#referenced past trauma

[straight-to-the-pain]

I’ve been thinking about how often we see stories about people getting out of an awful situation and being surrounded with support and care and getting to move on and recover.

But what if they don’t. They’ve spent god knows how long in their own personal hell, captivity, torture, isolation. For what felt like an eternity, they held onto the idea of finally being freed, rescued, released. And one day it just happens. Political pressure, a hostage exchange, a rescue. Whatever happens, one day they’re just free.

But they come home and everything’s different. They never had a huge network to begin with, and now the people who still care just don’t know how to deal with them and their trauma. It’s all too much. They’re not the person they used to be, the person their friends used to love.

Sure, they’ve been given medical treatment for their obvious wounds but the doctors just don’t seem to understand them when they say that there’s a pain that never quite goes away. They’ve had the mandatory counselling, but the therapist’s empty platitudes made them feel all the more disconnected from their reality.

For so long, they waited for this. But now it feels like their past is an impossible weight on their chest, never letting them move forward. People tell them that they have their future ahead of them, but they can’t help but wonder if they should have just died there.

#whump #tropes and prompts #past trauma #implied/referenced torture #emotional whump #my stuff #I’m sorry this is such a bleak one but I just felt like it wasn’t represented much in writing #but like sometimes there isn’t a happy ending for a long time #i do hope that it’ll get better for this hypothetical character but who can say for sure

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

#whump #amow #amow 12 days of whumpmas #12 days of whumpmas #traumatized whumpee #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery whump #escaped whumpee #intimate whumper #referenced abuse #past captivity #child of whumpee #whump ocs #comfy-whumpee's oc #comfy-whumpee #the motherfucking gallaghers #jax #dad jax #past noncon #past drugging

[whumpacabra]

Mouse

Panic attack, claustrophobic environment, self deprecating thoughts, begging, anticipated violence, exhaustion, firearm mention, broken glass mention, referenced murder, implied past failed suicide attempt, implied past conditioning and trauma

[Directly follows Cat]

He couldn’t breathe - he couldn’t breathe - fuck, he couldn’t fucking breathe -

What had he done? What had he done?

Why? Why would he do that?

How had he done that?

(Who was his handler now? )

The Wolf couldn’t breathe - couldn’t think - not with the sound and the light and the exposure of being seen -

The Box. He needed the Box. He had made a mistake - he disobeyed, indirectly - he needed to be put away for a bit until he could think himself to death and figure out what the hell he just did.

This ancient supply closet would do, filled with long expired chemicals and cobwebs. Small. Cramped. Dark. Door closed. Alone.

Think, you dumb mutt.

Breathing was getting easier, thinking wasn’t. His mind was filled with frozen molasses, the last few moments playing back like a rewound VHS.

He ran from the enemy. (Coward.) He collapsed from pain after vaulting over the fence. (Weak.) He threw away the gun, he hadn’t spared one of his handlers three bullets for himself. (Idiot.)

But before that - what had happened? He was tired, still bloody and exhausted from his earlier punishment. And with exhaustion came resentment - dangerous, volatile.

Something that could simmer low, unchecked by a brain too focused on mere survival. Something that would wait until his handler peered around a corner, groping for his pistol that the Wolf had lifted from its holster with steady hands. Something that curled in satisfaction at the fear in his handler’s eyes, anger burned away by acceptance as the first bullet cut into a tender, unprotected throat.

And now, having unfurled in all its glory, that resentment withered to sickly regret.

What was the Wolf without his handler? Certainly not whatever he had been Before. Now, he was a coward, weak and stupid and crying in a broom closet like a frightened child.

Boots disturbed broken glass, uneven footsteps intending to slip past less sensitive hearing. But the Wolf knew who was there, creeping down the hallway. He had been listening to those boots for days now. The airport. The hotel hallway. On the roof across the street.

(His handler didn’t ask what the Wolf heard or knew, so he hadn’t shared their tail with him.)

(Now it felt like a betrayal worthy of every second of agony he had endured over the last few days. Worthy of whatever hell lay ahead of him.)

The Wolf didn’t flinch as the door opened, but he hadn’t expected to be found so easily. (There was dust everywhere here - an observant tail would clearly see what door handles were recently used.) (Idiot.)

“You…alright there, mate?” The Wolf was so, so tired. Was he supposed to respond? Did it matter? “Hey, you hearing me? Look at me.”

The Wolf blinked, the ingrained desire to follow orders as soon as they were given turning his eyes from the floor between his knees to the face at the doorway. For all he had heard their tail these last few days, he had hardly seen the enigmatic man.

He was currently soaked, the Wolf suddenly realizing the drone in his ears wasn’t panic but the rain outside. But besides the rainwater beading down the stranger’s face, there was a pair of steely grey eyes looking down at the Wolf with an expression he couldn’t make sense of. Was he angry? Sad? Frustrated? Annoyed?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.

The stranger dropped to a crouch in the doorway, the Wolf tensing in anticipation of a blow. Of unwanted hands. He tucked his head under his arms with a strangled sob, waiting waiting - just get it over with already -

“Easy, love, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Agent Jackson. What’s your name?” His name. The script. The Wolf uncurled a fraction, head still ducked but looking vaguely in the agent’s direction.

“I am Wolf.” His own voice felt clunky in his sore throat, iron on his tongue as he swallowed back the pain. The agent nodded, gentle grey eyes beckoning the Wolf relax against his better judgement.

“You’re a freelancer, right?” The Wolf didn’t know what that meant, but his empty stare was taken as confirmation. “Did Agent Smith hire you?”

“No one hired me. I work alone.” The Wolf bit his tongue until he tasted fresh blood. He had gotten ahead of himself, and now the agent was making that face again -

“You were with Agent Smith earlier, right?” He have a stiff nod. Lying would hurt more in the long run. He just needed to stick to the script.

“Why did you kill him?”

The Wolf’s breathing shuddered. He had, hadn’t he? He killed his handler. He was no different than the rabid dogs he had seen the project put down. A broken bastard that bit the hand that fed.

“I didn’t - it was a - please - please, it won’t - sir, please I can’t - ” Begging never helped, sometimes it hurt, but it was the only thing he could force between hollow gasps. But he couldn’t - he couldn’t survive another punishment. Not now. Not with wounds so fresh and a body so broken. “I can’t.”

Somehow, the agent seemed to understand. Somehow, the agent was generous enough to grant the Wolf a temporary reprieve.

“Shush, shh, it’s - it’s alright love, you’re not…I’m not fishing for a confession.” The agent swallowed, uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced down the hallway. The Wolf could hear approaching tires in the distance. “Agent Smith had something that I’m looking for. An asset he stole; do you know what I’m talking about?”

The Wolf stared into those soft grey eyes. Wasn’t he the asset? But the Wolf wasn’t stolen - he was transferred, for a disciplinary interim. That’s what his handler told him. Did this agent not know that? Was this agent unaffiliated with the project?

“Nevermind - let’s - let’s get you out of here, alright?” There was a shuffle of fabric, and the Wolf flinched, folding in on himself. But no hands grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him to his feet. All that followed was a soft sigh and whispered words. “C’mon mate, get up; let’s get going.”

The Wolf glanced between strands of his own tangled hair, the stranger standing still. Waiting. Patient. Soft. Everything his handler never was. Everything a weapon like him wasn’t allowed. His breathing shuddered again as he gulped down a lungful of air.

Get up. An order. Lesson number one. Do as you are told, without hesitation.

His legs strained, shaking under him as the Wolf stumbled to stand in the cramped broom closet. He could feel himself trembling as he looked to the agent for approval. Those grey eyes flicked down the hall, expression gentle as he nodded and started walking.

“Follow me.”

One foot in front of the other.

Endure.

Again and again and again. Just to see another day of pain. Just to maybe see the sun once more.

Again and again and again.

[Directly before Bad Dog]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

#whump #panic attack #claustrophobic environment #self deprecation #begging #anticipated violence #exhaustion #firearms #broken glass #referenced murder #failed suicide attempt #past suicide attempt #past conditioning #past trauma #freelancers #the lad is havin a bad time smh smh #directly before tomorrow's prompt so *eyes* enjoy the wolf struggle bus :]

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Healing

to the surprise of literally no one, i've been insane about vincent again... enjoy the result of that: a continuation of this!! i guess this is a slight spoiler for @whumpcloud's story? but rather for the vibe than specific plot points

CW: implied / undertones of past sa, references to past torture and starvation

There it is again. The thing, the wobbly metal plate Vincent has come to think of as a weird mirror. It’s the best he’ll get anyway, even though he likes to steal glances at the way modern mirrors are shaped and designed so very differently than what he grew up with. He is denied any grace of a reflection though, another trade for immortality and power he thought so simple. And yet…

Sometimes when he sees Clary’s reflection, her posture held high and proud, just like she should be, Vincent’s mind drifts, wishing for a similar soul that would allow him to see himself as he is. Unlike before though, he doesn’t dwell on it. The knowledge simply is, passing briefly through him, but barely leaving an impact.

Now, he’s in front of his almost-mirror, that twists and turns his shape and everything around him, that Cai got rid of again after what happened the first and last time Vincent had it in his room. The dent –a reminder of what happened– is still visible, distorting the reflections even more. It surprises him that Cai didn’t throw it away and instead just disposed of it in this room, that holds so many memories but mostly also old possessions they can’t seem to bring themselves to get rid of. 

Today, the twins have decided to declutter and Vincent is more than delighted to help. Maybe his vampiric strength couldn’t protect him, but now it can help with the mundane chores that come with everyday life, and maybe that's worth something more too.

Which is how he ended up here, once again face to face with his own warped reflection, and he can’t help but stare. He looks…different?

Logically, Vincent knows he shouldn’t look the same as he did after years of starvation and torture, that he prefers to bury in some dark corner of his mind. But without a reliable method of visualising himself, and too afraid of appearing eternally, cursedly bloodstained, he never dwelled too long on how his body might look, never even debated asking Clary or Cai. It was for the better that way. 

He’s not bloodsoaked though, his hands are not stained with ash sticking to him like goo, the scars where he ripped his own skin off in an attempt to cleanse himself of the reminder are long gone.

Instead, as he steps forward to take a closer look, he finds that his face seems softer. Gone are the hard edges carved by malnutrition, the sunken-in eyes setting shadows over what remains of Henry. His now rounded jawline is a stark contrast to what it used to be, and together with his slightly plump cheeks, feign a picture of youth.  Against all odds and the passing of centuries, he feels like twenty-two again, when he was still unburdened with immortality and foolishly wishing for a change. 

His hair is changed too, though he consciously worked towards that. He knows from the way it feels, his curls finally getting defined, the length cut regularly. It takes work, but it feels nice, so nice to finally have something only he can control.

Suddenly, a stray thought overcomes him, and Vincent sheepishly looks around for any onlookers, even though his vampiric hearing already tells him that the twins are busy in the living room. Hesitantly, almost afraid of what he will see, Vincent lifts his jumper up.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed at such a childish action, but right now his curiosity overwhelms any sort of shame. 

He chose the jumper by himself too, just like he decides how his hair looks, even though Clary said it makes him look like a grandfather, said that he is finally acting his age. Before, he would have scrambled to rip the fabric off of his body in a desperate attempt to please her again, but now he knows that she is joking. It feels good to know.

His skin is more lifelike, a blush shining through the paleness that makes him look like a dead man. It’s not just that though. Where once protruding ribs used to sit, he can’t even see his bones now, not even a hint when he stretches. It’s a hard-earned layer of fat, chubbiness he’d never take for granted

All of it is both a gift and a symbol, showing the care of feeding him every single day even when it comes at a cost to the twins. He can’t even remember the last time someone showed him such consideration, and it must have been back with Henry, two lifetimes ago, but now that thought doesn’t fill him with the same sadness anymore that it did before. 

He is not just grieving something of the past. Care was given once before and it will be given again, no matter how unlikely that still feels to him. Every moment he spends with Clary shows him that. Despite it all, life became good again.

