#we live for wips and die under their weight

[tciddaemina]

harringrove recs bc i've been neck deep in this pairing for weeks and i'm dying

Fight With Me (Only Me) by MistressHellfire56

[E, canon divergence, 186K, complete]

Billy never really got over the night he beat Steve Harrington’s face in. When he winds up with a bloodied Steve in the back of his car, he thinks he may finally get some answers, but it turns out there are just more questions—some of them quite unexpected. { It turns out Billy needs someone to hold him down sometimes, and Steve doesn't mind being the one to do it }

The Second Rule of Fight Club by Vamillepudding

[E, canon divergence, 43K, complete]

In the end, it comes as no surprise when the first guy says, “What did you just say to me?” “So you are deaf,” Harrington says haughtily, “that’s good to know. Or, hell, I don’t know, I could be wrong. Maybe you’re just stupid.” Billy is out the door within a split second, just in time to see Harrington get decked in the face like an idiot.

Under the Covers by ToAStranger

[M, canon divergence, 87K, complete]

Steve is (maybe) a little bit still in love with Nancy Wheeler and (maybe) trying to figure himself out-- between the night terrors and the babysitting and the general weirdness that is Hawkins, Indiana-- before he graduates. Billy Hargrove fits in there somewhere (probably).

when the bones are good by kate_button

[E, 28K, complete]

‘So,’ Tommy says around a mouthful of fries, ‘what the fuck is the deal with you and Hargrove?’ And that’s really the goddamn question, isn’t it? He wants to know Billy. Wants to know why he is the way he is. Wants to be able to figure out what the fuck he’s thinking when he looks at Steve like that, when he touches him like it doesn’t mean shit and like it means everything all at once. Wants to know why he talks so much shit, why he needs to fight, where all that fire comes from. Why he’s so volatile, why he’s such an asshole, how he can be so fucking mean and so fucking sweet in the span of seconds, at the same time, even.

maybe there is a beast by harringroveheart

[M, canon divergence, 259K, WIP]

“You know,” Billy says quietly, sneering. “You coulda saved Joyce Byers a plate—if this was all it took, to break you.” Billy Hargrove is about to learn the hard way—if you come at the king, you best not miss.

in waves by lymricks

[M, canon divergence, 45K, complete]

It’s March and it’s too cold for Billy to be shirtless and wearing shorts, but he hadn’t noticed until Harrington appeared and made him hold still. Harrington can’t seem to stop looking at the bruises. “What’s it to you if I miss a little school, Harrington?” Billy asks. He feels goosebumps rising on his skin. “I don’t know,” Harrington snaps back, looking uncomfortable. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Plant your feet, Billy wants to scream at him. I’m going to bowl you over.

canon divergences with a bit more oomph

don't make a shadow (of yourself) by lymricks

[M, 39K, complete]

And Billy, curled in a cheap plastic seat with his eyes squeezed shut, wonders, could it really be this easy? Just get on a bus and go home? (It isn't that easy).

Focal Point by Meowmers

[M, creature!billy au, 66K, WIP]

Billy half convinced himself that the alien-dog in the forest was a drug-induced hallucination from whatever his bitch step-sister had injected into his neck. But something weird is happening. And he can't control it. Naturally, Steve Harrington get's himself involved.

we could be heroes (just for one day) by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger

[E, 63K, WIP]

It's autumn of 1985. The summer changed everything, and it feels like nothing will ever be the same. But for Steve Harrington, strange seems to be the new normal.

au that are fun

Just Another Day by boltedfruit

[M, time loop au, 13K, WIP]

Will Byers didn't die. El closed the gate and Steve kept the kids alive. Then Steve wakes up the next day to do it all over again…and again, and again. Until one morning, Billy shows up at his door saying he's been living the same day over too.

(Don't Fear) The Reaper by TeaFourTwo

[M, time loop au, 74K, WIP]

He looks down at the blood on his hands and on the floor and wonders why the memory hasn’t broken yet, why he isn’t back in Starcourt mall with control of his body again, wonders if he's even still alive at all. Is this hell then? Or perhaps purgatory? It certainly isn’t heaven, that’s for sure. None of this makes any sense…but then what's new—nothing in Billy’s life makes sense anymore. Billy laughs then, loud and long and unhinged. It's the only sound in the whole house, and it bounces off the walls like a fucked up echo, like the world is laughing with him. “Jesus christ you’re insane…” It’s Max’s voice and it’s shaking. It only makes Billy laugh harder, because Max has it all wrong. Billy isn’t crazy, it’s the rest of the world that’s insane.

Love conquers all things, so we too shall yield to love by TeaFourTwo

[M, dom/sub dynamic au, 38K, WIP]

"Power. Power is the only thing that matters in this world.” His father’s voice whispers in his ear. “And Submissive’s have none of that power, you understand me? Now take the pill—it’s for your own good, Billy, this is just how the world works." From the moment Billy Hargroves steps out of his blue Camaro with “Number of the Beast” blaring from his speakers, the entirety of the Submissive inclined population of Hawkin's High has their eye on him. He’s nothing like those sweet guys in the songs, nothing like the knight in shining armor that saves the girl in every love story. What he is though, is Dominant, strong, and hot as hell. Or at least that’s what they think. And as far as Billy's concerned, that's what they'll keep thinking.

what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way) by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger

[E, A/B/O, 119K, complete]

Billy knew Steve Harrington would ruin him. Steve knew Billy Hargrove was nothing but trouble. They never expected it to end up like this. Note: Non-traditional Omergaverse, Alpha/Alpha

meet me in the woods tonight by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger

[E, alternate universe - different monsters, 86K, complete]

There’s something in the woods of Hawkins, Indiana.

never gets old by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger

[E, modern au no monsters, 78K, complete]

Falling in love with a cam boy named KingSteve isn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.

keep your heart open (i'll keep mine open too) by callunavulgari

[E, soulmates au, 7K, complete]

“Did you even like me before you found out I was your soulmate?” Billy murmurs as he kisses a line down Steve’s throat. It bobs a little under his lips as Steve swallows, and Billy can feel Steve’s fingers digging into his hips, but he isn’t pushing him away. “I don’t even like you now,” Steve says, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too much of a lie. Billy looks at him, and presses a careful kiss to the bruise on Steve’s jaw. Steve’s eyes are dark, and he isn’t pushing Billy away. Billy bites down on Steve’s ear, murmurs into it, “Liar.”

Feel free to reblog and add more, if you have any recs you think should be on the list.

[wishcamper]

Was in a silly goofy mood and decided to write a bonus chapter of the meeting between Feyre, Rhys, and Tamlin from my long-form WIP A Court of Vice and Victors. You can read it here or on ao3!

Spoilers for up through chapter 25

Virtue and Vindication

Tamlin,

I know I’m probably the last person you ever expect or even want to hear from, but I’m writing to you now to ask for your help.

I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m currently pregnant and there are some complications with the baby due to his Illyrian heritage. We can ensure his safety by transforming me into an Illyrian form, which is why I’m calling on you. I haven’t been able to transform since I conceived and hoped you would be willing to assist me. 

I know I don’t have any credit for favors, but my son is innocent in all of this. The Tamlin I once knew would never let an innocent suffer if he could help it. I believe your heart is good deep down. I hope you know mine is too.

Please reply soon.

Sincerely,

Feyre

To the High Lord of Spring,

By now you have likely received my mate’s letter. She asked me not to write to you, but I know she will not stress how dire her situation is. So I will be blunt: without your help, Feyre will die. Our son will likely die as well.

On my honor as a male, I will give or do anything you ask of me if you help me save them. Whatever affection we once held for each other, I beg of you to remember it now.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court

Feyre,

Regardless of your credit, or lack thereof, you are right that your child is innocent. I am therefore willing to consider your request.

We will meet in one week’s time to discuss terms. I have sent the location with my reply to Rhysand’s letter. 

Have Lucien accompany you, I have matters to discuss with him as well.

Tamlin

PS: Your penmanship has greatly improved since we last corresponded. Thought you’d care to know.

Rhysand,

Your words do not move me, nor does your false contrition, but I will take the bargain you offer. That makes two debts you now owe me, the prior for saving your life. This, should you agree, will discharge one.

My terms are these: you are to work in service of the Spring Court until your child is born. You are to obey all orders given and complete any task assigned without protest and to the fullest extent of your abilities. 

I will not engage in negotiation. This offer is final and finite.

Remember that I saved your life. Come in good faith, and I shall as well.

Tamlin

The location Tamlin sent was close to the village where she grew up, and it staggered Feyre when she realized that only three years ago she’d ventured into these woods in search of game and loosed an arrow that changed the course of her life.

Of all their lives, really. Mostly in good ways, though Nesta might disagree. 

It was hard to remember that shivering girl she’d been, and Feyre felt a flutter in her stomach of the baby turning over, active in response to the quickening pace of her heart. Rhys gripped her hand harder as if he could feel it, too, and they picked their way through the forest in silence with Lucien at their heels. The weight of the meeting hung over their heads like the branches laden with thick ice above them, and Feyre tried to ignore the ones that had snapped and fallen under all that strain.

Because she couldn’t succumb, she told herself. Letting the fear overwhelm her would be paralyzing, make her useless - she had to keep forging ahead toward the future she knew was possible, the life that grew within.

“Watch your step, darling,” Rhys murmured, and he guided her over a particularly icy patch of ground. Feyre saw their faces reflected in it when she looked down to place her feet, the hard slash of her mate’s brow, the worry varnishing her own.

But before she could think too hard about what it all meant, how they’d gotten here, there he was.

Tamlin looked better than the last time she’d seen him in Rhys’ memory, once-lank hair clean and pulled back from his face, brown leather hunting boots gleaming in the weak morning sun. The smell of impending snow crackled in the air and she breathed deeply, trying to freeze the panic that leapt into her throat at the sight of him.

“Tamlin, you look well,” Lucien said with a note of surprise, russet eye softening with something like pride. “Vassa said she’d seen you, but human eyesight and all.”

Feyre guessed they’d made up at some point over the summer - Lucien had returned once from corresponding with Jurian and the mortal queen smelling faintly of roses, a lightness about him that was new. It confused her how they could come back from such violence between them, how Lucien could find it in himself to forgive.

“I accept your terms. Now let’s be done with this cursed business,” Rhys snarled, impatient. Tamlin scanned him, lip curling.

“You speak quite boldly for someone begging for help on bended knee.”

Feyre foresaw the ways this could spiral and slid a hand down her mate’s forearm, prying open the clenched fist at his side. “Can you give us a moment?”

“Feyre, darling -”

“Rhys.” She gripped him harder, ignoring the looks Lucien and Tamlin darted between them. “We do this my way.” 

Rhys let out a shuddering sigh. Power rumbled as he regarded Tamlin, the specter of wings rising above his shoulders. “If you lay a hand on her -”

Tamlin opened his mouth to retort but Feyre cut them both off, speaking low to Rhys “I’m fine, I can take care of myself.”

Yet as Feyre watched Rhys and Lucien’s backs retreating through the forest, the doubt began to creep in, the wind-sharp dread that sliced through her, goosebumps dappling her skin beneath the leathers.

So often she pushed those feelings of fear out of her awareness - the spikes of panic at Mor’s red dresses, the suffocation of a windowless room. When Rhys’ breathing would get too quiet in the night. She’d gotten so good at ignoring how the past haunted her, but now the fear lived all around her, inside her, inescapable.

Standing alone here with Tamlin, the tidal wave threatened to break over her, untended terror pouring forth all at once. The wind kicked up, ice encrusted branches crashing against one another.

Tamlin seemed to sense her fear, or scent it, probably, and moved away to sling his moss-colored cloak over a branch. “So you need to be transformed.”

“Yes.” The return to business steadied her, the task centering. “I need to take a fully Illyrian form so my body can handle the killing power. Right now it’s poisoning me.”

“I’d heard Illyrian magic is unique in that regard. Very well. Stand just there, if you will.”

“But the wings need to be clipped.”

The cracked siphon throbbed hotly where it lay against her chest beneath the leathers. Tamlin faltered.

“I refuse.”

“Please. It’s a condition of someone else who’s helping me. It has to be that way.”

He sighed, and she saw the weariness hanging off him, the stress of helping her perhaps coming at a higher cost than she'd imagined. “Seems you’re just as liberal with your bargains as you’ve always been. Fine then. Remain still.”

The secret lurched within her stomach, the death pact with her mate no one knew of, that she’d made before - 

But now wasn’t the time.

A hot, prickly sensation spread across her back and down her limbs, over the crown of her head. Yellow light flared, and Feyre closed her eyes against it, focusing on the rabbit-quick beat of the baby’s heart as Madja taught her. She tried to banish the memory of the healer’s horror when she realized the depth of Feyre’s naivety, her ignorance of the danger, and whispered words of comfort and safety to her son in her mind.

When the familiar weight of wings finally settled on her shoulders, Feyre opened her eyes to find Tamlin pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“There. Now go and haunt someone else, I implore you.”

Something like betrayal surged within her, a new current of power singing through her blood that rushed and raged, heating her cheeks. “Why help if you can’t stand us? Do you still hate me after all this time?”

Tamlin didn’t rise to the bait, and a part of her hated him for it as he sighed again, saying, “Because I have wrongs to atone for. And it’s clear nothing I do will change your esteem of me, so I lose nothing by doing what is right.” He regarded her then with a strange expression on his face, and the past seemed to stretch between them, jagged and unforgiving. “What wounded me most was not that you left. It was that you were so quick to believe the worst of me.”

