#go read on your knees before babylon

[matchingbatbites]

WIP Wordsearch Game

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can’t find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don’t have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

Tagged by the wonderful @scarcrossdlvrs tysm! <3

I finally found a second to do this! I was talking with Gerry @barbariansteves about the band Ghost and it made my brain all sparkly, so I'm pulling from the in progress sequel to on your knees before babylon.

My words: first, blank, under, lips, deep

first

There’s a brief pause as Steve absorbs the information, then he blinks as heat floods his face, because- "Holy shit, I know who he is." 

Dustin's head snaps to him. "What? You do? This is about you?"

"Yeah, uh. That was definitely about me, and I definitely know who he is." Of course, because how could Steve ever forget Eddie fucking Munson? The first boy Steve had ever kissed, at someone's fucking house party.

That was spring of '83, long before he dated Nancy, before he learned that the world had actual, real monsters. Even though he had been drinking, Steve still has vivid memories about the way Eddie’s hands felt around his waist, about how good it felt to be the small one for a change.

He clears his throat and says "Yeah, that's- Have I heard that song yet?" 

under

He learns about the tour, about Eddie's favorite places they've been to, and gets to hear funny stories about the band. In return, he talks about his job, about the teens that have become his little family, his platonic soulmate and how much he misses her even though he’s so proud of her. 

When he mentions the kids playing D&D, Eddie blinks hard a few times before saying "Sorry, just- Can you repeat that? Hearing you say 'Dungeons and Dragons' made my brain melt a little."

Steve laughs, grins bright as he says "Yeah? What happens if I tell you about my half-orc barbarian that I played for Erica's birthday last year?"

The older gets a look in his eye, something sharp and hungry that sends tingles up Steve’s spine. 

"I, unfortunately, get arrested for public indecency for sucking you off under the table while you talk D&D to me."

A shoe presses against Steve’s ankle meaningfully, and heat floods his face at just the thought of it. “Well I doubt your bandmates would appreciate you missing the concert tonight, so I think we'll save that story for another day.”

lips + deep

Eddie looks at him, cool and calculating, like he’s searching for something in Steve’s expression, and Steve hopes, prays that Eddie knows he wouldn’t do this just to be mean, that he wouldn’t risk his own reputation just to humiliate Eddie.

The metalhead seems to come to the same conclusion as he hums low and reaches out, long fingers wrapping around the back of Steve's neck, and the younger shivers at the contact, at the cool touch against his own flushed skin.

“Alright, then. C’mere, pretty boy.”

Steve feels spellbound as he watches Eddie take a hit before pulling him in, closing the distance between them. Their lips brush together, feather-light as he blows the smoke into Steve's mouth, and the younger inhales, feeling absolutely dizzy at their proximity. 

Steve is so painfully close to getting what he wants, and he can’t help but to close the gap, turning the sharing of air into a proper kiss. He has to taste, to test, to see if the rumors are true, and it feels like something finally clicks into place when Eddie kisses him back, deep and wanting, because oh.

<3

Not going to tag anyone specific because I've seen this going around <3

[sixhours]

Chapter 20 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Somewhere in Wyoming

October 2024

The sound of gunshots bleeds into breaking glass.

You feel a sharp tug on your leg, fresh air streaming through the door, and you know they’ve found you. You kick back hard, fighting against the monster, fighting against–

Joanna. Kicking her away, running, running.

But you can’t run and there’s nowhere left to go. You scream and kick at the source that pulls on you, waiting for the teeth in your flesh, the bite that signals your turn.

The grip clamps around your bad ankle, one of the monsters has come to claim you for its own, and your consciousness drowns in a fiery white blaze of pain.

~*~

You taste sawdust and dirt, a cold metal floor pressed to your aching cheek, the angry throb in your ankle. You wait to feel the hunger, the insatiable need to consume, to grow, to become …

The rumbling underneath you jostles your ankle and you groan, rolling onto your side, feeling the bile in your throat before you realize you’re vomiting. You don’t have enough strength to push yourself away from the puddle of acrid yellow filth so you lay there, letting it soak into your hair, your cheek. Your arms are gone, replaced by dead weight, and you don’t realize until much later that they’ve been tied behind you.

You sob softly, wondering if this is what it’s like now. You hadn’t considered that the infected could be conscious, self-aware, minds trapped in bodies that have lost control. The thought frightens you more than anything ever has before, the idea that you could be awake for every awful thing you’ll be compelled to do. To ravage, to flay, to take, take, take .