It feels almost easy to believe, that his flesh and skin are ignorant of what happened, that the memory went past them like a light breeze, leaving no mark. Like seeking a thrill, Vincent looks for the imprints he once saw, collaring his neck, tainting his heart and hips. He–

He can find none.

Like a piece of paper left blank, he feels oddly empty. Even without seeing them, he had grown accustomed to expecting them there. The knowledge painting a clear picture spoken in dark, hand-shaped prints holding onto him forever. Something even death could never erase, and yet… And yet he finds himself devoid of such things, finds himself almost—

He cannot finish that thought, cannot think further, not yet. 

The curiosity that had taken hold of him made room for a wondrous disbelieve. Vincent looks closer, he finally does, expecting to see contradictions to the fickle hope bubbling in his chest like a new heart.

Another person stares back. 

Not the timid boy, with his eternally lowered gaze for reasons he couldn’t understand, hunching his back to make himself as unassuming as possible, always, next to everyone else. Born soft and squishy just to force himself into a rigid form, fitting in with expectations he could never hold, his spine bending under the weight. That never changed, not even after becoming a vampire, especially not with Lyfelde. One head held up high, the other forcefully pushed down. 

That’s not who he sees, though. Instead, he sees a young man, standing straight, only bending through the warbling mirror. There is a shine in his Henry-green eyes, and for a moment Vincent thinks that if someone were to look in his face, they’d notice his eyes first and the scar second. Maybe, the scar wouldn’t catch their attention at all. 

He can’t remember the last time was allowed to look this soft, the last time he allowed it himself. It goes beyond his rounded cheeks that bring back an air of innocent youth, beyond the comfy sweaters with the good texture. It’s the smile that comes to him easier, the glimmer it brings to his eyes, the silly laugh at stupid things he isn’t afraid to hide. It’s the piles of books, old and new, about linguistics, and the evenings where Clary listens to his rambles. It’s that somehow, before this moment, he had never noticed it all like this, never noticed the meaning beyond the thankfulness that occasionally overwhelms him.

It’s that all of this has never been touched by Lyfelde.

Maybe some of his impact will never leave Vincent, like the honour of creating the last scar his body could ever remember. Maybe he will never be who he was before Lyfelde. But, and the thought makes him feel almost giddy, he is not who he was with Lyfelde anymore either. A metamorphosis maybe, two- or threefold, a life categorised by before’s and after’s but never always’.  

Vincent hopes –victoriously–, that if Lyfelde saw him today, with all of his joy, and love, and caring friends that are starting to feel like family, he would be unrecognisable to him.

#I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM #its a curse at this point. ill never be free #he has charmed me with his autistic looser swag and his big wet eyes <3 #things end | people change #honey's writing #other people's ocs #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #multiple caretakers #whumpee and caretaker #recovery #recovering whumpee #referenced past sa #past torture mention #past starvation #vampire whumper #comfort #past trauma

[samtheacesheep]

Work Description: 

Melissa can’t handle her guilt after being reprogrammed to hurt her friends. She tries to persuade them to take precautions in case she is controlled again, even though she is terrified.

#whumpril2023 #whumprilday16 #guilt #minor whump #past child abuse #implied/referenced torture #trauma #mml dystopia au #I wrote a thing

[friendlylocalwhumper]

The apartment is beautifully clean. Every mug in the cabinet is lined up with the handle angled to the left. Every stainless steel surface is kept polished, the countertops have nothing but a bowl of decorative fruit painted in cheery colors, the coffee table has been sanded and freshened up to erase old rings of coffee stains. Quinn lounges on the couch, comfortable but refusing to pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch to cover their chilly arms because it’s sitting so perfectly where they laid it.

Knuckles rap quietly against the front door. All wandering thoughts about how elephants are cute when they use their trunks to drink water are erased in an instant. Wary brown eyes flit to the door. They are shirtless, freckles and scars on display to the empty, cold room. The patio door is in their bedroom, and the nearest window will creak if they try to push it open quickly. There is a gun under the coffee table, and one in the cabinet above the sink, and a knife in the entryway drawer, but none of those will really do much good if Quinn doesn’t have enough time to strategize. They don’t even know who’s there.

Pajama pants brushing against the sofa cushion as they swing their legs to stand up, the spy shakes their head to get their curls out of their face. They showered this morning and took care to curl their hair like they were undressing a wound, cleaning it, and redressing it. Now they’re wondering if that was a mistake. It was certainly stupid to have changed into pajamas this early in the night, to have not even bothered to grab a shirt. What if this is someone who expects them to be playing the role they used in some random mission months or years ago? What if it’s someone here to kill them? Do they really want to die wearing plaid?

The soft knock comes again. It’s oddly respectful, like the sound of someone unnecessarily asking for permission before entering a mausoleum.

The handle is cool under their swollen hand. It always seems to be too warm and tender, the other not so swollen but far more stiff, and it just gives the most awful cracks and clicks when forced to move. Quinn doesn’t spare the attention to frown down at their ugly crooked fingers as they turn the doorknob and crack the door open.

Exhausted dark eyes. Aquiline nose, bushy eyebrows, collarbones standing out under the neckline of a white T-shirt.

He watches them calculating whether there’s any point in closing and locking the door. Oscar doesn’t speak yet. Quinn yanks their fingers back from where they’d curled around the edge of the door to peek; their hands go behind their back, and they keep the door in its position with the side of their foot pressed up against it instead.

“I need to come inside,” He says in his low, urgent but patient tone. He’s staring right into their soul. A sickly sweat beads at the back of their neck and sticks to their hair.

But the door swings open, and Quinn stands aside only to close it again once he’s in. They lean back against the door with their hands safely between their spine and the wood.

Oscar leans heavily on the kitchen counter as soon as he reaches it. He’s tracking blood across the floor, and more drips down his neck, flowing maybe from somewhere under his hair. He is wearing his uniform pants, but not the shirt that would make any fed stick out like a sore thumb. He looks like he was tossed out of a moving car and didn’t find a safe place to crash for days after that.

He turns to them, and they consider that he might expect them to rant at him, or stare at him impassively while they wait for an apology, or try to kill him. Something rational for the very clever, very dangerous Quinn Mae to do. All they can manage is to watch him, respectfully avoiding eye contact when he almost establishes it, too scared to bolt or to stand their ground.

“…Your place is different.”

They don’t look around. As clean as it seemed to them before the knock came, they recognize now how unacceptably filthy it is. The dust on the windowsill. The papers scattered across the desk - is there anything sensitive there? - no, it doesn’t matter, he knows everything. The throw blanket isn’t really at the perfect angle. They’ve let themself fall apart, they’re obviously not recovering very well. They haven’t even been doing missions, and Oscar will know that, of course, because he is an expert in Quinn Mae.

“Haven’t… haven’t kept up, I missed trash day and - no healers around to help when, when I can’t… you know.”

His eyes are on them again. Quinn endures the inferno of his judgment and breathes through the feeling that they’re going to faint. They’re fed, hydrated, rested, healthy. They don’t faint anymore.

“What?”

Glancing up, they finally meet his gaze only to find that it holds confusion and hesitance, not judgment. Although he is a remarkable actor when he wants to be.

“Um. My place.”

He blinks. “You think it’s bad? Messy?”

It must be a trick question. Their breaths come a little quicker. His eyes go to their chest, and they know that he can see their fear plain as day. “…Yes. Yes, it’s… clearly.”

They are consumed by his calculating eyes, and they do not quail under the gaze that they grew used to while working under him.

Oscar thinks about the time he watched Major nearly beat Quinn to death, and their pleas for Oscar to just leave, their swearing that it was their fault and they had it handled. He thinks about how many months it took to earn their trust, to manipulate them into feeling safe with him, and then how they thanked him for pushing until they told him their most painful secrets. He thinks about the last month and a half that he saw them at work, when they were taken from him because he wasn’t getting results from them anymore, and they were given to Davian. How Quinn rapidly deteriorated into a humiliated, doe-eyed bedwarmer, a source of entertainment.

The time when Davian dumped them on the floor of Oscar’s office and told them they were allowed to do one piece of paperwork for their old boss. How Quinn took the paper offered to them by Oscar with shaking hands, and focused so hard to getting every detail right because they were desperate for a chance to get to work again, to think critically, to be useful for their mind.

Once again, he scans the room and sees no big project. No pieces of taken-apart locks on the coffee table, no corkboard with plans and pictures and blueprints, no books lying open. It’s like someone dipped their hand into Quinn’s mind and scrambled it all up, hollowed it out, until they were nothing but tensely waiting for the next threat to loom over them.

Oscar is the one who did that. And Oscar is the threat now looming over them.

He’s never had a chance to… never wanted to feel it up until now. But the weathered and weary fed looks back at Quinn and sees what a deeply important, powerful person they were striving to be, and how far down he struck them. What he took from them. Their hands are at their sides now, unconsciously no longer being protected. They look small and uncertain, but still dependent upon the rules he established when he was breaking them. Oscar was in charge, he was aware of everything, and all they had to do was try their best to do excellent work for him. The air of the room is almost charged with expectation. They want him to tell them what he’s here for. Tell them what to do. What the latest threat is, what he’ll do to them if they don’t comply.

“Would you give me your hands if I told you to?” He asks, not sure whether he’ll be angry or relieved if they say no.

A second of hesitation is all that they’ve built up in their recovery. One second of clear apprehension before they hold out their hands to him, even stepping forward so they’re in easy reach.

Oscar runs his hand over his face, scratching at his scruffy chin. When it becomes clear with the increasingly awkward silence that he’s not going to break their fingers on a whim this time, a blush burns across their cheeks. Quinn pulls back and leans against the door again, arms somewhat folded, hands near their core.

“It looks like you were kicked out,” They croak. “Or you escaped.”

“Escaped?” He counters, feigning confusion. It’s more out of pride than anything, but they see the deceit alone.

“You were trapped too. I was slow to figure that out.” He hears in their tone that they loathe themself for being slow, and it’s absolutely not true, but it’s the painful truth to them. “Looks like you just barely got out, tried to survive by hiding out with warlocks, got kicked around. Now you’ve come to me because, ironically, you need my help.”

He doesn’t look impressed. He is, but any reaction that he gives will be read as an act. So he waits to hear what else they have to say.

“It looks like that’s what happened. It makes sense that that would be how it went. But I’m not going to believe it.”

There it is. He knew they’d be wary. Of course they would, he betrayed them. He’s a well-trained liar.

Their heel bumps against the wall as they back up just a fraction more. They look like they want to escape, but they’re the one holding the door shut. They’re the one trapping him in here right now. He wonders if they want him here, if they need it somehow.

“It’s not very original to come back playing the victim,” They add. “Why would I believe you? Why would I help you? After everything?”

They might have meant it as an accusation. It doesn’t sound like one. It sounds like they’re questioning themself more than him. Oscar wishes that he could hold them and let them cry it out, or let them reel from whatever numbness they might have been using as a shield since they got out.

“I just need to be here.” He doesn’t advance, but Quinn’s breaths get shallower like he’s closing in on them. “It’s a last resort. I’m not asking you to do anything, go anywhere. Just let me rest here.”

The apartment smells like them. He wants to collapse onto their bed and breathe into their pillows and pretend none of this ever happened, that he never did anything past befriending them and sleeping in their bed.

It does seem to strike them as odd that he’s not making them leave, or ushering more feds in here to haul them back to the facility. “I’m not… I’m not going to fall for it again. Fall for you again. You’re really here to try the long game again? Do they really think so little of me, that I’m that stupid?”

He feels like he’s sinking toward the floor. Oscar sighs. “You can use your magic to see if I’m being honest. I don’t care. Where can I crash?”

Their stiff, pink-tinted sore hands curl slightly around their sides in a self-soothing hug. “…I won’t get on the bed.”