“You allied with Hybern,” Feyre spat.

“I believed my fiance was being mind-controlled and assaulted.”

“You just can’t stand that I didn’t choose you.”

He snarled at that and the anger continued to build between them, some dark energy that lived only between failed lovers. Feyre found herself stomping toward him and Tamlin prowled across the clearing at the same time until they were within striking distance. She could see a vein popping in his forehead and almost hoped Rhys had ignored her wishes and was waiting nearby, ready to defend her against the ugly words, the audacity of Tamlin’s offense. 

“What I can’t stand is that you insist on your own innocence with no regard for the lives you willingly destroyed when you betrayed me and dismantled my court.” Tamlin’s eyes were wild, claws protruding from his knuckles. “There are families still without homes, without reliable sources of food save for the generosity of Summer. And you delighted in ruining me at their expense. You mocked me with your so-called Court of Dreams as my people suffered.”

Even as her pride roared in protest, Feyre felt the doubt sneak into her mind. What happened in Spring was Tamlin’s fault, Rhys had assured her, but she couldn’t miss the flash of hurt on Tamlin’s face, the singular devastation of betrayal by those you love the most.

Her memory jolted back to the river house, Rhys’ wild eyes as he screamed at Nesta. She’d nearly choked on her own sobs then, doubled over in Azriel’s arms, and her mate’s motives for concealing the truth were benevolent. She couldn’t imagine if he’d been out to hurt or control her.. But no, there was no use trying to undo something already done.

Feyre took a step back, wrapped an arm beneath her belly to relieve the pressure on her already aching back. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t need to rehash the past, there’s nothing there for either of us.”

Tamlin smiled bitterly, the wind whipping his straw-colored hair about his face. “I forget how young you are until you say things like that. We have all left paths of destruction in our wake. Have you the courage to look backward?”

That tidal wave loomed again, full of secrets and lies, painful rememberings. Feyre found herself weak-kneed and moved to sit on a log but thought better of it, not wanting to appear vulnerable.

“I don’t think I can right now. I might just sit down and never get up,” she said, and couldn't tell if it was more to herself or him.

“Feyre.” Tamlin’s voice was tinged with concern, and when their eyes connected again she saw the ghost of the old affection, the tenderness they’d once held. “Are you well? Are you safe?”

The accusation made her bristle, but she couldn’t deny the tiredness in her bones, exhausted from the mental calisthenics she’d had to perform these past weeks. Was still performing. ““I can take care of myself. You know that better than anyone.”

Unspoken words drifted between them like the shifting clouds of powdery snow, chill where it met her new wings. It was only now Feyre allowed herself to feel the joint at the top, the limits of their movement as she shook off the flakes. She wondered  how she must've looked to Tamlin when he first saw her, how she must look now - pregnant and clipped, shivering in the woods she'd worked so hard to escape.

“I know that you fought for the freedom of Prythian, and for yourself,” Tamlin said slowly, quiet. “I wonder if you’ve found it.”

Feyre didn‘t respond, couldn’t stand the sympathy, not from him. Not when he’d caged her, cowed her, trussed her up to be a prized breeding mare. Kept her in the dark about the danger in the court, took her choices away. Yet here she was at his mercy once more because Rhys had.. because Rhys..

“If you forge ahead just for the sake of it, you may find yourself somewhere you didn’t intend to. I know that firsthand.” Tamlin plucked his cloak from the branch and drew it back about his shoulders, wind ruffling the vine-embroidered edge. “I wish you luck with your child.”

Numbness blanketed her and she simply nodded. A quick tug to Rhys across the bridge between them had her mate returning to the clearing, Lucien in tow.

“Will you tell me now how you plan to torture me, or shall I wait in suspense?”

The two males stared each other down, but Tamlin’s tone was mild when he replied, “Your vindictiveness cannot see past itself, Rhysand. When all you have is a sword, everyone looks like an opponent." He pointed behind them where the trees thinned out. "Over the hill is a cabin that will be your lodgings. You are to assess the damage to the Wall and repair what you can from the Cauldron’s breach. You are also to deter anyone who attempts to cross from either side.”

Rhys snarled low in his chest, night-dark power looming. “I’m your fucking border patrol?”

“You are the beast in the wood. Lucien will instruct our allied humans to spread word of a dark creature in the forest, and should any be foolish enough to venture closer, you will scare them off.” Feyre heard Rhys make a noise of offense in his throat, and Tamlin looked like he wanted to smirk, though the expression quickly cleared. “You’ve played the villain for years, why stop now? You chose this mask for yourself, Rhysand, not I.”

“Fine. Allow me to accompany my mate safely home first.”

“Return after the solstice, if you wish.”

Rhys’ face remained neutral but a ripple of confusion traveled through the bond, and when Feyre took her mate’s hand the palm was clammy.

They left Lucien with Tamlin to talk and made their way over the ridge to where the little stone cabin was nestled at the edge of the forest. It slumped to one side, roof sloping down harder to the right, patchy shingles that had seen much better days. 

Facing down the door, Rhys braced a hand on the frame, head bowed. “I’m so sorry I failed you, my love. I’m so sorry it’s come to this.”

“Don’t,” Feyre murmured, and her heart felt like it was cracking in two as she rubbed at his back. “It’s worth it if he’s healthy and okay. It’s all worth it.”

He shook his head and pushed open the door, stepped first into the tiny hut that was decades, perhaps centuries out of use. There was a small hearth along one wall littered with twigs and bird droppings, ash-caked stones crumbling along the edges.

Rhys swiped a finger through the thick layer of dust on the small counter, brushing at his clothes as he said, “This is humiliating. For years Tamlin has wanted nothing more than to make me suffer and now I’ve handed him the opportunity myself.”

It rubbed Feyre oddly, his disdain for this shack that looked so like the one where she shivered and wished for more. She heard her own voice from far away, caustic and clipped. "I’m sorry this is so hard for you. It’s not like I’m the one carrying our child or anything. Or that I’m stuck in this body and I don’t even have my mate by my side to help me through the next six months. Ouch.” The baby kicked at her ribs then, right under where the mating bond was aching. 

“I never wanted it to be this way.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” 

Rhys looked away instead of answering and pretended to survey the wood stove, the mishmash of rusted pots and pans. He’d dodged the answer every time she asked so far. I wanted to save you the heartache or it didn’t need to be a problem for both of us, darling. Feyre tugged at the golden thread between them until he looked her in the eyes, star-flecked violet turbulent and shimmering.

“I knew you would choose to die for our child’s sake, and I wouldn’t be able to let you because -”

“How?” she pressed. “How did you know that’s what I’d choose?”

“Because that’s who you are, darling. You would sacrifice everything for those you love.” His expression was soft but there was a nervous sort of energy about him, muscles tense. “That’s what I love about you.”

“Then why not let me be myself? Why try to control me?”

“You know why.”

Her tattoo itched then, the ink of their wartime victory promise. Feyre gave into her exhaustion and sank into a chair at the scrubbed wood table, grooves hidden beneath the accumulated dust.

“We’re about to be parents, and I don’t know if I’ve really thought about what that means yet. Our whole lives are about to change.” The true weight of it settled through her wings, joints aching where they connected to her back. She thought of that faerie who’d died in her arms with his own severed, the hours she’d spent searching for Rhys’ mother and sister’s. “I don’t want to repeat our parent’s mistakes. Your father -”

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

His coldness surprised her, the rumble of power that rattled the cracked cups on the shelf above the sink.

“Your mother and father left you at the same time. Don’t tell me you want that for him.” Rhys’ eyes lingered on her belly, the hand that stroked it bearing their bargain mark. “We can’t be each other’s reason for living anymore. It’s bigger than us now. If it were ever a choice between me and our son, I’d want you to choose him.”

“I - I hope it will never come to that.”

“I do too, but Rhys. We have to be realistic. If the last three years have taught me anything, it’s that there will always be a target on our backs because of who we are. I accept that. I knew what I was signing up for. But you promised me no more lies.”

Her mate looked stricken, and when he knelt before her she felt the sorrow he tried to push down the bond, the hum of nervousness distorting it.

“I can’t live without you, Feyre,” Rhys said, and she tried not to get lost in his eyes, the heat of his body. He took her hand in his own, tattoos pressed together, and placed both atop her belly. “I can’t lose you. I can’t help that I would burn down the world to keep you safe, that I would protect you from anyone, including yourself.”

It sounded lovely if she didn’t think about it too long, romantic and devoted and blessed, a gift from a higher power, to be cherished so fully and deeply. Once it had been a balm to her lonely heart, salvation after so long on her own. But when Feyre heard the words now, let herself really hear them, a chill crept up her spine.

“So you’d lock me up too if it was for my own good?”

Rhys didn’t answer.

And the wave broke over her at last in that silence, the onslaught of memories, the falsehoods, the evasiveness. In her mind she saw the locked manor door, the underground cell, the Weaver’s chimney, the fury in his face when he raged at Nesta, Tamlin’s fury when he exploded the study..

“You tell me I have a choice, but you never give it to me when it actually means something. When I might make a different one than you.”

“That’s not true -”

“You lied about us being mates, and who you were Under the Mountain, and I understood that. Then you used me as bait for the Attor without telling me, made me get this fucking ring, all so I would get stronger. Which I did so I thought okay, it was worth it.” Feyre felt her throat going dry, the words mealy and rotten in her mouth, an overripe fruit. “And then I told myself it was necessary for the war, when you tricked Tarquin and went behind Mor’s back with Kier and Eris, when you tried to sacrifice yourself. But then you lied about this, too, after promising me. You promised me .” Tears crested her lower lids, slid hot down her cheeks. “But maybe I’m the fool, because maybe this is just who you are and I’ve been too blind to see it.”

Rhys was gaping at her, gripping her hand hard and shoving at her side of the bond. For a moment Feyre feared he’d break into her mind as he had those years ago, make her believe this was all okay. And then an even worse moment, when for the briefest flash she wanted him to, wished to go back to that time before she saw this side of his face, this cracked facet of their love she once thought a pristine jewel. 

“While you’re down here, try to remember you’re doing this for our son,” she said before meaning to, pushing to her feet. “That loving him and protecting him is loving me. Because you’re right, I would choose him over myself. I’d choose him over you. I think that’s what being a parent is. It has to be.”

She tried to send it through the bond, all the things she didn’t know how to say, her anger, her terror, her love. The hours she’d spent alone as a child, the rejection of her mother, the indifference of her father. Let him feel the full onslaught of that tidal wave, to see her pain as something full and real and alive. Worthy. Then let him see their son, feel how she loved him from that very moment, how she could never let go.

“I release you from your bargain,” she said. “I don’t want you to follow me into death. I want you to live for our son. And for yourself. I want that for me, too.”

Feyre shut down that link between them and left the cabin before Rhys could respond, felt the ink burn on her hand as she stepped out into the cold. Felt the release of that hook in her heart she hadn’t realized was giving her pain until it was gone. 

Rhys’ footsteps crunched behind her in the snow, and she let him follow her through the woods until she couldn’t stand it anymore, winnowing home to Velaris without looking back.

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour, @artemis-crimson, @genesisarclite and @constellation2330

For today's WIP, enjoy a bit from an upcoming Starborn!Cait x Starborn!Sam called The Passage of Distant Stars.

One of the benefits of being Starborn was that one could enjoy the stars without a helmet, even on an airless planet. Cait lounged on the wing of her Guardian, gazing up at the darkened sky, surrounded by the faint glittering bubble of her very own atmosphere. The verdant orb of Eridani III peeked up over the horizon—it was a sight she usually enjoyed, but at the moment she was more interested in the silver-gilt ship settling into a landing a few hundred meters out.

It wasn't unexpected; once Constellation had their fill of studying the Artifacts, she'd set the Armillary up in a well-defended outpost on an uninhabitable planet and sent word out via the Trader. For two years, she'd keep it open, and anyone who wanted to go through to Unity peacefully was welcome. Human, Starborn, didn't matter—but the crux of it was that word, 'peacefully'. Lift a finger against her or her defenses, and at best they'd be run off, tails between their legs. More likely they'd just die by gun or gravity; Cait had long since come to terms with the use of force. She wasn't the Hunter, to only allow access to the strong, or the Emissary, to only allow access to the 'worthy'; she'd heard stories of another, the Gatekeeper, who tried to prevent access to Unity at all. She shook her head. She didn't think it was up to her to decide who got Unity and who didn't, and figured 'don't try to shoot me for it' was a reasonable compromise. Too many of them were still willing to; that was one reason she always chose an airless moon for the outpost. Kept civilians out of the line of fire.

The fact that this one had landed within sight was a good sign; the problem Starborn generally landed farther away and tried to sneak up on her. She wasn't about to lower her guard, though—not until she was sure—so she watched and waited. After a few minutes, she was able to see her latest visitor hopping lightly with the ease of long practice through the low gravity. Male, one weapon—a rifle, slung over one shoulder—she didn't have a problem with that. No one sane would walk into a strange Starborn's living room without a certain amount of caution. There was something about the way he moved, though—something familiar—and she felt an equally familiar twinge deep in her heart as the faint edges of his emotions touched her.

By the time he reached her ship, she had herself more or less under control. She thought he said something, but she was off comms, and without air, no sound would reach her bubble. He didn't try to step on the ship, though—polite of him. He was close enough for her to sense clearly now; wariness contending with curiosity, underlying a certain amount of anticipation. The faint bite of loneliness, sharpened by grief. Curiosity and grief. That's how Unity gets us all in the end.