But you are so, so tired, and the rumble beneath you is strangely soothing. You let it draw you back into unconsciousness.

~*~

“Get up.”

The voice is harsh. A solid object drives itself into your stomach and you wake, retching, gasping for breath. 

“Get up.”

You’re pulled again, and you swear you can feel every bone in your ankle grinding together. Something comes up under you, lifting you without grace or care, dragging you out of the darkness into light that’s too bright.

No please just let me go let me go back under no–

You’re only faintly aware of being manhandled into a building, down a hall, into a tiny room–only aware because every time your ankle bumps against the ground or a wall or a limb, the sheer agony brings you back to life in the most brutal way.

You’re dropped unceremoniously on a hard cot and there’s the clang of metal as a gate closes behind you. You can barely focus your eyes, can barely breathe because of the pain, the constant pain, and you have to remember how to inflate your lungs. You roll over onto your side and pull your knees to your chest.

Why is it taking so long?

~*~

At some point, you come to understand you haven’t been infected, only captured, and the knowledge brings a bittersweet sense of relief. You’ll rot away until they decide to torture or kill you. Either way, you’ll get what you deserve.

The guards wear FEDRA fatigues. They don’t speak, only shove bits of bread and bowls of water into the narrow slot in the cell, most of which you ignore until thirst drives you off the cot, crawling pitifully, painfully across the stained cement.

On one of these days, these painful, nothing-days, Colonel Waller appears at the bars of your cell. You barely recognize the man without his desk. 

“What are the chances?” he muses, watching you recognize him. “We thought we’d lost you.”

The man takes a seat in a folding chair in front of the bars of your cell and leans forward, considering you for a long time. You stare at him blankly, barely able to comprehend his presence, let alone what it means.

“I wasn’t convinced when they told me it was you, but…here you are. You’re lucky we found you when we did. You were as good as clicker food.”

He smiles at this, a thin, red slash across his puffy white face. You don’t have the energy to do more than wait for whatever is to come. He seems to sense this, because he gets straight to the point, to the tender heart of you.

“Jackson is gone,” he says, almost soft, almost gentle.

No. No, nonono…

“Of course, your little stunt gave them a bit of a head start…but we’ll handle it. Since we lost Kansas City…seems like a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“Why?” you choke out, not recognizing your own voice. You haven’t spoken in so long, your vocal cords fray with the effort.

“We can’t have a United States with warring factions. This country can be one again, but it takes power. Direction. Someone to make the hard decisions. 

“And the beauty of it is we didn’t even have to kill people. Control the infected, control the population. Just…point them in the right direction and let the infected do the rest. It’s safer out here than it's ever been…and it’s all thanks to your work.”

The sound that tears itself from your throat is so alien, so distant to your ears that you don’t recognize it as your own wail until you feel the bile rising alongside it.

“You really didn’t know,” he says finally, faint awe registering on his stern, lined face. “Maybe you’re not the cold bitch everyone said you were.”

“You can’t–” you croak, lurching off the cot, trying to stand, but your good leg won’t hold you and you fall to your knees, keening softly.

“Oh, it’s a bit too late for that. Now…about the girl.”

Your head snaps up.

“We knew what Marlene was up to with her,” he says easily. “But then we lost our mole in Salt Lake City–that was a bloodbath, let me tell you. That smuggler didn’t waste a single bullet, and the girl was gone.

“Then you come along and she’s right there in Jackson, safe as houses. Again, I ask myself…what are the chances?

“Of course, then you dropped off the radar, too,” he frowns. “But we had everything we needed. And we’ll make sure the girl gets out alive. She could be useful, that one. The Fireflies think they’re hot shit, but… we have doctors, too.”

The cold certainty in his voice sends a wave of terrible nausea through you as he finally stands, staring down at you with bland apathy.

“Didn’t you used to be a doctor?”

You’re heaving now, barely aware of his footsteps retreating, of the bars of the cage closing in on you, until you’re nothing but a raw, wrought-out shell.

~*~

They’ve taken everything you might have used to do it: Your knife, your boot laces, even the sheets. You consider fashioning a noose out of your pants or your jacket, but you can’t stand up enough to tie it off to the bars of your cell, and so you’re left here to wither. Eventually, you know starvation will take you, but it will be a long, slow suicide.

You’ve lost all sense of time. The tiny window at the top of your cell sometimes glows white with daylight, then yellow with a sickly halogen aura. From your cot, you’re left with a slivered view of the starless, navy-black sky.