That twists unexpected guilt in his gut. The exiled fed nods slowly. “Do you want me to take it?”

Quinn has no idea what to do with any of this. They shake their head, opening their mouth then seeming to think better of whatever came to mind. “Um. Yes. Sure. Are you hurt? I mean… you won’t die in there, will you?”

He must look even worse than he feels. Oscar shrugs. “If it hasn’t happened yet, it won’t tonight.”

#whump #drabble #mine #angst #quinn #oscar #past trauma #abuse tw #just seems like a relevant parallel theme #referenced or implied noncon #rape tw #institutionalized dehumanization #this one is long and slow but i like the angst #it was fun to write! #didn't turn out as rough and intense as i intended #but i think it's fittingly subtle for these two #there is a lot of tension in the air

[bowserswife]

https://mercurials.substack.com/

if anyones interested at all i made a writing page for fun

#its gonna be some trauma dumping and oc oneshots lol 💃 #if i actually maintain it that is #ive been trying to upload the poem referenced in my first post but substack WONT LET ME UPLOAD IMAGES RN #but it doesnt have the formatting options id need to copy/paste it instead of uploading screenshots #txt

[beskad]

.

#how do you say sorry to an old friend you already said sorry to in an email #and they responded and what they had to say about your past behavior was so mind-blowing #that you didnt even know how to respond so you put it off #and now it's over a year later #and you still havent responded #and tbh it was already pushing the line by apologizing in the first place over a year ago and you're surprised they responded at all #but like you appreciate the honesty they gave you about past-you #it just also caused you to have to go back to therapy because like wow i know i was super foggy because i was in a huge cloud of trauma #having just escaped a horrible home life #and that obviously doesnt excuse the past behavior #you just honestly couldn't see it when you were doing it because you were so fried and fucked up #idk it just feels like responding so much later on is....out of line and rude because i took too long #but i also want to say thanks for the honesty because i genuinely didnt know I'd done those things #like i apologized for the things i WAS able to see kn hindsight #but there was just so much more and being confronted with that was A Lot #but it was also A Lot for them to say it #this is mostly rhetorical i am just 'thinking out loud' i suppose #and this behavior im referencing is from like 2017-2019 and 98% Trauma Response and dissociation and passive s-word ideation #tbd

[anonymouscentral]

WHAT DOES CODE LORE COMIC FUCKING MEAN….

YOU ACTING LIKE I FUCKING KNOW

#it's probably referencing his past trauma with abuse. #duh. #did u guys forget that the tyler guy was an asshole?

[laffy-taffy-creations]

Wooooooooo day 29!!!! >:D

This fic was cross-posted on AO3 here

Hot Seat

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | "What happened to me?"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Words: 1,347

Warnings: trauma block, PTSD, childhood trauma, implied/referenced child abuse, past experimentation, implied kidnapping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mmmm, something smells good, whatcha making?” Jirou asked.

“Hm? Oh, just a small dinner for myself.”

She looked over at it. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I dont think I’ve seen that before,” she commented.

“It’s called eintopf, it’s german! I actually…” I trailed off. I was gonna say something but I couldn’t quite remember.

“You actually…” she encouraged.

“I… I dont know what I was gonna say.” I tried to laugh it off. The nagging feeling something was wrong, that I’d forgotten something was ever present… But what was it?

“Yo, what’s that?” Kaminari asked.

“Ein… In… Vee help me out here…”

I giggled. “Eintopf. I can make you some if you like,” I offered.

“Please do!” he said enthusiastically.

I started up a second serving for him. He watched me make it, being sure to give me adequate space to work but still completely enthralled by it nonetheless.

I started the time for about 15 mins to let it sit on the stove and stepped away, checking the time on mine. Still about 5 minutes left.

“Where’d you learn to make this?” he asked.

“I mean it’s a pretty simple recipe, it’s not like-”

“I mean who taught you, like, who’d you learn the recipe from? There had to have been some way you learned about it cause I dont think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“There was someone who introduced me, his name was C-” I cut myself off. No, that couldn’t be right… who on earth would have the name C-7?

“C?”

“No… it… hang on…” My mind started racing. Who was C-7? That cant have been his name. Why am I getting flashbacks to… to doctors, and needles, and weird names-

“Vee!”

“Huh?” I looked up.

“We asked if you were okay, you started hyperventilating and spacing out…”

“Yeah, I- I dont know what happened, it’s like there’s some sort of… gap in my brain, I cant really-” The buzzer went off for my serving. I took a breath of clarity and put it in my mug.

“...Were you gonna finish that sentence?”

I got a spoon and sat down on the couch in the common room. The scent of strawberries welcomed my nose, Momo was burning another scented candle.

The other two followed me. “OV? Are you alright?”

I took a bite of my eintopf. “Make sure to get your share off the stove in about 9 minutes so it doesn’t burn.”

“That isn’t what we asked OV,” Jirou said sternly.

“I dont care, I… “

“What happened back there?”

“Woah, what’s going on?” Ochako asked, walking into the room.

“OV had some sort of moment in the kitchen and we’re trying to figure out what happened,” Kaminari answered.

“We can show you. OV, who taught you about einto… however you say it again?”

“It’s eintopf, it’s german, and I was taught about it by…” My mind knew the answer but wouldn’t give it to me. “There’s no fucking way that’s what his name was, it was something like…”

The flashes started again. Memories of a spider-like child, some sort of room I was at the center of, the feeling of obligation to something…

“BRAIN FUCKING WORK WITH ME!” I shouted.

The sound of a crash brought me back to reality. I hadn’t realized that more people had gathered around. Just… watching me.

Focus… anything but here… focus on the scent of strawberries, it’ll be fine…

The echoing words of ‘it’ll be fine’ from a voice not of my own clouded my mind. A girl. An older girl. With blue hair. Dark blue hair. And similar eyes.

Something touched my shoulder and I flinched.

“Woah, hey! It’s just me! I’m just… gonna take this so you dont burn yourself…” Sero said.

I nodded. Why is everybody staring at me?

Dont focus on that Clo, focus on the candle… the bright flame… flickering, calm… the sweet smell it’s flooding the room with…

I took a deep breath. “Why are you all staring at me.” It was not a question, because I already knew the answer.

“You know damn fucking well. Care to explain?” Bakugou demanded, receiving a smack on the arm for his rudeness from Kirishima.

“I-I dont know, just stop fucking looking at me! I’m not a show monkey!”

“No, you’re our friend, and we’re worried.” Kirishima said. “If some of us,” he said giving Bakugou a harsh side-eye, “leave the room, would you feel more comfortable talking about it?”

I thought about it for a bit with a few deep breaths then nodded.

About half of them left the room with whispers, leaving only Jirou, Kaminari, Ochako, Todoroki, Kirishima, and Bakugou who refused to leave probably just to spite Kiri.

“Sooo, what happened?”

I took some breaths. “There’s some sort of, gap in my memories? And, I cant shake the feeling something’s missing… When you asked where I learned the recipe…” I started.

All 6 of them were looking at me intently.

“I-I’m sorry I’m gonna need more of you to leave!” I ended up saying.

Kirishima sighed, and got up while Bakugou smirked. Whatever sort of battle they were having, Bakugou clearly won.

Jirou left as well, and so did Todoroki.

Which left Kaminari, Ochako, and Bakugou. An odd assortment to be sure, but a small enough group that I could feel my anxiety lifting off me bit by bit.

“Okay, so where you learned the recipe…?” Ocha offered.

I nodded. “Yeah, so, when you asked where, I got some sort of a flashback to… a place, I dont know where, just…” I took another breath and focused back on the candle. Just pretend you’re talking to the candle. There’s nobody else listening, just the candle… such a pretty, calming flame…

“The person that taught me how to make eintopf was… some person, I dont remember exactly what his name was, but for some reason he’s in my mind as ‘C-7’,” I told the candle. “When I tried to figure it out again, I got flashes of… doctors, and needles, and these people that I feel like I should know but I just, dont.” I took in another breath.

“There was… a girl, a some years older than me, reassuring me… she had, dark blue hair, and really dark blue eyes… and a nose piercing…”

Ochako’s brow furrowed. “What was her name? Do you… remember?”

“Uhh, yeah. It was Relena… But her other name was… MEQAT9?” The memories started up again.

“She called me… 3 for some reason…”

“OV, I dont know how to tell you this but uhm…” Kaminari started.

I looked up at them. Somehow all 3 of them, -Bakugou included- had a concerned look on their face.

“W-what?” I asked.

“That was-”

“You’re talking about Himokya Relena, and she went missing like 7 years ago,” Bakugou cut in.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, it was a really big thing a while ago, everyone knows about her… Didnt you say you were a foreigner?” Kaminari asked.

“Uh, yeah, I-” my mind flooded again. I dont know what with. Emptiness I suppose, what should be there but isnt. Someone reached out and grabbed my hand. Ochako. I took a deep breath and focused on what I knew. “I’m European-American, I was with my parents up until like… 9 I think?” I guessed. “I… dont know much after that… I know that I’m self-sufficient, there’s some sort of obligation I have to fill but cant… there’s… I dont…”

I started hyperventilating again as I felt tears running down my face.

“Wh-hat ha-appened to me-e?” I asked through broken sobs.

Ocha reached up and wrapped me in a hug. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, we’ll figure this out, dont worry, we’re here for you, okay? We’ll help you through this, just breathe for now, alright? We’ve got you, let it out…”

I dont think I ever managed to fully tell any of them how much that meant. Not when I remembered just who did this and what exactly happened during my time as MEQAT3.

I was going to kill the hero responsible for all this.

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #scented candle #troubled past resurfacing #what happened to me #my hero academia #trauma #ptsd #trauma block #childhood trauma #implied/referenced child abuse #past experimentation #implied kidnapping #lt speaks #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #my writing #whump writing #whump writer #emotional whump #whump community #whump #oc: ov

[miles-prentiss]

Where is my mind

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Childhood Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Substance Abuse, Schizophrenia, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Dreams, Panic Attacks, Short One Shot, One Shot, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy

Words: 414

I walk down the long hallway the walls a saturated marron colour

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

"Hello!" I call out unaware of my surroundings.

I reach the end of the hall, I am met with a off white door, I open the door with hesitation not knowing what is awaiting my arrival.

The door open revealing a living room which seem familiar .

"Hello?" I call out once more.

... no reply .

I begin the gather what Is surrounding me, soft yellow wall, a dark green couch, a muted red carpet, off white lace curtains.

I turn around to see a man who was once standing behind me.

I stand in confusion not knowing who the man infront of me.

"What do you not know your own father?" He asked as if he was informing me on who exactly he was.

I couldn't believe it.

"I thought- you're in prison!?" I enquired.

"What do you not miss your pa?" I ignored his statement and walked away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He demanded grabing my shoulder and spinning me around to face him.

I flinched and his grip on my shoulder is getting tighter. He takes his free hand and wraps it tightly around my neck ,blocking my oxygen supply.

"Pleaae..." I let out a pathetic whimper.

"Ahhh!" I sit up walking myself up from my slumber in a cold sweat.

"Why?...why now?"

The past is catching up with me fast than I thought, I hang my head in defeat not wanting to deal with this at the moment.

I turn to my alarm clock which reads '3:12AM' 'the devils hour'.

I get out of bed and walk over to my bathroom. I flick on the light, illuminating the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror, my dark curls framing my face, dark circles for eyes, the pale yellow-ish tone on my skin.

I turn to look at the shelf bellow the mirror which is filled with numerous boxes of pills

I look back up to the mirror to see Him behind me, his hand wrapped firmly around my neck, I turn around only for him not to be there.

I Fall back against the sink, knees coming up to my chest, hand falling into my arms, tears rolling down my face, slight ringing in my ear

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." I repeat over and over knowing how I failed being my mother's perfect little girl

"Where is my mind?"