Cait got up, brushed herself off, and made her way down the wing of the ship at a deliberate pace, rather than the careless slide she typically used when alone. With some amusement, she watched her visitor shift his weight a little impatiently as she approached. Finally, her bubble of air wrapped around them both, and she cocked her head at his featureless visage. "Hello, Sam," she said quietly.

It took him aback. "How do you know that?" he growled—she could hear the growl even through the Starborn distortion.

"I should think that would be obvious," she said, not without some amusement. "Why don't we discuss it inside?" She could read the reluctance in the set of his shoulders as easily as breathing, but she didn't let it phase her. "Don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Been a while since I was able to share a friendly meal with someone." She hid a smile as she headed for the airlock.

He hesitated a moment, then took a couple quick steps to catch up. "You got a name?" He'd dropped the voice-changer. "Somehow, it don't feel right to call you 'Liberatrix'." She winced. Stars, but she hated that name. She'd started hearing it a few jumps back, and never had found out where it came from.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said drily, slapping the airlock switch. As it chugged open, she answered his question. "Caitlyn Lynch-Coe. Cait, if you like."

"Makin' awful free with that name, aren't you?" he replied, equally drily, then waved off any protest. "Yeah, yeah, alternate timelines, I know." The hatch clanged shut behind them; as the pressure equalized, he pulled off the helmet to reveal Sam Coe's familiar face. He squinted a little, studying her features in the dim light. "Don't think I've run into you before," he observed, not unkindly.

Deep inside her, the bond, quiescent so long, twinged again—not her Sam, no, but he resonated with her. They all did, even the ones who had hated her for being Starborn. Sam, in all his variants, was—would always be, she thought—both her greatest strength and her deepest weakness. "I'm not surprised," she finally said, realizing the silence had gone on just a little too long. "Seems like the odds against my survival were high enough that there aren't a lot of versions of me knocking around." The internal door finally opened, allowing them to step through into a small but bright foyer.

"That—" he paused a minute, then let out a little laugh. "You know, I'm not quite sure what to say here. 'I'm sorry' doesn't quite seem right." His voice turned wry. "One of those Starborn things you don't expect 'til they come up, I guess."

Cait couldn't help but chuckle at the observation; he wasn't wrong. "Maybe we need an etiquette guide? 'How to Meet Yourself and Other Starborn Conundrums.'" He roared laughter, his good humor curling around her in warm, achingly familiar waves. She'd missed it—missed him. It had been years since she'd last seen a Sam; this universe's iteration had died as a young man when the odds against him weren't seven but ten to one, and the Rangers had arrived just those few seconds too late. No Sam meant no Cora, and the lack of them felt like a missing part of herself. Not the first time it had happened, and wouldn't be the last, but it always left her feeling off. Those keen blue eyes were studying her again; mentally, she shook herself. Foolish of her to go off into a reverie like that. "Sorry. There's a shower through there—" she gestured to a closed door "—if you like, and clothes in a locker if you want something a little more comfortable than the suit." At his surprised look, she added, "Those Guardians are sweet-looking ships, but a little short on the amenities."

It got another laugh from him. "You ain't wrong. Much obliged."

"Living hab's through there," she indicated a second door. "That's where I'll be." Trying to get a grip.

[loserchildhotpants]

winner takes it all?

here are 2 related conversations from that WIP from which you can probably decipher half the plot:

“Of course it changed everything, Dean,” Sam tells him gently, smiling a bit sadly, “Dean, you changed him. He's been living with that change all by himself all this time, it's just that now you know what he's been going through all these years. He wasn't lying to you when he said things wouldn’t change between the two of you— for him, the change started over a decade ago. Nothing has changed on his end.”

Sam tilts his head curiously at Dean, and asks, "... and nothing has changed on your end either, right?"

"No," Dean emphasizes, chest too tight, "of course not."

"Right. Okay, well, what do you expect Cas to do, then?" Sam asks, "live with you under the same roof, being your best bud forever while you shop around for a wife and pump out kids, and he... languishes? He's not a piece of furniture in our lives, and if you don't love him back the same way, you can't just keep him in your pocket. Gotta let him go find fulfillment, and fall in love, hopefully, with someone new."

The silence from Dean is deafening, even he can feel its leaden weight.

"... because you don't love him back that way, right?"

"Jesus Christ, no, I don't, why do you keep asking?"

"Maybe because you look and sound a lot like a bitter, possessive ex while talking about this?" Sam snorts, reaching for his drink, "you should be excited for him. Gotta tackle this co-dependence at some point, man."

Dean grimaces, a bitter taste in his mouth.

_

"So, what do you look for in a guy, then?" Sam asks, awkward, but happy.

Cas seems decidedly more awkward, and deeply unhappy.

Hidden from them, Dean is still feeling even more awkward and unhappy than Cas.

"An unshakable sense of duty, honor bound righteousness, deep and innate love of all living things, steadfast loyalty to those he loves, combat readiness, and an inherent instinct to protect those that cannot defend themselves."

Sam's brow crumples up, and he's staring at Cas like he needs Cas to hand him different criteria.

Cas seems ready to stare Sam down in total silence until Sam drops the subject, and it looks like it may shake out that way, but then Sam says very gently, "... I just want you to be happy, Cas."

Cas looks down and away, almost bashfully.

"I keep thinking that if you move on, Dean will take your lead, y'know? Like, maybe we can reach some sort of normalcy again sooner if we all just... take on our new adventures," Sam tells him, leaning closer to him to add, "maybe, Cas, if you stop seeming to Dean like an injured animal hiding under a porch waiting to die, he'll stop haunting the bunker looking like a miserable puppy-kicker."

"He would never kick a puppy."

"We both know that, it's Dean that's wrong about Dean."

Cas smirks at Sam agreeably.

"... so?"

Hesitating, then sighing deeply, Cas mutters, "... I like Dean's muscles."

"Muscles!" Sam celebrates, grinning, "I can work with muscles!"

[pink-heart-jam]

Age Gap Recs - Pt 1

Anyone else craving some good age gap? 👀 this is my kryptonite in fic but due to the usual amount of dub-con in BL I often struggle to find something that checks all my boxes when it comes to manga/manhwa. I decided to compile my favourites in two lists - the first will focus on Koran titles and I’ll follow up with another list of Japanese titles. These are all explicit works (as they should be 🫡) and include different tropes. Most are WIPs so buckle up for the ride! Among the finished works I highly recommend Love for Sale as an incredible thought-provoking and cathartic love story :)

An Abyss by Cha ji-ahn

Kinard has lived for revenge after the incident that took place ten years ago. Despite his longtime friend Raman's worries for him, he and Yesing hid their identities under the alias, "chaff", and strived for revenge. In doing so, he runs into Alvin, who was certain that he was fated to die.

Daily Part Time Job by Danbi

Joo Yeomin is a hardworking college student that works day and night. He's also becoming an expert at running away from the loan sharks. One day, a suspicious man starts showing up at Yeomin's part-time jobs. "We know each other, right?" "No, we don't! Why do you keep following me?"

Love For Sale by Dal Hyeon Ji

Even in his wildest dreams, all Namwoo wants is to have enough money to survive each month. Si-eon, on the other hand, has everything he could ever want except happiness. Intrigued by Namwoo’s humble wishes, Si-eon offers him the money he wants – the catch being, he has to date him.

Lover Boy by Zec

Eunho Jung proposed to Jaeha Yoo, the older boy next door, for the first time when he was three. It stopped being cute when he confessed his feelings again in high school, and once Jaeha got married, the two lost touch. They're reunited by chance years later, Eunho as a university student, and Jaeha, a jaded divorcee. Eunho's determined to prove he’s not a kid anymore, but does Jaeha’s self-destructive spiral allow for feelings?

On or Off by A1

They say all's fair in love... and work?! After joining his friend's startup, university student Ahn Yiyoung never imagined he'd end up presenting their work directly to SJ Corporation, a major company headed by one of the most sought-after talents in the country: Kang Daehyung. It certainly doesn't help that, on top of being a bigshot executive, strikingly handsome Director Kang is his ideal type.

Onward by Hongssona

Swimming prodigy Woo Seungwon, whose very being is vast and endless like the ocean, runs into former a-list singer Doh Si-on. Si-on, now a businessman trying to stay afloat, is doing his best to move forward with his life; but the weight of the world only drags him down, as if he is struggling to crawl through a swamp. Taking an interest in Seungwon, Si-on offers him the opportunity to make some extra money as his housekeeper.

Our Sunny Days by Jeong seokchan

Sung Ho’s not the kind you’d typically expect to settle down in the countryside. He’s in his late 20s, ex-military, and… a single father with a year-old baby. Jobless and without any prospects but a house, Sung Ho hopes the peaceful Nuldongmae village will make a good new home for him and his daughter. Rumor has it that the head of the village, despite his young age, is a real jerk… But he won’t have to deal with that, will he?

Tender Night by Tan

All his life, Sungwon has known that he must follow certain expectations: dress well, be polite, and most importantly…be an alpha. Cruelly born a beta, Sungwon spends his days living a lie, presenting himself as the hardworking, accomplished, recessive alpha he wishes he could be. But once he meets college student-slash-bartender Park Hansol, things start to change.

The Dangerous Convenience Store by Gusao

Danger can come in many shapes and sizes, and the kind of danger Yeo Eui-joon has to deal with comes as buff, brash, and belligerent gangsters. He knew that working nights in a shifty neighborhood wouldn’t be the safest job on the planet, but reality sure does exceed expectations. However, it looks like Eui-joon’s days as the neighborhood punching bag are coming to a close when Gunwoo steps into his small store.

Under the Greenlight: In Dreams by Jaxx

Jin is the most beautiful man Matthew’s ever seen. He’s also a high-ranking and violent criminal full of frustrated ambitions and equally frustrated appetites. But Matthew, a sculpture student prodigy, can only see the beauty—not the darkness. One way or another, Matthew will pay the price for his muse, either with his body... or something far more costly.

[ae-neon]

I gotta go for 7 🫣🫣🫣

Post a snippet from a wip

Damn 😵‍💫 that implies I've been working (I have not)

This is mostly from memory since I reset my phone and essentially wiped it clean in a moment of mental illness yesterday.

Lucien stood from where he'd crouched opposite Andras, the limp human still in the sentinel's arms.

He admired the Spring Fae their sense of honour but he did not envy it. Lucien saw no qualm in leaving the girl here to die - she would likely bleed out before anyone found her and even if they did, he was almost certain she would not recover enough to wake.

Though... Lucien peered down at her, the gory mess at her side, ribboned flesh and exposed organs, it was amazing she still lived. Or had he underestimated the species?

None of this mattered. No high Fae had crossed the Wall in five centuries, no one would believe the girl even if she ever regained her senses enough to speak. They needed to focus on crossing back into Spring before anymore of Amarantha's beasts were sent out to hunt.

"We don't have time for this," Lucien held back the growl in his voice and fought back a shiver, "leave her here."

The forest around him, the unsinging earth, the dead air, warred with his senses as they stretched out, attempted to find input that would make sense of the world. A world without magic. It was eerie, almost terrifying.

Andras slipped his hand under the upper section of her torso, helping her laboured breathing, "She could have put an iron arrow through your eye-"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"We repay our debts." Lucien flinched. The implication was enough. If he wanted to belong, he would have to act accordingly. He nodded and Andras lifted his face to the breeze, "There are two others, halfway down the mountain, her scent mingles with theirs. Glamour them not to search for her, Amarantha's pets will be crawling all over this place for the next few days. After we get her seen to, we'll return her to her people."

Lucien strained his ears, nose less attuned than the wolf's and winnowed south in small jumps. The crossing had been jarring, almost nauseating by itself, but his magic seemed to strain - like moving against a weighted force. This place was death to Fae.

[viscerawrites]

operation get it right •/ a playlist

full playlist here // wip intro here

1. in the middle of it all - citizen

Sorrow; the celebration halts, the blinding lights are gone / Absent into the fog coming home / Maelstrom; my love for you is strong, absent into the fog / I succumb to your every want

2. feel the same - currents

I can't escape, fate starts to choke / I see your face and think of everything I went through on my own

3. choke - the warning

It's cold, but this is where I'll stay / Comfortably in pain / Wear your tears like jewelry / That vice is overpriced, but / Art is dead, it died with me

4. shelter (from the room below) - sleep token

You gather up all of my demons, you become starving / Darling, I'm noticing my flaws / And I'm matching them with yours / Won't you take me where you're going?

