight.

“Here. Let me wrap it temporarily.” Michael’s eyebrows drew together but widened as Alex pulled his shirt off, tying it above the wound in his arm. “That should slow the blood flow. Hold your arm up as much as you can, ok?” Michael nodded, trying not to stare at him. He had a white tank top on, but he knew Alex was not the boy he used to be.

Alex sped to the hospital, probably breaking more than a few driving laws. It was a miracle he wasn’t pulled over. He screeched up to the front doors, nearly breaking the key as he tried to pull it out. He hurried as much as he could to help Michael keep his balance. They stumbled through the front doors.

“Hey, he’s losing blood fast! He might need stitches!” The edges of Michael’s vision started to go black and fuzzy. He felt the distant touch of hands. None he recognized.

-

Alex paced as much as he could outside the waiting area. What had happened. He knows he was shot. He grabbed at his arm again, but there wasn’t even an ache. It’s like the wound had transferred to Michael.

“Damnit,” he scolded himself. This was somehow his fault. He could feel it. He reached a hand over his heart, almost subconsciously. He frowned. Something did feel different.

He made his way to the bathroom and locked the door. Standing in front of the mirror, he watched in amazement as the tattoo glowed and dimmed a few times before one of the petals disappeared.

“What the hell…” He shook his head in disbelief. This wasn’t the tattoo he had thought his friends put on him. Maybe he should have listened when they said it wasn’t them. He made his way back to the waiting area as calmly as possible. He was greeted by Max and Isabel.

“How is he,” Isabel rushed out. Max rested a hand on her shoulder, nodding to Alex, like it was supposed to mean something. They shared a look.

“Michael’s getting stitched up. Should be done soon. But what’s with the pity looks and silent communication?” Isabel opened her mouth but shut it again with a look from Max. Alex gave a humorless laugh.

“It’s just better if Michael explains it to you. I’m sorry you’ve been kept in the dark so long,” Max said. He looked between the siblings. Before he could say anything else, the doors behind them slammed open, Maria rushing in with Liz in tow.

“Where is he? What happened? And I can’t believe you fucking drove! Are you stupid?” Maria pulled him into a hug. She was probably right. He felt sober as soon as he saw Michael hurt but that didn’t mean he was.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. And he should be fine,” he said, not sounding as confident as he hoped.

“Max what happened,” Liz asked gently, grabbing his hand.

“The asshole had a gun. He shot Michael while he was distracted.” Alex flinched at the words. It was his fault Michael was in pain. It was always his fault. Just like back then.

A throat cleared behind Alex. The group turned to the doctor. Kyle Valenti stood there, looking almost no different except for the beard.

“We stitched up the wound but couldn’t locate the bullet. It must have passed through his arm. So that’s lucky. He’s being moved to a room right now so you’ll be able to visit him,” he said, every bit the professional.

“Thanks Kyle. What room,” Liz asked?

“Follow me,” he said, turning. Maria held Alex’s hand the whole way there. She was scared. But Michael Guerin was not going to be stopped by something like that. Alex could feel him. Like his heart also beat within him.

The walk was short but tense. No one said anything. As if saying something would change Michael’s condition before they were able to see him. Kyle stopped in front of a door, knocking before pushing it open. Alex heard him before he saw him.

“You again?” Alex fought the smile back. Michael lounged with an arm behind his head, the other arm wrapped in gauze and in a sling.

“Hey, I brought people you like with this time. No need to glare at me.” Michael rolled his eyes before they settled on Alex. Though they only lingered a moment. Maria rushed to his side, grabbing him and kissing his head.

Alex hung back slightly, letting the others worry about him first. They would get their chance to talk. This was too important for Michael to not talk to him about.

“Let me make something very clear Michael Guerin. You are not allowed to get hurt like this again.” He chuckled as he sat up, hugging Maria.

“I’m fine. This won’t keep me down.”

“Maybe not but that doesn’t mean you can be careless,” Isabel noted. Alex thought she looked at him too but couldn’t be sure.