#Mental Health Issues #childhood trauma #psychological trauma #tw ptsd #implied child abuse #child abuse #past abuse #tw abuse #Physical Abuse #Emotional/Psychological Abuse #Drug Abuse #Implied/Referenced Abuse #Substance Abuse #Schizophrenia

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Same Bed: Lost (And Found)

CW: Trauma recovery, healing internal and external injuries, references to noncon and choking, brief suicide mentions at the beginning, references to past pet whump, consensual spice between survivors, brief masochism funtimes

The Same Bed: Part One: Jake | Part Two: Krista | Part Three: Chris | Part Four: Vincent | Part Five: Antoni | Interlude | Part Six: Nat | Part Seven: Owen | Part Eight: Tonight | Part Nine: Reunion | Part Ten: Too Late | Epilogue: Lost (And Found)

(using the “Lost” prompt for @whumpmasinjuly day 2 for this! Loosely interpreted, but still...)

-

“Hey.” Jake drops the stack of folders, stuffed with paperwork, onto the table. “I brought these by for you to look over. I think I have it all taken care of, though.”

“Cool.” Jenna doesn’t look at him, sitting with her chin in her hand, watching a TV in the corner. Jake follows her gaze to see the chyron running along the bottom of the screen, a news anchor talking animatedly. The volume is so low he can’t hear it, but the subtitles are on. 

NOTED FORMER CHILD STAR OWEN GRANT FOUND DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE…

Jake takes a seat across the table. “Suicide? That’s what they went with?”

“That’s what I paid the coroner to go with, yeah,” Jenna says, leaning forwards a little. She’s cut her hair short, to her chin. It suits her. “Figured it’d be better to have open-and-close suicide case then a bunch of cops looking for a murderer they’re not gonna find. Cops hate that shit, but they love getting to wash their hands of something and say it’s not their problem. And that Grant asshole doesn’t have any living relatives to push for it to be a crime, right?”

“Right. He just had his mom, some distant cousins that hated him as much as everyone else did.”

“Good. Yeah, the coroner’s going to find that Owen went a little off the rails after losing his mom. It’s believable.”

“Yeah. He definitely went off the rails, anyway.” Jake hesitates, and then offers, reluctantly, “Thanks, Jenna. For your help. I know how you feel about Kauri-”

“You know how I felt about Kauri,” She answers breezily. She sits up, then, pulling one of the folders in front of her, opening it up and looking over what she sees inside. “It’s been years, Jake. He’s not who he was then, and neither am I. Plus, I don’t like the idea of people fucking with us after we’ve started to really get better. It wasn’t that big of an ask.”

“Jenna.” Jake barks out a laugh. “I asked you to drive around with a dead body in the trunk to help Antoni get rid of it, that's not a small ask!”

“It is,” Jenna says, almost primly, “When I don’t mind doing it. I didn’t mind following him to make sure he went to that house like we thought he would, and I didn’t mind helping Antoni out with the body. Besides, I used Vincent Shield’s money to bribe a coroner to say Owen Grant is dead by his own hand, you can’t tell me that’s not some poetic fucking shit right there.” She sighs, looking over at him. “You can always ask me for help, Jake.”

“Can I? Since goddamn when? You’ve been calling Kauri a whore for a decade-”

“Nah, I haven’t done that in a while. Since I decided to stop like five years ago. Since, you know, I realized… I was just taking out on him what I wanted to say to the other pet in the house I ran from.” Jenna sets the file down again. A frightened young woman’s face looks back up from a printed out copy of stolen WRU records. Someone new to hunt for, someone listed as ‘assisted walk-in’, an abduction in flowery language. Someone they can save and if they make it public, WRU can’t try to take them back without running afoul of the law again.

“Jenna, I don’t-... I don’t understand-”

“People change. I changed. Just… let me have changed, Jake. I was scared, and pissed off, and just… lost… for years. I was angry at her for nearly getting me killed, and Kauri reminded me of her, so I took it out on him. But, years back, that little one, uh, your brother-”

“Chris.”

“Right. Years back, Kauri called me for help with him. And I helped, because I’m not a complete asshole, just like seventy percent of one, and after that… I don’t know. Kauri really stepped up for that kid, and I could see how scared he was. Kauri and I are never going to like each other, but that doesn’t mean he’s not one of us.”

“Well… yeah, okay. Thanks. I won’t push you on it anymore.”

“Welcome. And thanks. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.” She waved at the ring on Jake’s finger. “Good fucking luck with that. Marrying two people sounds way worse than marrying just one.”

“Nah.” Jake shrugs, and opens a file himself. He circles what he sees - ‘referred by foster mother, assisted walk-in’. “It’s way, way better. They’re pretty cool to be married to.”

“If you say so. No marriage for me, thanks. Too much like being kept all over again.”

“That’s fair. Live the life you want to live, right?”

“Right.” She smiles, then, looking around the little kitchen in the small brick ranch she lives in. “Damn straight. Live the life you want to live, all yours, on your own damn terms. Okay, so I say we start with this one, she’s part of a bonded pair. We can get them both.”

“Where are they located?”

“That’s the best part. They’re handler’s pets. They’re local.” Jenna grins at him, sparkling and full of mischief. “Ready to break into a handler’s house and fuck some shit up?”

Jake can’t stop himself from laughing. “Clearly not as ready as you are.”

“... so yes or no?”

“Yeah, Jenna. Let’s do it. Let’s plan a raid.”

“Cool. So how do you feel about setting his house on fire?”

“... I might know someone who can help us with that.”

-

“She’s said sorry like seven fucking times.” Jameson lays on his side on his bed, his back pressed to the wall. “If she says it again, I might lose my goddamn mind, Allyn.”

“She just feels bad.” Allyn smiles at him, laying a hand against the side of his face, their thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, over a small scar. He shudders, closing his eyes as sparks seem to light and dance down his skin, buzzing just under the surface. When they move their hand away, he can still feel the weight of it, the ghost of pleasure. 

“I know, but I already told her, I don’t mind hurting for her. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t even that bad, I’ve been hurt worse than that!”

Between them on the bed Trash Cat lays curled in a contented little ball, eyes closed. Her ear flicks whenever Jameson speaks, as if listening to him, keeping track of the emotion in his voice. Reading it for potential trouble. 

“But she never wants to hurt you. She never wants to hurt anybody. I get it.” Allyn’s hair falls in loose red waves over shoulder and neck and lays against their face. He tucks a little of it behind their ear, watching their freckles shift as they smile at him, flashing white teeth against pink lips, sparkling gray-blue eyes. 

He listens to their voice, tastes the rainshower that comes with it. 

“I don’t mind hurting,” He repeats, but softer this time. “If it’s the right person hurting me.” There’s an unmistakable flirtation in his voice, then, although it’s tentative. He’s never sure how to start this, now that he isn’t having to guess at a master or owner’s mood, read the tension in the air and break it down by handing his body over to the whip and the cane until they are both bonelessly satisfied. 

No, this is… something else.

Something honest.

Something equal. 

If Allyn hurts him, he knows, it will be because he asked to be hurt. Not because it’s his place. The idea feels like wandering in a new landscape. Touching unfamiliar trees that at least still have bark and leaves, but wondering at colors and shapes he’s never seen. Lost, even with map in hand, because the place he is in is so like but not at all the same as the world he knows.

Jameson shifts forwards, as best he can, back curving a little so he can kiss them. Their lips are warm and soft and his own are a little rough and chapped. For a second they go still, and then they’re kissing him back. It’s perfect, at first, too perfect, and then both of them drop the instinctive training and the kiss goes clumsy and they both laugh as they bump teeth.

Trash Cat chirps, lifting her head to look back at them, and then slowly stands up. She stretches in a perfect arch before stalking down to the end of the bed.

“She’s giving us our space,” Allyn whispers against Jameson’s lips, and giggles. The sound of their laughter sends warmth down his spine, and he moves closer, until they’re touching from collarbone to knees, even their feet twining together. His bandaged hand moves slowly up their side, feeling the slight curve, nearly an angle, from narrow waist to larger ribcage. His thumb is so, so close to their chest, and they inhale in a soft hitch. 

“She just doesn’t want me to push her off the fucking bed in a minute,” Jameson answers, a little breathy, and he hates his hoarse voice - can remember he had a normal voice, with Nanda, before Brute and Robert made him scream until it was gone over and over until it stopped coming all the way back. 

“Can I-... can I try something?” Allyn asks in a whisper, and when Jameson nods, they give a little smile and reach up, taking his hand from their face and holding it in their own. Their soft sotto voice is like subtle droplets on Jameson’s tongue, a burst of the way the air taste just before it really starts to rain. He watches them, meeting their eyes with his own, as their thumb settles just over the center of his palm. Beneath that, a healing cut, where Nat had jammed a GPS tracker as deep as she could get.

And Jameson hadn’t screamed.

He knew how to hurt.

“Can I push down?” Allyn’s eyes search his. “While I kiss you, can I… push down on the cut a little bit?”

His mouth goes dry. Jameson’s body is a lightning rod, and he stares at the storm and wants to beg for the roll of thunder that follows the strike. He nods, a little jerk of his chin. “Yes,” He breathes.

Their lips are on his own, again, opening to slide their tongue against his, and he hums into the kiss, pressing his body to theirs. Warmth stirs deep in his stomach, his body waking up, answering the firmness of their kiss.

Then they press down, pain racing down Jameson’s arm and into his body, and he moans, unmistakable and louder than he means to be. He’s rolled onto his back with Allyn pressing into his hips before he can think, and Allyn’s mouth is on his neck, teeth bearing down on soft skin as they roll their own hips against his, and he moans again.

The front door closes, muffled downstairs.

Allyn pulls back, startled. Then they burst out laughing, leaning over until their forehead touches Jameson’s. “Oh, no, I forgot she was home.”

Jameson breathes in soft gasps, and laughs, too. He tips his head back, baring his neck. The place they were biting is cold where air and the remnants of drying saliva meet. “She’s not home anymore,” He offers.

Allyn leans down to bite again, and presses their thumb into his hand at the same time. 

“I love this,” Jameson groans, eyes fluttering closed. His hips move to meet theirs right through their clothes. It doesn’t occur to either of them to take them off… not yet. “I love, love this-”

“I love it, too,” Allyn murmurs, nipping at his earlobe.

Neither of them says what they really mean. Both of them have loved men who could never fully love them in return. Both of them know the words have always been hollow. But both of them think it, if not consciously, then with every inch of skin where they touch.

I love you.

-

“Antoni.” Kauri’s voice, still hoarse as he heals from the hands that had tried to choke the life from him, is laced with a kind of affectionate irritation. “I don’t need it.”

“You do.” Antoni sets the mug down on the side table next to the bed. The tea within is faintly pink, see through, not marked with milk. Kauri can look down into it and see, a little muddied, the image of a cat face painted on the bottom. He sighs and looks up at Antoni, whose eyebrows raise. “You do,” He repeats. “Tea is good for sore throat.”

“Yeah, for like… when you have strep or the flu or some shit,” Kauri groans, but he pushes himself slowly up to seated, back cushioned by approximately eleven million pillows Jake and Antoni have both insisted on keeping near him at all times. Not that it isn’t really, really nice to have one to sit on when he leaves the bed and ends up in a chair like a dumbass. “I was choked, Ant, it’s not the same. Not even the first time I’ve been choked. Not even just Owen! There was this one guy I went home with once…” He smiles, but the laugh dies in his throat before it comes out as he meets Antoni’s dark eyes.

“I remember,” Antoni says. “I remember that night.”

“Of course you do.” Kauri sighs, and pats the bed beside him. Antoni sits, just at the edge, as if he might flee at any second. Like he wants to run from the pain still marking Kauri’s skin. 

Kauri leans over, and places a hand over his. Long fingers that have been slightly cool for so long are warm from too much tea and time under the covers. His ring glimmers in the light, back on his finger where he plans to never ever take it off again. It overlays Antoni’s own. 

“Ant,” He says, softly. “For the thousandth time. It isn’t your fault. I knew what might happen when I went into that room. I was… I was ready for it.”