Jackson is gone.

It’s a gunshot to the gut every time the colonel’s words float into your consciousness. The unintentional home you’d built has been wiped, cleaned, sanitized into FEDRA territory. And you’re forced to lay here on this dirty floor and play the scenarios in your mind until you’re mad with sorrow and fear.

But your body stubbornly refuses to die.

[wannabeschyulersister]

numb

pairing: druig x reader

*SPOILERS OF THE ETERNALS AHEAD*

gif is not mine. credit to owner. 

Warnings: spoilers & angsty as heck

“Druig is gone.” 

As soon as the words came out of Ikaris’ mouth, you felt like your entire world had shattered. Memories of standing by Druig’s side for centuries was all you had left of him. They seemed to all flash in your mind in that moment on the beach. 

The many times Druig would read to you in the mornings. 

Druig laughing at your jokes but no one else’s. He never seemed to be a people person. Just a (Y/n) person. 

The centuries that you spent with him had felt like it wasn’t enough in that moment. 

In that moment, you wanted to cry. You wanted to scream and fall to your knees. The heartbreak was beginning to set in and there was nothing more that you wanted to do but to succumb to it. What was the point of anything now? 

All of the loss that you had experienced these last few days was catching up to you. Ajak. Giglamesh. They were gone and wouldn’t be coming back. 

You felt the eyes of the others on you. They all knew how you felt about Druig and vice versa. They were all witnesses to your love having witnessed it from its inception. 

Ikaris stood in front of you all toting on about what needed to be done and in that moment, you snapped. He took your soulmate away from you.

Rage filled your veins. 

You needed revenge. 

As an eternal, you were able to manipulate the elements around you. Water was your favorite. How convenient that you were on the beach. 

Before Ikaris could do anymore damage, you hurled the biggest wave at him with an easy flick of the wrist. 

“Sersi, you need to go! I’ll hold him off.” You shouted. She had the biggest mission out of the rest of you. Sersi needed as much time as she could possibly get. 

She nodded before making her way to the volcano. You could sense in the air that things were heading in a disastrous direction. 

As much as you tried to hold Ikaris off, he fought back with strength that clearly exceeded yours. He had always been so much better at combat than you had been. At one point, you wanted him to teach you how to be as great as he was. Now, you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Ikaris escaped your waves and watched as they retreated back. “Is that all you got?” In the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of you and his hand was around your neck. 

“I’m sorry that it has come to this. I never wanted any of this to happen.” Ikaris said as he grip tightened. 

There was no one around to help you as you began to see dots. The air was sparse in your lungs. You couldn’t even muster up the strength to attack back. 

Just as everything was beginning to slip away, you heard a loud crack and Ikaris was gone. Gasping for air, you fell down to your side on the sand. Ikaris was on the sand as well. He had been disoriented. 

Confused, you looked over to see who your savior was. Thena? Phastos? Had Sprite changed her mind? 

“Get your filthy hands off of my (Y/n).” Druig warned Ikaris as he dropped the rock that he just used against his skull. 

How was it possible? Druig was standing in front of you alive and well. Was Sprite messing with you? If she was, it would be the dirtiest thing she’d ever done and you’d strangle her yourself. It was cruel for her to manipulate you, but seeing Druig put you at ease. It made you forget for a split second that he was gone. 

Ikaris got back up on his feet. You braced yourself for an attack by him but he simply flew off towards Sersi and the volcano. You hoped that she figured out what to do to about Tiramut. As soon as you had the strength, you wanted to join her. 

“Druig” kneeled besides you and placed his hand on your neck, “Are you alright?” 

You moved away, “Sprite, cut it out! How dare you do this to me?” 

“Druig” flinched, “Beauty, do you think this is a trick? It’s me.” 

“Tell me something that only you would know.” 

Druig smirked as he recalled a specific memory, “Should we discuss the time back in Babylon where some of the kids found us in a particularly adult situation?” 

It was like your heart had started beating again. The numbness that you felt just moments ago was gone. 

“It’s you!” You shrieked and threw your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around you as you cried, “I thought you were gone forever.” 

“It’s going to take more than that jerk to take me out. When I promised you forever, I meant it.” Druig kissed the top of your head softly. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” You warned him. Those moments were you felt like he was gone forever were truly the worst that you had ever experienced. 

“I won’t. Our story isn’t over just yet.” Druig lifted your chin lightly so that you’d meet his eyes. He wiped away your tears before kissing you. 

