#how the fuck do I even tag this dystopian nightmare

[fox-bright]

OKAY SO I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE WHOLE SENDING CREMAINS TO THE MOON THING If you haven't heard about it, a bunch'a dead people (cremated) (just a teaspoon or less of each) are going to the Moon, where they will stay forever. They left this morning, riding up on a United Launch Alliance rocket for Peregine Mission One, technically out of Pittsburgh, PA but launched as usual from Florida. There are five NASA payloads on the mission, so Science is Happening. That’s cool, I’m all for it. But I, and it turns out the Navajo Nation, are not very cool with the Elysium and Celestis parts of the deal, which is sending a hundred something dead people’s remains up there. I’m against it because while I’m all for scattering cremains in nature—returning your carbon to the cycle—and I’m all for cemeteries and tombs, this won’t be either; there’s not any breaking down, there’s not any cycle, and there’s no hallowed ground. The Navajo Nation, in the letter they wrote to NASA in December, is against it because to them the Moon is sacred. You don’t just drop corpses on sacred things, basically. They weren’t asking to stop the mission, just to be consulted about how to handle it with grace; their request was denied. NASA couldn’t have done anything for them, anyway, because this isn’t a NASA mission even if they’re sending payloads up. So the Magical Flying Husband and I good-naturedly Got Into It on the topic, on Saturday, and we still don’t quite agree. To my mind, it’s gross and tacky to throw a Space Rubbermaid full’a cremains up there. There were already the remains of one single person on the moon, as Eugene Shoemaker’s ashes went up with the Lunar Prospector thirty-something years ago. He was a scientist who trained Apollo astronauts about what to expect when they reached the Moon; a geologist with his eyes on the stars. Having him up there doesn’t oog me out. Having a bunch of randos who only get to go there because their families have the money for it, that oogs me out. And then there’s just the pure metaphysical aspect; we put gates around our cemeteries for a reason. We make specific places out to be the resting places of the dead, so that we can say here are the dead and here the dead are not. Most of the religions or belief systems which have the dead remain in the home, on altars or in special (holy!) rooms within the building, also have requirements for attendance on those lost relatives. Incense, prayer, attention. You can’t do that if you lawn-dart Grandma onto the Moon. So throwing a bunch of bodies into a place where they will never degrade, without marking out land as “this specific place is where our dead go,” is either a hugely expensive method of littering, or it makes the whole Moon into a cemetery.

So the MFH and I have this discussion, back and forth, and then we realize we don’t really have any data. How many people are going up? Who are they? What’s the deal? So I looked it up. There are two companies sending cremains on this trip, Celestis and Elysium. Both of them have (frankly, tacky) websites selling you the ability to send Grandma to the Moon.

Celestis starts you at about three thousand US dollars to put some ashes onto a payload that goes up, and then comes down again; the equivalent of tying her to an Estes rocket that you launch from the park, only this is a proper spacegoing rocket that gets up there. She just doesn't get to take the whole ride.

Further Celestis packages allow you to put Grandma into orbit, send Grandma to the Moon, or send Grandma out into Deep Space.

(Reading that aloud is the point where the MFH's ears really quirked. It is very difficult and very expensive to get something properly into Deep Space. That offering is bullshit, and can't not be bullshit, and this is where the MFH decided probably this whole thing was more than a little scammy.)

The Orbit Grandma package is particularly romantic; the orbit she'll be put into is a degrading one, so that after some time spinning around our gorgeous blue marble, she'll reenter the atmosphere and become a visible shooting star.

(The MFH said "Is there going to be a big enough payload to be visible with the naked eye? What amount of matter is required for that?" and then we had to do Math about it. Of course, it's not just Grandma who would be on that bus, it's another hundred people or whatever; the image appears to show a hundred or more thimbles of cremains stored separately in basically a large cube container. So maybe the size of a soccer ball? I think it would be visible. It is, however, impossible to say "look there, and you'll see Grandma!" so while it would be visible to someone, it's not going to be something you can make sure to see.)

Elysium offers all the same packages, with slightly different names. But unlike Celestis, Elysium has a little row at the bottom of the page with photographs of previous launches. They've done this before, they're saying, and Grandma is safe with them.

So I looked up the launches, and found a Wikipedia page on them. And oh my god. That's where my ears quirked, and then I started cackling, and the whole slightly-fractious discussion with the MFH absolutely dissolved into macabre jokes.

Because, yeah, there have been two previous launches. One of them failed to reach orbit. A payload of Grandmas was put onto the next one, to make up for the failure.

The second launch, which was to be a Shooting Star trip for the god knows how many people that the first launch failed? That one made it to orbit! All good, right? Now Grandma can orbit for a while, and then immolate for a second time, this one much more spectacular and high-velocity than the first?

ABSOLUTELY not.

Because of licensing issues.

(image: two columns of text describing Elysium launches: ORS-4 Elysium Star I, launched on a Super Strypi, was destined for reentry failed to reach orbit.

SSO-A Elysium STar II, launched on a Falcon 9, was destined for reentry and made orbit successfully. "Orbit was to decay in 2 years, but satellite was locked into the Lower Free-Flyer dispenser due to license timing issues." )

Grandma is stuck in the dispenser. Grandma's in a gacha-gacha that just spins around and around and around and around, never releasing its prize to her glorious conflagration.

Because of licensing issues.

I'm siding with the Navajo Nation with this one, either way, but I have to wonder if those folks are actually getting to the Moon as planned.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Fic authors self-rec! ✨ When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers (if you would like to)!

I also got tagged in this ages ago by @morethanonepage, whose own answers are very lovely and inspiring, so this is a response to that tag as well!

What They Don't Tell You About History - The Hunger Games, Matched Trilogy, Across the Universe/Godspeed Trilogy

This is the first of my fics that comes to mind whenever anyone asks what my favorite fic is that I've written, but basically no one has read it because it's a crossover with two nonexistent fandoms for mid-list books and because it's written in second-person POV slash collective-first person Greek chorus. It's OLD now, too; I wrote it in 2011, so the fact that I still like it speaks volumes to me. But it turned out exactly how I wanted it to turn out, and I think I still pull a lot of headcanon for all three series from this story -- that they're all in one continuum of dystopia, rather than three separate dystopias is way more interesting to me and, I think, much more reflective of how actual history works (cause/effect) than just like, pretending that dystopian systems rise out of nowhere.

I feel like this is also kind of a ~last hurrah for me of really experimental, weird, LiveJournally fic, in terms of it being in second-person and being a three-directional crossover. You don't really see that many fics these days that are just balls to the wall experimental weird fiction, you know? I think the isolation of locked communities on LJ, where you knew that the only people who were going to read your story were people who genuinely liked the thing you were writing about and, really, were people you knew on some level, made it a lot easier to say, "Fuck it, I'm going to write in second-person/in the style of House of Leaves/a crossover with this tiny fandom I wish more people liked/tentacles" than the Googleable public nature of AO3.

I also think this fic is interesting to go back to after more than a decade and see where my political fears were prior to the 2012 presidential election, and how much FUCKING NIGHTMARE WORSE things have gotten since then. Like, we didn't even really consider 11 years ago just how bad things could get so QUICKLY, even when we were writing about them BEING THIS BAD. The central villains of the fic are analogs of Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin, and I would never have fucking considered the existence of an Amy Coney Barrett or a Brett Kavanaugh actually making it onto SCOTUS, or that Tr*mp would ever have been more than a rabblerousing birther game-show host. But Matched is a trilogy about the loss of reproductive freedom and Godspeed is a trilogy about what happens to Earth when all of its capable leaders are gone and you're left with charlatans, and of course we all know the mixing of reality television and politics that created The Hunger Games.

It's just a fic that feels very, very old, and very, very new at the same time. And I am still proud of it.

Representative passage:

Permit us the luxury of telling you this story out of order. If the past has taught us anything, it’s that perhaps Order is wrong. Oh, it’s not capitalized anymore, is it. Order. It’s only order now.

Apologies, apologies. You’re the first to inquire about this story and it’s a little hard to tell. A little hard to hear.

What you need to understand is this: these people are not heroes. They are ordinary people – girls, mostly, and a few very good boys – who did what they needed to do to save their own lives, the lives of their families and friends and the children that they did not think they would ever have.

But there are villains in this story. There are very bad people – women, mostly, and a few very bad men – who will have no redemption. If you are looking for a tale of peace and understanding and conflict resolution, this story is not that one. This story is what happened to the United States of America, and it is not a pretty story. There is blood, and there are dead children, and there are words, so many words, such a horrific carnage of words that are lost.

So please, permit us the luxury of lingering over our own. We don’t know when they will be taken from us.

A Constraint That Makes It Possible to Fly - Star Wars

This is by far the best fic that I've written since like 2017, which is kind of sad, but also, see above, we have been living in a nightmare hellscape since 2016 and I think it's been hard, in general, to write. This fic is also FUN, and SCARY, and SWEET, and ALL THE THINGS, which is also very Star Wars, so I think that it fits the tone of its franchise well. It's marked as incomplete and I guess technically it is -- I can go back to it any time and add more, if I have the urge -- but it's not a cliffhanger or anything. It's also kind of weird and experimental, in terms of being a nonlinear drabble collection that follows a set storyline.

The premise was really fun to play with, too, because it can be spun so many ways: what if everyone in Star Wars had wings that displayed their Force-sensitivity?

Well, everyone would know that Padme was carrying a Jedi's children. Luke and Leia would both grow up knowing they were Force-sensitive. Vader would have known Leia felt the loss of Alderaan through the Force and relished in her pain. The Jedi who survived Order 66 would have to hide a visible, instead of invisible, part of themselves. FINN, wings bursting out of his 'trooper armor at Tuanul against all odds.

I also played with all of my favorite totally unsupported headcanons, like Rey being Han/Leia's kid LIKE SHE WAS WRITTEN IN TFA HARRUMPH and Cassian having spent time as Bail's page and Padme surviving the birth of the twins and, and, and. I just really enjoy(ed) writing this story.

The titles for each drabble are also my favorite titles that I've come up with, because they're each a line from a different poem or song about birds!

Representative passage:

#32: Each Separate Dying Ember Wrought Its Ghost Upon the Floor

Darth Vader sees the Princess of Alderaan for the first time unconscious, when she is carried onto the Death Star by stormtroopers.

Those wings—

Rage fills both Darth Vader and the last, dying kernel of Anakin Skywalker. Those wings look like the ones he used to have, before Obi-Wan Kenobi betrayed him. Before that woman betrayed him.

Before the Force itself betrayed him.

There is no way that this—this—this rebel scum could be a Jedi. The Emperor, in his wisdom, would know if any Jedi still lived. And that woman told him—

She had drowned Anakin Skywalker's children.

Valor, Valeria - The Hunger Games

Another oldie. You know what it is? I'm trying to answer this with five fics that I actually wrote without a co-writer and most of my favorites/the ones that I think hold up have been co-written, because the vast majority of my longfics have been co-written. But if I answered with those, all of the reasoning would be "I had a lot of fun writing it with _____" and that doesn't really get into why I like the FIC, it gets into why I liked the PROCESS. And that's a different question.

This fic was a challenge for me, because I really hadn't written Katniss/Gale before, but I was writing it as a present for Jill @poppypickle. I really like the way that I mirrored the two halves of the story (Katniss/Gale and Finnick/Annie), although some of that has been -- IMO -- lost on AO3 because you can't format things the same way as on LJ, where half of the story was left-aligned and half was right-aligned. Womp womp.

I also feel sad for my eleven-years-ago self when I read this, just because it's part of my THG "I haven't gone to therapy yet" oeuvre, but honestly, I don't think that I could have written any THG fic if I had been therapized. Or at least, I would have written such different THG fic that I don't know what it would have been -- like, the drabbles I write now are based on the headcanons and interps that I came up with back then, so they're still part of that version of myself's fic lineage.

I think that the Annie I wrote in this story is so different from every other Annie I've written that it makes the story really stand apart. She is an Annie who is unknowingly cruel in her quest for self-protection, and that's not how most people write Annie (or how I see canon!Annie fwiw), but it's a valid way for someone growing up in Panem to become, and I wanted to explore that.

Representative passage:

They didn’t bind her ankles, Finnick notices. Someday, they stop.

“You killed my Tributes,” she greets him, an easy grin on her face. She’s stunningly beautiful save the gory scar down one side of her face, through the eye and down to her jaw. If she hadn’t been Remade, she’d probably be blind.

Finnick wonders why she kept the scar at all. It doesn’t seem to have repulsed anyone in the Capitol. There are pink handprints all over her body and smears of different people all down her thighs and chest and Finnick is as scared and trapped as he was in the adobe caves of his Arena.

À La Vôtre - Anna and the French Kiss/Lola and the Boy Next Door

This fic is just Soft and Sweet and there's no big backstory behind it, I just like it. I was going through an OBVIOUSLY ABANDONED phase where I was going to try to write a fic of at least 1,000 words for every fandom on my tagslist (HA, HAHAHA, HA HA... HA) and I got about as far as Anna and the French Kiss rofl. Every once in a while I still get the urge to go back and MAKE A FANWORK FOR EVERY THING but then I remember that I... didn't, lol, and so I... don't. But maybe someday. I do really like how this turned out. Also, the only literary boy dreamier than Étienne St. Clair is Michael Motherfucking Moscovitz, so that is a HIGH COMPLIMENT to AATFK. Also also, St. Clair looks like Harry Styles in my headcanon, so there's that.

Representative passage:

The triplex looked like a pointed Dutch chalet tucked next to a palm tree. They had almost no yard, but water and trash collection were included in the rent, so no one complained. Lola mostly appreciated that they were right down the street from the MacArthur BART stop – she’d heard two very exuberant poets waxing haikus about fried fish sandwiches on the way in last night – and Anna couldn’t have been happier that they were within walking distance of UC’s Pacific Film Archive, where Cricket suspected The Couple would go watch weird French movies about les cousins dangereuses, or whatever French movies were about. Cricket had gotten a job at one of the four bike shops in the mile around their cottage, repairing fixies for hipsters and trying vehemently to deny his own inherent hipster lineage, but… he was an inventor whose girlfriend wore panniers to the winter dance; there was no denying anymore.

When Cricket first told Lola that he was moving in with Anna and Étienne at the end of the semester, she had thought he was insane.

“Are you insane?” were the first words out of her mouth. “Why would you move in with a couple? Especially Anna and St. Clair? They’re all over each other all the time! All. The time. Did I tell you that I walked in on them sucking face behind the popcorn butter bags in the supply room last weekend? Cricket, they even suck face when surrounded by bags of liquefied chemical butter.”

“They’re not that bad,” Cricket said, trailing his fingertips over the inside of Lola’s arm. “They keep their clothes on. And besides, none of us can afford to live alone, and you know how they’re always trying to save money. It’s easier if we all pool together for rent.”

Lola kissed the side of his neck in the warm, good-smelling place just beneath his ear. “Curse your financial sensibility.”

In Screaming Color - Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

I WILL FINISH THIS FIC SOMEDAY. THERE IS SO MUCH MORE WRITTEN IN ITS WORD DOCUMENT THAN EVER GOT POSTED, IT JUST NEEDS THE CONNECTIVE TISSUE.

Maybe in another 25 years when they reboot for the Sequel Sequel Trilogy, I will have another chapter ready. ::facepalm::

At any rate, I really love Poe Dameron and I love when characters go to therapy and I love BB-8 and I love prophetic Force dreams and I love Finn's mind-battling Snoke and I love Poe/Muran and I love Poe being a widow and I love sad Poe learning to love again and Rey learning to love at all. And I love Luke not being whatever the fuck he was in TLJ and instead being Luke Skywalker, and I love little younglings climbing all over Rey while she learns to fight with her lightsaber.

Someday I will finish this fic. I will. I'm gonna finish this fic someday.

Representative passage:

By the time most of the sunlight has fallen behind the canopy of leafy trees on Takodana, Poe is among the last beings left digging in the pit that used to Maz's castle. He has what he came here for: information about the black market bacta trade. He also found a new ally for the Resistance, albeit not the most useful of allies he's persuaded to their cause. Anyone willing to take a firm stand against the First Order matters, in his book.

His back and shoulders are sore from the heft of the shovel, but it's a pleasant soreness. It reminds him of peacetime back home.

All the same, he grunts when he heaves himself up and out of the pit to gather up Beebee and make the return flight back to base. His hair is probably a complete mess when he trudges up to Maz's chaise longue.

“So, my beautiful boyfriend, when are you bringing me beautiful Bey babies to cuddle?” Maz Kanata asks, still sipping blithely from her teal drink.

“That depends; when are you going to agree to marry me?” Poe asks, and he smiles down at Maz.

“Hmm!” Maz hums through her nose again. “In your dreams, you should be so lucky. I could never give up on my other boyfriends. No, Poe Dameron, I was being quite serious.”

Poe blinks. “I—don’t know. I’m not having any children in the near future, as far as I know, Maz.”

The teal drink is set on the ground near BB-8, who beeps at it curiously and tilts up as if to give it a sniff. Maz stands on the chaise and she’s nearly as tall as Poe that way, her hands adjusting the lenses of her goggles until her eyes are enormous, the size of faraway moons. “I think you are hiding something from me, Poe Dameron. There is a look about you.”

“I’m not hiding anything from you! Never you, Maz.” Poe holds up his hands—crusted in dirt though they are—and laughs. “You know you’re my best girl. My only girl.”

The goggles click. The eyes grow even bigger. “I disagree. The Force always glows bright around you, Poe Dameron, but now it is singing. You must hear it. Ever since you were a little child and Shara Bey first brought you to me to show you off, the Force has had a love affair with you. Why are you keeping it waiting?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Poe says, and swallows down the dream of the Force tree back home, of Muran fading away and Rey shining bright. “I don’t have the Force more than any other average human, Maz. Maybe just enough to be a little luckier shot.”

“Not when you were hitting my castle,” Maz snorts. “No, you are wrong, Poe Dameron. Or maybe misguided by the way the Force has hurt you in your life. But don’t you see the way those who command the Force are always drawn to you?” She touches his face again, palms against his cheeks grown stubbly over the long day. “Your good heart is like a well of the Light, my beautiful boyfriend. Your mother, Shara Bey, she was the same. It is why Luke Skywalker entrusted her, and you, with the Force tree. I think your role in the fight is to sow seeds of the Light in any way you can. Those to whom the Force calls find their way to you. It is inevitable.”

[a1sart]

I posted 18,195 times in 2022

That's 16,215 more posts than 2021!

161 posts created (1%)

18,034 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@meeowerzz

@enderspawn

@legogeek33

@manjirian

@shrikeicee

I tagged 10,358 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#dream smp - 2,376 posts

#lego ninjago - 1,382 posts

#mcyt - 1,037 posts

#lol - 877 posts

#wilbur soot - 563 posts

#ranboo - 562 posts

#yes - 509 posts

#double life smp - 483 posts

#rottmnt - 425 posts

#tommyinnit - 419 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#apologizing to my irl friends when i go bowling with them tomorrow and the only thing i'll be talking about is the lore i'll be missing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

*wakes suddenly as if from a nightmare* Tightrope from the greatest showman would make an excellent double life cleo and scott animatic! *collapses back into my nest of blankets and pillows and goes the fuck back to sleep*

44 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

#4

I love that the last ones to actually find their soulmates are also the last 4 left alive. What a happy, poetic little accident.

77 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#3

does anyone have any tmnt 2012 X rottmnt crossover fic recs that are majority lighthearted? Or is this one of those “guess I’ll have to write it myself” kinda situations?

87 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

#2

Princess Charm School takes place in a dystopian future where every state in the US has seceded and become a monarchy.

134 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so the ninja are canonically celebrities right? which means they have fans

y’know what fans do?

write fanfiction that’s what

headcanons about how the ninja feel about that under the cut :) (cut because this is long not because there’s nsfw headcanons or anything I don’t write that stuff)

Kai fucking loves it. He discovered that people wrote fanfic and he immediately started reading the most popular fics. Eventually he ends up with a ninjago version of an ao3 account (his username is probably fiyaamaster or something) and he makes it public. He shares it on his Chirp. He has all his fanfic boundries listed in his bio. People make memes about him finding their fics. Eventually an offcial “Kai DNI” tag is made because he’s read so many fics. He even wrote a fic once. It becomes the most popular fic on the site. It’s terrible. People quote it in memes. People have started sending him fic recs.

Jay is less enthusastic about fanfic. He thinks it’s weird that people write about him as if he’s a fictional character instead of a person. He doesn’t stop anyone from writing about him or including him in their fics though. The team doesn’t feel complete if one of them is missing and that carries over to fics. So he lets people write about him. He does avoid fics as much as he can though. He doesn’t seek them out.