I was ready to die.

“I should have been inside faster,” Antoni says, and he leans slowly over until his head rests on Kauri’s shoulder. The soft, messy nearly-black hair tickles Kauri’s cheek and he smiles, pulling Antoni’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, gently, one by one. Bruised knuckles, torn and bloodied the night of the rescue, now healed but still scarred. “The fight with the other one was not supposed to take so long. We had a plan, and we nearly-... you could have been dead-”

“I’m right here,” Kauri says, voice low. He turns and breathes deep. Antoni’s hair smells like tea-tree and mint shampoo, and there’s always something of a kitchen around him. Smells like flour and baking things and sweetness. “I’m right here, Ant. I am alive, I’m right here, look, I feel like a flip flop left out in the mud but I’m here.”

“If not for Vince-”

“Then you would have saved him.” Kauri smiles, and he keeps that smile in his voice. “And that’d be something, wouldn’t it? Secret runaway pet saves multi-millionaire movie star…”

“It would not matter. It would be nothing, if Jasha and I lost you.” 

“You would still have had each other-”

“It would be nothing. You are the… the piece of puzzle that holds two others together. You are color, we have none without you.”

“Bullshit.” Kauri’s smile widens, though, and he flushes a little at the praise, at being told he is needed. Not just needed but wanted. That, at least, he’s never quite lost, and he wonders if that was inherent in Liam Harker, the man who once walked around in his skin. What parts of him have survived within Kauri? 

Maybe just a need to be loved, and wanted, and needed. 

Maybe Liam had that, too.

“Kasha, I love you,” Antoni whispers. It’s hard for him to say the words. Kauri kisses his forehead. Then the tip of his nose.

He pulls back. “I love you, too, Ant. You and Jake and I… we’re forever.” They sit in silence for a few minutes. In the background, a soap opera plays, which both of them are entirely ignoring. Then Kauri says, softly, “Antoni… will you go get my phone? I forgot it in the bathroom and I don’t think I have the energy to go get it on my own just yet.”

Antoni stands, retrieving the phone where it lays on the bathroom counter. When he comes back, he climbs right into the bed, lying on his side under the blankets, near to Kauri without quite touching him. Kauri doesn’t push, this time. 

Antoni offers touch, when he wants it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Kauri says, taking it and tapping idly on the screen, listening to his fingernail click against the shining black. “About a lot. Since I, uh, didn’t die. Lots of time to think when your partners won’t let you leave the fucking bed.”

“Mmhmm.” Antoni doesn’t take the bait, but he smiles a little, pleased with himself. “What do you think about?”

“I think I should call my mom.” Kauri says it all in a rush. He barely gets the words out, even so. The old drumbeat begging him to run from what’s behind him is still so strong, it nearly drowns him out inside his own mind. But he clings to this thought, because he needs Antoni to either encourage him or talk him out of it. “Well, Liam’s mom. I was thinking, if I had died… she’d been trying to get ahold of me, but what if I died and like, she found out Liam was alive and then I got his body killed anyway? Before she could see him?”

“You are Liam, Kasha,” Antoni says. He watches Kauri with inscrutable eyes, looking up at him from where he lays propped up on one elbow. 

“Yeah, but… what if I’m too different, and she hates me for stealing him? What if she thinks Liam is lost, and Kauri is what came back from the dead?”

“You cannot do this,” Antoni says, shaking his head. “Steal him. WRU stole, and he is not lost. You are him. I think it is a good idea to call your mother.”

“But… what if she hates me?”

“Then you never speak to her again, and she can go fuck herself.” Kauri’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline, and Antoni laughs, low and soft and deep. ‘What? You think I can’t swear?” He takes Kauri’s hand, and presses warm lips to the back, right in the middle of blood vessels and nerve-endings, making Kauri shiver pleasantly. “Call her. Kauri Grant is brave, and strong-” He kissed again. “Smart, and good. I think that Liam Harker would like this Kauri Grant. So I think Liam Harker’s mother will like Kauri Grant as well.”

Kauri swallows. “Are you-... are you sure about that? I’ve done some pretty seriously fucked-up shit to this body, Ant. Remember when I spent like a month straight on ecstasy?”

“I do, yes.”

“Plus, there have been, like, seven orgies…”

“Sssshhh. Kasha. Listen to me. She will love you. She loves you already, she is Liam’s mama and that means yours. And also… it will probably help if you do not talk to her about the orgies.”

“Right, right, keep a lid on the orgy talk. Got it.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t talk to me about the orgies, either.”

Laughing hurts, but Kauri discovers that once he starts, he can’t quite make himself stop. 

-

“And… and, and then they… laugh at me.” Chris sits with his knees pulled to his chest, the heels of his feet just barely balanced on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped tightly around his calves. He won’t look at everyone else, keeping his chin tipped down so the shimmering light purple of his hair hides his green eyes. “And, and, and say, um, you-you wanted me to, and when I, um, when I say I, I, I-I didn’t, they, they, they… get angry.”

He has a silicone feather pendant on a small cord stuck in the corner of his mouth, slightly muffling his speech. 

“They say then, um, then why did you you you sign up? Like… like they, they don’t already know that, um, that I didn’t, and… and then they, they say, let’s go again, and I start… I, I, I start crying, because, because they sound just, um, just like… like my-... like him. And they, um, they put me on my, my my my my, my, my… on… on m-my… stomach…”

There are tears in Chris’s eyes, running down his cheeks, but no one moves. No one speaks. Not yet. 

“And, and, and then… I wake up.”

There’s a breath of silence, and then a man to the left of Chris leans towards him, putting a hand to his back. “I have dreams like that, too.”

Chris looks over at him, resting his head on his knees. His eyes are red-rimmed, wreathed in shadows. “You, you do?”

“Yeah. I’ve been married for, like, what, three years now?” The man gives Chris an encouraging, soft smile, rubbing at his back a little. “And free for ten. And I still, sometimes, I wake up just gasping for air because I remember how it felt. And sometimes I dream that my wife is the one hurting me like he did. Probably-... probably all of us have nightmares, right?”

He looks to the rest of the group of twelve, seated in a circle of folding chairs in a small side room in a community building they rent for these meetings. The others, men and women from their early twenties through their late forties, all nod. 

“It just… it goes with getting better, is that-” The man’s eyes flicker to the therapist ostensibly in charge of this meeting. Dr. Francis just nods, gesturing with one hand for the man to continue. He has a cup of bad, bitter decaf coffee in his hands, slowly warming the styrofoam cup, with powdered creamer stirred in and bits still floating a little on the top, refusing to fully dissolve. “That your brain doesn’t always know that you’re safe. And nightmares are just… how your mind tries to, to put together the two parts of your life.”

“It’d… it’d be, be, be be-be nice if it could, um, could do that some other way,” Chris mutters, and there’s a scattering of soft laughter, kind and well-meaning, from everyone else. 

“It would be,” The man says, and gives Chris a final pat on the back before sitting back. “But that’s not really how brains work.”

Dr. Francis clears his throat. “Isaac is correct,” He says, and moves to take his own seat, sipping his coffee and steadfastly making no expression at the awful taste. “It is, indeed, more common than not to have nightmares, and for many those nightmares can last for years. But they are just that - nightmares. They are your minds working inside of you to put together a life of subjugation with one of freedom, and struggling to reconcile the details. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t doing that. It’s only that our brains must adapt in order to survive at a lightning speed. But… it takes so much longer, doesn’t it, for our brains to realize those adaptations are no longer necessary.”

More nods from everyone around the circle. 

“It… it, it does help,” Chris offers, without uncurling himself. “To know everyone else, um, does, does those dreams, too, that it it it doesn’t… they wouldn’t ever, um, hurt me… they wouldn’t.”

Dr. Francis nods. “But someone did. And our bodies and minds catalog those hurts, and hold on, because they are trying to prepare you for that pain to start again. Your body is trying, as hard as it can, to keep you safe. Let’s take a moment to close our eyes, and just-... you can do this silently, everyone - just say thank you to your body for keeping you alive, and safe, to get this far. Just a quick thank-you. All that fear and pain, that was adapting to survive. Let’s thank our bodies for those adaptations.”

There’s another silence, heads bowed and eyes closed. It looks like a prayer. Some of their lips even move, but no one here is thanking God, not really. Instead, they’re whispering a prayer of thanks to nerves and bone and blood that bruised and broke and sent screaming pain signals to brain cells that rearranged, rerouted, made new pathways of survival where none had previously existed. They are giving their gratitude to lungs that fought to expand even with hands around their throat, to a heart that refused to stop beating even as it broke again and again, to hands that slapped and punched, feet that kicked out, lips and tongue that held desperately to the memory of words they weren’t supposed to say.

Words like fuck you and I don’t want this and stop touching me.

Words like we did not sign up for this.

Words like no.

Dr. Francis ends the moment of silence by clearing his throat again. Some of the men and women in the circle have glimmering eyes when they look back up, rubbing just under them in ways they think are subtle, but which everyone recognizes and no one remarks on. 

“Now,” Dr. Francis says, “We have someone new here tonight, and he would like to tell his story. Would it be all right if I call him in? Remember that there is no wrong answer here. And he won’t be listening to any of your stories, just telling his own.”

Some of the group meet eyes, and then they look back to the doctor and nod. Some carefully, others more enthusiastically. A few even smile, kind and soft, agreeable. 

The doctor stands and steps out of the room.

“It’s the guy who came with you, right?” A woman asks Chris, and he nods without uncurling, chewing on the silicone feather. He starts to sway, just a little. “I wondered why he didn’t come into the room right away. He’s one of us, right?”

Before Chris can answer, the door opens again. Dr. Francis steps in first.

Vincent Shield steps in after him.

He moves with a slow, slightly shuffling step, showing the aches that haven’t quite faded in a body still working hard to heal itself. His movie-star megawatt smile is subdued, simply lips pressed together. The shadow of a bruise still wreathes his eye on one side, another clings to a cheekbone. Finger-shaped bruises are finally fading enough from his throat to not be immediately visible for what they are. 

“Hey, Chris,” Vince says, voice low and slightly rough. Chris hums a greeting. There’s a whisper from a few of the circle participants, people who have seen his movies. Their eyes are wide, surprised, but no one comes at him. No one even stands.

They respect the circle, and the people within it.

“Okay, Vince,” Dr. Francis says amicably. “The circle agreed to hear your story tonight, and welcome you to our meetings from here on out. Gang, let’s make some room for Vince to sit down.”

“Uh, Dr. Francis-”

The doctor looks over at a woman in her thirties, while others are shifting their chairs with soft scrapes along hard floors so Vince can unfold a new one and put his own into the empty spot, slowly sitting down, looking around and smiling with a nervous shyness utterly at odds with the empty friendliness he has on the red carpet. 

“Yes, Trin?”

“He’s… he’s not a Romantic, though,” Trin says, glancing to the side. “Sorry, Vince, no offense.”

There’s a bit of low laughter, not unkind, from the participants. “It’s not exactly something anyone should apologize for not being,” Isaac says, good-naturedly. Trin blushes a little and looks down and away, shrugging, smiling a little uneasily. “But she has a point, Dr. Francis, this is group for Romantics only, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes. But Vince’s story is a little different. He’s been seeing me for a couple of weeks now, and I think it’s worth all of you hearing it. So many of you struggle with feeling separate from the world, and that’s because of the laws and societal isolation, of course, but… I want you to hear this. Your stories, your experiences, they are connected with the experiences and stories of people outside of WRU, outside the system. I think it could help to see that you are not set apart in that way. Vince, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Vincent Shield sits back. He doesn’t look like a movie star - his hair is shaggy and unwashed, he’s wearing an old Nirvana t-shirt he borrowed from Nat and sweatpants, a pair of sandals that don’t even match. You’d never know who he was, if you saw him on the street.

You might wonder if Kauri Grant was having a bad day, but looking at Vince, you’d never see the movie star beneath the real man. 