The world was literally moments away from possibly ending and you two were so wrapped up into each other to notice anything. Over the centuries, Druig kissed you with as much passion as he had the very first time you shared a sweet moment. 

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips. 

“I love you.” 

Druig kissed you once more before standing up and holding his hand out for you. You took it and he helped you up. “Let’s go and kick some Celestial ass.” 

“I’ll follow you to the ends of this Earth.” 

[a3r3n]

BABYLON (ACT II) || MARK LEE

Pairing: Mark × girl!reader (+ Karina, but not as a love interest)

Genre: fluff, suggestive, angst

Word Count: 2.2k+

⚠️Warnings: the first part is a little suggestive. However, let me know if you would consider it smut so that I can change that.

A/N: This story is the sequel (or maybe prequel?) to this. However, it can be read as a one-shot as the story is completely understandable without having read the previous ones (even tho I suggest you read them, just because they create each a big story and make more sense if read them all). This said, enjoy it <3

tag/s: @whatsonthemirror

🌼Nct 127 Arranged Marriages!AUs Masterlist

🌼Act I - Act II - Act III

Summary: you loved him so much. You loved him, but he broke your heart. That's why you decided to do anything you could to forget him. Little did you know, you were going to see him again, even if in the most unusual of ways.

«Mark, stop it!» you whisper-shouted, trying to hold back a chuckle.

It was past midnight, and your whole house was dark and quiet. If someone had walked close enough to your bedroom door, though, they could have clearly heard some distinct noises. Whispers, chuckles, moans. A barely audible mixture of words and sounds which you tried to hide with difficulty.

The problem was that it was impossible to keep your mouth shut whenever your boyfriend was around. Either to laugh at one of his lame jokes, argue with him about some dull matter, or simply moan his name, you couldn't stay silent. And you didn't want to.

That time, however, was different. Mark had had the brilliant idea of coming to visit you in the middle of the night, while your parents were peacefully asleep and completely unaware of what was going on in their only daughter's bedroom. Unaware of the fact that your boyfriend had sneaked in and was touching you everywhere, kissing every bare spot of your skin, eager to have all of you.

«Please, stop it! My parents could hear us!» you begged him once again, even knowing he wouldn't have listened to you. In fact, he kept caressing your thighs while placing soft and wet kisses on your neck, purposely ignoring your silent cries. «Mark, we can't...»

«I thought you liked it when I did this,» he interrupted you, raising his head to look at you in the eyes.

«I do, but...»

«But? Don't you want me anymore?» he asked, starting to kiss you again, but this time on your chest, then your stomach until his face was right in front of your clothed core. «Don't you want me to fuck you right now, baby?»

«What if my parents hear us?» You could already feel your breath shaking and your panties getting wet.

«Then we better keep quiet,» he said, suddenly getting on his knees and then adjusting himself on top of you. «Just relax now, okay, baby? If we can't help being too loud, I'll kiss you. Or bite you. Depends.»

He let out a small chuckle while moving your panties to the side, then held one of your hands and placed the other on your waist.

You smiled, and before you could say another word, he was already inside you. He didn't immediately start moving, though. He looked at you first, admiring your shining eyes and soft lips and making you blush a little. He always had this adoring expression whenever he looked at you, and it flattered you. It was clear to anyone that he loved you, and you loved him just as much.

When you locked eyes, you felt him squeeze your hand tighter, if that was even possible.

«I love you,» he whispered, never breaking eye contact with you.

«I love you too,» you replied, then your words got replaced by a sudden gasp of pleasure.

"I must be dreaming," you think, a drop of sweat beading your forehead.

It's a freezing night of December, yet you're feeling hot and sweaty.

You are dreaming, indeed. The most beautiful and frightening dream you've ever had. But you're not able to wake up.

You toss and turn until the blankets pile up at the foot of your bed, but you still feel hot.

You haven't dreamt of Mark in ages, and you were actually hoping it would never happen. You only wished every memory you had with him would disappear from your mind so that you wouldn't think about him anymore and your pain would be finally gone.

Yet here you are, unable to wake up from a dream that's reminding you of one of the most incredible and intimate nights you'd ever spent with Mark Lee. Handsome, sweet, damned Mark Lee.

Even though you're sleeping, you're aware of the fact that it's just a dream, and you can't help but hear your heart crack as soon as that realization hits you.