Cole is resigned about it. He’s accepted that it happens and he can’t stop it. He doesn’t mind. Occasionally he will read one if it seems interesting. He had Kai post his fic boundries on his Chirp because Kai has more followers than him.

Zane is confused by fanfiction. (or at least rpf fanfiction. He completely understands fanfiction for non-rpf fandoms). He understands writing about people in like, a historical context for history books or biographies. But writing completely fictional things about real people? He finds it kind of odd. He has read a couple of fics because kai reccomended them but he doesn’t seek them out.

Nya is sort of amused by them? She reads them ironically if they seem funny but occasionally catches herself reading them completely unironically because the story looks interesting. She sees them as just stories where the characters have the same names as her and her friends. Theres a sort of disconnect between herself and the version of her in fics. She’s serious about her boundries though because she knows other people don’t see it the same way she does. She posted them on her Chirp and had Kai boost it so more people saw. She doesn’t read nearly as many fics as Kai but she does have a solid third place in ninja fic reading at the monastery. (When Nya became the sea a lot people stopped including her in fics because it felt disrespectful. This upset Kai and Jay because it feels like people are covering up her existance. It fueled Jays idea that people were forgetting Nya.)

Lloyd is an absolute fanboy. He used to write fanfic about Starfarer when he was at Darkleys so he is completely unsurprised when he discovers that people write fics about him. He has his boundries on Kai’s Chirp and he reads them if Kai thinks they’re good. He has a ninjago ao3 account that he used to use for starfarer that he uses for ninja fic reading now. He once live streamed a reading for a really prolific meme fic and the chat almost died. He even did voices. Other than that he’s pretty chill about it.

Pixal is on the same page with Zane on the fics thing. She reads more than him though. She has an account (her username is probably something like P.I.X.A.Lao3). She leaves detailed critique in the comments. No one knows it’s her. They all (mostly) assume it’s some random fan account. The fandom has started memes about the mysterious critique account. Theres a “P.I.X.A.Lao3 Please DO interact, actually” tag for her account because she gives genuinely good advice. Theres a conpsiracy theory in the fandom that the account belongs to Pixal but no one likes to think too hard about it. She finds this amusing. Cyrus Borg thinks it’s hilarious.

Wu actually doesn’t care. People have been writing about him since before time had a name. He’s the son of GOD. People write about him all the time. He doesn’t see fic as any different. He’s just used to it. He’s the one holding second place fic reading because of this technicality. He’s read a lot of stuff about him over the years. Not as much as Kai though lol.

Misako doesn’t read fic about herself and never plans to. She doesn’t care all that much.

139 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

Welcome To The Bunny Cult Writing Event!

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What's The Bunny Cult Writing Event?

The Bunny Cult Writing Event is celebration of Black Bunny Mask (Also known as Ghost/Bell) hitting 400+ followers!

What's In The Event?

This event will allow Yandere DSMP writers to write from one of the many AUs and Prompts.

How Can I Join The Event?

You'll have to tell me in my inbox (Not as a anom) and tell me which AU/Prompt you'll be doing and which characters will be in the story.

And once the story is finished you have to tag me so I can add you to the list of people who participated

Will There Be Winners?

Nope! This is mainly for fun for people in the Yandere DSMP community and the DSMP community in general. You can be competitive with your friends if you want to though.

Rules

1: You can't do a prompt someone else already took

2: If you don't want to be in the event anymore, please DM me in my inbox so I can take you take you off of the list

3: NO SMUT (Smut can be implied, but not full on smut, and can only be done with people who are ok with smut) OR PREGNANT READERS

4:Don't be toxic or bring in drama, this is all for fun and I don't want negativity during this celebration

5:Please don't make fun of others writings or grammar.

6:Polyamorous relationships are allowed and encourages

7: No yandere Philza

8: AUs are reusable, if someone chose the Purge AU you can still do it

AUs

Royalty AU

High School AU

Mafia AU

Cult AU

God AU

College AU

Boy/Girl Band AU

Fantasy AU

Murder Mystery AU

Apocalypse AU

Coffee Shop AU

Angel and Demons AU

Dystopian AU

Sea Creatures AU

Mythology AU

Pirate AU

Medieval AU

Purge AU

Aggresive/Harsh Prompts

The ones below are by @dearyscribbles

•"You act like you hold any control over me. If you try to run, I'll make sure the only way you'll be able to eat is through a feeding tube"

•"What? What will you do help them? Beg me not to go? Scream at me to leave them alone? Fight me? The best thing you can do is behave, just like the pathetic bitch you are"

•"You know, maybe, just maybe, if you LISTENED to me, maybe we would've have to go through this. Maybe I wouldn't have to come home so bloody, maybe your friends would still be alive. It's all up to you, and you still manage to fuck everything up"

•"What are you crying for, GOD I can't stand when you do this. Why are you upset, huh? Because you looked at someone else when I told you not to? Because you broke the rules, and now you have to face the consequences of your own actions?"

•"YOU wouldn't have ANYTHING without me. Not this house, not the food, the clothes off your back, hell, not even that damn phone you're threatening me with. Do you want me to show you how good you have it? Maybe it's time I start playing the bad guy you think I am" Taken by @bookoffandoms

The ones below are by @animeyanderelover

“Do you want me to break your legs or lock you in a cage to prevent you from running away?”

“One more chance! I’m giving you one more chance to fucking stop resisting!”

“I can end all of your pain. You just have to say these three words.”

“If you don’t kiss me back, I’ll slit someone’s throat.” Done by @grrrrr-dsmp

“Listen, I’m giving you two choices. Either you start eating willingly or I’ll force you. There’s no way I’m letting you starve yourself to death.”

"You can’t find your clothes? That’s a shame. But you can wear mine. They look better on you anyways.”

70. “Hearing you say that makes me want to fuck you so badly.”

71. “Your body, your heart, your soul. It all belongs to me." Taken by @god1ngs

Soft/Toxic Comfort Prompts

“You think you’re ugly? Who told you so? Tell me so I can give them an agonizing death for making you think that. And after I’m finished with them, I’m going to worship you in bed until you see how beautiful you really are.”

“Please stop crying. You make me feel even worse. But you need to understand, if I wouldn’t have chained you to the bed, you would have tried to run away again.”

"Babe…! Shit! I’m sorry you had to see this, but please believe me! He deserved it! No,no,no, don’t be scared of me. You know I would never harm you.” Taken by @aungel

Desperate/Obsessed Prompts

The ones below are by @animeyanderelover

“Can you at least pretend to love me? Just for tonight?”

“You don’t understand! If you accept me now, I’ll be your slave!”

“Stop giving me that look! Stop looking at me as if I’m a monster!”

“I desire any physical touch with you so please hit me more.”

“What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

“Hate me, scream at me, hit me. Do whatever you want with me, but please stay with me.”

“…You are telling me that I can live with my life without you, but you don’t seem to understand that YOU are my life.”

"You had a nightmare about me? That’s great! That means you think of me even when you dream. Even though I hope your next dream about me will be more pleasant.”

“Use me however you want too. My body is yours.”

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Now let the meeting commence...

[late-to-the-party-81]

Bucky Barnes Appreciation Week - Day 7

AN: Here we are - at the end of BB Appreciation Week 2022. Thanks to all those who have read, liked and re-blogged my little imagines - I love you all.

I've got more in store for Bucky and Sam (someone sent a bit of a spicy ask, which I'm hoping to get to soon!)

Big round of applause to the ever wonderful @firefly-graphics for her superb dividers.

Check out my master list if you are feeling so inclined.

Pairing: Luke x Lando Bucky x Sam

Word Count: Approx 640

CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, Nerdiness, Fangirling

Bucky was in heaven. Like literally, Bucky thought he was in heaven.

Back in the 30’s Bucky had been an avid reader, enjoying Tolkien, Huxley and Rand, any books where the world wasn’t portrayed as it was, whether that be fantasy or a bleak dystopian future. Since coming out from under HYDRA’s control, part of his recovery had been to catch up on pop-culture and he had fully embraced the fact he was a nerd and therefore ‘Nerd Culture’- grabbed it in both fists and refused to let go. Which is why he was here, now, basking in freedom to let his nerd flag fly.

Sam shuffled beside him, tugging at the collar of his cloak.

“Are you sure I look okay, Buck. I feel a bit self-conscious.”

Bucky snorted in amusement.

“You fly through the sky in a state of the art red, white and blue suit with a massive pair of wings and chew out politicians on live TV, but this,” he gestured up and down his boyfriend’s body at the costume he was wearing, “is what makes you self-conscious? Doll, you look gorgeous. Sexiest Lando Calrissian I ever saw, and there are a few here…..and Billy Dee Williams is going to ‘freak’ when he sees you.”

“He’s here!” Sam’s voice came out in a squeak, his eyes widening in abject terror and embarrassment.

“Yeah, babe, I’ve booked for us to do a meet, greet and photo with him.”

“Gone the whole hog, huh?”

“Yup! Shame that Mark Hamill isn’t at this one, but it’s not one of the big ones. I wonder what he’d think of my outfit?”

Bucky plucked some non-existent lint off of his boiler suit and adjusted the skin colour glove over his prosthetic. Sam had told him he didn’t need to do that, until Bucky had turned to him eyebrow raised and started to lecture him that his outfit was from before when Luke loses a hand and Luke lost his right hand not his left, and he didn’t want glaring inaccuracies in his outfit. Sam knew when he was beat.

“Bucky-Bear, you make the best Luke Skywalker, I swear. I reckon with all these new shows, if they need someone to play Luke they’d be better calling you up than relying on CGI – that shit always looks far too ‘uncanny valley’ for my liking. We can take a photo later though and tweet it to him, how about that?”

Bucky leant over and rubbed his nose against Sam’s.

“You have the best ideas Sammy… oh look – there’s the life size Jabba replica, let’s go and get a picture, then there are a few merch stalls I want to check out. Also got to get my picture taken with as many Yoda’s as possible…”

Bucky practically skipped off, as excited as a child, and Sam couldn’t contain his grin as he followed along in his wake. All the ‘Leia’s’, ‘Vaders’ and even some ‘Hans’ all wanted pictures with his dashing boyfriend, who was sporting a blonde wig with his costume and looking very un-Bucky like. But that wasn’t the only un-Bucky like thing about him today.

Sam had seen Bucky happy before, but never this carefree and, well, childlike and it was fucking endearing. Bucky was indulging himself in a way that hadn’t been available to him in his younger years. Preparing for this event had definitely kept him busy and he hadn’t had a nightmare in two weeks. Obviously getting involved in a hobby wasn’t going to be an instant and permanent fix; trauma recovery didn’t work like that, but Sam was proud of his nerdy boyfriend, recovering in his own way and allowing himself just to be.

Today Bucky wasn’t the Winter Soldier, the White Wolf or even Sargent Barnes.

Today he was James Buchanan Barnes: Nerd.

The man who Sam loved.

Tag List: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tinnedowl @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @beelicious-barnes @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @turbolisedcomet @goldylions @buckybarnesweek2022

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 3: Angst with a Happy Ending

39 fics under the readmore

Conditional Miracle | @vampamber

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,551 Main Tags/Warnings: season 12 finale, in-canon temporary character death, love confession Summary: Chuck can bring Castiel back to life, but only on one condition: Dean has to tell Castiel how he feels about him. Not that "You're family, Cas" stuff, but how Dean actually feels. A coda for s12e23 "All Along the Watchtower" (a bit late, but better late than never)

Sharp edges | @chaoticdean

Rating: General Word Count: 1,638 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, (although he does come back at the very end), Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt, Angst with a Happy Ending, Letters, Five Stages of Grief, post spn 15x18spn coda, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, written several months before the actual episode Summary: Castiel told him he loved him right before getting swallowed up by the Empty. Sam told him to talk, but words won’t come out, and really, how is he supposed to tell anyone how it feels to lose everything? So he writes. Letters on napkins, motel notepads, paperback books. He writes as he goes through every steps of grief, until finally there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

What the Water Gave Him | @mattzerella-sticks

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Canon, Implied/Reference Character Death, Sam Finds Out Summary: It was over. Chuck lost, Sam and Dean can live their lives how they want them. But their victory wasn't without losses. The biggest upset nearly taking Dean out of the game, happening so close to the final battle. Now he's on the other side, alive against all odds, but Sam knows he isn't happy. Not truly happy since the Empty stole his best friend. But there's a chance they can save him. A slim chance. A risk that Dean's willing to take despite every logical nerve in Sam's body screaming at him to look for better options. That threading a needle this small is too dangerous. That they don't have to take on another big bad, not anymore. That they don't have to risk their lives anymore. Dean is far past the point of listening. Dead set on this mission, Sam can only watch. And pray his brother proves him wrong.

A Classic Fear Of Rejection | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 1,841 Main Tags/Warnings: pining, anxious Cas, Dean has self worth issues, love confession Summary: Castiel has been in love with Dean for almost ten years now. Ever since he'd raised the Righteous Man from perdition, actually. But Dean appears to be straight, so the angel just pined for him instead, fearing rejection. At Sam's insistence, Castiel finally admits his feelings, and it turns out that the angel may have been wrong about the elder Winchester's orientation.

The Things You Almost Say (But Never Do) | @wingsdestiel

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,967 Main Tags/Warnings: Light Angst, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonverse, Season 11 Summary: Team Free Will hasn't been much of a team lately, and Castiel wishes that Dean would stop avoiding everything.

Forget Me Not | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,932 Main Tags/Warnings: top Castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, Hospitals, Amnesia, Temporary Amnesia, Therapy, Makeup Sex, Marriage Proposal, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: A tragic accident during an argument leaves Cas with a head injury and amnesia, but Dean is determined to stay by his husband's side, even when the memories that return are painful. Can they move past the memories?

Forgetting Your Blues | @amirosebooks

Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,440 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 12 finale fix-it, amnesia, temporary main character death, fluff and angst, getting together, openly bisexual Dean Winchester Summary: Dean Jones doesn't know his real name. He woke up on a public park bench a few months back with an empty wallet and a driver's license listing the name Dean Jones with his picture. The name doesn't feel right on his tongue, but he doesn't remember what part is wrong. The cop who found him in the park got Dean a job in a local diner. The diner feels comfortable to Dean. He understands the rhythm of the place, the ebb and flow of the people and food, even if he's clearly never carried a tray of hot plates in his life. He settles into his new life. He makes new friends. He takes beautiful women and men and people to his bed for comfort on long nights. He has nightmares about blood covering his hands. Who is he? Why has no one come looking for him? What has he done? Why did he fall apart when he saw a guy wearing a tan trenchcoat?

I NEED YOU | @cooloddball

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,675 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Making up Summary: Sam is so done with Dean and Cas' bullshit. Time to get some things sorted out.

Even if the sky gets rough | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,360 Main Tags/Warnings: Fuck Or Die, cursed!Dean, dubcon, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings Summary: Dean can’t believe he got cursed again. Only this time it’s a lot worse, because if he can’t find someone to fuck him… well, he dies.

spes alit et falit. | @celestialsilhouette

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,524 Main Tags/Warnings: djinn fic, angst with a happy ending, first time Summary: ~hope sustains and deceives~ Dean wakes up with a gasp. He shoots up in his bed, panting, heart pounding, and wide awake. He grips the sheets in his hands tightly and swivels his head to look around the room, making a half-aborted movement to reach under the pillows for the gun he knows always lies there, the smooth metal familiar and comforting. He doesn’t recognize where he is.

Don't Call Me Demon | @angzlicas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,432 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean, MOC!Dean, Human Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Canon Compliant, Top!Dean, Bottom!Cas Summary: Dean’s shouting at this point, his eyes pure black again, and Castiel can feel the anger and panic tainting the room. It’s charged with emotion, even though most demons are incapable of feeling anything other than hatred and malice. It feels like fear. Or the one where Cas wants to take the mark from Dean

Life in prison | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7,084 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt Dean Winchester, Dean had to steal food to eat, Dean had sex for money in this, Thief Dean Winchester, almost murderer Castiel, Semi-Public Sex, implied bottom dean Winchester, Non-Penetrative Sex, Soft Dean Winchester, almost rape (non Destiel), Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Alternate Universe - PrisonPrisonAlternate Universe, Prison Sex Summary: When Dean gets arrested for stealing food, he has to face prison at 21. He is scared and his cellmate seems a bit harsh too. Will he warm up to him eventually? Or could he even fall in love with a prisoner?

Four of Swords | @mattzerella-sticks

Rating: No Rating Word Count: 7,127 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Canon, Human Cas, Baths, Dean Winchester has Self-Worth Issues, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Summary: The Four of Swords, in the present position, means you don't want to interact with the rest of the world. Because of stress, you need to spend some time with yourself - unhealthy always being 'on'. That the healthiest thing to do is to escape. Dean might crave escape, but it's not something he thinks he can have. Something he deserves, even. After his and Sam's most recent hunt, this cancerous feeling has grown heavy and weighs him down. He cannot escape on his own, as best he tries. Luckily a guardian 'former angel' angel swoops in at his lowest. Helps pick up the pieces as best he can and lovingly put them back together. But he can only do so much. The rest is up to Dean. Can Dean take those final steps, say those final words, and finally free himself?

Free To Be Us | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8,011 Main Tags/Warnings: Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Switching, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Claiming Bites, Semi-Public Sex, Kidnapping, emancipation, broken bonds, Suicide attempt mentioned, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Dystopia Summary: In a Dystopian world, Alphas and Omegas are rare. So rare that they meet only at semi-annual, semi-corrupt conventions organized by Betas, all for the purpose of breeding. Dean is one such Alpha, prized more for his seed than for himself, and untouched. Raised to value the system, he's about to have his world turned upside down, and it all starts with a decadent scent.

Not Here for Me | @mattzerella-sticks

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8,113 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Humans, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Gay Bars, Closeted Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, references to Dean's bad childhood Summary: If he had the choice, Dean never would have stepped foot inside this place. But Sam was curious - and curious is a hell of a lot better than the depression that clung to him day after day since Jess left him. So Dean swallows his pride, joins Sam as his babysitter. So he won't get find himself in any trouble. Trouble, however, is more likely to find Dean. In the bowels of his personal hell, can Dean resist temptations that have plagued him his entire life? Or will someone descend and lend a hand, showing Dean that the darkness he imagined only lived inside his own mind. And all that he feared was not as he seemed if he let himself step out of the shadows of his past.

Bearing A Heart | @lockandk3yfiction

Rating: Mature Word Count: 9,421 Main Tags/Warnings: Female Castiel (Supernatural); Castiel in a Female Vessel (Supernatural); Genderbending; Pregnant Castiel (Supernatural); Possessive Castiel (Supernatural); Miscommunication; Running Away; Death Threats; Angst with a Happy Ending; Abundant Mention of Death pertaining to an unborn child Summary: Castiel believes she is becoming more human in the way that she sleeps and eats. It’s a repercussion of falling after all. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s what she gives up to maintain her relationships with the people that she cares about. But what if she shared more than a “last night on Earth” with Dean Winchester? When Castiel learns that she is bearing the heart of another living being, the angel decides to do all in her power to protect her child.

Take Your Human Charge To Work Day (WIP) | @pointyearedelvishprincling

Rating: Mature Word Count: 11,222 Main Tags/Warnings: mutual pining, fluff and smut, case fic, top!castiel/bottom dean winchester, canon typical violence, angst with a happy ending, love confession, castiel dream walking, memory alteration, Summary: Written in third person with alternating POV of Dean & Cas. Something's changed between Dean and Castiel. Dean asks Cas to take him along wherever it is the angel goes when he's not around the Winchesters. He's curious, that's all. No feelings involved. It'll be fun. Dean's ready for Cas to take the wheel on their adventure, but turns out some feelings aren't so easy to repress when it's just the two of you. Cas needs some time alone. It's a heavy burden hearing Dean's longing like a constant prayer while Cas is trying to resist his own feelings. Now he's stuck in LA on a case that could have taken him minutes to solve, and Dean is very distracting. Why is it they can only let their guards down when faced with losing the other?

Scentless | @destielshipper4cas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11,416 Main Tags/Warnings: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Getting Together, Alpha Dean, Omega Cas Summary: Cas lost his mate and his scent a year ago when his scent gland was burned in order to brand him as a barren omega. Ever since then, he has been trying to pass as a beta, hiding his mutilated scent gland under the collar of his shirts. This works pretty well for him, until he meets alpha Dean Winchester, who turns his life upside down.

Mated (WIP) | @destielshipper4cas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 14,721 Main Tags/Warnings: Falling in Love, Strangers to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Dean in Denial about Sexuality, Alpha Cas, Alpha Dean, Bottom Cas, Top Dean Summary: Of course, if Dean had known that it was possible for an alpha to mate another alpha, he would never have let himself get carried away and bitten the hot alpha’s mating gland in the throes of passion. It wasn’t like he was into alphas, after all… Right? Having accidentally mated the most awesome alpha, he might have to rethink some things about himself as he gets to know his mate and starts falling for him.