“Hi, um. Hi everyone.” Vince smiles. “Dr. Francis asked me to talk to you all tonight. He thought it might help, and I’ll… I’ll talk about my, um. What happened to me, and then you can… I’ll step out and you can vote if you want me here. If you don’t, no harm no foul, I totally get it. I’m not sure I even want me here.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m… I’m really lost, if I’m honest. I’m totally lost at what to do with… everything now. I have this entire life and it’s just… hollow. I’m just doing what everyone told me I wanted to do, but-...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Trin suggests. 

“It isn’t. I’m not sure it ever was, or if I just… was told so many times…”

“They tell you that you want it, the way they treat you.” That’s another young woman. “They tell you you’re a flirt, but they make you flirt to get everything, to get food, to get a place to sleep. They make you… they make you pretend, over and over, and tell you that you’re not pretending.”

“They call, they, they call you a slut,” Chris whispers. “And, and, and if you say you’re not, they, they, they say you’re so good at acting that, that, that you must really be…”

“Right.” Vince clears his throat. “Shit. I didn’t know that I would feel… I told myself for forever that what everyone told me was true. But I can’t… I can’t lie to myself any longer. I just can’t. It’s been eating me alive for so long, and I don’t know what it’s like not to feel that way, and… I guess we’re going to find out. But Nat suggested… therapy, and… maybe not lying to my therapist so much this time.”

“You lied to Dr. Francis?” A third person, a man Chris’s age, asks in a scandalized hush.

Vince smiles - it’s a real and sincere smile. He shakes his head. “No, my old therapist. I’m not seeing her any longer. I wanted to start over. I’m… I’m starting over. So. Uh, where… Dr. Francis, where should I start-”

“Anywhere you like,” Dr. Francis says, voice low and gentle. 

“Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll start kind of like I start when I go to AA, if you all don’t mind?”

“I go to AA,” Isaac offers, a kind of hand outstretched, in words if not in gesture. “Every week. I’ve been sober for two years.”

“Congrats,” Vince says, sincerely. “I’m, uh, it’s been… a few weeks, but after I got to Nat’s I kind of, I fell off the wagon. I wasn’t sleeping, every time I closed my eyes I saw him... what happened. At the end. Drank until I blacked out and woke up on the floor with Nat’s, uh, that Jameson guy pouring water on my face. Then I got so sick I could barely move, turns out when you stop drinking and then start again, your liver gets really angry… it doesn’t matter. I’m starting over. So here’s to… three days sober, I guess?”

“Here’s to three days,” Isaac says, and smiles. “Three days is a start.”

Vince looks up, then, letting his eyes drift over the ceiling. He shifts and his chair creaks beneath him, as if castigating him for pausing for so long, for letting the silence draw out. Then he takes in a deep, deep breath. He fills his lungs with the oxygen until it burns, lets it slowly, slowly push out again.

“My name is Vincent Shield, and I’m an alcoholic. Sorry, just. That bit’s habit. Anyway… When I was twenty-one,” He starts, still not looking at anyone. His voice shakes a little. It’s thin and strained, pushed out past twenty years of keeping secrets and bruised from Owen’s hands. His throat wants to close around the truth, the way it has always wanted to close. The way he allowed it to close over and over for so, so long. His hands find the sides of the chair and grip, white knuckled. “When… when I was twenty-one, my best friend - my only friend, really, kind of my only real family, my parents had already stopped talking to me by then - told me he loved me.”

The room is silent, except for the soft hissing crackle of the coffeemaker and the hum of air conditioning blowing cold air through vents. 

“I told him I didn’t… feel that way about him. He said okay. For a little bit, things were okay. I thought it was fine… and then he-... he acted normal for a while, but… but then he drugged my drink. And when I woke up, I was tied to a bed.”

Vince swallows.

“Naked.”

Perfect silence, nodding heads. They’ve been tied to beds, they’ve woken up naked, they’ve faced down what had felt like such a unique horror to Vince. A terrible thing that it felt like didn’t happen to other people, and here is an entire room of people for whom it was so commonplace they were told their entire lives revolved around it.

Here they all are, with new lives, hobbies, friends. Things they do that aren’t pretending to be someone else, or being… or…

“I was raped.”

It comes out all at once, a single breath of air, a slur of syllables. Iwasraped.

The next words, somehow, harder to say. He forces himself to speak more slowly. He makes his mind dwell on each and every single word. On what it means, on what it’s always meant, on what damage it’s done. He fights not to cry.

Vincent Shield confesses someone else’s sin.

And grants himself absolution.

“Owen Grant raped me… and it wasn’t my fault.”

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #wij day 3 #prompt: lost #wij lost #whumpmasinjuly #trauma recovery #recovery whump #therapy whump #consensual spice #survivor navigating consent #healing injuries #injured whumpee #referenced noncon #referenced past beating #ptsd tw #traumatized whumpee #referenced nightmares #rape mention #suicide mention #jameson bb #allyn bb #jake the shelter guy #erase to control #antoni sings lullabies #come get y'all qpr #chris the strawberry blond romantic #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #the same bed arc

[whumpacabra]

20. 10/10 Interrogation

Angst, past trauma, past captivity, referenced military setting, referenced torture, referenced murder, fictional politics

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

“Sargent Harrison Gomez. Translator and technician for TF-42, deployed from Carson City, Nevada Tuesday June 3rd, 2003.” The words were practically a script, slurred between bloodied teeth between screams from broken bones. A prayer, a litany against surrender. But he wasn’t there anymore - there was no surrender to fear here. Wherever here was. Harrison paused as the Deputy scribbled down the information in his notebook. “Can I ask a - a dumb question?”

“Sure.” Thomas looked up, still parsing the words he had transcribed.

“Where - where am I? Where’s - I know this is Cedar Creek or - or something - but…”

“You’re in Cedar Hills, Idaho. Southwest corner of the state - just north of the Nevada line.” His eyes scanned over his notepad, brow furrowed. Harrison interrupted whatever thoughts were churning behind those dark eyes.

“Okay - okay. Okay. Dumb question number - number two - what’s today date?”

“February 29th, 2004. Leap year and all.”

8 months.

He had spent the last 8 months buried beneath the same soil he was sworn to protect. He had spent the last 8 months bleeding and starving and bearing witness to horrific human rights abuses on that soil.

8 months.

It felt longer - it felt wrong that years, or decades hadn’t passed. It felt wrong that more than a few days or weeks had been lost to pain and fear and grief. Had they been declared MIA? KIA? He was supposed to see his mother for Christmas that year - his niece Mel was so excited to show grandma her new knitting skills.

8 months.

He missed the new Lord of the Rings movie.

He wanted to laugh and cry and scream.

“Okay.” Harrison nodded, voice flat and expression blank. Laughing and crying and screaming didn’t help in the bunker, and it wouldn’t help now. He was lucky this small town cop hadn’t shot him on sight - a haggard, blood covered man of color half hysterical with panic and dehydration.

“You don’t seem okay with that…are you sure you’re - ”

“No, but it won’t change time and space if I was.” Harrison shrugged, shaking his head as if it would help clear the desire to scream until his lungs gave out. “Sorry, just - just wanted to get myself oriented. What were you going to ask next?”

“Sure, sure…” Thomas wasn’t convinced but the suspicion in his eyes was drowned by gentle curiosity. “You’re Sargent Harrison Gomez, and he is..?” The deputy nodded his head toward the door they had taken Wolf through.

“Wolf.” Harrison swallowed the half formed sentences on his tongue. He tortured me, my squadmates - killed my CO with a rabid dog and made us watch. He was tortured in ways I can’t imagine surviving. He got thrown into the same dark hole as me when we were left for dead. He got us out of the Box. He saved me from a fate worse than death. He took a bullet for me. I hate him and I can’t at the same time. “Just - I only know him as the Wolf.”

“He’s not one of your squadmates?” It was an honest question, Thomas’ brow pinched in thought. Harrison strangled the flare of offense in his gut - how dare he put the Wolf on the same level of comradeship as Elias and Merrick and Orson and Thatch and Clement -

“No. No, he - he was just in the shithole as us.” They had been there for 8 months. How long had the Wolf been down there? Was his real name on one of the dog tags weighing heavy in Harrison’s pocket?

“Oh. You two seemed…well acquainted.”

“Between getting shot at together and talking to him for however long to keep him awake until…until he stopped talking…well, we aren’t friends, but he’s not some random stranger.”

It was odd to consider. He knew more about his torturer than he knew about Thomas, or Dan, or Merrill. (Not that he knew much.)

“Is there anything identifying you know about him? Outside of his name, of course.”

“German. I think he’s German - he - he spoke German when he was…scared.” Harrison swallowed thickly, forcing down the memory of the Box and the Dark and the smell as the Wolf begged him not to touch him. “His Arabic is good. Accent was always just a little off - makes more sense after hearing him in his mother tongue.”

“Why was he speaking in Arabic?” Harrison opened his mouth, and then closed it. Thomas’ body language shifted, a tension gathering in his jaw. “Son, we won’t hurt you boys, but if you know something that could save lives - ”

“They weren’t terrorists.” Harrison bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the spark of anger in his chest. He thought they had been. He thought for so long he was under a different continent’s sand. “They were American.”

“Are you sure?”

“I - I’m not crazy.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Don’t.” Harrison felt a cruel laugh bubble in his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare - I’ve spent the last fucking 8 months thinking I was watching terrorists torture and - and murder my squadmates only to crawl out and find I’m not a day’s travel from home.” The laugh hiccuped into a sob. “If they’re terrorists and - and they somehow got set up out here then this damn country is fucked. They’ve got enough men and firepower there to wipe out this town overnight.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” What a polite way to call him insane. But he didn’t have the energy to flinch away from Thomas’ gentle, steady hand as he rubbed Harrison’s shoulder. “How about we talk once you’ve rested up a bit? I’ll…keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“The hard drive…” His voice was hoarse, throat strangling his words. “The - there’s a duffel in the truck. We grabbed anything we could - I, there’s a hard drive.” Thomas’ eyes flicked away, guilt in his voice.

“We don’t have any computers in town. County library has a few…”

Of course this hick town wouldn’t have a single computer between them. Harrison’s sobs turned to gasping sighs.

“I’m sorry. I’m - I’m not lying. I wish - maybe - 8 fucking months.”

He was too tired to cry anymore today.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

#whump #angst #past trauma #past captivity #military setting #reference torture #referenced character death #fictional politics #<- kinda but also. not? post 9/11 us culture was insane yall it poisoned everything #freelancers au #queueing this up bc idk what its gonna be like now that im Home w the Family for the Holidays tm #also yeh: im happy to tag anyone who wants to be tagged!!! pls let me know :]

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

Manipulative

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, past oc x f!reader.

summary: he’s fallen way too deep, and he knows that.

a/n: i am in no way romanticizing nor defending his actions, he sucks as a person, this is for funsies, keep that in mind. remember he’s literally responsible for mass murders of children. also this idea is cliche ik ik. but, if you want more I will do more with original ideas.

reader has somewhat long hair, BUT no other descriptions of the reader. and I don’t usually do that. just for this post:)

warnings: yandere themes, toxicity, manipulative behavior(manipulation) obsession, possessiveness, no fluff, implied/referenced murder, slight blood, narcissistic tendencies, delusion, unhealed trauma, implied stalking, mild violence.

The meadow was where you’d often go. Ever since the games, it was a stress reliever, humming some songs or even just listening to the birds chirp.

After Coriolanus was sent to be a peacekeeper, You were sent home. District 12 was your home. You sat down on the cold rock. You were more of an creative artist than musician. Sometimes you wrote songs, and sometimes you wrote poems or just stories.

But you didn’t feel like doing anything today, just admiring the breeze in front of you. You were fairly zoned out when you hear a twig snap, and turn around.

You sigh of relief.”Sorry. Still have those instincts from the games.” You rushed over, not doing much. Still in disbelief he really was there.