"Please, let me wake up," you pray to the gods of the night, hoping to be heard. But you don't wake up, not yet. Instead, another scene takes place on your mind while the first one fades away, another memory of the many you've shared with him. This time, however, it's not a happy one.

You immediately recognize the place and the people there, realizing it's the only moment of your relationship with Mark you wished had never happened. As if it weren't enough to have experienced it once, your brain is making you live it again, while all you want is just to forget about it. "Please, let me wake up..."

«I don't understand...» you said, your voice shaking while you were desperately trying to hold back your tears.

Mark, your boyfriend, had asked you to meet him at your favorite cafe, the one where you had first met, where he'd asked you to be his girlfriend, where you'd had your first date. That cafe held a special place in your heart, and that's why you'd have never expected it to be the one where your heart would have got broken too.

You had noticed Mark's weird attitude the past few weeks, and you had also asked him the reason behind it, but he'd just told you he was stressed because college was about to start soon. You were both in freshman year and had applied for the same college, although you had chosen different Majors. You had been feeling a bit stressed as well, but that didn't change your attitude towards your boyfriend, while he... well, he was different.

«Do you need a break... from us?» you asked, and you could definitely hear your voice crack. One single tear left your eye and ran down your cheek. «From our relationship?»

«No, not just a break,» he said, not even a sign of regret in his voice. His eyes, though, were wandering around the room, unable to look at you. He would have never admitted it, but he hated to see you suffer. He knew you were hurting, and he hated to be the cause of your sorrow, but he had already made a decision. Thus, he tried to sound as cynical as possible, choosing indifference to deal with what he wanted to tell you.

«What do you mean?» you asked, but you knew what he meant. You had known it from the moment he stepped inside the cafe with that numb look on his face, and now he was only confirming it.

«I'm breaking up with you.» He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear seeing your heart break right in front of him, but he didn't want to show it.

«Why?» you managed to ask before a sob left your mouth.

«I've already told you. I'll be too busy with college, and I won't have time for a girlfriend.»

«You're saying this as if we haven't been dating for four years! I know college is hard, but we love each other and...»

«I can't,» he interrupted you. He could hear you sobbing, and above all, he could clearly hear the pain in your voice, but he still refused to look at you. If he had, he was afraid he might have regretted everything.

«Why? Just why?» You were on the edge of a breakdown.

Until some weeks before, everything was fine between you two. You were happy and in love just like you had always been for the past four years, and nothing seemed to be wrong.

Then, something happened. You were about to start college, but you never saw that as a problem since you had chosen the same one, and you would have been able to see each other every day.

Mark, though, had started acting differently, and you knew it wasn't because of the stress. He always looked worried, sometimes even sad, got mad at you for the smallest things, and refused to meet you every time you asked him. The few times he accepted, he was cold and barely talked to you. He even refused to have sex with you.

You knew it wasn't just because of college and the stress it caused.

«Don't you love me anymore?»

«It's... complicated. College will keep me busy. I'll have so many things to do and...»

«Enough with this bullshit!» you burst out, unable to control your tears and your voice anymore. «Just tell me the truth! After all these years together, that's the least you could do, don't you think?»

He didn't answer. Instead, he just shook his head and let out a deep sigh.

«Did you find another girl?» you asked after long minutes of insufferable silence, your heart beating threateningly fast. You were terribly afraid of his answer.

As you pronounced those words, though, he immediately looked at you for the first time since you'd started talking. You probably didn't notice, but his eyes were a mess of sorrow and regret as if he were silently asking you how you could even think of something like that. As if the thought of another woman in his life had never crossed his mind. They were telling you that he was still in love with you, but you didn't notice any of that.

«I didn't,» he simply answered, then turned his head away. «The truth is, I want my freedom. We're in college now, and I wanna have fun.»

«You wanna sleep with a different girl every night, you mean,» you spat out, sadness and anger fighting for who should have taken control of your heart. «And your girlfriend of four years would be an obstacle, wouldn't she?»

«I didn't say that.»

«But that's what you meant. Boys who have girlfriends in college are such losers, right?»

«Stop talking nonsense! I just wanna live my college experience without such a weight on my shoulders!» he shouted, leaving you speechless.

Many of the things he'd said during the past hour hurt you, but that was absolutely the most painful.

«You see me... as a weight?» You were now breathless. Voiceless. Running out of tears even. You didn't want to hear anything else; your heart had been broken enough. Without even thinking, you grabbed your purse and stood up, ready to leave under Mark's terrified eyes.

«No, wait! I didn't mean that, I...»