Scented | @destielshipper4cas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 19,298 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Mpreg, Alpha Dean, Omega Cas, Top Dean, Bottom Cas Summary: Cas could not believe that a sweet and sexy alpha like Dean was interested in him—burned and barren omega, social outcast with an abusive ex-mate. To make their new relationship work, they have to figure out how to deal with Cas’ insecurities, society’s prejudices, and a surprise here and there along the way…

Tacoma | @ellis-park

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20,055 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon divergent, season 15 breakup, angst with a happy ending Summary: After an explosive fight, Castiel leaves the bunker and Dean decides to let him go. As Cas ventures halfway across the country on a journey to find himself, Dean reevaluates what he needs from life. And what he needs is Cas.

I Will Hang My Head Low | @andimeantittosting

Rating: Mature Word Count: 22,403 Main Tags/Warnings: Fairytale/Folklore AU, Sick Cas, Temporary MCD, Grief/Mourning, Boy King!Sam Summary: Dean Winchester gave up hunting when his brother became the prophesied Boy King of Hell. Now he ekes out a meager living, chopping wood for a nearby village, until one snowy night, he follows what appears to be a falling star, and encounters an injured angel. Afterwards, he tries to put the strange night from his mind. When he meets Castiel, a mysterious man with healing powers, they form an instant connection, and the more Dean learns of Castiel's powers—to heal, to protect, to purify—the more he begins to hope that Sam can be saved. But as they prepare to save Sam, Castiel grows sick, and then sicker still. Too late, Dean learns how much Castiel is willing to sacrifice for him. Inspired by the Decemberists' Crane Wife and the Japanese myth on which it is based.

The Awakening | Eggplant47 (A03)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 39,144 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe--Human, past child abuse (not explicit), past rape (not explicit), past child sexual abuse (just mentioned), Drug Use, Drunk Driving, Prostitution (past), Infidelity (not between Dean and Cas), Switching Summary: Dean Winchester had always lived on the surface of life, but a bump on the head and his young, blue-eyed brother-in-law are about to push him into the deep.

Lost Together | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 40,551 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Lucifer (Supernatural), bottom Castiel/top Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Witch Castiel (Supernatural), Familiars, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Minor Character Death, Racism, Homophobic Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, True Mates, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Explicit Sexual Content, Claiming Bites, Knotting, Mpreg, Happy Ending, Shapeshifting Summary: Castiel is a powerful Omega witch, but even his magic can’t save him and those around him from his ex, Lucien. When his familiar is brutally killed, Cas vows never to take another familiar because he can’t imagine risking another animal’s life. A wolf roaming his property has other ideas. Meanwhile, his new neighbour, an Alpha named Dean, is worming his way into his heart in a way that Cas can’t resist. Can the two souls overcome danger, broken hearts, and secrets together, or will they remain lost? Through tragedy and misunderstandings, Dean and Cas are destined to be together. But destiny’s road can be deadly.

The Driver | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 40,963 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Stunt Driver Dean Winchester, Getaway Driver Dean Winchester, Convenience Store Clerk Castiel, Waiter Castiel, Kid Fic, Single Father Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Inspired by "Drive" (2011) Summary: Dean Winchester is a mechanic and occasional movie stunt driver living in LA. Most people don't know that Dean also drives getaway cars for armed robberies. For months now, Dean has been nursing a crush on his neighbor, a single father named Castiel. When a violent turf war between Dean's boss and a rival gangster threatens to compromise the safety of Castiel and his son, Dean makes a choice that will change his life forever.

(You Don’t Have To) Say You Love Me | @darknessbound3

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 44,379 Main Tags/Warnings: Heavy Angst, Top!Cas/Bottom!Dean, Separation, Reconciliation, Pining Summary: Six months after Castiel walked out on a twelve year marriage to Dean, he decides it’s time for a divorce. Dean, on the other hand, isn’t so sure, and is willing to stop at nothing to win his husband back.

The (Un)Buried Past | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: Mature Word Count: 53,282 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Deaths, Gore and Blood, Angst, Intense Violence and use of guns, background relationships, Implied Smut Summary: After six years of living as a civilian, Dean has gotten rusty when it comes to defending himself. But, when the past comes knocking down everything in its way, Dean has to sink back into his old skin to get back what he wants. Ad what he finds out during the journey is not what he wants.

A Driver Worth His Salt | @thefandomsinhalor

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 67,844 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence, Mafia AU Vibe, BAMF Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean, Trauma Summary: The job is simple: drive the passenger a few times a week to yet-undisclosed locations and return with said passenger without fail. Be on time. Be discreet. And never interact with each other outside of work. Once twenty-year-old Dean meets the passenger in question—the sharply dressed and rough-looking Castiel Novak—he finds that abiding by those shady rules may be more complicated than he had anticipated.

All the Night Tide | @funnywings

Rating: Mature Word Count: 72,315 Main Tags/Warnings: Pirate AU, Golden Age of Piracy, Mythology and Lore, Temporary Major Character Death, Pirate!Castiel, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Kidnapped for ransom by his childhood best friend, Dean is eager to return home and escape the pirate ship that has become his prison. But when Castiel sets his sights on a dangerous new quest, Dean chooses to stay by his side, even if it means facing down Death itself.

help me get where I belong (WIP) | ravenkings (AO3)

Rating: Mature Word Count: 73,437 Main Tags/Warnings: alcoholism, substance abuse, referenced child abuse, referenced assault, extensive crafting Summary: Dean Winchester just needs to get through a quick three-month stint in rehab to appease his little brother, then he'll be back to boozing away the rest of his short, shitty life. Except he kind of likes the group therapy leaders for AA, he's getting way better at watercoloring, and the crazy-haired guy on the NA side of the ward keeps winking at him.

Missing | @kitmistry

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 93,025 Main Tags/Warnings: Slow Burn, Murder Mystery, Post-Breakup, Mutual Pining, Heavy Angst, Minor Character Death, John Winchester's A+ parenting Summary: Two years ago Dean Winchester broke his heart. Now he's at Castiel's doorstep, asking for his help, but there's nothing Dean can say that will convince Castiel to listen. Or so he thinks. Faced with the news of Sam's disappearance, he decides to put his anger aside and follows Dean to a rural town in Nebraska, where they end up tangled in the missing girl investigation Sam was looking into. With an unknown threat closing in on them and all the things left unsaid between them about to be revealed, Castiel and Dean race against time to find Sam before it's too late.

All the Reasons We Are Real | @charlies-secret-closet and @jupiticas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 96,466 Main Tags/Warnings: Slow burn, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff, Canon Adjacent, Sam Winchester Ships Destiel, Destiel Fluff, Abusive John Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Charlie Ships Destiel, Self Worth Issues, Major Angst, You Will Cry, Summary: Sam is tired of it. Tired of the staring contests and the eye-sex and the 'standing two inches apart' thing. With a little help from Rowena and Heller-Queen-Charlie, Sam becomes the matchmaker: and tries to make his ship canon. Meanwhile, Cas is hiding a painful secret about a certain deal, and Dean is hiding his deepest truth. Until one night, when their long-awaited happiness becomes their greatest sorrow. Written in the original canon universe, this fic uses many canon scenes from the series to show that Destiel doesn't need fanfiction to be real. It has always been there, it will always be there, and it is REAL.

Twenty-Nine Steps | @scones-and-texting-and-murder

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 113,621 Main Tags/Warnings: underage, rape/noncon , PTSD, past child abuse, child sexual abuse, suicidal thoughts, repressed memories Summary: At the age of forty, Dean Winchester has a strong, loving marriage, a successful business, and a young nephew he absolutely dotes upon. He and Cas are living the kind of life Dean never thought was meant for him, one where the future stretches out before them, solid and bright. When a series of small and seemingly unrelated events coalesce into a larger, horrifying realization, he’s rocked to his very core. With so much of what he thought he knew about himself ripped away, he’s trapped between confronting the trauma of his past and believing he’s worthy of the life he’s built.

Still Breathing | @casbelieves

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 124,924 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con, Drug Use, Self-Harm, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Mentions of Suicide, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Reunion, Angst, First Love, Unrequited Love, Foster Care, Smut, Switch!Cas, Switch!Dean, Angst With a Happy Ending Summary: Castiel has no reason to trust anyone. As a teenager in the foster care system, he’s experienced horrific and unspeakable acts of violence and abuse that will haunt him for the rest of his life. When he arrives in Pacifica, CA, as the newest addition to the Singer’s foster family, the last thing he expects is to develop a deep and unbreakable bond with the boy-next-door, Dean Winchester. But Dean isn’t as in control of his own life as it seems, and the two struggle to navigate homophobia, trauma, and the pressures of an impending adulthood. When they meet again as young adults, eight years after their falling out, they are given a chance to rekindle a fire that never truly went out.

Patient Love (WIP) | @chaoticdean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 152,765 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Settings, US Navy SEAL Dean Winchester, Journalist Castiel, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, War Injury, PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Angst With a Happy Ending, Switch Dean/Switch Cas Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Offering | @deans-jiggly-pudding

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 167,703 Main Tags/Warnings: Incubus!Castiel, AU - high school, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, rape/non-con elements, heavy angst with a happy ending Summary: As a pastor's son, Dean Winchester is expected to be all the things he's not: the church poster child, compliant with every plan his father has for him, and of course, straight. Fighting the confines of his father's faith and the control it has over his life, Dean is caught in the middle of a teen lock-in activity that will change his life. The boys accidentally summon an incubus named Cas, and his demands are clear. Dean discovers Cas to be everything he expected... Yet, even the darkest of creatures has secrets of his own. Can they be together, despite who they are, and despite everything designed to keep them apart?

A Ghost Story (WIP) | @valleydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 248,988 Main Tags/Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Gardener Dean Winchester, Rich Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Dean Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide, Magic, College | University Student Dean Winchester, Ghost Castiel (Supernatural), Haunted Houses, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Arranged Marriage, POV Dean Winchester, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Hunters, Animal Death, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Secret Relationship, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Soulmates Summary: Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Time Won’t Let Me | Aketch-22 (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 253,520 Main Tags/Warnings: Non Explicit Sex, Closeted Castiel, Hurt Comfort, Harry Potter Crossover, Angst and Feels Summary: Entering his 5th year of the Voldemort-controlled Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, muggle-born Dean Winchester is faced with the prospect of the Choosing - a ceremony where twelve students are picked based on blood status to participate in the Mudblood Games. In the Games, the tributes are transported to Purgatory. If you're the first to find your way to the portal out, you become part of Voldemort's world - and if you're not, you die. Will Dean, Sam, Castiel and the others be Chosen, or will they simply have to sit by and watch their friends suffer at the hands of the cruelest supernatural threat the trio have ever faced?

The Exceptional Bad Boy | @thedevil-is-in-the-details

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 329,619 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - High School, Bottom Castiel / Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester / Top Castiel, Past Rape / Non-con, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Alcohol Abuse / Alcoholism, Drugs, Suicide Attempt, Fluff and Smut, Tattoed Castiel, Depression, Anxiety, Self-harm, Stalking, Minor Character Death Summary: Again, they move to a new town and Dean is so sick of always moving around and always being the new kid at school. And he wants something better for his little brother Sam. But their father can't manage to keep a job for longer than two months. No matter where they are, there is one thing that is always the same though. Dean's reputation as bad boy. It was never a problem that there were already other bad boys because Dean was always the worst. But now, he has keen competition – Castiel Novak. Covered in tattoos, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, breaking other people's noses... Novak's reputation precedes him. But that he's still different than every bad boy Dean's ever met is pretty clear though, from the very first moment they meet.

[howdon-aldi-death-queue]

NEW SAM FENDER INTERVIEW FOR NME

THE BIG READ

Sam Fender: “This album is probably the best thing I’ve done in my life”

The hometown hero has distanced himself from the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag, but there’s no shortage of rites-of-passage yarns and colossal tunes on the upcoming ‘Seventeen Going Under’

“You can see the ghost of Thatcherism over there…” says Sam Fender, pointing across the water to a vacant shipyard, where once the shipbuilding industry was so healthy that vessels towered higher than the rows of houses on the shore. We’re on the waterfront in North Shields, just outside Newcastle, and our photographer is snapping away for Sam’s first NME cover shoot.

The singer-songwriter stares stonily into the lens as wafts of seaweed and fishing trawlers are carried by the northern coastal breeze. He’s already been stopped for a few pictures with fans, but remains eager to point out the impact that Tory leadership has had on his working-class town over the last few decades. “It’s been closed since the ’80s, from the ghost wasteland of the shipyards. You’ve got all the scars of Thatcherism from The Tyne all over to the pit villages in Durham.”

It’s as good an introduction as any to the outspoken musician, whose 2019 debut album ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ was a record for his sleepy hometown to be proud of – tackling themes that range from male suicide (the heartbreaking ‘Dead Boys’) to world tensions (and the “kids in Gaza” he eulogised on its soaring title track). He set weighty topics against blisteringly well-executed Americana with the fist-in-the-air euphoria of Bruce Springsteen’s colossal choruses and sax solos. Much like his hero, Sam smartly weaves his own political standpoint and personal circumstance into gripping anthems of a generation, which earned him the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag.

“I can’t exactly bat off those comparisons, can I?” he says back in his cosy recording studio nearby. “At the same time, I don’t feel worthy of that tag. The first time I heard it, I was like, ‘That’s fucking sick’, but you don’t want to be riding off the coattails of The Boss for the rest of your life. I can write my own songs, they’re different and my voice doesn’t sound anything like Springsteen’s. I don’t have his growl; I’m a little fairy when I sing.”

He may have toned down the Springsteen vibes slightly on his highly anticipated second album ‘Seventeen Going Under’, due later this year, but there are still plenty of chest-pounding anthems capable of making your hairs stand on end: “I much prefer Americana to the music we have in our country at the moment. I love the leftfield indie stuff like Fontaines D.C, Squid and Black Midi, but I love a chorus and melodic songs. I think the American alternative scene has that down with Pinegrove, Big Thief, The War On Drugs.”

‘Hypersonic Missiles’ thrummed with a small town frustration almost that every suburban teenager could surely relate to. This was most notable on ‘Leave Fast’, where he sang about the “boarded up windows on the promenade / The shells of old nightclubs” and “intoxicated people battling on the regular in a lazy Low Lights bar”, a reference to his beloved local. But album two sees him fully embrace North Shields, an ever-present backdrop to cherished memories and harrowing life events of his youth and surroundings.

It’s no coincidence that the 27-year-old has turned inwards and penned a record about his hometown while being stuck at home like the rest of the country: “I didn’t have anything to point at and I didn’t want to talk about the pandemic because nobody wants that – I never want to hear about it again. It was such a stagnant time that I had to go inwards and find something, because I was so uninspired by the lifetime we we’re living in.

“I’ve made my coming-of-age record and that was important for me – as I get older, these stories keep appearing; I’ve got so much to talk about. I wrote about growing up here. It’s about mental health and how things that happen as a child impact your self-esteem in later life. On the first record, I was pointing at stuff angrily, but the further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know about anything. When you hit 25, you’re like: ‘I’m fucking clueless! I know nothing about the world.’ It was a humbling experience, growing up.”

Early last year, before the pandemic hit, Sam was set to jet off to New York pre-pandemic to record in the city’s infamous Electric Lady studios founded by Jimi Hendrix. “Looking back, I’m thankful that it happened,” he says. “If I went off to New York and did my second album there… it wouldn’t have been the same record. I will go and do the third one in NYC, come hell or high water – I’m fucking out of here!

“The forced return home really informed the direction [of the record]. I was on the crest of this insane wave; we’d sold out 84,000 tickets for the [‘Hypersonic Missiles] arena tour that we still haven’t played yet. I’m still waiting to hear when it’s going to be rescheduled. It’s incredibly frustrating; I’ve got loads of frustrated fans. That was all cancelled on the day of the lockdown. I thought it was only going to be a couple of months and that it would be another swine flu thing, but fool me – I was stuck in the house like everybody else.”

It’s not the first setback that Sam has dealt with in his career. In the summer of 2019, he was ready to make his Glastonbury Festival debut with a Friday afternoon set on the legendary John Peel Stage, a rite of passage for any emerging artist, but had to pull out due to a serious health issue with his vocal chords. The mood in the room shifts dramatically at the mention of this devastating period: “I don’t want to focus on that, to be honest, because it’s just negative news and it’s in the past.”

“The further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know”

Looking back now, he says, it was a tough decision, but ultimately the right thing to do: “We were doing so much at the time and I just burnt out. If you damage your vocal cords, you can’t take it lightly. If something happens like that and you keep going, you’ll fucking lose your career forever. I never want to end up behind the knife; I just refuse to put myself in that situation.”

The fact that his 2019 breakthrough ground to a halt again in COVID-decimated 2020 “was frustrating as fuck”, he says, “but I took solace in the fact that everyone was stopped in their tracks that time; it wasn’t just me.” This was in stark contrast to the singer’s experience of pulling the biggest moment of his music career in order to rest his vocal cords: “I didn’t talk for three weeks; I had to be silent and just watch Glastonbury on the TV, going, ‘This is completely dogshit’. But you can’t even say that out loud – you’re just saying it over in your head like a psycho. I’d take a pandemic over that any day.”

There was a brief flash of light when he headlined the opening night at the world’s first socially distanced arena, Newcastle’s Virgin Money Unity venue, to an audience of 2,500. Yet Sam’s not in the mood to wax lyrical about that, either. “It was amazing,” he says, “but it didn’t happen again.” A local lockdown in the North East brought the following shows – which would have featured Kaiser Chiefs and Declan McKenna – to a premature end in September: “It was another false start. We thought everything was going to get moving again but then we were just sat around [again].”

As for this reaction to the Government’s handling of the pandemic? It perhaps says it all that he’s selling face masks emblazoned with the words ‘2020 Shit Show’ and ‘Dystopian Nightmare Festival’ on his website. “I think everyone has said enough haven’t they?” Sam suggests. “I never want to see Boris Johnson’s or Matt Hancock’s face ever again. As soon as they come on the TV, I just turn it off.”

Political tension bubbles through ‘Seventeen Going Under’. Its second half boasts tracks such as ‘Long Way Off’, a brooding but colossal festival anthem brimming with angst and unease. “Standing on the side I never was the silent type,” Fender roars, “I heard a hundred million voices / sound the same both left and right / we’re still alone we are.” It’s gripping stuff; a Gallagher-level anthem ripe for pyro and pints held aloft.

Sam says the song is about feeling stranded amid political divisiveness here and in the US, epitomised when Donald Trump supporters stormed the Capitol in Washington back in January: “You’ve either got right-wing, racist idiots or you’ve got this elitist, upper-middle-class section of the left-wing, which completely alienates people like myself and people from my hometown.”

“The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity”

Closer to home, the last UK election, in 2019, saw the so-called ‘Red Wall’ crumble as working-class voters in the north defected from Labour to Tory. “The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity,” Sam says. “I’m obviously left-wing, but you lose hope don’t you? Left-wing politics has lost its main votership; it doesn’t look after working-class people the way that it used to. Blyth Valley voted Tory just north of here. Now, that is saying something! We’re in dire straits when a fucking shipbuilding town is voting for the Tories – it’s like foxes voting for the hunter.”

He’s even seen his own working-class friends peel to the blue side: “I’m like, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I understand it, though. I’d never vote for the bastards because I fucking hate them and I know what they’re up to, but I get why people don’t feel any alliegiance to left-wing politics when they’re working-class.”

As ever though, Sam isn’t masquerading as an expert: “I’m not fucking Noam Chomsky, you know what I mean? I’m not going to dissect the whole political agenda of the Tories and figure it all out because I can’t. All I see is a big fucking shit sandwich – every day through my news feed – and it’s just, ‘Well: that’s what your dealing with.”

The singer is fond of describing North Shields as “a drinking town with a fishing problem”. Today he adds: “That’s been the backdrop of my life: all of these displaced working-class people. It’s a town that’s resilient that still has a strong sense of community. In a lot of big cities that’s dead. In London everything changes from postcode to postcode, but everything is quite uniform up here.”

When NME was awaiting Sam’s arrival outside the studio before the interview, a passerby clocked our photographer’s gear and asked, “Oh aye – are you waiting for Sam? We all know Sam – a good lad; very accommodating with nae airs or graces about him.” Another pointed to The Low Lights Tavern down the road, where Fender used to pull pints on the weekends: “He was a terrible barman, and he’ll be the first to tell you that. I think he got sacked about six times during his time there.”

Sam (who confesses of his bartending know-how: “He’s totally right!”) hit the local to celebrate when ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ won him a Critics’ Choice gong at the BRIT Awards in 2019, placing the trophy on the bar. “I owed The Low Lights one for being such a shit barman,” he says. “I wanted them to be proud of us because they fucking certainly wasn’t proud of us when I was around working there!”