5. nightmare - the amity affliction

We breathe the same air and you are far too fucking young / To let the weight of the world destroy you / So one more night, breathe for me

6. without you - breaking benjamin

I wanted to forgive / I'm trying to forget / Don't leave me here again / I am with you forever, the end

7. lost - linkin park

I'm lost in these memories / Living behind my own illusion / Lost all my dignity / Living inside my own confusion / I try to keep this pain inside, but / I will never be alright

8. hollow tune - brick + martyr

My broken hands, my weary bones / I sit my words beside my throne / You're not alone

9. euclid - sleep token

By now, the night belongs to you / This bough has broken through / I must be someone new

10. massive - linkin park

I heard you screaming in my dreaming every night / I awaken, still mistaking you for right

11. take me back to eden - sleep token

And I don't know what has got its teeth in me / But I'm about to bite back in anger

12. burial plot - dayseeker

Effortless, the way you left me / Cut me open with your own two hands / Breathing is so difficult to comprehend / When the air I breathe is taken from me

13. constance - spiritbox

It's hard to lose and wonder why / I have been waiting my whole life / For pressure in increments

14. just pretend - bad omens

Weigh down on me / Stay 'til morning / Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

15. f.m.l. - the amity affliction

I am a sinking ship, I am the anchors deep / Set to the ocean floor in an eternal sleep

16. mother - before i turn

You took my eyes, so I can't see / You filled my lungs, so now I breathe / The dust and death beside your grave

17. are you really okay? - sleep token

And I / I cannot fix your wounds this time / But I / I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine / Please don't hurt yourself again

18. sleeptalk - dayseeker

Into the night, I drink and drive / Anything to help me let go, let go / You feel the pain, I feel the same / But we cannot repeat this cycle

19. the love you want - sleep token

I'll reach for you on faith alone / And I'm still full of the love you want / Still waking up, so below / And I'll be full of the love you want / No matter what, forevermore

20. my disguise - currents

I often think of the nights I stared into your eyes / And you would tell me what it's like to want to die

21. never again - breaking benjamin

Take the color from your eyes / I bleed for you, I bleed for you / Bring the broken back to life / We'll make it through, we'll make it through

22. burning out - bad omens

I was lost, but now I'm found / Under the lights and in the sounds / So let us sing and sing it loud / That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are

[piecesofeden11]

WIP Wednesday

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of Like Puppets on a Broken String . As I keep promising ... Obi-Wan will be making an entrance soon so we can go full on Obikin <3

As a Padawan, he had often considered what Death might look like. For almost a full rotation he had been so obsessed with the concept, that Master Qui-Gon had even not so subtly arranged for a meeting with Vokara Che to ensure that Obi-Wan was not in any troubling mental distress. She had attested that he was merely a very curious mind and that such contemplations were quite normal.

Thus reassured, Qui-Gon had indulged Obi-Wan's curiosity and had taken him on a trip across the galaxy to learn more about the beliefs and rituals surrounding death across many different cultures and species.

It had left Obi-Wan both richer in knowledge and a lot more confused as to what exactly Death would be like.

As he got older, the question became less interesting as he prefered to think about what Life would and could be like, but occasionally, the thoughts resurfaced.

Especially when death came knocking close to home.

When his Master lay dying in his arms, blood bubbling up from deep in his chest, staining his lips and chin as he pleaded his last request, Obi-Wan had thought Death to be the cruelest of creatures.

A few years later, standing amongst his peers at the funeral of Jedi Knight Cran Brill, who had died peacefully in their sleep after having lived an ancient and fulfilled life of over 300 years, Obi-Wan found Death could also be gentle, almost a sweet reward for lifelong dedication.

Standing on a battlefield, surrounded by the needlessly slaughtered bodies of dozens and dozens of clone troopers, Death looked like a mindless machine without moral alignment and Obi-Wan, at last, realized that there was absolutely no way to know what Death would be for a single individual and he made his peace with that.

Yet now, that Death had come to his door at last, he found himself ill-prepared to accept it. His life could not be over yet. He still had things to accomplish, places to see, people to meet.

He had confessions to make and wrongs to right.

I can't just die now he thought, almost offended by the very idea, as if Death could be convinced to listen to him.

He was the Republic's famed Negotiator after all. If anyone could talk Death out of reaping its due, it should be Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The thought made him laugh and then cough violently as water flooded his lungs and he was ripped out of his state of transcendence, realising quickly that he was not dying after all, not yet, in any case.

He coughed again and then struggled against the weight of his own robes soaked with water that were pulling him under.

[sun-daisies]

fic snippet | mcu | monsters of men

since ao3 is down for who knows how long I figured I’d dig through some abandoned wips and post some snippets of fics I love but never got to share. feel free to do this too - we can keep each other going until ao3 is back up and running!

Once upon a time, an American hero shielded the world from evil. 

Once upon a time, an iron soldier rose from certain death as a new man. 

Once upon a time, the god of thunder came to Earth. 

Once upon a time, a marksman joined the military.  

Once upon a time, a monster and an assassin chose a different path. 

Once upon a time, aliens rained down on New York and once upon a time, machines gained sentience and once upon a time, a Titan wiped out half of humanity and every single time, the heroes vanquished the bad guys. 

-

Stories don’t end where they should, wrapped up in a neat little bow, all loose ends tied up and everyone smiling happily together as they walk into the sunset. You want a happy ending. You want to watch the underdog rise to the occasion and achieve their destiny. You want glory and grandeur. You want something extraordinary. 

You want a band of larger than life champions coming together to save the world, and you want the happy ending. 

That’s not what happens. 

Once upon a time, a bunch of misfits, human at their core, made mistakes. Argued. Lost everything. 

Died. 

-

Natasha fights. She fights for freedom, she fights for justice, she fights for her family, she fights for the world. Maybe she fights for herself, too - maybe she wants to prove that there’s something good in her worth fighting for. 

(She’s tired of fighting.) 

But when the air chills and the ground is hundreds of feet below her, she doesn’t fight her own death. It’s as simple as letting go, and when it comes down to it, she can’t think of a reason to dig her heels in. 

(Somewhere across the universe, her sister screams until her throat is raw.) 

-

And Wanda died somewhere in Sokovia a couple decades prior, buried under the ashes of her childhood home. Or maybe she died in her Hydra cell. Or maybe she died fighting Ultron; at the Raft; at the hands of Thanos. 

(The stench of blood follows her everywhere she goes, the bodies trail behind her. And when she returns home, what does she have left?)

Regardless, she hides her grief behind laugh tracks and smiles for applause. She is nothing but a character pretending to be what they need her to be. Maybe someday she’ll get to write her own story.

- 

There’s a mournful stillness as Pepper sets a wreath of flowers adrift on the lake, crowned with Tony Stark’s own heart. His daughter watches with huge, watery eyes, and Pepper holds onto her like she might slip away at any moment. 

Perhaps they will drown in Tony’s absence. He saved the world, but the empty space he left in doing so is too great. He was a husband. A father. A friend. Iron Man. 

This is the fate of heroes - to fight, to lose, to die. They signed up for this. 

(None of us ever wanted this, Clint thinks bitterly.) 

- 

Peter still has that optimistic smile, hope glimmering in his eyes. He’s probably kinder than any of them have ever deserved, and surprisingly light on his feet for someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His hands are tainted in blood long washed away and he’s surrounded by ghosts. He feels he’s lived a hundred years despite being gone for five. And all eyes are on him, watching, waiting to see what he does next. 

(He could never be Iron Man and he can barely be Spiderman but Peter Parker isn’t enough, either.)

He can still try. 

-

Once upon a time, the heroes sat around a table at a party, giddy and elated, making fun of each other the way that friends do. The world stops for a moment and they allow themselves the little luxuries for once. 

It won’t last. Aliens have rained down from the sky and they will come again. Sentient machines will rise and throw morality to the wind. Half of humanity will disintegrate, and five long years will elapse while they desperately claw for solutions. 

(It is inevitable.)

But let them have this. Before the next apocalypse, just let them have this. 

- 

And what is left in their wake? A great niece left to scrap together some semblance of a life in Madripoor. Communities of displaced refugees fighting tooth and nail for those left behind, forgotten. A man with a vibranium shield he’s not certain fits quite right on his back, a survivor of war desperate to atone for the sins he was forced to commit. 

You want to believe that Sam doesn’t look at the shield with a lump in his throat. You want to believe Bucky doesn’t cry when the lights go out, terrified to close his eyes. 

They do. 

-

Countless iterations of these stories exist across societies all over the world, but no one will ever know what really happened. Their names are thrown in the news and plastered on billboards, their likenesses on hoodies and action figures. A little boy will hold a plastic shield on Halloween and Bucky’s stomach will tie into knots. Wanda will be painted as a villain. Tony Stark, a martyr. 

History is a tale spun by the victors and watered down into easy, digestible facts. And by the time it reaches the youth whose story even is it anymore? Whose truth is told? 

-

To be a hero is to be a tragedy. 

Heroes die. They sacrifice. They suffer. They mourn. To be a hero is to be destined to lose, lose, lose, even when they’ve won - especially when they’ve won. And how can they live with themselves knowing that they’ve lost everything? Can you really blame them for letting go? For wanting to live in the past? For losing hope? 

Is it their duty, or a destiny we thrust on them? What do they want?

Pietro. Vision. Natasha. Tony. For better or for worse, they die. They can’t help it. They just die. 

[theharrowing]

clare mommy mother, dearest, what are you working on today? (and can we get a sneaky peaky of a wip?)

*please insert gif of one of the members raising their eyebrows or making some pouty face to convince you to share with us thank you i love you!*

here is your gif, you little rascal. you're the puppy and i'm jk:

now onto my response:

i am currently still working on the jikook serial killers fic! i have reached 10.4k words with maybe one more scene to write. and then i will be working on whatever other wip seems most pressing to finish this week i have like 4 to choose from, honestly.

because you asked nicely and i love sharing snippets, i will post something for you! the contents and even the warnings are dark, so i'll put them under the cut!

warnings/context: jk is a serial killer and he has captured jm with the intention of killing him too. they have already hooked up, as per the last snippet i posted, and jm is making an interesting confession, seeing as he thinks he's likely going to die, anyway.

"I admire what you do, you know."

A scoff rocks through Jeongguk and causes the flame to dance. "What?"

"Why do you think I'm obsessed with true crime?" Jimin's voice shakes and he finds it difficult to stare into Jeongguk's eyes as they speak, but he does his best. "If you really are the serial killer who has been leaving behind all those heads, then you must know that I live and breathe what you do. It goes beyond just a fascination that I voice in my show. It's respect, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk's eyes flicker with something soft and knowing before turning cold, and Jimin sucks in a shaky breath under his gaze.  

"You must really think I'm fucking stupid," Jeongguk bites, voice deep and laced with anger.

This was the possibility that Jimin feared, but also the one he expected when he decided to open up. Of course, it won't be easy for him to convince Jeongguk he means it. Not when he has a friend in the police department. 

"How do I prove it to you?"

Jeongguk flicks the lighter closed and the sudden darkness makes Jimin gasp and jump back, despite having nowhere to go.

"Easy, little lamb," Jeongguk teases, leaning in close enough to brush his nose against Jimin's. "It was getting too hot to continue holding."

Jimin trembles as he angles his face toward Jeongguk and brushes their lips together. His shoulders are sore from his arms being tied back, and his legs ache under Jeongguk's weight, but all he wants is to kiss the man who causes him so much distress. He wants to taste the mint on Jeongguk's tongue and swallow his soft, hungry whimpers whole. 

After a moment of hesitation, Jeongguk reciprocates. It's light at first—a soft brush of lips. But then Jeongguk licks at Jimin's mouth and hungrily sucks his bottom lip before prising his lips apart and rolling his tongue over Jimin's. His kiss is needy and sloppy, and Jimin loves the way it feels—loves how completely helpless he is in Jeongguk's hold. Even if the man is holding a knife. 

"You didn't answer my question," Jimin groans against Jeongguk's mouth as their lips part just long enough to take in some oxygen. Jeongguk bites Jimin's bottom lip, making him hiss and whine.

[kissjane]

So, Miss Stela 😇 @awake-dreamer18, you put the idea in my head, and I have a new WIP.

So for Fan Choice Friday, I present you a good old case of Mistaken Identity!

(The below may or may not become the start of the story and is unedited in any way shape or form.)

*****************************************

Lucas waited impatiently for the green dot to appear next to Raccoon’s icon. After the day he’d had, he wanted nothing more than to vent about it to his best friend – okay, fine, probably more than just his best friend by now. Yann had started to call Raccoon Lucas’ boyfriend, which, well, was definitely not the truth, but Lucas couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind that at all. It was just that he didn’t know how to bring that up to the guy he’d been talking to for over a year now.

How did you tell somebody you hadn’t ever met in real life, hadn’t even really seen any pictures of, except the tantalizing bits and pieces in the pictures he had sent you (a hand holding up a book, with rings on every finger; shins in frayed black jeans and ankles in a picture of a tiny dog near his feet; a blurry reflection in the bus window – Lucas had focused on that rather than the sunrise over the Eiffel Tower Raccoon had been admiring so much; a cropped torso with a particularly paint-stained t-shirt; a close-up of a cheek with the pan flag), that you thought you had a crush on him?

They had discussed their sexuality, of course. Raccoon was one of the first people Lucas had come out to, after his friends. Hence the picture of the pan flag, which he had received in reply to his confession. But still. Falling for a basic stranger online was probably not the normal way to go about things – although Mika had argued that the success of online hookup apps would belie that. Lucas had pointed out he wasn’t talking about a hookup, and that anyway those apps usually included pictures showing off a bit more than a hand, a knee, a cheek.

None of that mattered anymore when the green dot finally appeared and Raccoon was furiously typing. Lucas felt his smile widen, waiting for whatever beautiful thing Raccoon wanted to share today.

Hi, my wonderful D! I missed you so much today, you are the first good thing on this whole fucking day from hell. I hope you have nothing else to do tonight because I want to talk to you for hours. Just to forget all about it.

Lucas immediately forgot about his own shitty day. Meeting his new co-worker who turned out to be an arrogant, pretentious snob was just a minor blip, not worth talking about, not when Raccoon had a bad day and needed Lucas.

I am all yours for as long as you want.

He clicked send before realizing he might be coming on too strong, so he quickly followed up with something he hoped was more casual.