«Stop it. Stop talking,» you interrupted him, locking eyes with him one last time. «I don't know if this was your decision or if your friends have something to do with it, but you made it anyway.»

«Baby, please...»

«No, Mark,» you interrupted him again, gathering all your energies while your knees threatened to collapse after hearing him using that pet name. «Don't you dare call me baby ever again. I'll ask you one last time: is this what you want?»

Your voice sounded firm, but you were dying inside. You were so hoping he'd change his mind. If he did, you would have been more than ready to welcome him into your life again. He hurt you, but you loved him so much you could easily forgive and forget everything.

«Yes, it is,» he answered. He didn't sound not even a bit confident, but he still said those words.

«Alright. I hope you have the best experiences this college can offer you.»

You loved him so much it was hard to let him go, but you loved him too much to force him to stay. That's why you didn't insist, even when the regret on his face was evident.

While your heart was a crying mess, you gave him the most sincere smile you could and left.

The room is immersed in a creepy silence when you wake up. You're wheezing, gasping for air, and you're able to regulate your breathing only when you recognize the familiar place that's surrounding you.

A faint light seeping into the window illuminates a corner of the room, while most of it is absorbed into the dark. Your roommate is still sleeping deeply, her luggage bags scattered all over the floor, only waiting for her to wake up and take them back home. The lights decorating the small Christmas tree you two have bought some weeks ago are the only other light source, allowing your sight to adjust to the dark.

Some long minutes pass before you realize what's just happened, and you don't know what to do. On one hand, you want to wake up your roommate and tell her everything, to vent and be able to go back to sleep afterward. On the other, you're feeling this irrational impulse to grab your phone and call that one number you promised not to contact ever again.

In the throes of frustration, plus all the sadness and pain that dream has brought you, you start to cry. You don't know why.

After all, it was just a dream.

But you can't control yourself.

As if you didn't cry enough for Mark when he'd decided to break up with you, more tears are now coming out, wetting your cheeks and chin until they reach your pillow.

You try to muffle your sobs, but it's hardly possible, and soon your crying sounds fill the entire room, waking Karina up. Without saying a word and with her eyes half-open, she gets up and gets close to your bed. She waits for you to make some space for her on the mattress, and then wraps you in a warm hug.

«I love him,» you whisper when the sobs give you a break to let you talk again. «I still love him so much.»

©Aeren All Rights Reserved. Please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works

[louisdotmp3]

O carver era scholar, what are your thoughts on the ending of the mark of cain arc? (I just finished season 10, and know that you are the go-to person for mark of cain stuff)

my brand! love that

sooo i've gone back and reread my old spn s10 posts and stewed on it a little. i love s10 but there's a lot of messiness and a lot of that messiness comes in the last few episodes, i think. like when sam starts scheming and plotting meanwhile dean by all accounts is like, hangin in there. they could've done a better job at painting dean getting noticeably & worryingly worse in an it's-an-emergency way i think, as it is sam just Decides one episode he has to stop googling mark of cain and start scheming. in general i wish sam had been doing morally questionable stuff all season to really get into monstrosity via loss of identity vs monstrosity via scrabbling for control but that's a different post.

with the thematic stuff surrounding moc i see it as dean's worsening depression brought on from the shattering of his identity in s9 (represented by his death, following sam confronting him about ezekiel and struggling w the moc & monstrousness the first time around - losing the two pillars of his identity: brother and hunter. this is a reading v informed by the concept of ontological security).

anyway this is all setup for me saying that i absolutely think ending the season with dean killing death was the right call, thematically. he's at his lowest point thus far and the whole season the show has been saying you were always going to be a monster, you are fated to struggle this much. he asks cas to kill him. he fantasizes to benny (himself) in werther project about killing himself. death literally whispering in his ear to make this one last self-destructive move.  do the thing that you could never come back from.  kill your brother (your son) and that will break you forever.  the boy on his knees in front of you is your whole identity.  kill it and you will be free, death says.  kill it and i will end your suffering, death says. and in the end, instead he kills death.

which i guess bring us around to the curse itself, which is literally destroy others or destroy yourself. the number one most fascinating thing any character says about the moc is rowena, when she says within moments of hearing about it: "the mark? it's just a curse. the first curse. but still, it can be removed." the idea that this suffering is nothing new, that it's just a curse, something solvable. she says that in the same episode they do hijinks in heaven with bobby, and i just think that says something about the mark and what it is that the mark means. they hadn't been able to make any headway on the mark at all for a season and a half until an episode with 2 parent figures getting involved.