They didn’t get to stick around long. Visiting hours had technically ended before Alex had brought Michael in. Maria needed to be pulled away by Liz, promising her they would come back first thing tomorrow. Alex sat in the chair as he watched them leave. He just needed a couple things answered right now. It couldn’t wait.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to bring you home alright? Don’t give the nice doctors too much trouble,” Isabel said. Michael gave her a sarcastic salute as she was walking out. Alex stood from the chair slowly, moving next to his bed.

“Visiting hours are over, private.” Alex rolled his eyes.

“You know I haven’t been a ‘private’ in a long time, right?” Michael shrugged. He was avoiding the elephant in the room. “I’m not here for the banter, Guerin.” He let his head rest against the pillows, looking at Alex with that melting stare.

“I know,” he said. Alex waited for more but Michael just looked away from him. Was he shy?

“Any information at all would really be appreciated.” Michael half laughed and reached up to move the hospital gown to the side. The same mark that was on Alex’s chest was on his. His eyes widened, instinctively reaching to touch it.

Alex traced his fingers over the mark, petals reflecting the lights of the room. Michael's skin was hot, just like he remembered. He glanced up to meet his eyes. Michael slipped his hand over his, holding it in place over his heart. Alex felt his heartbeat speed up

Beeping from the heart monitor pulled them both back to reality. Alex jerked his hand away. He was just thankful the heart monitor couldn’t display his racing pulse. Michael cleared his throat and looked away.

“That mark is a connection. Looks like this counted as the first trial.” Alex’s eyebrows drew together. “Long story short. Our families have been cursed to be drawn together for generations to endure these trials. We have to get through all ten.”

“And if we don’t,” he asked?

“Then we’re dead.”

[wertigous]

markhyuck fic rec list (2/?)

Well, hello again. Since the world is literally on fire and all of us are (hopefully!) staying home, I thought why not finish my marhyuck fic rec list for y’all social distancing beauties (also I have like 20 something pages of bookmarks with markhyuck, so I’m going to do more of this fic recs k). So go get your favourite tea or cocoa, sit your ass on something comfortable and enjoy the reading~! Oh, stream KICK IT!!! And happy birthday to our amazing Renjunie, we love you so much Moomin <3

You can also hmu on my twitter acc and talk with me about ff’s. I am lonely lmao.

Remember - the real heroes are the authors of this amazing stories, so give them a lot of your love while reading.

1.  when life gives you lemons (ask for a lime) by travelingsymphony -  8,032; on-going; 1/2 chapters - OH MY GOD, THEY WERE QUARANTINED - post-break up; crack; humor; angst; getting back together

side note: I needed this kind of fic so much, you have no idea

2.  Bad Secretary by sweetkpopfan -  5,924; one shot - secretary!donghyuck; ceo!mark; donghyuck is really, really bad at his job; his a savage though; fluff; crack

3.   quidditch and curses by dreamclub -  3,776; one shot - harry potter!au; slytherin!hyuck; gryffindor!mark; enemies to lovers; quidditch players

4.  Showmance by SeeTheVision -  42,575; 15/15 chapters - theatre kids!au; inspired by Much Ado About Nothing; enemies to friends to lovers; matchmaking; also - side nomin

5.  Retrouvaille by Crimsun -  12,000; one shot - photographer!mark; artist!hyuck; travelling; realizations

6.  viva la revolución by ultraviolentae -  71,906; 16/16 chapters; part of an on-going series - alternate universe: future; science fiction; mental and physical trials; slow burn; smut*; class differences; homophobia

7.  There for you by heaflower -  42,704; one shot - high school!au; fake/pretend realtionship; anxiety; realy, really shy mark; overachiever!hyuck; internalized homophobia; angst 

8.  Crystal Scarlet by berryboys -  45,530; 4/4 chapters - harry potter!au; post-war; aurors!au; donghyuck is a part-veela; enemies to friends to lovers; mentions of war; smut***

9.  Suits by baridalive -  42,679; 2/2 chapters - ceo!hyuck; secretary!mark; falling in love; miscommunication; ice skating; smut***