“Celebrity stuff freaks me out. I’d rather just live my life”

He’s clearly a key member of the local community, then. How did he see the pandemic impact on his family and friends – especially when the North East faced the toughest Tier Four lockdown restrictions last December? Sam pauses before bluntly saying: “I lost more mates; there was suicides again. Mental health was the biggest thing. We lost friends who had drunk too much.”

A track on the new record, ‘The Dying Light‘, is an epic sequel to ‘Dead Boys’, with the poignant last line of the album ringing out “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Sam, unable to truly distance himself from The Boss after all, explains: “It’s very Springsteen. It’s my ‘Jungleland’ or ‘Thunder Road’ – it’s got that ‘Born To Run’ feel; there’s strings and brass [and] it’s fucking massive. It’s a celebration. It’s a triumph over adversity.”

He stresses that it was vital for him to be in regular contact with his friendship circle through that traumatic time: “It becomes important when you lose friends to suicide… You realise it’s always the unlikely folks. We lost a friend to suicide at the beginning of last year and it was someone you’d never expect. It really hits home; it’s important to check in on your mates.”

Sam has alluded in previous interviews to a health condition that he’s not yet ready to fully disclose, and tells NME that he spent three months shielding at the beginning of the pandemic: “I was alone for three months and that was very tough… When you’re completely alone and isolated, it’s impossible. I spent a lot of time drinking and not really looking after myself and eating shit food, but I wrote a lot of good lyrics.”

There’s a certain resulting bleakness to some of his new songs, but Sam also wanted light to shine through. “It’s a darker record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end,” he explains. “It’s upbeat but the lyrics can be quite honest. It’s the most honest thing I’ve done.”

You might expect a young hometown hero to rail at having been denied the chance to capitalise on his burgeoning fame in the last year or so, but Sam insists, “I still have imposter syndrome,” adding: “I don’t feel like it’s happened… I’m walking around the street and people ask for photos and it just feels bizarre. I’m like, really? I feel like I haven’t come out of my shell yet.”

Sam has rarely been one to court celebrity, and revealed in 2019 that he’d turned down the chance to appear in an Ariana Grande video. “It was an honour but I would have just been known as that guy in the video,” he tells NME. “All of my mates would have been flipping their heads off, but I don’t think she would really want an out-of-shape, pale Geordie. I’d rather just live my life, because all of this celebrity stuff freaks [me] out, you know?”

He might have to get used to it: things can only get bigger with the arrival of the new album. “As a record I think this one is leagues ahead [of ‘Hypersonic Missiles’],” he says, “I’m more proud of this than anything I’ve ever done. It’s probably the best thing I’ve done in my life. I just hope people love it as much as I do. With the first album, a lot of those songs were written when I was 19, so I was over half of it [by the time it was released]. Whereas this one is where I’m at now.”

“This is a dark record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end”

Still, he adds: “At the same time, this record is probably going to piss a lot of people off.” He’s referring to a line in one of the more political tracks, ‘Aye’, where he returns to his most enduring bugbear, divisiveness, and claims that “the woke kids are just dickheads”. Sam’s no less forthcoming in person: “They fucking are, though! Some 22-year-old kid from Goldsmiths University sitting on his fucking high horse arguing with some working-class person on some comments section calling them an ‘idiot’ and a ‘bigot’? Nobody engages each other in a normal discussion [online] without calling each other a ‘thick cunt’.”

He’s eager to make this statement, though, come what may: “I don’t fucking care any more. I’m not really sure how the reaction is going to be. People used to say things online about me and I used to get quite hurt about it, but now I’m like, ‘Well, they’re not coming to my house’… [But] I get so angry. In Newcastle we say ‘pet’ and someone was trying to tell me that was fucking offensive towards women. You’re not going to delete my fucking colloquial identity. It’s not even gender-specific; we say it to men and women. My Grandma calls me ‘pet’! That brand of liberalism is fucking destroying the country. We could be getting Boris Johnson and all them pricks out of office if we stopped sweating over shit like that”.

Sam might be outspoken, but he’s self-aware, too. When we were talking politics earlier, he said: “I didn’t want to start on ‘cancel culture’ because I don’t want to sound like Piers Morgan [and] I fucking hate that cunt. But there is a degree of it which lacks redemption; people fuck up. Everyone is a flawed character. If you’re not admitting that you have flaws, then you’re a fucking psychopath. The left-wing seem to be that way and the right-wing are fucking worse than they’ve ever been. Politically I have just lost my shit.”

In all of this uncertainty, though, it seems a sure thing that Sam Fender will take his rightful crown – as soon as the world lets him – with the colossal ‘Seventeen Going Under’. “It’s going to be a hell of a return,” he insists. “I know the fans are still there, you know? So I’m not really worried – I’m ready to go out there and do my thing. Finally!”

[heartxshaped-bruises]

✧･ﾟ 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐

I’ve decided to put together a tiny collection of threads / plots / dynamics I would love to write. So, if anything catches your interest don’t hesitate to hit me up for a little bit of plotting. Alternatively, you’re always welcome to tag me in a starter, but that happens once in a blue moon so until then -- thanks for reading at all :3

★ A ride or die best friend for Saffron. Both of them aimlessly strolling through the streets at night, trashing bottles, shoplifting, youth having no idea what to do with themselves and being stuck in a haunting smalltown-melancholia that tastes like cigarettes and tears.

★ Give my little ghostboy Davey puppy love. No matter if it’s one-sided or mutual. I love High School threads in general with him while he’s still alive, making friends and such. But also, I have never had a darker thread with him although I really need to write that side of him more often -- I would love if he could haunt someone else, maybe something like being the “invisible friend type”. Corrupting a peer with his negative energy and they slowly grow on each other in the process. Could also be an adult who used to know him during school or even bullied him and is coming back to their old hometown, having to deal with his ghost now.

★ I crave a thread with Benji and that child he never knew he had with one of his former girlfriends. Like, imagine the possibilities! Small kid, moody teen... could be so intersting. I have so little family tropes, this would be so nice.

★ FOUND FAMILY. Penelope would adopt any wayward kids to teach them cool hunter stuff. Benji would finally open his heart up again to care for others who need his help and who also help him in return to get better with all of his shit going on. And My angsty teens Casper and Saffron would love to get adopted, too.

★ Joe would be so down for a thread inspired by Angels Of Death // Satsuriku No Tenshi. Two muses stuck in a predicament, a bad place, making a deadly pact in order to get what they want - to keep it more vague and open to possibilities, but don’t get me wrong. Him having a deadly pact with someone else who wants to die and with him being the only one who’s allowed to take them out in return for their help would be perfect, too! Who wants to be the Rachel to his Zach ??

★ Honestly, I would die to write a thread with Emry in his earlier teen years when he’s still on the road with his dad / parents and gets attached to someone at school. I would love to explore that part of his life bc it’s such an important one that formed him into the guy he is today. I would love to have some heartbreak over him having to leave again, teenage shenanigans, him running away to come back to see his friends or a love interest bc he hates moving around and misses them so fucking much. Fun, angst, gimme all of it.

★ Felix is so competitive and needs a proper rival. Or boyfriend. Or BOTH xD

★ Anything dystopian. A thread inspired by THERE IS from Box Car Racer would be amazing. Maybe two penpals who grew super close over the years, but then catastrophe strikes. They don’t have anything left but each other and manage to find the other in all of that madness. But I love all kinds of dystopian storylines.

★ Speaking of dystopian storylines, how about two muses go batshit crazy and terrorize people during the apocalypse ?? They’re nightmares everyone is afraid of :D

★ I mean... I’m never declining a Bonnie & Clyde thread for BROTPs and couples. Or just super duper idiot criminals who are forced to work with each other and it works out surprisingly well bc they are more lucky than having actual the brains to pull it off xD

[joyful-soul-collector]

WIP Intros

Thank you for the tag @tracle0 you fantastic and completely serious goose

Rules: Share a list of the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them on writeblr

Pearl Thief (Original Work)

I have a hilarious comic sans powerpoint on that here if anyone wants to look at that, but I shall re-intro it here as well haha. SO the story follows 3 boys, Tatum, Art, and Loch. Tatum and Loch are mermaids, more commonly known in the story as Syreni, and they live in the pacific ocean where everything is pretty fucked because of the pollution. The entire world underwater has fallen into a dystopian hellscape where if you eat or breathe too much pollution you go Marianas, aka “crazy as the ocean is deep”. The only thing that can stop it is if you eat food that’s been cleaned by pearls, and pearls are hella rare so lots of people are crazy and starving and that is pretty much the worst case scenario. Art is a human who is now helping Tatum and Loch try and find a safe place, if one even exists. 

Here to Help 

Tony Stark finds his intern Peter Parker starving and exhausted in the alleyway by Stark Tower and takes him in, soon learning that things weren't as safe at home as they seemed. Now Tony has to help Peter get back on his feet, though he quickly realizes, he won't be able to help Peter on his own...

OR

In which Peter Parker pretty much unites the Avengers after Civil War simply by just existing

Untitled Wingfic 

Tony finds out his adopted teen Peter has wings, and has had wings for the past 3 months since he adopted him. It turns out Peter has been binding down his wings ever since they’d started growing out of fear of how Tony and his husband Rhodey would react when they saw he had crow wings. Now Tony and Rhodey have to help Peter heal after his wings have broken and grown incorrectly over time, and of course, teach him how to finally fly

Untitled Platonic Soulmate AU

Tony and Peter can feel eachother’s pain, follows from the time Peter is born to when they finally meet

Nat & Nathaniel

Nat hangs out with her godson Nathaniel after waking up from a nightmare

Rise of The Guardians AU

Peter Frost finally meets someone who believes in him, a lonely billionaire Tony Stark. In between doing his Guardianship duties, Peter visits Tony and they bond over time

Ghost AU

Peter is a ghost haunting the new cabin Tony’s moved in, and Tony has to figure out why he’s stuck there, and what he can do to help him move on. If he even wants to, that is. 

Youtuber!Tony AU

Tony has been showing people how to build robots on his youtube channel for years, and it turns out that Peter and his Uncle ben used to make videos following his tutorials. Tony approaches him to become a new intern at stark industries, having no clue of his connection to Spider-Man

Tagging: @baloobird @lost-lunar-wolf @superherotiger @jen27ny (Please don’t rb with responses haha, I don’t like getting all the notes as more and more people make a giant reblog chain, just tag me in your own new post)

[whumpsideblog]

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five

Tag List:  @constellationwhump, @what-a-whumpy-world, @faewhump, @inky-whump, @slaintetowhump, @sodapigeon, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @insanitywishes

This still ended up being long tbh + another new character, and a tw for some minor noncon touching

***

 They had been dragged out of the house, forced into a car, and driven back through the city.  It was almost a relief to see the city again, for once surrounded by familiarity. Among the tall buildings he could pick out the one he worked in, even this late in the evening he knew that many of his coworkers would still be there, someone would be keeping an eye on his location. He hoped they noticed he was close by. 

 They continued through the city though, tall, modern buildings and clean streets gave way to old structures, boarded up buildings and litter on the sidewalks, yet not a single person around. Wren had come this way only days before, having to cross through to the old industrial district to find the warehouse he’d been bought from. He wondered where he’d end up now, and after some time the car simply stopped, pulling up close to the sidewalk. Cain got out first before opening the door and dragging them out, clipping a leash to each of their collars. He glanced nervously between him and Zander, who didn’t seem phased at all by this. 

 Cain told the driver when to be back before yanking on their leashes, pulling them along. Despite the fact no one was around Wren had gone red faced with embarrassment at the thought of being seen in public like this. He thought this was almost too risky, too open, but Cain led them down an old subway entrance only feet away. The further down they got the darker it got, until they were walking in a pitch black hallway. Cain used the flashlight on his phone so it wasn’t completely dark ahead of them, muttering “they really should put some fucking lights down here”.

 At the end of the long hallway was something odd, really this whole area was odd so he shouldn’t have been surprised, but there was an elevator, instead of buttons beside it was a scanner with a red light blinking. Cain pulled a key card from his wallet, scanning it and the light turned green, moments later the door slid open. They were shoved into the elevator and Cain followed, hitting one of many unnumbered buttons inside. He kept looking between Cain and Zander, wishing for some sort of explanation, but neither said anything to him.

  He didn’t know what to expect when the doors finally opened again, no matter what he saw he knew he’d be surprised. The doors opened to a large underground walkway, spacious with cement walls and bright fluorescent lights, lots of people around. He realized almost all of these people were in pairs or trios, one or two people being dragged by a leash. Some of them looked scared, no doubt mirroring his own frightened expression. Some were angry, angrier than Zander typically looked, some fought and pulled and cried, and some looked happy. That probably disturbed him the most, seeing someone be led by a leash, a big smile on their face. 

 He wondered if at some point this had been a kind of underground mall, several enclaved areas where a normal shop could have once been. There still seemed to be shops, but he was seeing things like collars and leashes and cages, and more sadistic things like whips and chains, all manner of restraints too, and every now and then on the walls he’d see a sign, simply stating “Dogs Must Be Collared And Leashed At All Times”.

 This can’t be fucking real, he thought, looking around with wide eyes. It felt like some horrible nightmare, or some dystopian work of fiction, it just didn’t feel real. 

 People around seemed to recognize them, or they recognized Cain and Zander at least. Some greeted Cain happily, others glared at him, the other leashed people seemed to shy away from him, eyes trained on Zander who almost seemed bored with the situation. Wren remembered him saying he’d been here six years, he must be used to this by now. Cain didn’t wait long enough to talk to these people though, offering no more than a greeting before moving on, leading them to a room that seemed to have a lot of traffic, countless people going in and out. He was aware of a loud noise coming from a different area, the kind of noise that too many voices speaking at once made. Cain did stop to speak to a man outside of this room though, handing Zander’s leash off to him. The man asked if he was taking Wren too, but Cain shook his head, yanking on Wren’s leash to pull him closer.

 “Not this time, but soon I’m sure.” He grinned, and Wren didn’t want to think about how soon that could be. He glanced over at Zander, he realized they’d be separated and he couldn’t help but worry about him. He didn’t want him to get hurt, but he felt like that was inevitable. Zander gave him a reassuring grin, before he was pulled through the door. Cain tugged on his leash, pulling him away and towards the louder noise he’d been hearing.

 They went through one of the many entrances into what was basically an arena. It was a big space, countless seats descending in rows. Most of them had filled up already, well dressed men and women waiting for their sick entertainment, even more men and women, collared and leashed sitting at their handler’s sides. In the center of this area was a ring, surrounded by a large cage that the fighters would be locked into. Cain led him down to one of the rows closest to the ring, pushing past people and ordering Wren to take a seat, sitting between him and a blonde haired woman who looked happy to see him.

 “There you are! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up.” She laughed, digging into her purse and pulling out a wad of cash, handing it over to Cain.

 “You know exactly how to get me to do something, you know I wouldn’t pass this up.” He said, counting through the money. 

 “And this is the new one?” She asked, leaning forward to look him over. She smiled at him, and he immediately glanced to Cain.

 “Yep, his name is Wren. We’re still working on his training, he’s almost perfectly obedient except for this awful little habit he has of talking.” As he said this he yanked on his leash, pulling him closer. “He can’t fucking shut up, but he managed long enough that I didn’t have to muzzle him tonight.”

 “A shame, he’d look cute if he was muzzled.” She laughed softly, Wren suddenly felt even more unsafe. She leaned back in her seat again, attention turned back to the ring. As more people filed in he had a feeling that things were going to kick off soon. “I paid them to put him up first, hopefully you didn’t damage him too much. I want to see something good.”

 “He’s fine, you know that Zander can handle a lot. Even if he loses again, it’ll just give me a chance to show the pup here what happens when they disappoint me.”

 “Well, whether he wins or loses doesn’t matter much to me, I just like to watch him.” She laughed. 

 “If he fucks up again I might just lend him to you.” Cain said seriously. Wren really hoped that Zander didn’t lose. 

 He jumped in his seat at the sound of a voice booming through loudspeakers from the ceiling. Of course this place knew what it was doing, someone was there to commentate as if this were a normal sport. Wren had never particularly liked sports, but he wished he was watching something normal right now. This voice announced the first fighters, Zander, and someone named Leo. Wren watched with wide eyes as the two men were dragged out to the cage from lower entrances, leashes removed and the cage doors locked behind them. Due to their close seats he got a clear look at the both of them, Zander’s angry resting expression was normal, he seemed to be sizing up his opponent and planning his first moves, while the other man, Leo, seemed actually angry. He knew that Zander just looked that way, but this man seemed to have something personal against Zander. Just another thing to ask him about later. 

 The voice counted down from five, he’d barely finished saying the word “one” before Leo had attacked. Wren knew a little about professional fights, at least, he knew there was actual method to that, actual rules and things that were off limits. This however was vicious, that was the only way he could describe it. 

 “The fight ends when one stays down for at least ten seconds. Unless one is knocked out of course, then it ends immediately.” Cain explained to him, having to almost yell over the crowd shouting and cheering and goading them on. Wren nodded slowly, wincing as Zander was punched in the stomach. His own stomach still ached from Cain’s assault earlier, a dark ugly bruise spread across his abdomen.

 This wasn’t how people fought, he thought as he watched this. He knew how to fight, he’d been trained pretty thoroughly in how to fight, but again there was a method to that, where this was desperate, frantic attacks on each other, hands wrapped around throats, scratch marks wherever the other could reach, Zander was kneed in the crotch so hard he fell to his knees, Wren couldn’t help but flinch, even Cain had made a face.

  Instead of letting him collapse, or giving him a chance to get back up, he was grabbed by the hair, his head yanked up, a fist slamming into his face. Once, twice, three times, Leo only let go when Zander howled in pain, hands flying up to his face to cover his nose, doubling over as blood poured from between his fingers. Leo easily threw him to the ground, kicking him until he was on his back. That voice had stopped commentating the fight and instead began counting down, with each number Cain seemed to get only more angry. Leo was still kicking him, Zander tried to shield his face but the last blow landed against the side of his head as the voice announced “one”, the crowds cheers almost deafening. 

 Cain, however, was not happy, jumping to his feet as someone came to drag Zander out of that ring, he stumbled for a moment before finally regaining his footing, hand still covering his bloody nose. Cain looked to Wren, snapping at him over the noise.

 “Don’t fucking move and don’t fucking talk, I’ll be right back!” He stomped off, ignoring people who got annoyed with him for stepping on them or pushing them. Wren felt awful for Zander, he knew whatever Cain planned for him would be bad. Once he was gone the woman, he assumed this was Vanessa, moved over to take Cain’s seat. 

 “Hmm, poor Zander. That blow probably broke his nose.” She said, leaning close to him. He glanced at her, simply nodding in response. “Cain’s not going to let this slide, this makes four losses now, huh?” Again he nodded silently, biting his lip. She laughed softly, her hand coming to rest on his thigh. “You can talk to me, I won’t tell your warden.” He hesitated, but she seemed serious, so he allowed himself to relax despite the uncomfortable feeling of her hand on him.

 “He’s… he’s going to hurt him more…” He said slowly. “I’m worried about him…”

 “Aww, that’s sweet.” She giggled. “Zander can handle it though, he’s very tough. Of course, I do hope that Cain was serious about lending him to me. I wouldn’t hurt him, ever.” She sighed. “Cain hardly ever lets me have him though.” 

 “Do… you like Zander…?” He asked, finally turning to look at her.

 “Oh I love him! He’s just gorgeous, and he’s so angry! Fighting dogs are too much work to own but he’s so much fun to play with.” She said happily. She said she’d never hurt him, but he had a feeling she still wasn’t particularly kind to him. He realized that she would likely know a lot about all this, so he took the risk and decided to ask her.

 “Um… I know about fighting dogs, obviously… but… Cain mentioned something earlier about “show dogs” and I was just… wondering what that meant I guess…?” He was glad to be able to talk to her, distract himself from the ongoing fight as two new fighters took the place of Zander and Leo. 

 “It’s kind of like this, less violent though.” She laughed. “Handlers will get their dogs dressed up all nice and pretty to show them off, show off how well trained they are. You’d make a great show dog.” She said with a wink, he shifted uncomfortably as her hand slid higher up his thigh. “Zander is too rough for it, but I like to see him fight anyway. You’d probably die out there, and if you’re as obedient as Cain says you are then you’d have better luck just being a pretty thing.” 

 “Cain said that there’s no fun with show dogs… but he also said that I was lucky not to be one…”

 “Cain doesn’t think anything is fun unless there’s violence, bloodshed, and money involved.” She laughed. “I think you’d be luckier to be a show dog, they have to stay pretty so you wouldn’t be beaten and punished the way he likes to do. If he ever gets tired of you maybe I’ll take you, give the handler job a try.” She said. Wren wasn’t quite sure if she would be worse than Cain, but he didn’t want to find out. 