from this post. it's very much calling to the fact that if sam and dean weren't so isolated from community & family (something that was highlighted in carver era w henry winchester, the now defunct mol and empty bunker, charlie leaving for oz, etc) they would actually be better off and things wouldn't feel like the end of the world all the time because they'd know people who had been through it before !

so i do like that in order to break the curse rowena has to kill the boy she seems to have considered a son - directly contrasting with dean who chooses not to do this when presented with the same choice. but i think any sort of thematic resonance that could be gained from that is sort of overtaken by both the mad dog spell and the crowley drama & ofc the darkness. i haven't rewatched the finale in a while but overall it has a weird tone (starting w the whore of babylon ??) and the ending half is a little clunky. but! there is so much to pull out i think which is par for the course w carver era in my opinion. as always i am watching the little shadow puppets on the cave wall and not the puppets themselves.

[hawkland]

My (mostly) Destiel Recs, Round-up #6

Well, between working like crazy on my DCBB fic and GISH and injuring my neck last month I haven’t kept up with my rec posts, so this one is going to be LONG and have a LOT and I’m going to try to break it up into sections, from oldies but goodies (some things I found on very old rec lists) to smutty delights to just tasty little bits of fluff, hopefully there’s something or everyone here. Most of these are not super-long, largely in the 10-25k range, though there are a few beyond that. With all the stuff I’ve had going on I haven’t wanted to lose sleep diving into 100k epics (especially when I’m writing my own right now, lol.)

“Oldies” but Goodies:  Here are two great fics written some time way back when but that still definitely slap.

Theodicy by manic_intent (11k) - Probably the most brilliant Godstiel fic I’ve read to date. One of Cas’s first acts as the new god is to make a new archangel. Dean isn’t exactly on board with having his soul re-sculpted into wings he hates on sight (especially as they seem magnetically drawn to Cas), but he isn’t exactly given a choice. He, Sam and Bobby struggle with how to handle their former friend suddenly becoming a vindictive deity - trying to make plans to kill him if they must, which is pretty hard when it seems like Cas is always one step ahead of him. Can Dean hold on to enough of his humanity to provide a conscience to Cas and try to steer him toward good acts instead of destruction? This is one that I can’t say has a perfectly happy ending, but it’s a hopeful and imperfect one that’s just right for how the story plays out. 

My Eyes Are An Ocean by entanglednow (10k) - Season 5 AU where Dean averts the apocalypse through a spell that “powers up” all the angels and he sees Cas’s true form - before being rendered blind. Dean tries to adjust to his blindness, Cas tries to deal with his guilt, and it’s just a lovely little read with an ending that’s... *chef’s kiss*

Lots more recs below the cut:

More great reads from some of my favorite authors I’ve recced before:

The Cabin on the Lake by DeanRH (21k) - This may be my new favorite DeanRH fic...at least for the moment. The year is 2152, Sam and Dean are long gone to Heaven, while Cas - stuck somewhere between mortal and angel - remains on Earth keeping vigil, keeping up the hunt, assuming he’ll never see either Winchester ever again. But when he starts hearing things, and imagining Dean visiting him as an angel himself, he starts losing grip on what is and isn’t real, and whether he can trust anything he sees or believes to be the truth. This is one hell of a psychological rollercoaster that kept me guessing right along with Cas until the very end. It also has some super-creepy horror elements, a novel “monster of the week”, and the hot-as-sin smut scenes I always expect from this author.

X Marks the Scot by DeanRH (15.9k) A fun little romp through history in one of this author’s great not-quite-au fics. Crowley sends Dean and Sam back in history to the Scottish Highlands to stop a monster, and while there they meet a blue-eyed clan chief who makes Dean weak in the knees. There’s something familiar about him, too. a very clever au that ties back to canon for an unexpected fix-it. Also, Cas in a kilt. Enough said.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon by DeanRH (12k) - Sweet and slightly angsty AU. What if Dean was a gardener in ancient Babylon when a strange dignitary came to warn that the tower under construction was to be destroyed by angels? Lush, romantic and sexy with some wonderful tie-ins to canon characterizations (of Dean, Sam, John and of course Cas).

sufficient for thee by angelfishofthelord��(21k) - This is a beautiful Cas angst-fest and character study that reimagines how angel grace works, particularly in regards to healing others. It covers the whole of Cas’s arc from Season 4 through a post-series fix-it, is absolutely stunning and features some great world-building in regards to the angels. (One important TW: those with cutting/self-harm issues may wish to skip or at least proceed with caution). I love that I can always count on angelfishofthelord when I need a good dose of Cas!whump and pain.