Tell me all about your day from hell. Who do I kill? 😉

Raccoon sent a bunch of smileys back, and then started typing.

Well, I met some people today. Actually, a whole bunch of new people, and in a new environment. And there was a lot of new information, too.

Oh, a new class? Or a project?

A… project, of sorts. Anyway. I was so nervous of fucking everything up.

Lucas knew. Raccoon had told him about his difficulties in new situations. He struggled to hit the right tone, afraid of interpreting things wrong. Lucas had gotten the impression that Raccoon was shy at heart, even though he was open and honest and passionate about everything he did.

And there was this guy…

The “typing” notification appeared, then vanished, appeared again. However, no message came through.

This guy?

This guy. Yeah.

He was… pretty, actually.

A brief pang shot through Lucas. This was the first time Raccoon talked about a guy like that. He’d talked about some girls, an ex, and Lucas knew about the pan part, but still.

That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.

No.

No, but he was…

He kept trying to talk to me, so I couldn’t focus on what I was doing. I think he might have wanted to get lunch together but I just really needed some quiet time so I brushed him off, and then he became all – I don’t know. Stubborn? Standoffish? He refused to talk to me, or explain stuff again, and then got angry when I messed up. He was a lot less pretty when he glared at me like I was stupid.

Lucas – not for the first time – wished he could pull Raccoon in for a hug. What a jerk that dude was. And that was purely based on how he treated Raccoon, obviously – it had nothing to do with Lucas’ faint but growing feeling of jealousy of Raccoon called the guy pretty – twice.

Sorry to hear that. Such a prick.

I might have been somewhat rude... But it was all a bit overwhelming and I just… Anyway. Damage is done, I guess. Maybe I should have texted you to help me calm down, and then things would have gone better.

Things usually go better when I’m talking to you.

Lucas didn’t know how to react to any of that. Raccoon had never been rude to him, so he doubted he would be in real life. And that last text just tilted his whole world so far out of axis it made him dizzy for a second.

Apparently, he took too long, because his phone vibrated again.

Sorry, didn’t mean to kill the conversation.

No, no, not at all. I was just thinking he still sounds like a prick, is all.

Well.

We don’t have to talk about him anymore.

How was your day? I hope it was a lot better than mine.

The new guy sprang back to Lucas’ mind. He’d been so smug, even when he came in. He hadn’t even introduced himself when he came out of the locker room with his apron tied all wonkily, and when Jo had asked for his name, he hadn’t given her an answer. Then he’d fumbled with the coffee machine, and later the register, never asking for any help, instead preferring to fuck things up beyond recognition. He’d apologized the first time, when the espresso machine started releasing alarming amounts of steam, but in such a haughty manner Lucas had barely responded.

Still, he’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt – first days were always nerve-wracking, and maybe starting on a busy Monday wasn’t the best way to get eased into things. And, okay, fine, the guy was actually really attractive, too. So Lucas had made him a latte and mentioned something about having a break, but the guy had snatched the drink out of Lucas’ hands without even as much as a thank you and gone outside to munch on some granola bars. Lucas knew when he was being ditched, but the guy could have been less arrogant and dismissive about it, surely.

But he couldn’t bother Raccoon with all that. Not when the latter was already upset and stressed out. So he didn’t.

Oh, you know. Business as usual. Work, school, waiting for some prince to come sweep me off my feet. 😉

He hoped Raccoon would laugh at his joke, but instead, it took him a long time to reply, and when he did, he asked about some movie they’d both been wanting to see, and they talked about nothing more personal than that all night.

[skepticbeliever-bookclub]

hi i know you’ve answered an ask about this before but i was wondering if you knew of any more demon!shane fics? thank you!

we do! 

Here’s a link to our previous lists - here

And some new ones for you too! 

Demons and Dispatchers -  shiphitsthefan | M, 10k, complete In a handful of hours, Shane has been summoned into a Devil's Trap, subjected to and rescued from an exorcism, and found out his best friend is a serial killer. He's had better nights.

The following day, however, is a different story.

Go Back to Sleep -  19_empty_vacancies | T, 1k, complete Without breaking his gaze from the shadows, he pulled Ryan in close, closer, closer. Held him to his chest in a stake of claim as he stretched fingers of his power, of his essence to cover Ryan, drenching him, encompassing him in his very being

The Devil Haunts Me (Series) -  burdened_with_glorious_hunters, Cyber_Grape_aka_Jay | T-M, 107k, wip Follow the lives of Shane and Ryan as they investigate some of the most haunted locations in Australia for the latest episodes of Unsolved: Supernatural. Although nothing is straightforward as lies and secret identities are thrown into the mix amongst dangerous demonic entities and pining love for one another. Can the ghoul boys overcome these obstacles or will they fall apart under the weight of the pressure?

if you’re gone, then fade, cause i don’t wanna be your ghost -  bittersweetbaby | Gen, 3k, complete After a few more moments of traveling up a seemingly endless path, the house was in view. Shane let out a low whistle, he'd admit, the house looked terrible. And that's saying something; he's been to Hell

I’ll Keep You Warm At Night (Series) -  locketofyourhair | E, 8.8k, complete He knows Ryan wouldn’t be able to live with himself after. He’d see Shane’s glowing eyes, filled with a soft brown light the same as his “human” irises, and know that demons were capture-on-camera real, and it would ruin their friendship.

It’s definitely better that way.

Until, of course, fate pushes the issue.

Christmas with the Devil -  denimwrapped | Gen, 8.5k, complete Shane's a demon. Not that he wants you to know that. And he doesn't really want Ryan to know, either, given his partner's well-documented fear and hatred towards all things demonic. Which is why he plays the role of skeptic to Ryan's believer, all while secretly keeping Ryan safe from the various ghouls they encounter when filming Unsolved.

Then Shane finds out that one of Ryan's best defenses against demons isn't actually as effective as they previously thought. And he decides that it's up to him to make sure Ryan can hold his own against demons - even if it means literally going to Hell and back.

Demons I Get, People Are Crazy -  Fallintones | M, 30k, complete Shane has been trying so hard to keep Ryan in the dark. And it’s all about to come crashing down very quickly. But things will be okay, right?

Ryan is being targeted by a demon that Shane might not be able to protect him from.

Ned and Eugene can’t keep hiding their true selves from Zach and Keith.

But at the end of the day, they all have each other’s backs. And their lives are all tangled together in a way that can’t be undone.

Lowlands -  pyrsrun | T, 16k, complete “Don’t you think it’s bad luck to play certain songs?”

“Uhm? Of course not, they’re just songs” he answered with a chuckle “I heard it at the pub the other day, though I’m afraid I don’t know the words”

Ryan simply nodded, and Shane took it as his cue to keep playing. Soon after, Ryan joined him with vocals.

“Yo, ho. All together, hoist the colors high” he moistened his lips, and locked eyes with Shane, his tone getting lower with each word “Evil. Thieves and beggars. Never shall we die”

There, in the ever approaching twilight, with the sea breeze caressing his hair, Ryan looked distant and ethereal, and Shane was overcome with a morose feeling.

-

Shane is a lighthouse keeper in a big merchant town. He lives peacefully in his quiet routine, but everything changes when he finds a man half-drowned in the rocks below.

Payne’s Grey -  Icandigelvis | M, 86k, wip Years after Buzzfeed Ryan is living alone with his two children as a single father, his life suddenly taking a hell of a turn when he gets fired from his job while simultaneously stumbling upon an old face he hasn’t seen in years.

Ryan had wondered what Shane was getting up to after their falling out. Getting trapped in salt circles among other things apparently.

Myliobatoidei -  calico_fiction | T, 1k, complete “I am not a demon,” Shane insists. There, in his bathrobe, with his horns and scales and pitch black eyes, Shane insists that.

Lead us not into temptation -  Agf | E, 6.5k, complete "It's obviously a demon thing. And I know you're on board with the eyes and the horns and the-" Shane waves a hand over himself, "-but this is different. This is me, specifically getting off on the thought of corrupting your soul."

Look, having a demon boyfriend and not roleplaying demonic sex just kind of seems like a waste, leftover Catholic guilt notwithstanding.

it’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend - thethirteenthcrow | E, 6k, wip 5 times Ryan summons demon shane to fuck him and make deals with him + 1 time shane summons himself.

Lost a fic? Check out our fic found tag, and if you still can’t find it, send us an ask!

[suoyou]

[wip] 真金不怕火炼; true gold fears no flame

incomplete wip. 2744 words, rated t. 

originally drafted for the wangxian weddings for maubrey collection. a sequel to baby’s first wangxian fic 蓝色生死恋; a blue love (to live and to die for)

Wei Wuxian wakes up the morning after his wedding a little cold and a lot sore, skin tingling like it’s new. He’s spent a lot of both lives waking up feeling like his skeleton had sneakily rearranged itself overnight in the worst way—a rib in his throat, a femur jammed up through his belly, vertebrae scattered around him like loose gravel. 

But today he wakes up with the sun in a crescent on his hip, smiling at the edge of the window, feeling like every part of his body for once is in the right place. Brain in his head, head on his shoulders, heart in his chest. Lan Zhan is, of course, already awake, staring up at the canopy of their wedding bed. Not wide-eyed, and possibly for the first time in Wei Wuxian’s life, lazy. 

“Lan Zhan.” He can hear his own voice vibrate against Lan Zhan’s body. 

“You’re awake.”

“What were you doing up, earlier?” Wei Wuxian presses a deep yawn into the side of his husband’s—husband’s!—neck, the kind that sends shivers all the way down into his ankles and feet. “It was barely dawn. Don’t tell me you weren’t tired? I can’t believe I didn’t tire you out last night. I don’t even know if I was awake for our last round.” The thought makes heat flare in Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. They’ll have to revisit that.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan says, and the low thrum of laughter runs through him. It’s mostly silent; Wei Wuxian feels it more than he hears it. “You were, but only just.” Then, “I thought of a song.”

“A song?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“You,” Lan Zhan says, both fondly and in a way that says this should be obvious.

“About my oral prowess, I hope.”

“It was not.”

“Is it happy, at least?”

Lan Zhan is quiet. “My other song for you is not very happy, is it?” 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian pushes himself upright so that he’s lying on top of Lan Zhan, rests his chin on his folded wrists. A constellation of hickeys and bruises stretches across Lan Zhan’s neck, and Wei Wuxian takes his time studying them. He hasn’t seen his own skin yet, but he can tell the violet blooms are already fading on Lan Zhan, burnt back by the heat of his golden core. “I think someone a lot lonelier than the Lan Zhan I married wrote that song, is all.”

“Mm.” Lan Zhan holds Wei Wuxian by the waist, steady, steady, like balancing the weight of the world on him in the cradle of his palms. “But you’re here now. To have you like this, it would be impossible to feel lonely again.”

“To have me like how?” Wei Wuxian asks, propping his chin in his palm, wide-eyed with mock wonder. “Will the esteemed Hanguang-jun care to elaborate?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes darken, narrowing for a flicker of a moment before he moves, and Wei Wuxian ends up on his back so fast that ah, there, there’s that feeling that his bones are all in the wrong places—in the best way, in the only way he hopes to know it again, with Lan Zhan’s hands on his body  and heart against his. Beating, beating, beating.

☄

For some reason, Wei Wuxian is surprised when he gets up and Lan Zhan offers him clothes that look virtually identical to the ones he’s always worn—dark, red accents, wristcuffs laced with ribbons. Everything is a little nicer, and even for someone who never cared to notice, the fabric folds heavy and well-made in his hands. There are cloud patterns embroidered in black thread along the collars, and peonies in the shoulder patches. 

He stands in the middle of their wedding chamber, naked as the day he was born, turning them back and forth without slipping them on. 

“Do you not like them?” Lan Zhan asks, already decent with his satin underrobe on.

“I love them, they’re just so—me?” Wei Wuxian lowers them. 

“Would you like me to put them on?”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian says. He lifts his arms helpfully when Lan Zhan comes to him, slipping the sleeves of a new red underrobe over him and leaning close to do the ties at Wei Wuxian’s waist. He’s so close that Wei Wuxian simply leans forward and kisses the crown of Lan Zhan’s head. Then his temple. Then he stops, because if he doesn’t, they will never leave this chamber. 

“These were commissioned from a different tailor,” Lan Zhan says when he slips the black outer robe onto Wei Wuxian’s body. “I was concerned that they wouldn’t get your measurements right, but I’m glad to see it fits.”

It fits like a hug around Wei Wuxian’s body. 

“The collars of the underrobe are quite high?”

Lan Zhan looks at him. “That was intentional.”

Wei Wuxian stares blankly until the faint ache of hickeys registers, and he puts his hands over his face and groans, “Ohhh. Oh, I won’t make it through the week like this.”

“Wei Ying.”

“I love you, Lan Zhan, I really do, with all the force of ten thousand weeping mountains—a hundred thousand—but my heart will give out. It will cave.”

Lan Zhan ignores his theatrics and turns him around to run his hairbrush through Wei Wuxian’s hair. He’s always so gentle when he does it for Wei Wuxian—not that he’s rough on himself, but he certainly doesn’t seem to take as long, brushing out every lock of hair between his fingers. 

“I can’t believe the Chief Cultivator can’t even take a few days to himself. After his own wedding!” Wei Wuxian says as Lan Zhan twists his hair up into a soft knot. It’s elegant and something Wei Wuxian will likely never learn how to do himself. “I want to stay with you all day. I want to lie in the sun with you and then go running by the beaches at sunset. Well—I’ll run, you can walk gracefully, as you do. I want to sit in the grass with you and feed the rabbits until the wet seeps up into my robes.”