 Some time passed before Cain finally returned, and Vanessa moved back to her original seat so Cain could have his back. 

 “That fucking mutt is going to need to learn his lesson…” He muttered. She smiled, leaning on the armrest between them so they were closer. Wren’s heart stopped when she spoke, staring at her with wide eyes. 

 “You might want to talk to your pup too, the poor dumb thing just couldn’t stop talking while you were gone!” Cain immediately turned to face him, a murderous look in his eyes. He suddenly grabbed Wren by the face, nails digging into his skin as he jerked him forwards. “He even referred to you by name, you really should work on his training more.” She added, and Cain’s eyes narrowed as he snarled at him.

 “I’m going to make you wish you never opened your fucking mouth.”

[anerdyfeminist]

Health related stuff to follow, don’t read if periods/surgery stuff is hard for you. But if this is something you’re cool reading...what I’m going to say in a LOT more words is that it’s really, really fucked up how hard it is to get help with menstruation/uterus related medical care that actually WORKS and/or to be listened to or respected about those issues.

I keep thinking about how so many things have happened with my health in the past year that I haven’t even had time to mentally or emotionally process it and by the time that I could get a moment to try..............boom, pandemic. I can’t remember how much I’ve written here about it generally...BUT trying to summarize quickly, after the bad car accident that fucked up my arm and I had surgery to fix it, the MRI scans they took at the ER that night opened a god damn Pandora’s box of shit in there I needed to take care of. I went from understanding myself as a person who has one mild chronic health issue to..........someone with four.

The biggest issue that was discovered was a wide spread and a really advanced case of endometriosis. My gyno surgically removed multiple endometriomas from both of my ovaries, the largest of which was bigger than a grapefruit. After I recovered from surgery, I started taking the only medication that specifically exists to inhibit more endometrial growth and manage the pain. (And it’s a pretty new drug at that.) My doctor didn’t really fully consider that one of its biggest side effects is depression and anxiety and as someone whose mental health has only rather recently gotten in a better place, after a couple of months on this new medication, I felt like how I felt before I started taking anti anxiety meds. That was suuuuuper untenable and I couldn’t stay on it.

So I had to go back to square one on how to keep my endo at bay. But this time in the story of “how the fuck to treat this raging case of endo” we’re now into late March and in the pandemic when I get to the point where my doctor explains that pretty much the only other option for me is to try an IUD. Hearing that pretty much made me almost breakdown crying in the appointment. (I held it together long enough to get home for that.)

I’ve always loved that IUDs exist for people who want them, bc I’m obvi all about access to the birth control anyone wants and I have lots of friends who LOVE theirs and extol their virtues. But literally ever since the moment I learned about then when I was like 17 I have been super averse to the concept for myself. I had long ago filed IUDs under “NOPE” in my brain. I’m just one of those folks who is grossed out by the idea of foreign material just existing inside my body. But after going through having already had a bunch of hardware in my arm and knowing how shitty it felt trying the endo meds, I said FUCK IT and took the plunge to get an IUD.

(Side note: seeking this type of medical care in the middle of the pandemic was super creepy dystopian and like being in a fucking episode of A Handmaid’s Tale because I was usually the only person there who was not VERY visibly pregnant because only totally “medically necessary” procedures were allowed, all the masks, plastic partitions, spacing of patients, etc., etc. Just weird.)

The IUD insertion itself was a nightmare if I’m really honest and the ultrasound they did at that point disappointedly revealed ANOTHER endometrioma already growing back that my doc wants to now keep an eye on........BUT the good news is that bad insertion experience aside, so far I’m feeling pretty good about using it. It’s been almost 3 months with it and the biggest revelation by far has been that the terrible, monster periods I had FOR YEARS just didn’t need to be what they were. In such a short span of time having much much much lighter ones, I’ve already begun to wonder what I was thinking just trying to suffer through that experience for so long.

If you’ve read my stuff here over the past few years, you’ll know that my period was the most raging heavy and intense.......I mean, I have a whole fucking tag for it. I had to go out of my way to find the largest capacity menstrual cup IN THE LITERAL WORLD and I would fill it a few times a day. You’d hear me say “oh hey, FYI your periods can get much heavier the older you get” which is true, mind you, but I had no idea that what I was experiencing was really really well beyond the bounds of what is “normal” and indicative of a bigger health issue. I told my doctor (who I don’t really fault, she has a lot of good qualities) about it and she thought it was just normal aging stuff. I didn’t advocate for myself as much as I should have and she didn’t listen to me well enough as she should have and the result is that for about 5 years I had untreated and undiagnosed endo that resulted in that grapefruit sized endometrioma and all her friends.

There were other signs too...my cramps had gotten incredibly horrific. Once the endometriomas were all removed, I realized they had been doing stuff like pressing on my bladder, making it hard to pee/empty it all the way and I couldn’t lay in bed in certain ways pain free. Getting this diagnosis was scary but it all started to make sense. And it’s still making sense the more I unravel my understanding of the past several years of my life. What I was going through was not normal, but it also wasn’t being taken seriously by anyone, perhaps most of all, by myself.

So yeah, I’m still processing this news and seeking to better understand that I didn’t have to feel like that for so long. I’ve got this tendency baked into me to assume and accept that “life is suffering” (thanks, dad) and that you must grin and bear it and just survive. I think that when it comes to issues that involve menstruation or uterine issues, that this message is even LOUDER because we are shamed into not speaking about these things publicly by society more widely. Their discussion is stigmatized, belittled, glossed over, filed under “ewwwww grossssss” etc.

But obviously, that’s not how it has to be................if I am hurting or uncomfortable I am WORTH the effort of trying to figure out why and see if I can fix it. And if that issue involves my period or uterus or ovaries SO BE IT. There’s nothing inherently gross or TMI about that. They are body parts and they get conditions. That’s life.

Anyway, I really enjoyed Padma Lakshmi’s interview by Terry Gross on Fresh Air this week and it influenced me wanting to write this. She talks about her own endo story and it really resonated with me. (She also had a terrible arm injury in her past. We’re basically twins LOLOLOL.) As I said, I’m still processing ALL of this. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it is that having endometriosis sucks but knowing you have it is waaaaaaaaay better than not knowing.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Prenumbra - Part Two ⏳

Outpost!Michael x fem!Reader

Words: 3K

Summary: Cordelia Goode has just sacrificed herself to save the world. But all is not lost for Michael Langdon as he hunts down those final witches still determined to end him. But a twist comes in the form of Y/N, a witch murdered during Michael’s rampage, back from the dead.

Warning: Major Character death!! TWIST!READER, softdom!reader, swearing!, SMUT WILL BE COMING IN FUTURE PARTS! Along with other goodies too!

A/N: Here is Part two!!! We’re going to see a little more of Michael and Y/N’s burgeoning relationship, and some familiar faces are back. Things are starting to heat up as Y/N steps into the driving seat, hopefully there are no gaping plot holes, Michael isn’t oc in anyway AND I have my dead bodies in the right locations! Thank you so much for the wonderful response Part One received you are all angels (or demons) whichever you prefer. ❤️

(Credit to this wonderful gif maker, if someone knows please hit me up so I can tag them!) 

All it takes is a whisper in Timothy’s mouth before the boy is rising from the dead before Michael. He gasps, clutching at his throat. It must be a pain perhaps just on par with losing his Mrs Mead. Timothy’s stomach knitting back together via magic, the acid purifying, his throat soothing back to normalcy. The boy’s eyes are bugged as he recovers, keeling over as he dry-wretches on nothing. 

Y/N’s hand rubs his back, ‘There you go, It’s all over.’ She coos in his ear, like a mother would a frightened child. Y/N’s eyes flick up to Michael’s and then that charming little smile is back. ‘Michael, are you going to speak?’

He shoves down the wonder of seeing Vitalum Vitalis again. Little Miss Y/N who performs it as simply as taking a breath. She slinks over the bodies in the library, the ends of her dress just sweeping the floor. Y/N’s taking her time, almost marvelling at the gruesome sight.

But Michael already knows who is the lucky winner tonight. Who else has received a second chance at life. 

‘You’re…alive?’ Michael’s eyes snap back to Timothy who’s gazing up at him. The boy’s mouth hangs open and for one second Michael has no idea why. ‘Did you…was there a battle?’ 

’Yes.’ Michael admits at once, realising the boy is gawking at the state of him. The rips, the bloodstains and general, un-Michael-like behaviour. ‘And…no.’

It’s then Timothy takes in the sight around him. Michael watches the memories crash and slam into place and then the boy is staggering to his feet, wheeling round, ‘EMILY!’

Michael catches Timothy’s arm, his grip ironclad. ‘She will be woken soon.’ 

The boy’s eyes fall to the plush sofa, where his lover lies dead. Emily’s eyes bulge still, foam and spittle dripping from her mouth. The boy’s entire body trembles as he sinks to his knees, forcing Michael to let him go. ‘What the fuck?’ Timothy’s eyes rake over Emily, then the bodies of his fallen comrades, before landing on Michael. ‘The apples-‘

‘He poisoned you.’ 

Both Michael and Timothy look to Y/N. She stands behind the sofa Emily lies on, watching Timothy’s every movement. Hatred courses through Michael. How dare she? How dare she give away his entire scheme as if it means nothing at all? Y/N’s tone is as if she’d just told Timothy the time. 

Timothy’s eyes move back to Michael, ‘You told Venable to kill us all? Why!’

Michael’s leaves his gaze on Y/N as he answers, ‘It was the most viable way of getting rid of the clutter.’

‘You mean the other people?’ Timothy’s voice rises, ‘You said if we failed we stayed here, not that we’d be killed.’ His eyes flick back to the slackened jaw of Gallant, the horror still remnant in Andre’s eyes. 

‘Poor choice of words darling.’ Y/N interjects, before Michael has the chance. Timothy wheels round, as if looking for something. Y/N’s eyes snap to Michael just as he realises the anomaly. 

‘Where’s Coco? Dinah? Mal-‘ 

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Y/N cuts him off again. Her heels click as she steps round the sofa and guides Timothy’s chin from the missing bodies to her. She looms in closer, penetrating him with her stare. Michael can’t help but notice the blush creeping onto Timothy’s cheeks as Y/N’s hand ruffles gently through his hair. ‘Lucky for you and your Emily, you passed the interviews.’ 

Her tactic distracts the boy completely. He seems almost hypnotised by Y/N’s movements before him. She moves like a snake, her fingers trailing over his shoulder as she turns him back to Emily. Y/N’s eyes shine at Michael, as she too turns her back on him. Michael’s lip curls, it’s a show of trust but there’s an evident message. He wouldn’t dare strike in front of Timothy now. 

They both need him and the girl. 

‘Would you like me to bring her back?’ Y/N’s whisper carries over to Michael, despite the intent being for Timothy. 

The boy nods eagerly, ‘Please. I’ll do anything.’

‘No need.’ She smiles, ‘Like I said, you both passed. Isn’t that right, Michael?’ 

‘Yes.’ There’s no need for him to add anything. 

Y/N bends over Emily and takes her face gently between her hands. She wipes away the foam with her sleeve, a Prince ready to waken Sleeping Beauty. Timothy kneels right beside the women, his breath almost a pant from watching magic happen right before his eyes. Y/N’s lips hover a few inches above Emily’s and all Michael can think of is the acrid smell of vomit and poison that still lingers in the air. But as Y/N whispers that same incantation, her lips moving softly above Emily’s something curls in his stomach. Something heavy, fiery and then Emily’s rising up so fast she nearly knocks Y/N out. Y/N steps back immediately, catching Michael’s expression. 

Michael zeros in on her as she draws to his side and slides her hand back into his. Michael’s fingers clench hers tightly, his gaze rooted on the young lovers before them. He won’t look at Y/N, nor the smile that still touches her lips. She knows what affect it had on him. He doesn’t like being read so easily by anyone, never mind the Antichrist. 

Timothy’s dragged Emily into his arms, holding on tight. He whispers a thousand lost words in her ear as Emily tries to process. Michael knows the feeling well, the sluggishness of your mind, everything sharpening painfully into focus as your eyes start working again. His hand trails his torso, to the bullet marks that would still be there on someone normal. 

The hand that isn’t being held in his trails Michael’s arm, ‘There is something we should do before we leave here.’ Michael’s head turns to Y/N at last, trying to read her expression. She’s still smiling at him, ‘Rejoice dear, we have our lovers back with us.’ 

Emily and Timothy have risen to their feet, their arms wrapped all round each other. ‘Why us?’ Emily asks, looking between Michael and Y/N. ‘Are you two…’

‘No.’ Michael answers it, ‘Despite how it may look….’ 

Y/N’s quick to takeover for him, ‘We’ve never met before today in fact.’ She says, ‘My name is Y/N and I am Mr Langdon’s second in command.’

‘Michael.’ Timothy echoes, having noticed Y/N’s switch to formality. 

Michael narrows his eyes, ‘Langdon.’ 

Both Timothy and Emily shrink under his intense stare. Satisfaction coils within Michael, happy he can still intimidate the pair before him. Timothy’s eyes flick down, submissive but Emily remains fixed on Y/N. ‘Why didn’t you arrive with him then?’

‘There was a delay.’ Y/N reveals, releasing Michael to get some space. ‘Procedure and all.’ 

‘How can there be a delay when everyone else is dead.’  

Y/N’s head whips back to Emily. The young woman remains strong, staring down the Antichrist with a calm ferocity. Y/N takes a step and then points at Emily, ‘I like you.’  

It doesn’t deter Emily, ’So what’s next? The Sanctuary? Does it even exist?’

‘Of course it exists.’ Michael snaps, ‘Where was I before, if not there?’

Emily has answers, it’s easy to see them in her eyes but she backs down. 

‘When do we leave?’ Timothy asks, his eyes back on the dead bodies, ‘Can they…can they really not come with us?’

‘Why would we want them?’ Emily’s retort silences everyone. She leaves her lover to stare down at Gallant and Andre, ‘They’re greedy and selfish people. They’d throw us out in the radiation without hesitation if it meant getting a bigger cube.’ 

‘There’s no cubes in the Sanctuary.’ Michael promises, ‘We have provisions. The apples for instance, crops and food grown by our residents. It keeps them busy and provides a stable source of nutrition and balance.’ 

‘Real food?’ Timothy stares at Michael, ‘You mean like…pizza?’

‘I suppose it can be done.’ 

It’s enough for Emily. She picks up her skirts, ‘Give us time to change out of these stupid outfits?’ She hesitates, ‘We don’t have to wear the medieval shit do we?’

‘No.’ Michael answers, ‘Whatever dystopian nightmare Venable had you under doesn’t apply where we’re going.’

‘Thank god.’ Emily dumps her mask and steps on it as she hurries from the room, presumably back to her chambers. 

Timothy lingers. He sizes up Michael who remains passive as ever, his hands folded behind his back. A smile breaks out on Timothy’s face, ‘Venable.’ He says, ‘She’s dead isn’t she?’

For the first time in a while, Michael feels himself smiling. ‘Yes.’ 

A smirk tugs at Y/N’s mouth, ‘I take it you had fun with that one.’

‘After she tried to kill me, it was self-defence.’ Michael isn’t about to admit more with Timothy in the room. His answer is enough for the boy however, who heads out of the room following his lover. 

Y/N heads back over to Michael, when Timothy’s head pops round the door, ‘Can we at least…give them a burial or do something?’

‘Of course,’ Y/N concedes. Timothy nods and then he’s gone, footsteps echoing up the stairs. 

Michael grips Y/N’s arm, ‘The bloodbath…they’re bound to question it. We should have blindfolded them or-‘

‘I just brought them back from death.’ Y/N says, ‘Trust me, they aren’t interested in anything but getting out of here, just the same as us.’ 

‘You’re sure?’

‘If they cared, they would have tried a little harder for me to bring them back wouldn’t they?’ 

She’s right…again. Michael saw Emily’s selfishness, Timothy’s ability to commit atrocities for those he loves. Together with their potential unlocked, the two would be the Macbeths, bloody and driven to the Antichrist’s modus operandi. 

‘The perfect insurance plan.’ Y/N echoes, her hand stroking up Michael’s blazer. 

‘You think about what happens if you’re taken out?’ 

‘You did.’ Y/N murmurs, her fingers, straightening his collar. 

‘I was…instructed it would be wise.’ 

‘You got my files, perfect delivered to Kineros by your Mrs Mead.’ Y/N trills, ‘You’d believe anything she says. It was easy to use her as a mouthpiece after a while-‘

Michael drags her closer by her wrists, ’You are getting cocky.’ He hisses, ‘Watch how you speak about her.’ 

Realising her mistake, Y/N drops the act. Her fingers push some of Michael’s golden hair behind his ear, ‘You never needed her, Michael.’ She murmurs, ‘You trusted her because she gave you that which no one else ever had before.’

‘Stop it.’ Michael bares his teeth, his grip getting stronger. 

‘She loved you. Unconditionally.’ Y/N continues, ‘That doesn’t mean she was always right.’ 

‘You enjoy shredding me?’ He stares her down, Michael’s breath close enough to hit her face. ‘You want to make me crumble before you?’

With a slight push from her hand, magic flows through Michael. He stagers backwards away from her, ‘Never.’ Y/N says. ‘I never want to diminish you. I only want to boost you. Even if that means you have to hear somethings you wish you didn’t.’ 

It’s an honest answer. Better than the sycophantic Satanists. As Y/N stands there, her hair catching in the light, her chin held aloft, Michael is reminded so much of Cordelia. The Supreme who stood up against him for so long. Perhaps Y/N isn’t fully aware herself of how she emulates the Supreme, but it’s there, plain for Michael to see. 

That same unbeatable spirit. 

Y/N heads for the doorway, back towards the foyer. ‘You have a room I suppose?’ 

‘A….room?’ 

Does she wish to bed him right now, make her claim on him? The idea is thrilling and terrifying. 

‘For your rituals?’ Her tone is patronising, as Y/N lifts an eyebrow at him. She continues through the bodies and up the stairs, Michael trailing behind her. 

Michael picks up his pace, overtaking Y/N and leading the way. Neither speak till they reach a small room, just off from Baldwin’s office. ‘I found this place when I was snooping round the school.’ Michael reveals, ‘It’s a place for sacraments. It’s perfect for communing.’ 

He can feel the tinge of something dark the moment he steps inside. The room is spotless, apart from the five candles that sit around, leftover from his last prayer. Some are burnt down to stumps, a testament to how long one of Michael’s communions takes. All traces of his pentagrams have gone too, there’s no trace of blood staining the floorboards or walls. 

Y/N’s eyes rove everywhere and then to the candles. She turns to face Michael and then kneels down holding her hand out, palm upwards. ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’ 

He obeys, kneeling before her but Michael don’t take her hand. ‘What are you planning on doing?’ 

Y/N eyes slip closed. The fingers of her left hand move as if playing a scale and the candles ignite. Michael isn’t that impressed, but he can’t help but lean in. Y/N’s close enough to see how her lashes flutter gently as she works her magic. Her eyes rove back and forth beneath the lids and right when Michael is inches away, they snap open. He freezes, unable to draw back without looking like a coward, unable to move further without dire consequences. 

Y/N’s lips curl up into a smile, ‘What are you up to Michael?’ 

He feels like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. Michael leans back onto his haunches, not saying a word. He doesn’t trust his tongue not to betray him. Y/N simply holds her hand out again, this time Michael takes it. His rings wink at him in the candlelight as Y/N’s voice echoes lowly throughout the room. It sounds almost like latin, somewhat familiar but the words distort and peak high at the ends. It’s almost grating as Y/N’s eyes roll into the back of her head, so the whites of her eyes show. The candles flare, Y/N’s face turns chalk white and then they are plunged into darkness. 

‘I thank you father for your continued faith in me.’ Y/N’s voice is just a whisper, her hand still gripping Michael’s tight. ‘For showing me my path and allowing me to succeed where all other have failed. To unite at last with my Michael and combine together to carry out a new world in your image.’ 

Michael tries to wrench his hand back, but Y/N has a death grip. ‘I do not belong to you.’ 

Her eyes lift back to meet his own. He’s certain she’s debating on what to say, but Y/N drops her lips to Michael’s hand, kissing the skin there. Goosebumps erupt all over, Michael suppressing the base instinct immediately, but she’s caught him. ‘It felt good, didn’t it?’ 

’N…..no.’ 

‘Mmmmm,’ Y/N’s lips travel a little higher, placing another kiss on Michael’s wrist. She tugs him closer and before he knows better Michael has moved to accommodate her. Y/N tongue swipes over her lips, moistening them as her eyes take in his every reaction. ‘So…unsure.’ She murmurs, ‘Why not give it a try?’ 

He can’t tell her. It would ruin him.  