10.  the love issue by unbalancedlove -  7,373; one shot - alternate universe: college/university; journalist (well kinda)!hyuck; gossip; enemies to lovers

11.  boyfriend by putputpotato -  21,613; 3/3 chapters - friends with benefits; misunderstandings; they are whipped for each other, but to stupid to admit it; jealousy; fluff; humor

12.  Carpe Noctem by markhyuckfest, SlimeQueen - 8,170; one shot - alternate universe: royalty; prince!hyuck; knight!mark; nohyuck are in arranged marriage

13.  Police, Freeze! by AgentP127 - 6,527; one shot - policeman!hyuck; bad boy!mark; mark is a drummer in a band

14.  I just hope I find it along the way by pududoll (aprilclash) - 8,113; one shot - alternate universe: office; accountant!mark; new employee!hyuck; non-linear narrative; homophobic language; implied sexual content*

15.  Today, too, the policeman sits (by the busker's empty pitch) by mylifeincoffeespoons -  15,025; one shot - busker!hyuck; policeman!mark; small city; strangers to friends to lovers

16.  your magnetic field being a little too strong by pledispristin - 29,251; 3/3 chapters - musicians!au; mark is a solo artist; hyuck is in a rock band; they tour together; slow burn; hyuck is confused with his feelings

17.  all i can offer is my love by stayzen -  5,565; one shot - corporation heir!hyuck; personal assistant!mark; forbbiden love; heartbreak; angst

18.  turn on the light Switch by RoamingSignals -  7,837; one shot - college party; meet-cute; friends to lovers

19.  How To Train Your Donghyuck by Fox_155 -  28,935; 10/10 chapters - how to train your dragon!au; mark is hiccup and donghyuck is toothless lmao; AND taeyong is a chief of the village; shapeshifting; aged-up characters

20.  Of All The Bad Ideas by SlimeQueen -  10,335; one shot - alternate universe: high school; best friends to lovers; love notes; secret admirer; pining; misunderstandings

21.  starbright by orphan_account -  4,674; one shot - soulmates!au; denial of feelings

22.  Yć:namâd3я by abcdefghiluvyou -  29,631; 2/2 chapters - A/B/O dynamics; omegaverse; omega!hyuck; beta(or not)!mark; mating rituals; mentioned mpreg; mating cycles/in heat; possessive beahviour; a little bit of violence; smut***

23.  it's you (always has been, always will be) by ninetynineclouds (foggydays) -  7,736; one shot - friendship; best friends to lovers; relationship; fluff 

24.  The Search for Everything by sweetkpopfan - 43,701; 19/19 chapters - coming of age story; road trip; young love; miscommunication; teenage drama

side note: I really, really loved this, it’s so well written, read this I DARE YOU

25.  running out by kuntens - 14,942; one shot - roommates; musician!hyuck; enemies to lovers (kinda); hyuckie is a loud roommate lmao

26.  show me by hyuckios -  4,569; one shot - nct 127 usa tour; tour bus life; hyuck is in love with strawberry lemonade; sexual tension; fluff; really soft; hyuck is reading the great gatsby

27.  freak like me by bluebot - 80,740; one shot - alternate universe: superheroes/superpowers; markhei at the begining; mark is wolverine (kinda); enemies to friends to lovers; found family; angst; fluff; comicbook like violence

28.   Drills and Flowers by sweetkpopfan -  6,545; one shot - inspired by chain; florist!hyuck; mechanic!mark; mark can do wood work and is a bad boy; also he have hots for the flower boy hyuckie

29.  rewrite the stars by bluebot -  54,486; one shot - alternate universe: future; robot/android!mark; slow burn; humor; fluff; angst; 

30.  wanna be startin' somethin' by bluebot -  10,106; one shot - park ranger!donghyuck; mark is lost in the woods; side jaewin

31.  a little extraordinary by saddermachine -  118,796; 24/24 chapters - high school student!mark; past gaslighting; past child abuse; some violence; angst; fluff; taeyong and hyuck are brothers

side note: this fic is also one of my all time favourites, so it’s a must-read

Okay, that’s all (for now)! Have fun~