“Mm. So do I.” Lan Zhan pushes his hairstick through the base of the knot. “But it will be a short meeting. Just a report and a written acknowledgment that we are married, that the sects have bore witness that we are married. And that any assault upon you would be considered an offense to the Lan Sect.” 

Wei Wuxian’s knees go soft and it has nothing to do with the exhaustion from the night before. “Lan Zhan...”

“You could come if you like, but I would not ask you to.”

“Because you’re flawless and perfect.”

Lan Zhan exhales. It’s his favorite way to laugh. Then he smooths his hand down the free length of Wei Wuxian’s hair. “I’ll meet you in the Jingshi for lunch.”

“Come back to me soon.”

“Always.”

☄

For two weeks after the wedding, Lan Zhan has reduced duties and Wei Wuxian a leave of absence from classes, but it has been a while since he watched the sun turn the sky blue, then grey, then lace-white as it rises over the blanket of clouds. Once, on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian had climbed high enough in the Cloud Recesses that the clouds were finally under him, and he looked over the endlessness of it, feeling like he was standing at the edge of existence. 

By the third day, after all the guests leave, Wei Wuxian finally gets some much-needed solitude. It’s a weird thing to need, for him, anyway, considering how much time he’s already spent alone. When he sits in the meadow of rabbits in the back hills of the Cloud Recesses, he lies down with his arms spread until he can feel rabbit nosing at his pockets.

“I haven’t brought anything for you,” he says, eyes closed. The sun is orange and veiny against his closed eyes. “Since when did you guys even like me enough to look for snacks?”

There are voices coming down the mountain path, though, so Wei Wuxian sits up and brushes stray bits of grass off his back and knees, tries to pick some out of his hair. Before his wedding, he would not have cared, but he’s husband to the Chief Cultivator now. He needs to look the part. 

“Morning,” he greets, and blinks when it’s a handful of older Lan women carrying the rabbit feed today. Tending to the rabbits is disciple work, usually, but vaguely, he knows they had to change the structure of classes for the two weeks he isn’t teaching. 

“Oh! Wei gongzi. We didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Hanguang-jun isn’t with you?”

“He’s busy in the mornings,” says Wei Wuxian, hands jumping to the collars of his robes. They’re bound tight, thank heavens. “I’ve simply been unwinding after a wedding like that. It really takes everything out of you, doesn’t it?”

“Being married does that to you,” says one of the women, sagely. Lan Danyi if Wei Wuxian’s memory serves him correctly. The other women nod, murmuring their assent.

“It...takes everything out of you?” he asks. That doesn’t sound pleasant, but he hasn’t been anything but happy since being married. Is he doing something wrong?

“When does it not?” says another. Lan Ruyi, who looks so much like her sister that they could be mirror images. “You’re lucky you married Hanguang-jun, Wei gongzi. Marriage is hard work. The first year of a marriage is the hardest year of any relationship.”

“It—it is? Why?”

“Well, of course,” they say, like this should be common knowledge. Lan Danyi bends down and begins feeding the rabbits their carrots. “You will probably have it better than we do, but when you get married, who do you become? You lose your sense of self. Before this, you’re your own person, but you don’t just belong to you anymore, don’t you? Of course, Hanguang-jun would never be so uncouth, I see that he doesn’t mind that Wei gongzi continues to wear his own robes. Which is as it should be, do you remember that Zhao Xiaohong that Lan Hongqi married a few years ago?”

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. He hadn’t thought of that. 

“Of course, of course,” says the third woman. Wei Wuxian well and truly cannot remember her name, which is going to be a problem if he’s going to be part of the Lan Sect now. “But your future isn’t your own anymore, either. You walk a two-person path now. When one person hurts their feet, you must check your own for thorns. Sometimes the path diverges and you want to take a different one than the one they choose.” She sighs. “And you have to choose the one they want to take.”

“I think learning how to walk one, honest path is romantic in and of itself, Jianying.”

“Perhaps. But not all of us can marry Hanguang-jun, so really, how romantic could it be.”

“So you can’t be headstrong, it’ll be such a pain,” Lan Ruyi says. “It’s easier for someone who grew up in the Lan Sect, but marrying in is always harder.”

“Which is what makes the first year of living together the hardest,” says Lan Danyi, nodding. “You don’t want to be someone difficult to share space with. But, Wei gongzi, I’m sure you and Hanguang-jun won’t have a problem at all. Right?”

“Right,” he says faintly. A morning with the rabbits is almost always calm and soothing, but today he feels neither calm nor soothed. “Uh, have a lovely morning.”

“Wei gongzi, go safely!” they call after him as he slip-slides back onto the path.

He gives them a wave, and starts heading back alone.

☄

“—ying. Wei Ying?”

 He blinks.  Then he comes to, piece by piece, chopsticks still aloft between his bowl and his mouth. A bite of married-couple spiced tripe drips its fiery oil into his food, a little red coin on the pebbled surface of his rice. Lan Zhan has leaned forward, mouth set in a taut line of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Wei Wuxian shovels his food into his mouth. “Nothing, Lan Zhan.”

His husband—will he ever tire of that title? Evidence points to no—is not convinced. Not that Wei Wuxian expected him to be, but he also doesn’t expect Lan Zhan to set his own bowl down, resting his chopsticks over the rim, and insist, again, “There’s something wrong.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s really...really, it’s…”

Of course, Hanguang-jun would never be so uncouth, I see that he doesn’t mind that Wei gongzi continues to wear his own robes.

“Well,” says Wei Wuxian, and Lan Zhan leans forward minutely to listen, “Lan Zhan, do you hate that I dress this way?”

This question apparently catches Lan Zhan off-guard. He blinks once, twice, then asks, “In what way, Wei Ying?”

“Like...myself.” Like my unmarried self. 

A faint ribbon of confusion slips between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows. “I love you regardless of what you wear.”

“You probably prefer me not wearing anything, right, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian jokes weakly. 

“Yes. But,” says Lan Zhan, as Wei Wuxian wheezes at his frankness, “what is this about?”

“I just thought,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling wild and stupid, because they’re married, they’re married, why is he being silly about this, “that. I don’t know, I’d look different after I got married. To you? That I should look different.” I want to look different. I want to look like I belong to somewhere, to someplace, to someone.

“Different how?”

“Uhm,” he looks down into his rice, chili oil staining the grains a bright, yolky gold. Gods, this is ridiculous. “Never mind.”

Lan Zhan is a quiet rustle of fabric and footsteps when he stands and moves around the dining table. When he sits down beside Wei Wuxian he’s a warm waft of sandalwood and camellia oil. “Wei Ying,” he says, brings Wei Ying’s hand into his lap between his own. “Something troubles you.”

“It’s not—I’m not troubled, Lan Zhan, I promise. But I guess I. I want to look married to you.”

Lan Zhan searches his face. The concern softens around the edges. “How so?”

“I don’t think I can wear all white or a forehead ribbon, or more than three layers,” Wei Wuxian warns, “but. I felt at home, wearing your white underrobe. It’s not that I don’t like red, but I only wore it so much so you couldn’t see the bloo—”

Wei Wuxian snaps his mouth shut. Really, is this a topic he should be bringing up a day after their wedding, at dinner, no less? He feels like an uninvited, rain-soaked guest falling through the doorway of a place he’s not welcome. 

“Stains less,” he finishes in a tiny voice. 

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, and he reaches up to tuck one of Wei Wuxian’s feathery wisps of hair behind his ear. “If that is what you want to wear, then you should wear it.”

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad. You commissioned those for me in mind specially.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Only because I mistook your preference for them. What you wear is your choice, Wei Ying. In this life, you do not have to look any way but the way you want to. All white. All black. A bit of both, or neither. The things we put on our bodies...they’re an extension of us. Whatever that looks like to you now is what I’ll love.”

“What if I want to wear a pink tunic and a green skirt and, and a gold belt, and no shoes?”

“You would look like Nezha,” Lan Zhan says very seriously, “and I would love you all the same.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, and then he kisses his husband right there at the dinner table, and he thinks that being married really doesn’t take too much out of you at all. Lan Zhan steadies him by the arms, and then pulls him into his lap, and Wei Wuxian’s ribs wedge into the side of the table and the bruise from even that will be sore and sweet the way a hickey is.

What a fortune it is to be married, Wei Wuxian thinks, when Lan Zhan has him on the bamboo mat floors and his hair in a dark fan across them, and have the privilege to be nothing but your messy, scattered, glimmering self. 

[markberries]

o h  b a b y┊draco malfoy

anon requested: do you think you can write this? 6thYear!Draco FWB with fem reader (really rough smut to take out his stress and frustrations) and she ends up getting pregnant from a broken condom but tries to hide the pregnancy until it can’t be hidden anymore/Voldemort somehow finds out and uses her to his leverage so Draco does his task? it doesn’t have to be a happy ending. if you don’t want to write this, it’s okay. thank you.

info: war was upon the students of hogwarts. getting pregnant wasn’t the plan.

warnings: SMUT, slight dirty talk, death

genre: smut, angst, fem!reader

word count: 1700+

a/n: LMAO on my wip page i put fluff.... sorry guys but no fluff here. semi edited,, ALSO I JUST REALIZED THIS ISNT FWB :((( IM SO SORRY

your hand tightens around the plastic in your hand, there’s a slight audible gasp that escaped the grasp of your lips, quiet enough for no one to notice, but loud enough for you to hear. you bite your lip, a surge of anxiety pumping through your veins, a skip of a heartbeat making you tap your foot. the two lines that formed in front of your eyes nearly had you shaking, but the worst part is you knew who the culprit was, and you knew how it happened.

you should have known that the moment you hadn’t gotten your period, that something must have happened. he used a condom that day, didn’t he? did i take birth control?

you and draco had been together for over a year, but you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t noticed his change in behavior. the silence that would fill the air, tension thick enough to slice with a knife. he always seemed like he was in thought, an empty gaze within his eyes.

two weeks ago, he was noticeably frustrated and agitated, so you didn’t question when he dragged you to a nearby supply closet, palming him through his pants.

he shut the door, quietly groaning into your left ear. his hands held the flesh of your ass, you could feel his warm breath on your skin, sending goosebumps all over. his mouth lightly brushed your ear, whispering an, “i need you.”

he took his thumb, slowly swiping it across your bottom lip. you parted your lips teasingly, letting his thumb enter your mouth as you lightly sucked on the fingertip. you could see the tent in his pants becoming tighter, the wetness building between your legs as you clenched your thighs together to hide your arousal, exciting thoughts running through both of your minds.

“we don’t have time for this, my love,” he whispered to you, lightly slapping your bottom. “i want you to turn around.”

a sudden feeling of confidence ran through your body, dragging your fingertips across his clothed chest. “oh yeah? why should i listen to you?”

draco decides to play along with your teasing, walking towards you as you walked backwards, your back pressing on the cool wall behind you. draco smirks, shamelessly looking at you up and down. he places his leg in between your thighs, his knee pressing against your clothed heat.

“you’re going to do exactly what i tell you to do princess, or else,” he says seductively, “now unbutton your shirt.”

the excitement running through your body made you bite your lip in anticipation, slowly unbuttoning your white dress shirt, draco watching your fingers play with the black buttons.

“hurry up princess,” he said sternly, nearly growling into your ear. his hand gripped at your thigh, and you let out a slight chuckle. 

“i don’t really feel like it, i think i’ll take my time.”

draco clearly wasn’t happy with your answer, roughly grabbing your waist to turn you around, now your chest was touching the wall, your two hands pressed against it. draco, still holding your waist, whispered in your ear, “since you decided to be a brat today, i’m gonna fuck you like one. alright? do we have any problems?”

you whimpered in response, breathing heavily as you heard the unzipping of his pants. he tugged open the foil of a condom, rolling it onto his length. he raised your skirt, pushing your panties aside. he lined up with your entrance, and with no warning, he slammed into you. you cried out, screwing your eyes shut.

“oh fuck,” he groaned in relief, aggressively pounding into you as you continued to moan his name loudly.

“hm? what do you have to say now?” draco grunted as he continuously fucked you from behind. you and draco have gotten rough before, but not like this, it was different. you liked it.

draco repeatedly hit the same spot in your body, pleasure rushing throughout your system. he would pull out to your entrance, then slam back in, the sound and smell of sex filling the small room.

“it feels so good,” you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. a recognizable feeling began to build up in your stomach, draco’s thrusts becoming sloppy but still pleasurable.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your vision becoming fuzzy.

“beg for it, princess.”

you were panting, sweat drenching your clothes, “please draco, f-fuck. i want to come so bad — please!”

“then come, princess.”

and with that, you let go, your body shaking while draco thrusted one last time, before finishing off as well.

the memory of that rough day in the closet was still freshly etched in your mind, and it remained there as you stared at the positive pregnancy test. your hand covered your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be happening.

you needed to tell draco, he had a right to know. you were still going to decide for yourself if you wanted to keep it or not, and you were leaning on the idea of raising the child. it didn’t matter if draco wanted it or not.