Y/N’s hand runs gently through Michael’s hair, bringing his face closer to hers. It’s the last moment he has to pull away, to use his own magic and fight against the anticipation and nerves that seize him. She’s got him spellbound as Y/N swallows his hesitation in a gently, searing kiss. Michael’s lips move, unsure as he remembers to breathe. He’s tingling all over, a thousand volts coursing through his skin. But it’s pleasant, no….

It’s good. 

It’s like being shot again, but this time there’s no pain but euphoria.

It feels right. 

’That was your first…wasn’t it?’ Michael nods, avoiding Y/N eyes. Her fingers dancer underneath his chin and when Michael peeks back at her, she’s smiling. ‘Thank you for waiting for me.’ 

He still can’t talk, but he doesn’t need to. Y/N rises and guides him gently, her hand sliding to lead him by the arm. She leads the way back to the foyer where Timothy and Emily stand at the top of the stairs. They are holding hands, suitcases resting at their feet. Packed full of bounty from their dead friends, no doubt. 

‘What happens from here?’ Emily asks. 

‘We take the carriage.’ Y/N announces, much to Michael’s surprise.

‘We are?’

‘You brought it all the way here on your own.’ Y/N descends the stairs, picking her way through the bodies of Madison Montgomery and Dinah Stevens. ‘Why not fill it with people this time?’ 

She catches sight of Timothy eying the bodies. He looks a little green, ‘The blonde.’ He says, ‘She wasn’t in the Outpost with us.’ His eyes rove from Madison to Miriam Mead’s decapitated head. There is no warning as Timothy leans over the side of the railing and vomits. Emily runs to his side as Michael draws as far away as possible, the stench rising in the air. 

Y/N frowns, ‘Perhaps it would have been best to blindfold you both.’ 

Emily drags Timothy down the stairs and past the bodies. 

‘Put on the hazmat suits.’ Michael instructs, ‘They will protect you till you reach the carriage. You can take the helmets off when safely inside after one hour.’ 

Timothy manages a thumbs up as the young lovers walk. Y/N sets off again, but pauses when Michael doesn’t follow. His gaze is locked down on the head of Miriam Mead, his mentor, his supporter. 

‘Leave her.’ Y/N’s voice is hard, ‘Let her rest here and move on, Michael.’ 

‘You don’t get to decide that.’ His voice is harsh, childish and echoes from the force behind it. But the second the words leave his mouth, Cordelia’s voice is back.

Led, coddled, a scared little boy. 

‘She isn’t the only one.’ Y/N’s reading his thoughts, but Michael can’t bring himself to care. ‘Show Cordelia that you are stronger than she thinks. Prove her wrong.’ Her fingers creep round to rest on his shoulder, ‘You aren’t facing this fight alone anymore.’ 

‘And be led by you instead?’ Michael turns his head so he can look at her. 

Y/N’s fingers caress his cheek, ‘I won’t lead you.’ She vows, ‘But I will love you.’ 

Tagging babes, faves and tag-list: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme@wickedlangdon @lovelykhaleesiii @normalpeoplescareme@duncvn @sojournmichael @langdonsdemon @petersfern-fics@katiekitty261 @langdonsoceaneyes @avesatanaslangdon@langdonsfallen @wroteclassicaly @langdvn @langdonsrapture@ritualmichael @thelangdoncooperative @icylangdon @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @sodanova @confettucini @alexcornerblogthethird@sammythankyou @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @alexcornerblog@queencocoakimmie @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @cryptid-coalition @americanhorrorstudies @asstichrist @luxuryglitterhoe@starwlkers @satcnas @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @lostin-fern@xxpixiefromdixiexx  @jimmlangdon @langdonsinferno @michael-langdonss @micheallangdons @langdonsrapture @i-will-die-for-jim-mason@yourkingcodyfern @ladynuwanda @master-langdon @are-you-lilith-or-eve @ghostiesbedroom @thecrownedbeast @hanhanxx @ladynuwanda @master-langdon @hecohansen31 @are-you-lilith-or-eve

[dragonfics]

Faithful - Chapter 2

Chapter Title: Feels like true LOVE

Summary: Rus is less than familial towards his brother's new Soulmate, and he breaches a sensitive topic with Edge. Also, there are sexy times.

Ships: Spicyhoney, Swap Sansby

Tags: (Dystopian) Soulmate AU, Discrimination, Sex work, Fell/Tale-verse dynamics, Work Inappropriate, LV issues, Illegal relationship/Forbidden love

Chapter Warnings: Unhappy romantic relationship, discrimination against Fell-verse monsters, physical harassment on public transport (non-sexual), brief discussion of LV issues.

_______________________________________________

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

“food’s good, bro,” Rus said through a mouthful of lasagne. Blue beamed at him.

“Thank you, Pap. Grillby helped me with it.” He glanced at the flame elemental at his side, glowing the same pale shade of pink he was. “Where did you say the recipe was from again, sweetheart?” Rus swallowed his food, trying very hard not to gag.

“MTT’s pasta menu,” Grillby said proudly. “Of course, I don’t work in the kitchens myself, but as his head barista, he allows me access to any part of the hotel I wish.” He straightened the lapels of his periwinkle suit jacket. Blue hummed and nodded, but his jaw was tight.

Rus forced a smile. “wow. that’s incredible, grillbz.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he used the excuse to ignore Blue’s warning look.

“Rus, no phones at the dinner table,” Blue chastised softly.

Rus lifted a brow bone at his brother and glanced at the text. “it’s work,” he said. “and since when do you care about phones at the dinner table?”

Blue shifted in his seat. His bright eye-lights flickered to Grillby. “It’s impolite. And it’s Saturday. You’re not meant to work tonight.”

“i’m on call,” Rus said, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “they want me in at nine.”

Blue eyed the clock on the kitchen wall. “Well. That is a shame. I was hoping you’d be able to stay for dessert—Grillby and I were going to watch a movie.”

Rus gave his brother a wide smile, tilting his head. “don’t worry. i’m sure you and grillby will have fun!” Blue’s expression hardened.

“Where was it you worked again, Rus?” Grillby asked. “A LOVE crisis centre?”

Rus bit his tongue to hold back a snort. “uh. yeah. something like that.” Blue was giving him daggers. Rus glanced at his plate and took a quick bite of pasta.

“I’m honestly not sure how you do it,” Grillby said, sniffing primly. “I don’t enjoy working with those crea—those monsters. Fell monsters, I mean.” Rus stared at him, and he cleared his throat. “The ones with LV, in any case.” Blue looked uncomfortable. The pink glow around him waned. He eyed Rus, giving a small shake of his head.

Rus clenched his teeth, swallowing back a tirade of retorts. One still slipped through. “hm. wonder how they feel about working with you.”

Blue stood abruptly. “Rus, why don’t you help me with the dishes?”

Rus glanced at his brother—then at Grillby, who was frowning. “i’m still eating, bro.”

“No,” Blue said tightly, gathering everyone’s plates. “No, you’re done. Come help me clean up. Please?” He gave Grillby a quick smile. “Love, why don’t you go pick a movie for us? We won’t be a moment.” Grillby looked between them, hesitating. But after receiving a faint look of pleading from Blue, he nodded and left the room. The glow around Blue faded as the door closed. He gave Rus a crisp look before crossing the room and turning on the sink.

Rus stood up slowly. He cleared away the placemats and wiped down the table, then grabbed a dish towel and began to dry the plates as Blue washed them. Neither of them spoke a word. Rus could feel the tension rolling off Blue. Fates, he hated this. “look, blue—”

“I wish you’d just give him a chance, Pap.”

Rus sighed. “i don’t understand why. you don’t have to keep him around. i know you’re not into him.”

“He’s my Soulmate.” Blue’s shoulders were tense. He’d stopped scrubbing the plate in his hand, and was staring firmly at the soapy water.

“so? blue, the guy’s a nightmare.”

“He’s. My Soulmate,” Blue repeated through gritted teeth.

“that doesn’t mean anything!” Rus said, exasperated. “you clearly don’t like him, and you don’t have to like him. you don’t—”

“He’s my Soulmate, Rus!” Blue dropped the plate in the water with a clank. Rus swallowed and fell silent. Blue looked up at him, his eye-lights swimming. “I’ll be spending the rest of my life with him. I don’t have…” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re just going to have to get used to him. Because he’s not leaving.” His chin was quivering.

Rus dropped his gaze, shaking his head. “blue, i don’t…”

“Why don’t you come sit with us?” Blue said. He inhaled, wiping his hands down on his shirt. “We can worry about these dishes later, okay?” He eyed the sink regretfully. “I think we both just… need a little time. Don’t you agree?”

“... i have to go to work,” Rus said quietly.

A pinched look crossed Blue’s face. “Right. Of course. Client?” Rus nodded, swallowing. Blue schooled his features just a moment too late to hide his distaste. “Very well. Thank you for coming over. Be sure to say goodbye to Grillby on your way out.”

Rus’s soul twisted, but he nodded stiffly and left the kitchen. Grillby glanced up from the sofa as Rus crossed the living room. “Heading off already?” he asked.

“yeah. work.”

Grillby sat up, nodding politely. “Ah. Well, do take care of yourself, Rus. And be sure to stop by at the cafe. You know you’re always welcome.”

Rus swallowed, smiling through clenched teeth. “thanks.”

He teleported home, a pit in his chest. Kitty greeted with a loud mew, and he managed a smile. “hey, cat. how’d you get in?” He was sure he’d closed all the windows before leaving. He sighed when she scampered toward the kitchen. “you’re going to have to start paying rent soon,” he called, following her. After filling a bowl with leftovers for her, he took a shower. Kitty followed him into his bedroom once he was done, rubbing herself against his wet bones. “ugh.” He gave her a stern look when her black fur clung to his legs. “asshole.” She purred.

He gave his room a despairing look. Bed unmade, clothes strewn across the floor and dresser, empty coffee mugs and dirty plates… Fates, he did not have the energy for this. He doubted he’d be able to convince Blue to help him with house cleaning again. Wasn’t really in the mood to ask, anyway.

Kitty strolled in and settled herself on top of his steadily growing pile of laundry. He sighed and stroked her behind the ears. After tying his silk bandana around his arm, he dug through his dresser, in search of clean clothes. He found his only (passably) clean shirt and pulled on a pair of jeans, hoping they smelled alright. He added a little extra cologne for safety.

After getting tagged at the facility, he got onto the train. For a Saturday night, it was quiet. There was still a typical dim pink glow in the air, and a few monsters were comparing soul marks further down the carriage. He ignored them and put his earphones in, sitting down. Leaning his head against the window, he shut his sockets.

Blue’s words rang through his skull like an alarm. He’s my Soulmate. I’ll be spending the rest of my life with him. Grillby wasn’t a bad guy. Not really. Sure, he was a pain in the ass—and pretty prejudiced—but he wasn’t a complete dick. Most of the time. And yet…

He’s my Soulmate.

Rus flexed his jaw, trying to push back those thoughts. It wasn’t his business who his brother chose to love. Or not love. But it wasn’t like he’d actually chosen this. This was something that had been thrust upon him. By the Fates. Or whatever fucked up entity decided when two monsters’ marks glowed.

Distracting himself from his brother’s love life, Rus reached for his phone and studied the profile of tonight’s client. He blinked, surprised by the familiar name. Edge. 13 LV. In the evening’s rush, he hadn’t recognised the address. Well. He had a lot of clients. And it had been a good few weeks since he’d serviced Edge.

He swallowed. 13 LV. It still made his mind swim, honestly. A small part of him wondered if Edge had requested him specifically. It wouldn’t be the first time. He had a few regulars.

A tap on his arm made him flinch. He pulled out an earbud, glancing up irritably. “yeah?”

It was one of the monsters he’d seen comparing marks further down the carriage. She was holding her arm out, displaying an oval-shaped soul mark through thick, matted grey fur. She gave Rus an expectant look. “Well?”

Rus grit his teeth, forcing a polite smile. “no. sorry.”

The monster looked irked. “You have to show me,” she said shortly. “Otherwise we won’t know if we’re Soulmates.”

“big tragedy,” Rus said, lifting his earbud back up. “i’m sure we’ll both move on.” He picked up his phone again, but the monster grabbed his wrist, pushing up his sleeve. “hey! don’t—” Rus tried to pull away, but her grip was like steel. His chest lurched as she tugged away the piece of silk around his wrist. His soul hammered as she stared expectantly at the mark on his wrist. When neither of their marks glowed, she sighed and released his wrist, moving on towards the next passenger.

Rus felt sick. He stared at the carriage floor, struggling to breathe. Hastily, he picked the bandana off the floor and wrapped it back around his ulna. He shoved his sleeve down and pulled his arm to his chest. He could feel the eyes of the other passengers on him. Something was tightening around his chest.

The train slowed down and he glanced up. This was his stop. He jumped up and grabbed his phone, hurrying off the train. The platform was quiet. Not much point hopping off in the middle of nowhere. Not unless you were on your way to a 13 LV client. Rus walked swiftly, still clutching his wrist to his chest. Someone bumped into his shoulder and he flinched, rushing on without apologising.

By the time he reached the sealed gates of Edge’s house, he was shaking. He pressed the buzzer tentatively. “Hello?” Somehow, the familiarity of Edge’s voice was relieving.

“it’s rus.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Rus exhaled. The night was clear, and the moon hung full in the sky, casting light across Edge’s front garden. Neat flowerbeds and pruned hedges. Huh. Rus hadn’t noticed those last time. Edge hadn’t struck Rus as a gardening guy.

Edge emerged at the front door. Again, he’d opted for smart attire. Slacks and a cardigan. Rus briefly entertained the idea of seeing him in cargo pants and a t-shirt, sporting a pair of gardening shears… nope. That didn’t work. Maybe he hired someone to do the garden.

He opened the gate and led Rus inside. The tidiness of his living room reminded Rus (shamefully) of the state of his own apartment. He glanced up at Edge, smiling weakly. “h-how are you?” Damn it. He could still feel himself trembling.

Edge was onto him at once. “Are you okay?”

“of course!” Oh no, that wasn’t what okay people sounded like. Rus’s breathing was uneven. The mark on his wrist felt like it was burning.

He’s my Soulmate!

You have to show me. Otherwise we won’t know if we’re Soulmates.

He chewed his tongue, swallowing tears. “yeah. don’t worry about me, i’m fine.” Fates. Did Edge have to stare at him like that? He felt like his soul was being studied under a microscope.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Edge said, guiding Rus toward the sofa.

“s-sure,” Rus said tremulously, nodding. Edge placed a guiding hand on his shoulder as he sat, watching him.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said.

Rus shook his head. “no, no, don’t worry about it, i’m… okay.” Edge ignored him, disappearing around the corner then returning promptly with a glass in hand. Rus thanked him sheepishly and drank it. Edge sat beside him in silence. He didn’t question Rus, or his current emotional state, or his lateness… he just sat.

“Next time, call me when you get off the train. I’ll meet you at the station.”

Rus looked up, blinking. “no, don’t do that—you don’t have to…”

“Rus. Call me.”

Rus inhaled, squeezing his sockets closed. “i—i’m sorry,” he whispered. “this is very unprofessional of me. you don’t have to… the company will compensate you for your trouble. a-and you can… request someone else—” Rus’s breath stuttered when Edge placed a hand over his own. His eyes were steady, though the crimson was still eerie.

“I require no compensation. And I would like for you to remain my escort for the night.” He frowned then, hesitating. “But the last thing I want to do is force you into a situation you’re not comfortable with.”

“no!” Edge lifted a brow bone and Rus quickly gathered his composure. “i mean—no, i’m okay, really. thank you for… putting up with me.”

“I wouldn’t have requested you specifically if I wasn’t willing to put up with you.”

“glad i made a good impression,” Rus said, smirking.

“You did,” Edge said slowly. “I very much enjoyed your services.” Rus grinned. “But I am more than happy to reschedule. I don’t want you to think I expect anything of you if you’re not—”

“i’m more than up to it, edgelord,” Rus said. Edge lifted a brow bone as Rus finished the rest of his water and placed the glass on the coffee table. He took a deep breath, then leaned in and caught Edge’s mouth with his own. Edge inhaled sharply, but then slowly, relaxed into the kiss. When Rus pulled away, his cheekbones were burning red.

“That’s—” He exhaled. “Rus. Please don’t do anything because you feel you owe me a duty. This won’t impact my evaluation of your performance in the least. I don’t want you to—”

“edge.” Rus smiled. “thank you. i appreciate the concern. but i’m good. i really am.”

Edge nodded, breathing out. “Good. I’m glad.”

“and you? how have you been? magically, i mean.” Rus curled his fingers around Edge’s hand, refocusing his magic, soothing.

“Better. Better than last time, in any case. But I would still like to…” Edge cleared his throat and Rus grinned.

“finish that sentence.”

Edge gave him a dull look. Rolling his eyes, he leaned in, pressing his mouth against Rus’s jaw. “I’d still very much like your permission to fuck you.”

Rus felt his whole body quiver. He nodded steadily, swallowing. “you have it.”

“Thank you,” Edge whispered, and magic pulsed through Rus. Edge’s teeth scraped over his jaw and down his neck, and he sighed, tipping his head back to present his vertebrae. A warm hum rumbled through Edge and he wrapped an arm around Rus’s back, pulling him in. Rus let his eyes fall closed as Edge’s tongue slid across his neck. He cupped the back of Edge’s skull, exhaling.

While Edge made work of his neck, nipping and licking and tasting, Rus let his hands wander over Edge’s body. He felt firm, his bones thick and sturdy. Rus stroked the tip of Edge’s iliac crest, then crept lower, cupping his pelvis through his pants. Edge grunted against him. “Bedroom,” he breathed, heavily.

Rus smiled against his mouth. “not right here?”

“The couch is reserved for tea drinking and oral sex,” Edge said, lifting Rus easily into his arms.

Rus laughed in surprise and clung to him as he carried him across the room. “that sounds like a promise to me.”

Edge nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and lowered Rus onto the bed, leaning over him and kissing him deeply. “Perhaps. I brew an excellent chai.” He knelt between Rus’s legs and lifted him into his arms, kissing him harder. Rus clung to his back and let Edge dominate him, breathing raggedly against his mouth.

“looking forward to it,” he said, laughing breathlessly as Edge ground into him. He could only hold on while Edge rocked against him, pushing him into the mattress and kissing every bone in his neck, shoulders, and jaw. “so.” Rus swallowed while Edge undressed him, carefully undoing the buttons of his shirt then studying his chest and ribs with his fingers and mouth. “may i ask why you requested me again?”

Edge paused, his tongue washing over Rus’s clavicle. “You seem like an intuitive monster, Rus. You figure it out.” He nipped at his neck and reached for his jeans, unzipping them. “Form a cock for me, sweetheart,” he said, smoothing his fingers over Rus’s pubic symphysis.

Rus let his magic congeal at his pelvis, slowly taking shape. “o-oh…” His breath caught as Edge ran his tongue over his pubic symphysis and up his shaft. He ran a finger over the head, and Rus held a whine in his throat. He was seldom asked to use his cock, which made it particularly sensitive on the occasions he did. He watched with magic in his mouth as Edge dipped his head and ran his tongue over the tip. “o-oh—don’t!” Rus cried, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Edge stopped immediately and withdrew. “Don’t?”

Rus bit his tongue. “i... i’m going to come if you do that.”

“That doesn’t strike me as a problem.”

“but—?” Rus considered Edge, frowning. “don’t you want me to…?” He gestured vaguely at Edge’s pelvis. Edge lifted a brow bone. “f-fuck you?” Rus elaborated, blushing.

“Oh, I’d much rather ride you,” Edge said, dragging his fingers down Rus’s lower spine.

Rus inhaled shakily. “b-but…”

“Are you uncomfortable with that?” Edge asked, studying him.

“oh—fuck no.”

“Good.” Edge leaned down and kissed him. He swiped his tongue into Rus’s mouth, gentle. Rus heard the sound of Edge’s belt buckle unclipping, then felt the soft warmth of his magic against his cock. He gasped into Edge’s mouth as Edge began to grind down on him.

“How does that feel?” Edge murmured, mouth on Rus’s jaw. Rus’s soft moan of response drew a quiet noise of satisfaction from Edge. He caught Rus’s hand and guided it to his cunt. “I want you to touch me,” he breathed, a growl slipping into his voice. Rus felt a familiar crackle of LOVE. It only lasted a second, but it was enough to give away the desperation in Edge.

He stroked Edge’s clit slowly, pressing a finger just inside his entrance, making it wet. He dragged it across his clit, and Edge’s breaths became harsh. He ground down onto Rus’s fingers and gripped his wrist, holding him still. Their gazes met, and Rus felt magic flooding his mouth. Edge’s face was flushed and he was panting. “Come on, Rus,” he said, voice gravelly. “Harder than that.”