You didn’t expect him to be here. But here he was. “It leaves quite the impression, He chuckled. It was a long embrace, and you say,”You found me. Quite surprised.”

“You figured I would, He teased. “Not this fast, and really it was hope, You tease right back, lips on his, it was passionate and sweet, ideal for a reunion.

“The sun’s hot, come in the shade, You offer. He had some ice, now melted and offered it.”Here. For you.” “Thank you, You reply.

You were very thirsty. The moment the water hit your tongue you were in heaven. “This must be the only cold thing in November, he joked.

You laugh in response.”So, Coriolanus Snow, What are you doing in the Meadow?” You were half joking. You never were fully serious. At least until it came to your feelings for him.

“Spending some time with my girl, He replies. The word My, a possessive tone, You notice. But brush it off.

“It’s unbelievable, You admit.”Truly. But I was surprised they brought me back. I swore It was all me.” “But it wasn’t, he points out. You look at him.”Clearly they didn’t believe me.”

His lips were on yours again, long and passionate. You two hadn’t seen each other since the games ended.

“Well, It was hard to believe for me too, He admits.”Tell me what happened after.” It was difficult to recall everything. The games were a nightmare. Especially the Arena. And Mayfair.

As the two of you share the water, You couldn’t help but wonder as he told stories, exchanging them, if something was wrong.

“Poor Jessup, You say sympathetically.”He didn’t deserve that. It was you, though, wasn’t it? The one who killed Bobbin?”

“I had to, Coriolanus replied.”He tried to kill me.” “I’m not saying what you did was wrong, but I suppose killing is for survival in the Arena, You reply. Snow only nodded.

“I heard the others brag, You say.”So I know. I thought the worst happened. You know, that you were dead.”

Heading back up beside him, You still couldn’t believe he was here. Whatever relationship you had, seemed to grow.

“What have you been up to? He asks, curiously.”It’s been a while.” “It has, you laugh.”And truly, not much. A few performances here and then. At the Hob, Maude Ivory’s an amazing singer like Lucy Gray.”

For a mere moment, You were in complete bliss. And that night was a normal evening for the Covey. Your parents were killed, well, your adoptive parents. They took you in, then Maude Ivory came along, your younger sister.

You became a part of the Covey. Until of course, their murders. But you had her, at least. “You want one? A peacekeeper asks, referring to liquor.”You might need it for your performance.”

“Sure, You grin, taking a swig, not making a reaction to the bitterness of it.”You’re right. I might need it.” Lucy Gray was a beautiful singer, but tonight, let you perform.

“Are you sure? I’m not the songbird, You tease. “I’m sure, and Maude Ivory wanted you to, She sweetly says. Your cousin was always the songbird.

“Besides, I think he’d like to hear you sing, Lucy Gray smirked. You knew who she was referring to. Truly the one who knew of your relationship, but by accident.

You wore a yellow dress, not too short but not too long either, and sunflowers in your hair. You wanted to have a good impression.

You tease her,”I think he’d like to hear you.” But you went up there, guitar in hand. A talent that you and Lucy Gray both had. It was the genes, you swore.

But you amazed the crowd as you sang. You were no Songbird. But you had some talent. And the whole time your eyes were on him.

It made him feel more special, in a way. Like the only person could make you feel this happy was him. Him. You were his, at least in his eyes.

But you did a wonderful performance. You mostly did instruments and stood in the background. You didn’t sing much.

Even though you were aware he was there, you went on, even with butterflies in your stomach. It was later that evening that things went downhill.

You said goodbye, even to Coriolanus, saying,”I shouldn’t be out so late anyway. But I promise, straight tomorrow. I’m sure you have peacekeeper things to do, anyway.”

He smiles.”It’s alright. You must be tired from that performance.” You laugh, then nod, quickly kissing him, then moving along.

You didn’t notice that he followed you. He was quite literally, obsessed. Especially after hearing your sweet voice. Since finding your home in the Seam, it wasn’t hard to follow you, and pretend he was there for something else.

Sometimes, he’d meet you there. Other times, didn’t even know he was there watching. He’d call it protectiveness. But it was really a sense of possessiveness over you.

That’s what it really was.

He heard your voice in your room, you sang to yourself. You sang a love song. That wasn’t hard to understand.

He had a sense of jealousy. It was clear the lyrics wasn’t about him. A past one, maybe. It wasn’t Billy Taupe. He had Lucy Gray. So who could you mentioned?

He was bloodthirsty. Or at least, had a taste for violence. He’d never say it or admit it. It was like he was a rebel. And he hated rebels.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling this way. As you danced and sang a little. Coriolanus defended his behavior, he was being protective of you. That nobody would hurt you.

He had fallen way too deep. And he was aware. You might feel the same about him, just as equally obsessed as he was. But that night, he wasn’t looking for trouble. Not much, anyway.

Someone stood beside him, admiring your singing. “Peacekeeper, huh? The male laughed. Coriolanus turns.”Yeah. Punishment. Not a choice.”

“She’s always been a singer, the male explained.”didn’t have much faith.” He wanted to know how the male knew that.

“How do you know? Coriolanus asked, curiously. “She wrote that song about me, the male bragged and seemed proud.”One of these days she’ll get back together with me.”

You never mentioned your ex lover much. Only that he hurt you, and that he was still infatuated. You were right about that.

“She isn’t interested, Coriolanus says, coldly. His fists clenched, along with his jaw, both from the rage he was feeling.

Maybe it was his narcissistic tendencies that were showing. A feeling of shame. A feeling that, he was superior than the male standing in front of him. He’d do so much better.

And with that, he swung. He could’ve shot him. But it was the easy way. And he didn’t deserve the easy way. His blood thirst took over a little, and like Bobbin, didn’t know how far his strength would go.

He stands back, his knuckles bleeding and blood on his uniform he’d have to explain later. Maybe it was a mistake coming to visit you. Your singing had stopped.

He pants. What had he done? Standing over the body, Coriolanus realized what he truly had done. And what could he do? He didn’t want a career as a peacekeeper; but his future would be damaged even further. He had to do something.

The Lake.

It brought him good memories. Swimming alongside you and the covey. But he’d have to hide the body somewhere.

It took a lot of his strength; but didn’t wear him out to drag him to the lake. It wouldn’t be too hard hiding evidence. His body would eventually disappear and Coriolanus doubted anybody cared about him. You didn’t anymore.

And he just watched. After the blood washed off, He walked away. He left the Seam. He'd come back. But You'd be aware of it.

Morning came, and peacekeepers came knocking at your door. The whole morning was a mess. When you did eventually meet up with Coriolanus, you decided on telling him about it.

“Did you know? She asked.”I’m assuming every peacekeeper knew. The guy I used to go out with was murdered. Found in the lake.”

“We were informed today, but I wasn’t the one who found it, He lies. He did not like lying, but he had to. He held a tight grip on you.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #fem!reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #reader insert #tw obsession #tw yandere #yandere coriolanus snow

[wangxianficfinder]

Mod Favorites pt.1 ~ (Miss Mojo's ❤️ Favorite tag on AO3)

❤️Miss Mojo (@mojoflower / original creator of wangxianficrecs 2020 and wangxianficfinder 2022)

💖Mod L (@ladyunderthemolehill / Mod since January/27/2022)

🧡Mod C (@misscellophane-ao3 / Mod since April/23/2022)

💙Mod Kay (@the-last-d-boy / Mod for @wangxianficrecs since November/19/2022)

~*~

Mod L

💖 Things better shown by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 5k, wangxian, trans LWJ, pregnant LWJ, accidental baby acquisation, fix-it)

💖🔒The Lotus Defense Society by mondengel (T, 3k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, humor)  

💖 mianmian the disaster lesbian saves the cultivation world by likeshipsonthesea (T, 27k, wangxian, LWJ & LQY, LWJ & JZX,  fix-it, friendship, awesome LQY, war, blood & injury, light angst, self-acceptance, awkward JZX) 

💖 hot necromancer singles seeking dom daddies in your area by Mikkeneko (M, 19k, wangxian, yiling wei sect au, BDSM scene, dom/sub, brat wwx, rope bondage, caning, aftercare)  

💖 Xiao-Ying of the Third Refugee Village by abCEE (T, 31k, wangxian, WWX banished from Jiang sect, not Jiang friendly, found family, mpreg, fluff, flirting)  

💖 (🧡) Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 15k, wangxian, canon divergence, grief/mourning, angst w happy ending)

💖🔒 After Truth Lies the Honest Path by Vrishchika (M, 10k, wangxian, canon divergence, truth serum, WIP)  

💖 (❤️)🔒love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)  

💖🔒hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (M, 10k, wangxian, post-canon, temporary amnesia, hurt/comfort, fluff, trauma, pining, hair washing & brushing)  

💖 You, Asleep and Dreaming by etymologyplayground (M, 9k, wangxian, post-canon, 5+1. LWJ pov, sharing a bed, cuddling & snuggling, intimacy, getting together, fluff)  

💖 The Path by Seastar98 (Not Rated, 279k, WangXian, CQL Verse, Golden core reveal, Fix-it of sorts, Angst with a happy ending)  

💖 Minding series by WithBroomBefore (G, 85k, wangxian, canon divergence, what if WWX got therapy and recovery post-sunshot, trans LWJ)  

💖 Love made visible by Moominmammashandbag (M, JYL/ZZL, wangxian, hurt/Comfort, amputation, major character injury, sibling love, angst w happy ending, cooking as cultivation, attempted rape/non-con, sexual assault, minor character death, family angst, dysfunctional family, protective siblings, near drowning, amnesia)  

💖 hear my voice and it's been here by Sour_Idealist (E, 56k, JYL/NHS, wangxian, 5th in series, canon divergence, sect leader JYL, sect leader WQ, sunshot campaign, JYL pov, politics)  

💖🔒Advisable Lan rules and other shenanigans by apathyinreverie (G, 4k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, fix-it, humor, drunk LWJ, smitten LWJ, soft WWX, possessive LWJ, gusu lan rules, drunk shenanigans, fluff)  

💖 Soft boys being soft- Wangxian soft fics by deliciousblizzardshark (multiple works, 228k)  

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, first love, love confessions, fluff & humor, denial, pining, happy ending)  

💖 (💙) Paths untaken by apathyinreverie (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, canon divergence, fix-it, fluff, not cultivation world friendly, smitten LWJ)  

💖 (💙) And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, wangxian, canon divergence, grief/mourning, amnesia, implied/referenced sexual assault, angst, hurt/comfort, falling in love, domestic, happy ending)  

💖 sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, wangxian, arranged marriage, different first meeting, falling in love, getting together, lwj in lotus pier, Chinese culture)

💖🔒 Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, fix-it, fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, de-aging, established relationship, non-sexual intimacy, cuddling & snuggling, BAMF WWX, horny teenagers, underage kissing)  

💖 (🧡) Teen Project to Change the World by animeloverhomura (Not rated, 810k, wangxian, Watching the Show, With a bit of the Manhua and Book thrown in, Basically Whatever I Want, BAMF WWX, Fix-It, JGS is his own warning, Attractive WWX, Homophobia, disturbing imagery, WIP)  

💖🔒The Ballad of Hanguang-Jun and The Yiling Patriarch by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 40k, wangxian, JC/WQ, burial mounds  settlement days, fix-it of sorts, musical theater au, misunderstandings, outsider pov)

💖 The Eternal Recurrence by countingcr0ws (E, 51k, wangxian, time traveler’s wife au, underage kissing, time travel, romance, fatherhood, family, poetry, coming of age, getting together)  

💖 I’d be the one to hold you down (kiss you so hard) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf & tardigradeschool (E, 85k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, NMJ/LXC, modern, leverage au, canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, depression, heists, found family, murder, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending)  

💖 Fanclubs do, in fact, save lives series by nienie (T, 6k, wangxian, fluff & crack, getting together, JGS getting what he deserves) 