—

the first thing that draco wished, was that he had told you about his hidden identity. when draco heard the news, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or not. he loved the idea of having a family with you, he didn’t expect to have one so early, but he genuinely wanted to create a future with you — just not under these circumstances.

the dark mark on his arm haunted him, the voice of voldemort’s appearing in draco’s recurring nightmares, and his ghastly tasks assigned to him never failed to make him shiver. so raising a child during this dark and twisted era, scared him.

a hundred things ran through his mind, asking himself if he would be a good father, whether or not his child would hate him because he was a bad person, and the secret he hid from you about being a deatheater.

“that’s amazing, y/n,” he smiled at you, and you let out a sigh of relief. you ran into his arms, burying your head in his chest as you let out a small cry.

“i thought you would leave me,” you said quietly, muffled by his clothing, but still audible. he smiled, brushing your hair as he held you in a warm embrace.

“i would never leave you,” he said softly, smiling down at your figure. you looked up at him, your eyes watery and shining like crystals, happy tears running down your face. you were draco’s soft spot, the one person who draco would rather die with than live without, and the thought of losing you made draco’s heart hurt.

he wiped the tears off of your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. for the first time in awhile, he felt calm, the warmth of you surrounding him, your soothing presence making him feel like this moment would last forever, and he wished it did, for he would have preferred to stay with you in that circumstance for the rest of his life.

—

the second thing draco wished, was that he had never been brought into this type of life. draco swore he nearly cried when bellatrix, voldemort’s fanatically loyal servant, ordered him to kill dumbledore. he almost said no, when thinking of you. the only thing that had stopped him, was the mention of your name. he froze in his tracks, trembling.

“you’re in love with another pureblood, aren’t you? what was her name — y/n?”

a cackle left bellatrix’s chapped lips while she played around with her wand. she sat comfortably in draco’s home, an evil smile from ear to ear. “she bears a child, doesn’t she?”

draco was left speechless, his lower lip quivering in horror. “how do you know that?”

he barely heard the sound of his mother questioning him, only thinking of what might possibly go wrong in this situation.

“it’s not about how i know, it’s about what i can do,” bellatrix said, standing up from the chair. “so it settles it then, you kill dumbledore, or i kill y/n and your child.”

draco forgot how to breathe. his brain scattered with possibilities of anything bad happening to you, how you would sound when you were being tortured, the pleading cries you would scream out while draco could only watch. he had to do it. he had to kill dumbledore.

but how could he? he would have to bear this weight on his shoulders, be seen as a murderer to you and his child. what would you think of him? would you think of him as a monster? even so, how would he protect you if he were to refuse the proposal of voldemort?

he was overwhelmed with thoughts, no hope left in his body. he couldn’t do it, he was too scared. he knew he was too much of a coward, and his inability to tell you about his dark mark proved it.

—

the third thing draco wished, was that he could’ve started a family with you. he imagined you with a bright smile on your face, placing breakfast on the table while your baby babbled random noises in their high chair. you would kiss him goodbye as he left for work, and he would never lose that feeling of happiness you gave him; but as he heard the terrified screams and shrieks that emitted from you, he knew that it would not be happening.

he simply had refused to kill dumbledore, creating a plan to escape with you, to run away and live a secret life, but that was too good to be true, as he watched your shivering body. you weren’t dead, just badly hurt. voldemort was laughing in amusement, watching you writhe in pain while tears ran down draco’s pale face.

“stop it! you monster!” draco bawled, his mother and bellatrix holding him back.

“did i not say that she would die? how dare you disrespect me?” voldemort shouted in response. the pain was too much for you to handle, and you dropped to the floor, still alive, but almost gone. draco should have told you, he knew he should have said something about the dangers that were ahead of you. he knew that he was in the wrong, and what he was about to do wasn’t going to fix everything, but it was the least he could have done.

so when draco ran in front of your body, as voldemort yelled out the curse that would send you to death, draco had received the curse instead of you, and the final thing he wished was that he had told you how much he loved you.

so when you began to crawl towards draco’s lifeless body, your own soul beginning to leave yours, you kissed him.

and both of you lay there, with your unborn baby, never knowing what could have been.

[leesielex]

So I decided to go ahead and share the next part of my WIP Jonerys fanfic. It starts when they are 6 and 7 respectively so it will be many chapters before they meet. But that will be the end game and those two characters will be the focus. This is still a rough draft, unbeta’ed. But it will be beta’ed before I post on AO3. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as you did the first snippet! If you have ANY constructive criticism I would LOVE to hear it. It is my first attempt at writing, at all. So I know I have much to learn and need all the help I can get! TIA!

Chapter 2: Viserys Targaryen (The Exiled Prince)

He was dragging Dany as fast as he could but her little legs just couldn't carry her any faster. He has pulled a cloak and hood over his own head and had one ready for Dany as well. Even in Bravos and the Free Cities they would stick out and be easily recognizable. Though not nearly as much as in Westeros, where their family ruled in the Red Keep of King's Landing for hundreds of years.

Finally he stopped to scoop her up. He was only ten and four namedays and already an entire dynasty and legacy rested upon his shoulders. The responsibility of the last of his family fell on him. He couldn't help the seed of resentment from growing inside him. Rhaegar, his brother, and his northern whore, following his cock, leading to the demise of his family. His little sister, who used to be a beacon of light in his life, now felt like a black cell he remembered resided under the keep. If she hadn't killed their mother, if she had been born earlier, then maybe she could have married Rhaegar. Maybe his mother wouldn't be alone on Dragonstone and left to die. And then he wouldn't be alone.

The weight of Dany started to slow him down. His thin, long legs were burning, his feet aching, his arms feeling numb and tingly. He could see the docks in the distance. He had to get them out of here and to another city. It wouldn't be long now before the Usurper's would hear word of them. The servant's were only loyal to Ser Willem while he had the gold to pay them. Now that he was dead, they would sing all the information they could to the highest bidder about the silver haired, violet eyed, boy and girl living there.

He found the boat Ser Willem had described to him, telling him he could trust them. Viserys' entire body felt relief as he put Daenerys down onto the dock.

"Ah, the Dragon Prince and Princess. I have been expecting you." Viserys turns around sharply to a woman's voice directly behind him. He gasps in shock as he sees a strange woman in a mask of red lacquer covering her face. Only her dark eyes shining behind the mask can be seen. Her head and body were covered in black flowing robes.

"Who- Who are you?" Viserys stutters out. Never having seen anyone like her before. Surely this can't be who Ser Willem told him about. Daenerys, who was hiding behind him, peaked between his arm and his body.

"I have seen you before! In my dreams! The dreams that I ride on dragons!" Dany exclaims excitedly.

"That's impossible, sweet sister." Viserys' fear turns to anger once more. He internally cringes, 'She thinks herself Daenys, my stupid sister has her head filled with nonesense and it's my own fault.' He says in his head.

"Your sister does indeed favor her namesake. Her dreams come true. And magic flows through her veins." This strange woman says with a knowing smile, as if she knows exactly what is going on inside his thoughts. "I am called Quaithe of the Shadow. And I will take you to safety. I will help you awaken the magic within you. To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back and to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow."

Viserys looks at her in shock and puzzlement. Wondering why she is mentioning magic flowing through his sister but mentioning nothing of him. He is the last dragon afterall.

"I think you are a mummer. How do we know you are not sent by the Usurper? Why should we trust you?" Behind him he hears the thud of heavy boots and armor clanging. He turns to see them stop and turn to talk to someone, and as he does he sees the person point towards them.

"You must hurry. I can teach you many things. If you hesitate the Usurpers assassins will find you. There is power in your name alone. And for that they will hunt you and never stop." She starts to walk away, and Dany immediately goes to follow. He turns back to see the cutthroats in the distance running towards them once again. He has no choice but to follow.

They boarded the boat in a rush, not looking to see much of their surroundings, keeping their hoods up and heads low, and were immediately led to a cabin. The accommodations weren't much, with only one small bed in the corner to share. It smelled musty and other than a small round table and two chairs, crudely made, there wasn't much else in the cramped space. Quaithe ushered them in and told them they would set sail immediately. She began to walk away and leave them and his anxiety started toiling within his belly.

"Where are you taking us? Your riddle left much to the imagination and gave away no useful information." He yelled out just before she slithered out the door.

"It's better to know less until we are safe. Stay below deck and in your chambers until I come to call upon you. It would not do well to have you seen before we are far enough away." And with that the door is shut and they are alone in the dark and damp cabin.

"All will be well, Vis. I have seen Quaithe in my dreams. We are meant to pass beneath the shadow with her. And she will show us the way." He loved his sister but now she was truly starting to irritate him. Sounding just like this mad Quaithe and her riddles. He felt trapped and desperate. He despised not knowing what the seven hells was going on. He was afraid and his nerves were frayed, he did not like feeling this way.

"Be Quiet! You know nothing, little sister." Her little lip quivered. It wasn't like him to be so short and angry at her, but he could not find it in him to care at the moment. After everything he had woken up to today. His entire world shattered. The burdens that now lay upon his feet.The last two Targaryens. Homeless, no family, nothing to their names except the clothes on their back, and the few meager possessions they could grab. Blessed be the Seven, he was able to grab his mother’s crown and ring before they were found and stolen by the servants. He would make them all regret this day. He would bring back what was stolen from his family, and he would make them all pay, with Fire and Blood. It was all on him now. He would be the last dragon and he would watch them all burn. 🔥

[literary-spirit]

Bonnie Bennett believed she'd finally discovered her good enough ending. Yet, like most things in her life good enough goes left and leaves her with another ending. Or, perhaps a fire beginning...Journey with everyone's favorite Bennett Witch to the Viking Era for much needed lessons in devotion, courtesy the Lothbrok brothers.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

AN: Alright Bennett Fandom this one here is a bit different from what you're used to. Okay this one here is a bit different than I'm used to. Francesca has recently rediscovered Vikings and with it the sons of Ragnar. And don't you know she wouldn't rest until she brought our favorite Bennett Witch into their mess! As if our girl didn't already have her own problems. SMFH! So thanks to my lovely muse, here we are with a whole lot of trifling savagery that I'm just not so sure about. But as always I'll let you be the judge if this WIP lives to see another update. Flame it or acclaim it in comments.

“You know as much as I’ve savored the joy of tormenting you over the years-,” Klaus began.

“No,” Bonnie shook her head. She’d tried to go along with his final request. Really she did, but how could she? When in the end all he’d be was gone. “I’m sorry, bae. We’re not doing this.”

Rebekah’s eyes rolled. She released a drawn out exhale that hadn’t been necessary for her since wood ash and pointed stick tattoos were a thing. “Bonnie, don’t ruin this for him! Permit him whatever comfort he demands. He shoulders a burden you’d never be able to fathom. Can you not allow him to experience but one moment of grace? A moment Hope will undoubtedly cling to after he’s gone.”

“No, Rebekah! I’m not about to listen as the man I love gives us all a corny goodbye and pretend to be okay with it. And why the hell should Hope have a moment to cling to when she could have her father?” She gave her head another firm shake. “No, this is not okay with me,” her voice rose as she drilled visual holes through each of them. Klaus tried to shut her down with an arm around the shoulders but she curved him with a shrug, all while committing ocular homicide on him in the process. “So why the hell is it okay with you, Hybrid?” Her scorn riddled gaze darted from him back to his so called family. “Or any of you?”

“You must’ve been down on Bourbon sipping on that Absinthe again if you believe any of this shit is okay with us,” Marcel waved her off barely sparing her a glance. “We all just know Klaus is gonna do whatever Klaus wants no matter how any of us feels about it. The most dangerous place you can be when his mind’s made up is in his way. So I suggest you step out of it.”

Her neck snapped back as if she’d taken a two piece to the chin. “You think I’m afraid of the big bad wolf? I wasn’t at seventeen and if I thought for a second it would save him, I’d put his ass back in the dirt again. I take care of my own, Marcel. No matter the dangers or consequences,” she jabbed a thumb at her hybrid, “And make no mistake, that Original pain in the ass over there is mine.”

“Cute.” Marcel laughed as he rubbed at the corners of his mouth. “Bonnie, we’re his family. Each of us have known, feared, hated, respected, and loved him long before even your parents’ parents became an idea. Hell, even after everything he’s dragged me through, there’s not a drop of blood I wouldn’t bleed for him.”

“Then stand behind those words and do something, Marcel,” she pleaded, because at this point she wasn’t above begging for the only bright spot remaining in the dim bleakness that had become her life seven years before.

“What would you have us do, Bonnie?” Elijah questioned in a barely engaged tone.

Bonnie turned to consider him. A perpetual moroseness now cloaked the one she’d once believed to be noble. His arrogance hadn’t been quite the same since the restoration of his memories. More and more he’d begun to remind her of Finn. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. Since discovering what Klaus planned to do, she’d toyed with an idea she’d vowed never to indulge. Yet, under the weight of impossible desperation such vows could not stand.

“The eternal witch spell should be evoked,” she said.

“By whom?” Kol questioned. His chocolate browns moved from Freya to Hope. When both appeared to know less than him his disbelieving gawk returned to her. “You?!” Laughter burst from his mouth. “Oh Darling, I’ve witnessed that spell make a supernatural mess of the most talented witches to ever recite a chant. There’s only one destined to master the eternal witch incantation and her sorcery is said to be unmatched.” His knowing gaze drifted to Hope, and then back to her. “There’s no way you’re powerful enough to undertake the task. You’re not even the strongest witch on this block.”

Bonnie flinched. Damn it, if Kol hadn’t DOA’ed her pride. When the hell did he jump on the Bennett hate train? To hear how far his opinion of her plummeted sort of burned.