Rus pressed his finger deep inside Edge, and he groaned. He added a second finger and Edge sank down, forcing Rus to push deeper. “Fuck, I want you inside me,” Edge gasped, slowly riding Rus’s fingers.

Rus hummed, breathing heavily. “you’re the boss. make it happen.”

Edge met Rus’s eye with a fierceness that made his cock twitch. He sat up and Rus’s fingers slipped out of him. He leaned forward and Rus whimpered softly when the head of his cock pressed between Edge’s folds. Edge cupped his face, sinking slowly. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Rus’s breath hitched and he bit back a moan. “You feel so fucking good. Fates, you don’t even know how much I need you right now.”

“hah…” Rus swallowed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. “oh fuck…” Tight warmth closed around his cock and he gasped, clutching onto Edge’s hips. “oh that feels really fucking nice, edgelord.”

Edge hummed, his voice husky, and began to ride Rus gently. Rus reached for his face and Edge caught his wrist, pinning it to the bed, pushing him down. He caught Rus around the neck and pressed down—enough to make Rus’s breath catch, but not hard enough to be painful. “Fuck I just need to feel you. Let me feel you.”

Rus breathed heavily, channelling magic into his projections. He was entirely at Edge’s mercy. At the mercy of a monster with thirteen LOVE. Yet he felt completely at ease.

As the push of his projections grew, he felt Edge relax on top of him, sinking lower and taking him deeper. Rus tipped his head back, whining, and Edge growled, riding him harder. “More, Rus. Fuck. I need more.” He bounced himself on Rus’s cock, their magic slapping together wetly.

“ah! fuck, edge, fuck.” Rus was breathless, his mind lost in a haze of pleasure. He could feel magic rushing through him—a mingle of arousal and soothing.

“Oh, that’s it. That’s it, Rus. Come inside me, sweetheart. There you go. You’re such a good boy.”

In a rush, Rus’s climax was washing over him. Edge held him down, riding him through it. He rubbed a finger over his clit, and Rus felt his walls convulsing around his softening cock. “Thank you,” Edge breathed, kissing Rus’s neck. “That felt good. So fucking good.”

Rus lay beneath him, his breaths coming in short gasps. Slowly, Edge climbed off him and lay down next to him. “Hey.” He stroked Rus’s arm, his touch careful. “How are you feeling? Was that too much?”

“fuck no,” Rus said. “i just—gah.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his skull. “you’re damn good at that.”

Edge hummed. “So it would seem.”

Rus glanced at him. “and you? was that up to your standards?”

Edge looked away with a soft huff of laughter. “You don’t even know.”

Rus bit his tongue, trying not to smile. “that’s. that’s good to hear.”

“I may need to go again. In a few minutes.”

Rus looked at him, grinning. “oh?”

“It takes a lot to satisfy me.”

“i do aim to satisfy.” Rus closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, letting his body soften. Magic trickled through him. He wasn’t quite spent, but his reserves were waning.

Beside him, Edge let out a low sigh. “Fates, you’re good at that.”

Rus glanced at him, amused. “sex? i know. it’s my job.”

Edge shook his head. “Not that—well, yes that. But I meant the… magic. The aura. You know?” He sighed and leaned back. “Thank you, Tale-verse.”

Rus snorted. “tale-verse? we’re already giving each other pet names?”

Edge looked at him firmly. “No.”

Rus pressed his teeth together to hold back his laughter, glancing away. Their soft, steady breaths filled the room. Something itched at the back of Rus’s mind. Swallowing, he glanced at Edge, studying him.

His sockets were closed. Even in this, a moment of silent peace, he looked harsh. Thin scar striking through his right socket, sharp features, serrated teeth, thick bones, rough scars—

“Something on your mind?” Edge asked without opening his eyes.

“i…” Rus looked away. “do you mind if i ask you something… a little personal?” he said quietly.

Edge turned to regard him. “That depends on the nature of the question.”

“it’s about… your lv.”

Edge’s expression hardened, growing defensive. “What about it?”

“you just don’t—you’re very in control. it’s impressive.” Rus swallowed, regretful. “i’m sorry, sensitive subject. i shouldn’t have…” He fell silent.

Edge had gone stiff beside him, and guilt gnawed at Rus’s chest. The wind outside and the sound of a lone passing car were all that stirred the silence. “It’s getting late,” Edge said, his voice low. He climbed off the bed, tugging his pants back up. “I’ll walk you to the train station.”

“right.” Rus couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. “edge, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Edge said shortly. Rus nodded, looking down.

The walk to the station was uncomfortable. Edge didn’t speak, and Rus couldn’t quite find the right words to break the tension of the silence. At the gates, Edge stopped. “Thank you for this evening,” he said politely.

Rus nodded, looking at his shoes. “yeah, it’s not a problem.”

“Take care of yourself,” Edge said, turning around.

“bye,” Rus said, too quiet for him to hear.

It was well after midnight when Rus arrived home, a tired ache in his bones. Too weary to shower, he climbed into bed, still dressed. He shifted Kitty aside, and she mewed in surprise, looking up at him sleepily. “budge over, this is my bed,” he murmured. She rubbed her head against him and purred. Sighing, he conceded to occupy a fifth of the corner of the bed. The rest belonged to her, apparently.

Even as sleep slowly wore him down, a prickle of shame scratched at Rus’s insides. Shame for bringing up Edge’s LV. Edge had been so good to him this evening. Patient and considerate. And Rus had been… tactless. Well. His time with Edge had been nice while it had lasted.

Or, so he thought. The next morning, he received a text from his handler. Edge had put in a request to be taken on as one of his regular clients.

[splendidlyimperfect]

sin & sorcery chapter 13

Natsu and Gray find themselves flung through a portal into a world they don't recognize - a magic-less, dystopian version of Earthland called Edolas. With their magic gone and a dire need to get home, they find themselves in an alliance with some (un)familar faces. As they work with the rebellion of underground mages to take down Faust and the city of Imperium, they realize that if they do get home, they might not return quite the same.

sin & sorcery - chapter 13

Chapter Summary: Earthland-Natsu and Gray help the Resistance try to rebuild, and make a surprising discovery. Edolas-Gray makes a difficult decision.

Rating: Explicit Pairings: Natsu/Gray, Edolas Natsu/Edolas Gray, Edolas Gray/Edolas Sting/Edolas Rogue Tags: AU-Cyberpunk, Dystopia, Edolas Arc, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, PTSD, Drug Use, Prostitution, Magic Tech Warnings: Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, PTSD, Drug Addiction Read on Ao3

The thin sun rose over the courtyard of Acropolis, doing little to disperse the chilly fog that clung to the pieces of concrete that still littered the area. Natsu yawned and huddled closer to Gray, who was gripping his coffee cup tightly between his hands. The steam curled up through Gray’s hair and over his head, dissipating in the early morning air. A chill crept under Natsu’s jacket and he shivered.

“Don’t chew your nails.” Gray reached out and grabbed Natsu’s hand, pulling it away from his mouth. Natsu huffed and Gray looked over at him. “You okay?”

“Mn,” Natsu replied. The last week had been hectic, and being in the courtyard only reminded him of burning all those bodies, and the way the scent of scorched flesh had clung to him long after he’d scrubbed his skin raw in the shower. Gajeel was now leading a team to clear the rubble and reshape the courtyard, but it was all still a mess and a reminder of everything they’d failed to do.

“C’mere.” Gray wrapped an arm around Natsu and rested their heads together, then kissed Natsu’s temple. With everything that had been going on in the past two weeks, they only time they’d had to themselves were their few hours of restless sleep at night, curled up on the hard mattress in the officer’s quarters and holding each other through their nightmares.

“You ready to head out?” Natsu lifted his head when Laxus stepped in front of them, holding out two fist-sized white patches. A flaming phoenix was emblazoned on the center of each of them – their new symbol of governance. Of hope.

“They look good.” Gray took one of the badges and ran his fingers over the emblem. Freed had designed it after the Resistance leaders had come up with the symbol, and it now permanently adorned the breast of the white jacket Sting wore. “Hopefully people won’t try to kill us on sight.”

“That’s what the secret knives are for,” Laxus said conspiratorially, raising an eyebrow before moving on to the next group.

Natsu fixed the badge to the breast of his jacket, frowning at Laxus’ retreating back. “Was he… do we have secret knives?” he asked. Gray shrugged.

“He probably does,” Gray said, gesturing at Rogue, who was making his way toward them. “Secret knives,” Gray clarified when Rogue looked puzzled. “I’m assuming you-“

“Sixteen.” Rogue’s face was impossible to read, and Natsu didn’t know if he should laugh or be terrified. “That way you can protect yourself no matter what position you’re in.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Rogue’s lip, but his gaze dropped to the spot just over Natsu’s left shoulder. Natsu hesitated, thinking of Rogue in Undertown – Rogue, who probably had kept sixteen knives on him, and who had used them to stab dozens of men, who had either raped or tried to rape him. And there were hundreds more than he hadn’t stabbed, but likely wished he had.

“You okay?” Gray asked gently, and Rogue shook his head, blinking away memories.

“Y-yes.” He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, it’s…” Rogue tipped his head back, looking up at the sky. The sky was still dim, with gray clouds scudding across the dark water beyond the port. “Still getting used to this,” he said, smiling. “Seeing the sky, sleeping somewhere safe. Not…” He trailed his fingers over a nearly-faded bruise on his wrist.

“We’re, uh… headed to Sycca,” Natsu said, glancing at the datapad that Freed had given him earlier. He made a face at the idea of riding on the maglev. “You staying here with Sting?”

Rogue glanced over at Sting, who was on the steps to the Acropolis, deep in conversation with Erza. Sting looked good, Natsu thought. He barely resembled the hard-faced man Natsu had met months ago in the Resistance hideout – he looked like a leader, here.

“You two off?” Edo-Natsu appeared, bumping Rogue’s shoulder and giving him an uncertain smile. Natsu hadn’t missed the awkward tension between them over the past week, and had tried to stay out of it. Rogue gave Edo-Natsu a gentle smile, squeezing his arm and then heading over toward Sting.

“How’s Gray?” Natsu asked, taking in Edo-Natsu’s haggard appearance. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week – he probably hadn’t.

“Not… great,” Edo-Natsu admitted, running a hand over his face. He sighed at both the boy’s concerned expressions. “He’s okay. Still throwing up everything he eats, in a lot of pain, fever’s up and down. He’s coming out of it, though, he knows where he is now. That… Sin…”

“There was a lot of awful shit down there,” Gray sad sadly, eyes flicking over to Rogue’s retreating figure. “Nobody here knows anything about the withdrawal?”

“Nothing helpful,” Natsu said, shaking his head. “There’s none of the drug left here, so we couldn’t take him off it gradually. And nobody’s going back to Undertown anytime soon. The Zeurocol stims helped a bit with the pain – if you find any more that might help.” Natsu nodded and tapped the name into the datapad.

“We’ll see what we can find,” Gray said, reaching out and grasping Edo-Natsu’s arm. “We’ll come find you when we get back.”

“Thanks.” Edo-Natsu smiled, genuine beneath the exhaustion and worry. “Well… good luck, I guess.” He squeezed Gray’s forearm affectionately, then nodded toward the gates that led out toward the maglev station. “Go make us proud.”

  Natsu spent the entire train ride trying his best not to be sick.

The maglev rails ran across the water, spanning the distance between Imperium and Sycca. The trains moved faster than any vehicle Natsu had been on before, and the world outside the windows blurred past as he rested his head on Gray’s lap, grateful for the sensation of cool fingers on the back of his neck.

When they finally arrived in Sycca and stepped off the train, they both froze in shock. “Holy shit,” Gray whispered.

The riots had destroyed the city. Entire city blocks were burnt down, rickety black skeletons of twisted metal the only things left that were once apartment blocks and shops. Several tents were set up outside the maglev station, providing emergency prepacks and wear to the citizens, who were lined up in snaking rows that wove between the city blocks.

“You guys here to help?” Natsu turned at the sound of Lucy’s voice and he felt a strange pang of homesickness. Even though it wasn’t his Lucy, he couldn’t help the wistful feeling. He shoved it away, trying to focus on the present.

“Hey, Lucy,” he said, giving her a timid wave and stepping away from the maglev platform. She was wearing her usual outfit, but the phoenix emblem was attached to her jacket.

“You’re part of Epsilon Squad,” she said, gesturing for Gray to hold out their datapad. She tapped it a few times and brought up a map. “Your area – Upper Eastside – is pretty close to the shield generator. It got hit bad by the fighting, but it’s a pretty scanty area so not many of the folks have come forward.”

“Scanty?” Natsu asked.

“Poor,” Lucy replied shortly. Then she looked up at Natsu, her face softening. “Nothing like Undertown, though. It doesn’t get that bad up here.” He nodded. “Right now you’re just doing recon. Asking questions, seeing what you can do. You can take some of the emergency stock packs and medkits, but we’re gonna send another squad later this week with what they properly need.”

Gray picked up one of the small, black packs and handed it to Natsu, then hefted another one over his shoulder. “Should we expect…?” He trailed off, hand traveling to the gun holstered at his hip. Lucy shrugged.

“Can’t hurt to be prepared,” she said, eyes already on the next group of volunteers. “Stay sharp, and good luck.”

  The streets of Upper Eastside were narrow and dark – not much sunlight filtered down to the ground. Buildings stretched up into the sky, most of them blackened and burned, with twisted metal poking out from shattered bricks and cement. It was clear that this hadn’t been a good part of town, even before the battle.

Natsu was both surprised and relieved that they were met with gratitude and friendliness. As soon as they entered the area they were approached by citizens, and by the time the early evening rolled around, Gray’s datapad was filled with notes, and the stock packs and medkits they’d brought were gone.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” Natsu said, slumping down on what used to be a fountain, but was now a vaguely-circular-shaped pile of rubble. He pulled a nutribar from his pack and began to eat it, making a face at the bland taste. The sun was starting to set, but the smoke that still lingered in the sky muted the colors and made the fading light thin.

“Lexa, come back here!” A little girl came barreling down the street and ran straight up to Natsu, crashing into his legs and tumbling to the ground. She couldn’t have been more than four or five, with a dirty face and blonde hair pulled back into pigtails, and she stared up at him with an intensity that didn’t match her age.

Natsu reached out to help her up, and when he touched her, he froze. Something about her was different.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said slowly, tilting his head and staring at her curiously.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” A tired-looking young woman caught up to the little girl, reaching out a hand to drag her away. Natsu shook his head, looking up at the woman and smiling.

“It’s okay,” Gray said, gesturing at the emblem on his jacket. “I’m Gray and this is Natsu, we came to help here. What’s your name?”

The woman looked at Gray warily, then replied, “Annabeth.” She looked down at her daughter. “I’m so sorry, she…”

Natsu let the woman talk to Gray as he focused again on the little girl. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked quietly.

She looked up at Annabeth, who gave her a hesitant nod. “Lexa,” the girl said quietly. Her eyes dropped from Natsu’s face to the phoenix emblem on his jacket. “That’s pretty.”

“It’s a phoenix,” he explained, still trying to figure out what was different about her. There was an energy around her, something sparking and thrumming that he could feel in his fingertips. “It’s a special kind of bird. It means hope.”

“Are we in trouble?” Annabeth asked. Natsu looked up at her terrified expression and realization hit him.

“She has magic, doesn’t she?” Natsu asked.

Gray looked down sharply, and Lexa backed away from Natsu, face dropping into something closed off and afraid. Annabeth dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“Please don’t take her,” Annabeth begged.

“It’s okay,” Natsu reassured her quickly, crouching down on the ground in front of them. “It’s okay, Faust- he’s gone, it’s…” He looked up at Gray, whose expression was wary. “It’s not – nobody’s gonna get in trouble. Look.”

Gray knelt down beside them, holding out a hand and forming a small flower of ice in his palm. Lexa’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, touching it hesitantly. Her mother let out a sigh of relief, eyes flicking forth between Gray and Natsu.

“She’s… we’ve been hiding it for so long,” she whispered, stroking Lexa’s hair. Lexa huddled back against her, looking uncertain but staring up at Natsu. “He would have taken her, he would have-“

“He’s gone now,” Natsu reassured her, glancing over at Gray. They hadn’t even considered that there were still those outside the guilds who had been hiding magical abilities. “It’s safe. Nobody’s going to take her.”

“You too?” Lexa’s voice was curious as she looked at the ice flower, then up at Natsu. He smiled and held his hand out as well, summoning the smallest, most non-threatening flame he could make. Lexa backed up a bit, but the expression on her face quickly transformed from fear to curiosity.

“What kind of magic can you do?” Natsu asked gently. Lexa looked up at her mom again, eyes wide and uncertain.

“Can I show them, mama?” she asked. Annabeth’s eyes flicked back and forth between Gray and Natsu, then her face softened and she nodded. Lexa slowly held her hands out in front of her. At first, nothing happened. Then the air in front of her began to shimmer, like looking through campfire smoke.

“Not too fax, Lexa,” Annabeth warned. Lexa pouted, then squinted over to the other side of the ruined fountain. The air there began to shimmer as well, and Lexa grinned at them proudly.

“Door!” she said excitedly. She picked up a rock, tossing it through the blurred space in front of her. It disappeared, then clattered to the ground on the other side of the fountain. “Me, too?”

Natsu looked over at Gray uncertainly as Lexa grabbed his hand, pulling up and tugging him toward the shimmering field. He braced himself as he walked through it, feeling a chill run up his arms, and then-

-then they were on the other side of the fountain, and he felt slightly out of breath. Lexa jumped up and down excitedly, squeezing his hand.

“Holy shit,” Natsu whispered, looking back over at Gray, whose expression of tentative excitement mirrored his own. “Holy shit, she can make portals.”

  “New mages?” Sting’s voice was crackly through the datapad, but Gray could hear the excitement in his voice. “Of course there would be, the kids… gods, I can’t believe we didn’t think about it. How many have you found?”

“Eight, so far,” Gray replied. He looked over to where Natsu was holding a toddler on his hip and grinning at her. They were settled in a cleared-out room that used to be a warehouse before the riots claimed it. Several sets of parents milled around with their children, and Gray could see flashes of magic from the corner of his eye.

“So you want… should we open the guilds again?” Sting’s eyes were wide and excited, ignoring the fatigue that colored the rest of his features. “Start accepting new mages?”

“I don’t know about the other guilds,” Gray replied, rubbing his face. “But… we could try to set up Fairy Tail again. Here, in Sycca, maybe? Nobody from here would send their kids to Imperium.”

“Good point.” Sting thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on his desk. They had set up an office for him in Acropolis, and Gray was impressed by how official everything seemed. He wouldn’t have been surprised if, when the elections finally came around, the people voted for Sting to remain in power.

“We can see what we have to work with here,” Gray said. “We can- I mean, we’re not experts or anything, but Natsu and I can control our magic. We could teach the kids. Some of the others could come back too, if they wanted.”

“I know Laxus and Freed aren’t keen on staying here,” Sting replied, turning to the vidscreen beside him and pulling up several files. “Lucy and Levy might, not sure about Gajeel. There’s a handful more from the other guilds, but…”

“Yeah,” Gray said, looking around the room again. The eight families had come forward eagerly after Annabeth had told them about the potential new guild, and Gray imagined more would show up in the days to come. He sighed, wishing Makarov were here.

“You okay?” Sting asked. Gray turned back to the datapad, hesitating before answering.

“One of the kids… she can make portals.”

Sting’s face transformed slowly into an expression of tentative hope and excitement. “That’s incredible! She could- if she worked with Freed, with his runes, and the tech… some of the mages used to interface with it, we could-“

“We’re trying not to get our hopes up,” Gray said quietly, looking over at Natsu again. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Ever since their fight in the courtyard, Natsu’s anger and frustration had been softer and more subdued, but it was clear that he was still grieving. “She’s only four, I mean, it’s impressive, but…”

“I understand,” Sting said. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Erza, see about setting something up for you in Sycca – an old hotel or something, if the families want to stay. We’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks,” Gray said, looking down as one of the children grabbed his pant leg and stared up at him expectantly. “I gotta go, but we’ll talk soon. We’re sending someone back with those stims for Gray, hopefully they’ll help.”

Gray could tell that Sting was trying to keep his emotions in check, but the frustration and sadness that appeared on his face at the mention of Edo-Gray were obvious. Gray wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Thanks,” Sting said softly. “He’s… a bit better. I’ll make sure they get to him.”

There was an awkward silence, then Gray gave Sting a tired smile. “Talk soon?”

“Talk soon,” Sting agreed, and then the transmission ended, leaving Gray with a room full of magic and no idea what to do with it.

  Gray hadn’t gone this long without Sin since he’d started it three years ago. Twelve agonizing days had passed, and the world around him moved on while he shivered and shook and threw up. Every part of him ached, and for the first few days he’d been certain he was going to die. Now, he kind of wished he had.