💖 myself through someone else’s eyes series by thunderwear (M, 59k, wangxian, LJY & LSZ, LXC/NMJ, LXC/JGY, JC & WWX, post-canon, permanent de-aging, depression, implied/referenced suicide, accidental baby acquisation, getting together, love confessions, heavy angst w/ happy ending)  

💖 Paths of Light and Darkness Converge by ataratah (E, 30k, wangxian, fox WWX, dragon LWJ, secret identity, non-human genitalia, crack treated seriously, fluff, angst w/ happy ending) 

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied/Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect, mind all the tags)

💖🔒sudden nature series by everbrighter (M, 97k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, 5+1, family feels, parenthood, teenage rebellion, past character death, resurrection, pining, domestic fluff, angst, happy ending)  

💖 oh they call us young and free (hold the golden gates open) by Treha (T, 11k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, hurt/comfort, BAMF WWX, implied/referenced suicide, fluff & humor)  

💖 Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, One-Sided ChengXian, One-Sided ChengZhui, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by wwx, Wwx still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC's Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit, mind the tags just in case)  

~*~

Mod C

🧡 I Don’t Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality show, Idols, Actor LWJ, Forced Contestant WWX, Celebrity, Social Media, Epistolary, Romance, Fluff, Kissing, Poetry, [Podfic] I Don't Want to Debut! by PandaReads (DrPanda99)) 

🧡 Like Rabbits by Setari (T, 41k, WangXian, Kid fic, Canon rewrite, Mpreg, Miscarriage scare, Crack treated seriously, Hopeful ending)  

🧡🔒 do not envy the roots that hold you down by eccentrick (T, 12k, WangXian, WQ & LSZ, WQ & LWJ, Found Family, Brother-Sister Relationships, Reincarnation, WQ wasn't given Meng Po's soup, Reunions, awkward cousins lwj and wq, wq is a creepy child, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Rebirth, Soul-Searching, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt)  

🧡 don't threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Great British bake off AU, Script format, Fluff and Crack, Reality TV, Social media) 

🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, wangxian, time travel, canon divergence, fix it, not YZY friendly, not Jiang friendly, butterfly effect, no sunshot, madam lan lives, lan WWX)

🧡 a paper friend by soft_wanning (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Paperman!WWX, Identity Porn, Meet-Cute, Different First Meeting) 

🧡🔒your heart, two doors down by ghostsgf (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pining, Parenting)  

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)  

🧡 (💙) Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 762k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, a study of the way prejudice and injustice and anger trickle down from generation to generation)  

🧡 Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)  

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)  

🧡 Heaven Has No Rage by flipfloppandas  (M, 51k, WWX & YZY, JFM/YZY, implied wangxian, WWX/WC, WWX/others, rape/non-con, modern, hurt/comfort, protective YZY, good parent YZY, hospitals, medical procedures, vomiting, trauma)  

🧡🔒Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Light Angst, Crime Boss LWJ, Rogue criminal genius WWX)   

🧡🔒scienter Series by synonemous (E, 67k, WangXian, Modern AU, Serial killer WangXian, Eventual happy ending, WangXian's Canon Kinks, Smut, A/B/O, Mpreg, Modern Yi City arc, Angst with a happy ending)  

🧡 tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern AU, Holidays, Getting Together, Professors, Pining, Spring, Fluff and Smut, Family, single dad lwj, so many novel refs, Explicit Sexual Content, service top lwj/power bottom wwx vibes)

🧡 some life yet unspent by Fahye (E, 28k, WangXian, Background XiYao, Spy AU, Modern AU, 007 LWJ, Q WWX, Fluff and angst, Mutual pining, Injuries, Canon typical violence)

🧡 The Red Ribbon by Xiao_Hua (M, 21k, WangXian, HuaLian, Canon Divergence, Ghost City, a bit of beefleaf, Immortality, Cultivation Partners, Juniors, XL and HC find a child who happens to be WWX, Fluffy wangxian, WWX is a Supreme Ghost King, First Time, TGCF)  

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

🧡 A Study in Fluff by WeaverOfTheNight (T, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost bunnies, Vet LWJ, Architect WWX, Kid LSZ, Domestic fluff, Modern with Magic)  

🧡 (💖) One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It's There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post)  

🧡 close your eyes, feel my heartbeat by ThatDesiGirl (T, 11k, WangXian, blind!WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rewriting Canon, not a fix-it but a what-if, Golden Core Transfer, Romance, Pining)  

🧡 (❤️) a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 180k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, arranged marriage) 

🧡 Feline misconduct: How Wei Wuxian defeated catboyphobia and seduced his way into becoming Lan Wangji’s lap cat by Papriqua, vicchan (E, 44k, WangXian, Catboy WWX, Mpreg, Eventual Smut, Homophobia, Not JC Friendly, Cloud recesses study Era)

🧡 Song of Suibian and Bichen: Or, the Greatest (And Only) Furby Master of Demonic Cultivation by moonwaif (T, 64k, WangXian, Fix-It of Sorts, canon adjacent, The spiritual weapons are furbies, Angst with a Happy Ending, The parent trap but make it WangXian with furbies, Mutual Pining, Taking my favorite parts of every adaptation and smashing them together)  

🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hairstylist AU, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental style)  

🧡🔒Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting)  

🧡 i will find you again by Pip (Moirail) (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Haunting, Horror, Reincarnation, Fate & Destiny, author lwj, Haunted Houses, Happy Ending)  

🧡 Timing is Everything by Talayse (T, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, canon levels of blood, soft, caretaker LWJ)  

🧡 Of Ghosts and Heroes by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 51k, AS & WWX, AS/YH, WangXian, BNHA/MHA Crossover, Dimension Travel, POV Outsider, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst)

🧡 i walk through your dreams and invent the future by TooSel (G, 21k, wangxian, major character death, time traveler’s wife fusion, canon compliant, time travel, friends to lovers, getting together, fluff, hurt/comfort, grief, angst w/ happy ending)  

🧡 built by the fires of volcanoes by isabilightwood (T, 26k, wangxian, time travel, crack treated seriously, canon divergence, fluff & humor)  

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)  

~*~

Mod Kay

💙🔒Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, LWJ/WWX Get a Happy Ending)  

💙 (🧡)🔒Su She Eats his Heart Out by KizuKatana (T, 16k, WangXian, 3rd person pov, implied offscreen wangxian sex)  

💙🔒Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, modern w/ cultivation, getting back together, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, case fic, pining)

💙 feel better love by Anonymous (T, 8k, WIP, WangXian, implied WangXianXian, Post-Canon, Crack Treated Somewhat Seriously, in a haha jk...unless? way, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Crossover)  

💙🔒 Call again by apathyinreverie (T, 5k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, modern, oblivious WWX, gremlin LXC, smitten LWJ, possessive LWJ, not Jiang friendly, hints at mafia, fluff, romance)  

💙🔒Song Unwritten by Kytrin & Mslead (E, 94k, wangxian, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fix-it of sorts, cql meets mdzs, parallel universes, transmigration, yiling wei sect au, YLLZ WWX)

💙 (🧡)🔒不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, wangxian, time travel, reincarnation, fix-it of sorts, social media, identity porn, reunion, pining, angst w/ happy ending, modern era, artist WWX)

💙🔒The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ,  Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide)  

💙🔒catch and release (and catch again) by Gaez (bell_flowers) (T, 29k, WIP, WangXian, Post-Bloodbath of Nightless City, Loss of Limbs, just a little necromancy, as a treat, not exactly jc friendly)

💙 on restitution by glitteringmoonlight (M, 98k, WangXian, Dark JC, not for jc fans, Captivity, Angst with a Happy Ending, no reconciliation though, definitely no reconciliation, Crossdressing, Non-Graphic Torture, Violence)

💙 the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern culitvation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Getting Together, Confessions)

💙 this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending)

💙 Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern cultivation au, Kind of academia AU, Music, Kid Fic, Action/Adventure, To An Extent, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending)

💙 When You Finally Find Your Family Series by Eleanor_Fenyx (T, 56k, WIP, WangXian, descriptions of canon events, ie WWX's childhood on the streets, Fix-It, Autistic coded LWJ, Canon-adjacent, Canon Divergence, Homeless WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, wwx is a lan, Fluff and Angst, LQR pov, (mainly))

💙 Talking to Strangers by thetrickisnotminding (G, 4k, NMJ & WWX, LSZ & NMJ, NHS & NMJ, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Age Regression/De-Aging, Curses, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

💙 All the ways that you remain by Spodumene (G, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canada, Romance, First Meetings, Cottagecore, There Was Only One Bed, Mention of Parent Death, Getting Together)

💙 Love wakes me by dea_liberty (E, 46k, WangXian, Happy Ending, Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, Misunderstandings, Famous LWJ, Coffee Shop Owner WWX, Finding each other again, Found Families, Stupid Grand Romantic Gestures)

💙 divulgences by ataraxistence (Not Rated, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions)

💙 something so flawed and free by verseau (E, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Graduate School, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Non-Sexual Submission, Kink Negotiation, Biting, Overstimulation, Cock Warming, Consensual Non-Consent, Spanking)

💙 Strange Darling by etymologyplayground (T, 6k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Intimacy, Hair Brushing, platonic gay intimacy, Getting Together, Miscommunication, Cuddling & Snuggling, LWJ POV, Canon Divergence)

💙 (❤️) the best of you by sysrae (E, 41k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and Madam Yu's A+ parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues therapy is good actually, the most tender of railings, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence)

💙 Those Who Defy by qurbat (G, 31k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, found families are the best families, everyone who matters lives, justice for the wen remnants)

💙 (❤️) the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 39k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, set after the yiling date, sick child)

💙 (🧡) Bleachwhite Linen by MonocerosRex (T, 44k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, not the traditional kind of soulmates exactly, you'll see, Hospitals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Getting Together, Marriage Proposal, Sibling Bonding, handwaving medical procedure and magical systems, Sickfic, POV Multiple, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sleepy Cuddles)

💙 (❤️) save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Single Parent WWX, Homophobia, LQR’s A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots to lovers)

💙 And Yet Here You Are by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Cloud Recesses, settling down, lwj needs a hug, Separation Anxiety, Teacher WWX, very light angst, Chief Cultivator LWJ)

💙 (🧡) I'm Going Out (Gonna Make A Name For Me And You) by cosmicmilktea (T, 16k, WangXian, Various OC Sect disciples, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Mentor WWX, intersect relations, cultivation sects, Slow Burn, Like seriously it's very slow, Sickness)

💙 Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

💙 watch what we'll become by glitteringmoonlight (T, 59k, WWX & JZX, WangXian, Background JZX/JYL, WWX & JZX are married but completely platonically, featuring my let WWX and JZX be bros agenda, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst with a Happy Ending)

💙 the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by beesinspades (T, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Post-Canon, Jack of All Trades Artist WWX, Immortal! LWJ, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Reunions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Asexual Character, good vibes, [Podfic] the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by beeinspades by Beria1021)

💙 The Peanut Butter Jar AU series by ScarlettStorm (E, 76k, WangXian, Modern AU with Magic, Fox WWX, animal rescuer LWJ, Comedy, Smut, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Adhd WWX, Blowjobs, Frottage, switch rights, Scent Kink, Like a lot of scent kink, mildly telepathic sex, courtship via kittens, Pacific Northwest setting, Established Relationship, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Some A/B/O Dynamics, but in a non a/b/o world, No mpreg, yes self-lubrication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

💙 Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, wangxian, miscommunication, misundersandings, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort)

💙 What We Grew in this Forsaken Place by Admiranda (T, 27k, WangXian, Shapeshifter LWJ, bottle episode fic, bunny crimes, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, WWX is a genius, unexpected pet owner WWX)

~*~

#mods favorite fics compilation #mods favorite fics comp #wangxianficfinder #wangxianficfinder compilation post #mod c #mod l #mod kay #Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #wangxian #MDZS #long post