She nodded. “Okay, if not me why not Davina. You tend to enjoy blowing her horn. If she’s all you claim her to be, get her here. I’ll happily bow down if her being greater than me will save him.” She jerked her head in Klaus’ direction.

“No!” Marcel barked.

“Leave my wife out of this.” Kol zipped across the distance separating them to tower over her. His original face no longer concealed by his human deception.

Klaus rocketed forward to place himself between she and Kol. “Step away from my fiancé, baby brother. For if you harm her then you’ll be joining me in the afterlife. To hell with your bloody dagger and box.”

Ignoring Kol’s and Klaus’ dagger and the box bit, her distressed stare collided with Freya’s. “What about you? Will you help me save your brother?”

“Bonnie, that spell is much too dangerous. Even for me.” The blondes eyes offered her a thousand apologies but not one solution. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it…not now.”

Her desperation bottomed out to despair as her gaze took a hail Mary launch to the supposedly most powerful witch in the room. “Hope?”

The room erupted. You’d think she’d offered the girl a crack pipe. When she was Hope’s age she was taking down well…her dad.

“Bonnie!” Elijah yelled.

“This is madness,” Rebekah growled, taking a step in their direction. “Nik tell her!”

“We’ve already talked about this, Bekah.” Marcel shook his head and tugged Rebekah back to his side. “That doesn’t concern us.” Bonnie heard Marcel mutter.

Klaus spun away from Kol to regard her. He grabbed her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Everything’s going to be alright, Love.” He whispered, before brushing his lips against hers. Liquid pain disturbed the stillness of his crystal blue stare and contradicted the hell out of his reassurance.

“How?” She tugged herself free of his grasp. “How’s everything going to be alright? You’ll be dead and then what? Life goes on? Fuck that! I’m not about to stand here and mourn a defeat I haven’t loss yet!” She whirled away and marched from the gathering. Her decision made.

Once out of sight, she hurried towards their bedroom. Inside, she closed the door and locked it. The barrier wouldn’t hold her hybrid, but the fraction of time it would provide may be all she needed to complete the spell. She fell to her knees next to the mattress. Carefully, she tugged the blanket from underneath the bed. The already prepared altar and ingredients slid out. She stared down at the athamae and exhaled. Second thoughts plagued her mental, but she shook them away. She’d come this far already. The time to bitch up and forget about it had come and gone. Now was the time to do and die, literally.

She picked up the dagger and called forth every ounce of mystical energy which bled through her veins. A swell of Bennett sorcery overwhelmed the room. Pictures rattled on the walls. The balcony doors blew open and the glass shattered. Furniture not nailed down whipped about the room like she’d caught a ride in a tornado. Steeling her nerves, she continued. She called forth her psychic energy, her huntress energy. Any and everything supernatural about her she offered to the Goddess of all in exchange for an eternity of knowledge and the fated eternal mate destined to help her defeat the Hollow.

After relinquishing her all to the Creator she sliced open her palm. Blood gushed from the wound and saturated the ingredients. A searing light illuminated the room. The bargain was struck and accepted. Now the sacrifice. She swallowed and raised the blade. Aiming it at the center of her chest, she closed her eyes.

“Bonnie, no!” Klaus’ voice penetrated the white noise blaring throughout the room. “Love, don’t do this. You won’t survive.”

She opened her eyes. He stood just beyond the enchantment circle, attempting to force his way into the barrier. “Neither will you if I don’t. Besides, if it doesn’t work I’d rather be in the ground anyway than breathe without you, Klaus.”

“Bonnie, please,” he pled as he dropped to his knees. He slammed his fist against the barrier. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll find another way. You have my word, Love!”

A sad smile flirted with her lips. “You’re lying, Klaus. If there was another way then it would already be the plan.” She plunged the blade into the cradle of her breasts. A piercing burn penetrated her chest.

“No!” Klaus’ bellow seared layers from her punctured heart. The storm of mystical energy whipping about ceased.

Her knees buckled. Klaus caught her before the ground could and cuddled her close. She attempted to talk, but a wheeze whistled pass her lips instead.

“No, Love, don’t speak.” He bit into his wrist and placed the bleeding extremity to her mouth. His blood might as well had been battery acid because she’d bet dollars to air it burned the same. Hacking coughs damn near shook her frame apart by the joints. “Why the sodding hell isn’t this working?”

“I-It’s the s-spell,” she managed to utter. “M-my death is the p-price of a-admission.”

Tears trickled from his eyes onto her face. “Why did I have to go and love you, Little Witch?” He demanded, looking beyond confused.

“B-Because its what we b-both needed at the time and no m-matter how this turns out I’ll always be indebted to you for giving me a reason. L-Love you, Hybrid…always and f-forever.” His face faded until nothing but darkness surrounded her.

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

The abyss gave way to blinding lights. Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut. A cacophony of sounds battered her auditory senses. The eardrum rupturing racket nearly distracted her from the violent rocking motion. A violent rocking motion which would no doubt wrought absolute fuckery on her cyclic vomiting syndrome. Right along with the tang of salt-water, unwashed bodies, and rotten fish. The potpourri of funk came close to singeing the lining of her nostrils.

A familiar acrid burn tickled the back of her throat. On cue her belly spun a series of gold medal winning somersaults. Oh this was going to happen. Her lack of sight heightened her senses and made her that much more sensitive to all the upchuck factors swirling about her. Unable to continue to live in the darkest part of her denial and remain vomit free, she opened her eyes. The brightest day she'd ever had to tolerate greeted her light discriminating gaze. She closed her eyes once more. What in the extreme fuck? Was this some kind of hell dimension? Is that why she was only a five minute drive away from the damn sun? Oh Goddess no!

"Cade?!" She growled.

The acrid burn that flirted with the back of her throat developed a sour chunky consistency. Once again she forced her eyes open...and blinked. She was on a vessel that appeared to have hailed straight out of Vikings. Damning the unnecessary brightness and her afterlife in general, she turned and tossed up the entire contents of her stomach over the boats edge. The seafood gumbo from Rousseau's she loved nearly as much as Klaus shot from her mouth and floated one way while the wind and Hades' cruiser sailed her in another.

As gravity took her down exhaustion fucked her over. She rested her cheek on the boat's wooden ledge. Drops of putrid salt water splashed her face. Yet, her fucks to give was at a negative zero low. Not only was she dead, but more than likely so was Klaus. She'd failed him...she'd failed them. Not even eternity would be long enough to make that shit okay.

Bonnie's vision blurred. Her chest throbbed. She clawed at the pounding ache between her breasts. Goddess, it's a wonder her chest didn't have a gaping hole in it after everything her heart had lost. Shaking her latest failure from her thoughts, she turned to slouch back to the boat's floor. She then lifted her gaze to assess her surroundings. Various shades of irises gawked back at her. She froze. Oh damn! Just her luck the water was sacred. She opened her mouth to offer an apology, but snapped it closed. Wait...why the hell did everyone look like extras from the Last Kingdom?

Slowly, her gaze dropped from the filthy hairy men towering over her to what she wore. The burlap sack dress she donned stopped her ever ticking clock. And based on the breeze cooling her cakes, her La Perla's had opted to skip the journey to the other side. Her back teeth clenched. In what kind of after life had she been dropped? Was this some kind of Viking hell? Had she somehow been granted eternity with Klaus in his hereafter?

The shifting of bodies snaked her attention from Kanye's spring wear to the now parting beefy men. A sight which had her questioning her sanity emerged. Bjorn Lothbrok or at any rate the actor who portrayed him in Vikings. Was he dead and stuck on the Otherside also? Wait, was Alexander Ludwig even supernatural?

"You're not one of the slaves who was captured during the raid. One of your hue, I would've remembered." The head Viking in charge edge that resonated in Bjorn's or Alexander's voice snatched her from her contemplations. "How've you come to be upon this ship?" When she opened her mouth to speak the cold sharpened point of a sword pierced the hollow of her throat. "Speak to me of canards or sagas and I shall open your gullet."

She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? The truth would definitely get her neck split wide. "I-I'm not sure. Before...when I closed my eyes, I was somewhere else and now that I've opened them, I'm..." she glanced from the horror frozen faces of the crewmen to the beyond frightened slaves. The poor shackled souls huddled away from her in the ship crevices and corners on either side of her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to return to Bjorn. "I'm here."

"Oh my god," she heard one of the slaves mutter in a tone that, to her surprise, sounded annoyed?

His scoff sliced the disbelief inspired silence in half. He withdrew the biting tip of his sword from her throat and sheathed it in the scabbard at his side. "Bind her hands to her feet and toss her over."

The ship erupted in a flurry of movement. Two overfed red-haired and even redder faced Viking men moved to grab her. She nearly projectile vomited her heart from her mouth.

"I know what I'm saying sounds apeshit, but I swear on everything I love, Alexander," she said slowly uttering the name and searching his face for a flare of recognition. When nothing sparked in his expression she stammered on, "I-I'm telling the truth. Please, you have to believe me, Bjorn!" A flicker of curiosity narrowed his glare. Bingo! "You can't let them kill me! Please, I don't wanna die again!"

"Halt!" He bellowed, raising a hand to stop the men from advancing, "How've you come to know of my name?"

Shit! She pressed her lips together as her mind flipped through a too short list of plausible explanations that wouldn't get her burned at a stake for witchcraft. "I-I've dreamt of you a-and of this moment." There, that didn't sound too bad. One thing she'd learned from Klaus, watching Vikings, and Google, is ancient Northman actually revered oracles and seers.

"You've dreamt of me?" He knelt before her, arresting her stare with a penetratingly incandescent blue gaze. At a deliberate methodical pace, his eyes crept over her face. Her lungs threatened to collapse under the thorough scrutiny. "Of this moment?" Unable to look anywhere other than in the irises that burned brighter than the now blazing sun, her head bobbed. A smile enticed the corners of his mouth. "Then why fear what you know will follow? Have you not prepared well to meet your fate?"

"Not if my fate resides at the bottom of the ocean," she said with a firm shake of the head, "That's an introduction I'd like to cur—avoid indefinitely."

His head tilted just so as he continued to regard her. "Name yourself."

"Bonnie Bennett," she answered.

A golden brow lifted. "Bonnie Bennett of where?"

"New-M-Mystic Falls...Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

"I have never heard of a land with such a name," he huddled a bit closer to her, "in which direction does your homeland lie?"

Before she could answer, thick gun metal gray clouds rolled across the azure sky and swallowed the glaring sun. A sonic boom exploded somewhere in the distance, while blue streaks of lightening zigzagged its way through the stodgy swirls of gloom. And if the situation wasn't already atom splitting serious, fat drops of rain and hail the size of golf balls began to pelt them.

"This storm is unnatural!" A seaman yelled.

"What in the name of Odin will become of us? None of us shall discover the gates of Valhalla at the bottom of the sea!" A ruddy face old man with a scraggly beard roared at anyone who appeared to be listening.

Another much younger seaman, maybe a little older than herself, turned an anxious stare on Bjorn. "Do you believe the All Father has forsaken us, Ironside?"

Bjorn opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a blonde slave girl who pointed a finger in her direction, "It's her! Her very presence displeases the gods. You should heave her over and pray the sacrifice appeases them."

"You sound dumb as hell! It's no wonder you're in chains," Bonnie snapped, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips. Stupidity had nothing to do with forced captivity. Yet, that bitch had some damn nerve.

"No one will be heaving anyone over," Bjorn said, while standing from his crouch, "Raise the sails and provide the slaves with pails so they may began dumping water from the ship's floor."

A surge of magic thickened the air. The foreign sorcery incited something within her. Something unfamiliar. A bucket was pushed in her face. She took the wooden pail without looking away from the sea. The very stench of alien witchery agitated her own strange mystical energy. The fiery heat of her somehow altered super charged power practically scorched the inner lining of her veins as it raced through her vessels. Who would dare interrupt the supernatural and natural balance on this scale without justification? It was like using a heat seeking missile to take out a mosquito. Un-fucking-called for!

Instead of allowing the now aggressive powers within her the retribution it sought, she settled just to keep the occupants on the ship safe. So, while she dumped water from the boat's floor, she chanted under her breath. Soon, a protective shield formed around them in an elusive form of the previous sunny day. The Vikings and slaves alike erupted in praises to Odin.

"Yep," Bonnie forced a smile. "Praise Odin!"

"Come, Mystical One," Bjorn stood over her, his shadow casting her much needed shade.

Distrust and her impromptu guest starring role on a show which highlighted the fact that Vikings had no problems raping captives, raised her guards. Though realms out of her element, she was far from ignorant.

Her gaze moved over him in an attempt to size him up. "Where?"

"To the prow," He gestured towards the front of the ship before snatching the pail from her hands, and then tossing it aside. "I wish to learn more about you and this numinous land named Mystic Falls." When she took too long to follow he locked his hands behind his back and considered her. "If I wanted to lie with you then all I need do is have you. Do you believe anyone here would be minded to protect you?"

She lifted her chin as she glanced about the ship to see not one person watching them for concern purposes. Every eye she caught on them looked to be pre-historic Shade Room and TMZ reporters. If they had tea kettles back then they'd no doubt be ready to spill the damn things. No, Bjorn spoke the truth. No one on that confoundingly long boat would lift a calloused palm to help her.

"Alright." Exhaling, she stood and leveled him with a glare even a PMS'ing demon would be incapable of exacting. "But fair warning, no one on this ship can protect me better than me. And make no mistake, I'm not above defending my own honor."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "That is a certainty about you of which I'll never be mistaken, Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."