“Hey, love.” Natsu’s face appeared in his field of vision and Gray blinked slowly, swallowing against the nausea that was always present. “You know where you are?” Gentle fingers stroked Gray’s back and he shivered at the touch.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. An icy hand touched his forehead and he groaned, wrapping his arms around himself. Wasn’t Natsu supposed to be warm? Cool fingers brushed Gray’s sweaty bangs out of his face. ”C-cold.”

“You’re burning up again,” Natsu murmured softly. Gray shivered, feeling his jaw seize up from the tension. When he opened his eyes again, the room was still spinning. “C’mon, let’s get you back in the shower.”

Gray didn’t have the strength to argue. He let Natsu pull back the blankets and tug him to his feet, then guide him across the room and into the ensuite until he was sitting on the floor of the shower. There was a hiss as the water started up and he flinched as cold droplets began to hit his skin.

“N-need... warm,” he mumbled, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead to them. Natsu sat down next to him, bare skin pressed together, and he wrapped his arm around Gray, pulling him close.

“You’ve got a fever,” Natsu said, maneuvering Gray under the stream of cool water and running fingers through Gray’s hair. “You’ve gotta cool down or we’ll need to get Wendy to come back.”

“N-no,” Gray argued, shaking his head. He immediately regretted it – blood pounded between his ears and the room shook violently. “Frak, gods, I n-need... I c-can't...” Sharp pain shot up his arms and he realized that he was digging his fingernails into his skin.

“Stop that,” Natsu said gently, pulling Gray’s hands into his lap. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Gray tipped his head sideways and looked at Natsu. His hair was plastered to his scalp and water dripped down his face, but his gaze remained on Gray, strong and steady. The look on his face was one of pure trust – complete faith that Gray could do this, could get better.

Was that enough to make it true?

“I wanna... w-wanna go home with you,” Gray mumbled, reaching out and touching Natsu’s cheek. Another violent spasm had him pulling away in pain, but Natsu reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Gnghhh, it h-hurts.”

“I know, love,” Natsu said gently, kissing Gray’s knuckles and shifting closer to him. Gray’s jaw clenched again and he groaned, pain spiking through his head and nausea slamming through him. He gasped, turning away from Natsu and retching. There was nothing in his stomach for him to throw up, and bile burned the back of his throat.

“Gods...” he gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and shaking violently. “I’m so... gods, I’m so s-stupid." He pulled himself tighter into the ball, shaking as the cold water slammed against his skin, burning like sparks up and down his arms. “I h-hate this.”

“I know,” Natsu said softly, brushing Gray’s hair out of his face and kissing his forehead. “But you can do it. I believe in you.”

The conviction in his voice made Gray’s chest tighten painfully. Natsu believed in him.

Maybe he could believe in himself, too.

Natsu sat on the bed, flipping through files and reports on his datapad. Other-Gray had been sending him updates on the new guild – a few days ago, Laxus and Freed had returned to Sycca to start rebuilding a place for the new mages to stay. The idea of a new generation of magic-users made Natsu feel light. The sickness had burned away, and new saplings were growing from the remains of the dead things left behind.

A ping at the door made him look up from the datapad. Gray stood in the doorway of their room, arms crossed over his chest. He looked exhausted, but healthy. The Sin had finally made its way out of his system after three long weeks, and just yesterday he’d managed to keep down a meal without throwing it up.

Gray stepped into the room and the door slid closed behind him. He moved over to the bed, then reached out his hand to pull Natsu to his feet.

“I’m coming with you.” Gray said softly. Natsu’s breath caught in his throat as he searched Gray’s face – Gray’s eyes were clear, no trace of confusion or uncertainty. This wasn’t the drugs talking, or the fever. This was Gray – his Gray.

“You…” Natsu trailed off and ran a hand over Gray’s cheek, fingers tracing the shape of his scar. He brushed his thumb over Gray’s lips and Gray turned his head, pressing a kiss in Natsu’s palm.

“I know we can- we can’t go back,” Gray said, voice breaking. “It’s never gonna be the same. But… I love you, and I can’t… I can’t lose you again. You’re my heart.” Gray brought his hand up to grip the ring on the chain around his neck, and Natsu wiped at the tears that were already slipping from Gray’s eyes.

“What about… Sting?” Natsu whispered, chest aching. “And Rogue…”

Gray squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He swallowed a few times, fighting to get the words out, and Natsu’s heart ached. He never wanted this. He didn’t want Gray to have to choose.

“I can’t…” Gray took a shaky breath. “I still love them. I can’t stop.” Natsu’s chest tightened and he gripped Gray’s hand tighter. “They’re always gonna be… I can’t forget them. And maybe that means you and I won’t- won’t work, but I… I have to try.” Gray rubbed his eyes. “I need… to say goodbye to them.”

A soft sob broke out of his throat and Natsu felt guilty weighing heavy in his chest. He pulled Gray into a tight embrace, kissing his head.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I don’t want… I didn’t mean for you to lose…” His voice left him and all he could do was cry softly against Gray.

“I know,” Gray whispered. “I know, I’m - it’s not your fault. It’s me, and this, and I just... frak, I’m so tired. Of everything, the- the fighting, and the killing and… and the nightmares.” He clutched Natsu’s shirt tightly. “I have to stay away from... I can’t be like this anymore, I have to be better. I have to be.” He shook his head against Natsu’s chest. “I missed you every godsdamned day, and I can’t throw that away.”

“I love you,” Natsu said shakily. “I was so lonely. I missed you so much, I watched... I watched you die and it hurt so badly. I thought I was gonna die too.” The tears were dripping down his cheeks now, soaking into Gray’s hair, and his breaths were coming in sharp gasps. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Gray tipped his head up and pulled Natsu into a gentle kiss. Natsu made a soft noise against Gray’s lips, leaning in and running his hand up Gray’s arm. Each press of their lips said so many things – whispers of sorrow, screams of regret, cries of guilt. They broke apart after a minute and Gray shivered, resting his forehead against Natsu’s.

“I just...” he hesitated, taking Natsu’s hand and playing with the ring on his finger. “I need... I need to say goodbye. Is that okay?”

Natsu knew that Gray meant with more than just words and it made his chest ache, but he nodded anyway. “Of course, love,” he whispered. “Take all the time you need.”

  “You’re going with him.” Rogue’s voice was soft and Gray couldn’t meet his eyes, keeping his gaze trained on the floor. A heavy silence hung in the air between them until Sting reached out and took Gray’s arm, gently pulling him into the bedroom. The door whooshed shut behind them and Gray sat down heavily on the bed.

“I can’t...” he started but he choked on the words, dropping his head into his hands. He couldn’t do this. How could he say goodbye? How could he leave them, leave the people who’d seen him broken and put him back together? “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,��� Sting said roughly, crouching down in front of Gray. He ran his hands up Gray’s thighs as Rogue sat down on the bed, running his hand down Gray’s back. “We understand. You’ve missed him for a long time.”

“But I love you,” Gray sobbed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “I can’t stop and I’m s-sorry, I c-can't – you s-saved my life and I c-can't...” he took a shaky breath. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Rogue said quietly, and Gray could hear the pain in his voice. Hundreds of memories flashed through Gray’s mind – soft kisses, familiar touches, gentle words, loving hands. Rogue’s touch had been the first one that hadn’t hurt him in two years. They had given him so much and loved even the broken pieces.

“Mi bedaŭras min,” Gray sobbed, turning and burying his face on Rogue’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I can live without you.” Everything hurt and his chest ached, but he kept picturing pink hair and gentle hands and Natsu’s lopsided smile. He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t lose this. Everything was falling apart.

“You can,” Sting said, reaching up to touch Gray’s cheek. “And you’re not losing us. We’ll still be here.”

“It’s...” Gray swallowed, pulling back from Rogue and reaching up to trail a gentle finger down his cheek. “I’m...”

Rogue pulled him closer, hesitating and staring into Gray’s eyes for permission before pressing their lips together. Gray let out a soft moan, bringing his hand to the back of Rogue’s neck and tugging him in closer. He hadn’t kissed Rogue in weeks, but the sensation of his lips was so familiar, imprinted into Gray’s body. He could never forget this – would never forget this.

Sting moved up onto the bed behind Gray and his lips brushed the back of Gray’s neck. Gray sighed, reaching back and running a hand through Sting’s hair. Rogue’s fingers were on Gray’s cheeks, and he felt Sting’s hand drift down his side to caress his stomach.

“Is this okay?” Sting asked, words whispered against Gray’s skin. “Is he-”

“I said I needed to say goodbye,” Gray said, voice breaking. “I can’t...”

Sting tipped Gray’s head back and kissed him, rough and steady like Gray was used to, and Gray turned and gripped his shoulders, trying to breathe. Rogue’s hands were in Gray’s hair and on his hips and he shivered, biting Sting’s lip and then tipping his head to the side while Sting trailed gentle kisses down his neck.

“C’mere,” Sting said roughly, tugging Gray until he was straddling Sting’s thighs while Sting pressed kisses along his collarbone. Gray moaned softly, dragging his fingers through Sting’s hair and leaning back against Rogue, who had moved to stand behind him. Rogue's chest was warm against Gray’s back, and Gray could feel a steady heartbeat through his thin shirt.

Gray’s breath came in short gasps as Sting brought his hands up under Gray’s shirt, drifting them over his chest as he placed soft, open-mouthed kisses up the side of Gray’s neck. Rogue’s hands were on his hips now and Gray rocked forward out of instinct, moaning softly at Sting’s fingers pressing over the scars on his back. It felt so good, so familiar, so-

-no. He closed his eyes and saw Natsu’s soft eyes and sweet smile, and he pulled back.

“Frak, I... I can’t.” He swallowed heavily and rested his forehead against Sting’s, feeling the tears come again. “I want... I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Sting whispered, bringing his hands up over Gray’s shirt and running them up and down his back. “We understand. We're gonna miss you so much, but... you need to go. It’s better for you. He’ll take care of you, things... you’ll be okay.”

“What if I can’t be?” Gray’s voice broke and he collapsed forward onto Sting’s chest, shoulders shaking. Sting made a soft noise and shifted until they were lying on the bed, Gray tucked under Sting’s chin, while Rogue curled up behind Gray with an arm around him. “What if I... if we go and th-then I’m just... I'm too b-broken and h-he'll...”

“And he’ll love you,” Rogue said gently, kissing Gray’s neck. “It’s going to be hard, but you both know that. He loves you so much, karulino.”

“It hurts,” Gray whimpered, pulling tighter in on himself. “You’re... part of me and it hurts.”

“I know it does, amataj,” Sting whispered, holding Gray tightly and looking over at Rogue with heartbroken eyes. “I know it does.”

  Gray’s chest ached as he stood next to Natsu at the maglev platform. The wind whipped around them and he crossed his arms over his stomach, glad they’d found a place to wait that was far away from the other passengers. He felt sick and scared an on the edge of tears.

“It’s okay,” Natsu whispered, touching Gray’s lower back gently. Gray couldn’t help flinching at the touch and he flushed, embarrassed. “We can wait, we don’t have to go now.”

“Yes, we do.” Gray looked up at the tracks that spanned the ocean to the mainland. The sky was gray again, clouds obscuring the faint light of the sun, and Gray was glad for it. It felt a little like Undertown again – dark and cramped and familiar.

There was a familiar whirring sound as the maglev pulled into the station, and Gray’s feet felt frozen to the ground. Gods, it hurt, he couldn’t leave.

He had to leave.

“I’ll wait for you in there, okay?” Natsu said softly, then turned to hug Sting and Rogue, who had come up behind them. They both pulled Natsu into tight embraces, pressing kisses to his cheek before letting him go.

“I’m-“

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Rogue said gently, eyes wet with tears. “Just – take care of him. He needs you.”

Natsu nodded, then gave the two of them one final look filled with both hope and regret, before he turned and boarded the train. Gray stood still, facing the doors of the maglev and holding himself tightly. He couldn’t fight the tears anymore and they left hot trails down his cheeks.

“C’mere,” Sting said softly, touching Gray’s elbow. Gray turned and let Sting pull him into his arms, trembling against Sting’s chest. Sting ran his hand over Gray’s hair, pulling Gray’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“We’ll still talk,” Rogue said, joining the embrace and kissing Gray’s cheek. “Maybe come visit, once things calm down here. This isn’t goodbye.”

Gray tried to reply but his throat was thick with tears and he couldn’t say anything. What was there to say?

He reached up to trace his finger over the phoenix on Sting’s jacket, trying to pull hope from the symbol. Everything was burning to ash, but beautiful things grew from destruction. Natsu believed in him, and maybe with his love, Gray could be more than a disaster.

Gray inhaled shakily, taking in everything he could from the embrace – the feel of Sting’s rough fingers on the back of his neck, the scent of soap that lingered in Rogue’s hair, the way he fit so neatly in their arms. He pulled himself reluctantly out of the embrace, then kissed them both, hoping that the gesture conveyed everything he couldn’t say.

An awkward cough interrupted them and Gray looked over to see Gajeel standing next to them, looking uncomfortable.

“I, uh, wanted to do somethin’ for you before you left.” Gajeel’s voice was rough and he shifted from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. He looked up at Gray and gestured to the chain around his neck that held his ring. “Can I, uh… can I see it?”

Gray frowned, bringing his hand up to the chain and gripping the ring tightly. He knew Gajeel well enough to trust that he wouldn’t do anything dangerous, but wariness kept him hesitant.

“I’m not gonna- just-“

“Here.” Gray finally found his voice and pulled the chain over his head, reaching out hesitantly and placing it in Gajeel’s hand. Gajeel looked at it carefully, then looked at Gray’s hand. He touched the metal and it began to shift, slowly shrinking in size.

“Try it.” Gajeel handed the ring back to Gray and Gray stared at it before slipping it onto his finger. It fit perfectly, and the weight of it there after so many years made his chest hurt.

“Dankon,” he whispered, not meeting Gajeel’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if Gajeel knew what this meant to him, but he knew that if he made eye contact now, Gray would fall apart. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Gajeel replied gruffly. “See ya, I guess.” Then he turned around and stalked back toward Acropolis, hands shoved in his pockets.

Gray stood for a moment, stunned, before stepping back from Sting and Rogue and looking at the ground between them. He swallowed heavily, running his finger over the ring – the ring that fit him again, that he could wear to show that he loved the man waiting for him on the train.

What did he have to show his love for Sting and Rogue? Did he have to keep that hidden? Or was that love written on all his scars they’d helped to heal?

“Go,” Rogue whispered, and Gray finally looked up, meeting their eyes and almost wishing he hadn’t. The air was tense with grief and everything hurt. Gray took another step backward, wanting to touch them one last time but knowing he couldn’t. 

“Adiaŭo,” he whispered. “Mi ĉiam amos vin. I’ll always love you.”

Then, before they could reply, Gray turned and walked away, focusing on Natsu’s smiling face through the window, and the heavy weight of the silver ring on his finger.

[leading-atlas]

You would think that making games for a living would make me real sick of them?  BUT WRONG YOU ARE. 

Here’s some AUs based off of some of my favorite games.

Bioshock—

DYSTOPIAN SOCIETY DONE CORRECTLY. Doesn’t have to be set in Rapture or Colombia, but hey kudos if it is. It can either be before the fall of both cities, or after the fall of them. Is your muse a rebellion leader like Daisy Fitzroy? Or are they the ruler of their area like Thomas Ryan? Is your muse like Booker or Jack, someone who was tragically thrown into this story, and is connected in a bigger way than they know? Does your muse partake in the consumption of Adam or Vigors? What brought them to the city in the first place? Were they asked to come like the residents of Rapture, or were they promised a better life like the ones from Colombia? You decided! How do our muses know each other? Do they work together? Do they oppose each other? How are they connected? Remember this game contains some of the worst and best people this world has to offer. 

Stardew Valley—

Some relative of yours left a huge fucking farm for you in their will, and life in the city has become very unappealing. So you packed your bags and made your way to the country side to live out your life as a farmer. It’s fucking great. Also, you have some really neat neighbors that you deliver various goods (Vegetables, Fruits, Shiny Rocks. etc) in order to gain their trust, and kindness. Maybe even get them to fall in love with you? Who knows. But hey, five more red peppers and maybe the cute neighbor who owns the general store will go on a date with you. 

Dragon Age—

What’s better than a high fantasy world with elves, dragons, and mages? When you get to date said elves, dragons, and mages! What more could you want? Don’t forget all the drama and detailed story lines that come with each race and profession. Do you have a band of people who tag along with you on your adventure? Do you look down on mages, or are you one of them? So many possibilities!

Fallout—

A  POST APOCALYPTIC SOCIETY WHERE FUTURISTIC TECHNOLOGY WAS ACCESSIBLE IN THE 50S AND THE COLD WAR ENDED IN A NUCLEAR WAR SO NOW EVERYTHING IS A BARREN NUCLEAR WASTELAND? WHERE DO i SIGN UP?  Is your muse a vault dweller, leaving the safety of their vault in order to find a love one? Or because they want to see the desolate land above? Or are they a Wastelander, doing whatever they can to survive these harsh lands? Do you live on the East, near Vault 101 in DC? Or do you live near the New Vegas area where the NCR rules? Are you ready to fight ghouls and Deathclaws with your loyal sidekicks? Or do you just wander around with your dog named Dogmeat? The choice is yours. 

Dishonored—

DO YOU WANNA BE A BABYSITTER WHO ISN’T REALLY A BABYSITTER? YOU’RE A PROTECTOR OF ROYALTY, AND ONE OF THE ROYALS JUST GOT MURDERED™. Now you’re getting your ass thrown in jail by shady ass politicians who want the power to themselves. BUT UNBEKNOWNST TO THEM, you’ve been motherfucking blessed by some deity named the Outsider! SO FUCK THOSE GUYS NOW YOU’RE A FUCKING RAT KING/QUEEN! Take back the city! Avenge your friends! Save your daughter/son who might not be your daughter/son??? who knows??????????????

Silent Hill—

What’s worse than nightmares? Having the live through those nightmares through hellish monsters and some creepy ass fog! Welcome to Silent Hill, where the worse of society gets hella judged by their sins, traumas, and whatever other bad shit they’ve done/have happened to them. Even better, you get to experience other people’s sins. How great! It’s super spooky here, and you’re pretty sure there used to be a crazy ass cult that lived here, but hey, it could be worse, you could be dead :)))

Overwatch—

HEY COME JOIN OUR SUPER AWESOME TASK FORCE! WE HAVE SOME SUPER ENHANCED HOT DADS SOLDIERS! A NINJA WITH A ROBOT FETISH! YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD, M8! GENERIC GOD COMPLEX MEDICAL WORKER! SPURR RATTLIN’ ASS CHAP WEARIN’ TUMBLE WEED FLIPPIN’ YEHAW MAN! AND HOT A GERMAN BRATWURST! We all work together to keep the world safe from the rising robo epidemic, but hey looks like something went real bad. Our task force was disbanded because of some real shady shit, and now we’re all fighting to make things fucking right again. Are you on the good side, or are you on the side that matches their uniforms and looks like the kids you meet smoking behind the bleachers in high school? YOU DECIDE! Just remember, the world always needs heroes! (Or edgy emo bands with awesome stage names!

Honorable mention to @lost-count for helping me come up with these <3

[richardsunicorn]

Just want to say the American healthcare system is a Nightmare. If I was not covered by my parent’s insurance right now as I’m dealing with my l y m p h o m a I would ALREADY be SEVERAL THOUSAND DOLLARS in debt.

For example: my chemo destroys my white blood cells. So after my chemo when I go home from my 5-6 day stays in the hospital (haven’t gotten those bills yet), I have to have a shot that stimulates my body to produce more white blood cells. How much does this shot without insurance cost you ask? Oh just a MEASLY $4500. Do you know how much I pay after insurance? $33. I have to have this shot EVERY TIME after my chemo cycles (every three weeks for 6-8 cycles).

I literally cannot work right now. I’m on leave without pay with zero benefits. If my insurance was tied to my job?? Lmao fuck OFF. And that is just the cost of ONE shot.

If I was not so “fortunate” that my insurance was not tied to my employment, I would literally have to choose between begging my community for money so I can get my *literal* life-saving treatment or deciding that I could take the risk and not have some treatment or go into massive amounts of debt. Disregarding my mental and physical trauma right now from the actual diagnosis, all of those options ALSO come hand in hand with their OWN trauma and mental health issues as my life would get royally fucked over even more.

Basically—the American healthcare system and insurance companies don’t care about my life beyond their profits. I shouldn’t have to be “fortunate” in my own fucked up situation. Everyone deserves the best medical treatment humanity can provide. Period. It just shows what a dystopian world we live in when we have to attach price tags people’s LIFE.