And laugh at gilded butterflies by ireallydidthistomyself (13k) - another great Dadstiel fic from this author featuring one of my favorite angsty subjects! I don’t know how I missed reading this one before. An AU where Cas is raising (baby)Jack on his own until the angels find the two of them and prepare to seal Jack away in the Ma’lak box. Cas begs them to let him go with Jack, so at least Jack won’t be alone for eternity. Meanwhile Dean is frantically trying to find what happened to Cas, and he gets some unexpected help from Crowley.  It’s sad and sweet and all the characterizations are great. A+ Crowley use here, too.

what stays (and what fades away) by dothraki_shieldmaiden (64k) - a fabulous read with some great art, too, that started me reading a bunch of fic from this author. Cas goes missing, and when he’s found he seems deep under a spell. When they finally manage to awaken him, he doesn’t remember anything of this life with Dean, Sam and Cas in the bunker. The last thing he knew he was a nurse living with his wonderful husband, Dean, and their two adopted children, Jack and Claire. What I loved about this one was the clever twist as to who was behind Cas’s curse and also how well-developed his AU world/existence was. I’m not generally keen on mundane aus or the one-dimensional way a lot of djinn dream fics tend to go for them, but this one managed to capture a believable version of Dean and Cas living a “normal” life without monsters without making it sugary/too-sweet. 

before knowing remembers by dothraki_shieldmaiden (14k) Post 15x04, a wonderful fic that plays with some meta topics in a clever way. Dean and Sam are happy - they have free will and they’ve won against Chuck, even if they suffered some big losses along the way (including Jack). But Dean can’t help but think he’s forgetting something...or rather, someone. Yet every time he thinks he remembers, the name and face of that someone slips from his mind. 

weights on my ankles by dothraki_shieldmaiden (9k) Post-15x03 where Cas ends up going back to the Gas ‘n Sip and working with Nora after leaving the bunker. A bitter sweet divorce-arc AU and what I love the most is how it ends - not perfect, not tragic, just very real and believable. 

15x18 and Post-canon fix-it fics:

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift (26k) - An angsty but lovely fix-it fic, one where it gets worse for a while before it gets better. Dean pulls Cas from the Empty, where he’d been living in a fantasy world with a dream!Dean who was giving him everything real!Dean is certain he can’t. Dean has to struggle with wondering if Cas would have been better off with dream!Dean instead of him. This is one that will break your heart before putting it back together again as Dean struggles with his self-worth issues.

so good at crashing in by Wintertree (36k) - Another post-finale fix-it where Cas is back, the world is saved, and things are still...not as easy as it should be for either Dean nor Cas. Monsters are gone, there’s no more hunting to be done, and Cas wants to move out of the bunker somewhere closer to Claire, to move on with a proper human life. Dean thinks he can move there with Cas and stay as “best friends”, even to the extent that Cas encourages him to go out and have sex with others/women. (And wants to hear about it after the fact!) But can Dean figure out what he really wants, and what Cas wants as well? A refreshingly unique take on what a post-series life could have looked like for them.

Delicious smut:

Empty by squirrelofcelestialintent (43k) - Every day this fandom makes me rethink my previous squicks and DNWs in fanfic. Here I find myself enjoying quite a bit more dom/sub elements than I normally ever would! I think because I was absolutely drawn in by the breathtaking first chapter, capturing beautifully the emotions of Cas returning from the Empty in Season 13 if he and Dean had confessed their feelings right then and there. But Dean’s self-worth is all fucked up, he feels there’s no way he can be good enough for Cas, especially when his sexual desires run a little bit...let’s just say outside the vanilla and he’s struggling with shame over doing sex work when he was younger. This was HOT and POOR SAM really gets stuck in the middle of, well, hearing more about his brother’s sex life than he ever needed to.

He's My Mate by Hatsonhamburgers (22k) - This fic manages the delightful combination of humor and extreme hotness perfectly. Dean and Cas catch each other in some questionable masturbation situations. This leads Cas to decide he needs to buy Dean some proper sex toys. He’s just helping his best friend out, right? Sure. As I said, hysterical AND hot as hell. 

Generals by nanoochka (9k) - Cas/Dean, Cas/Balthazar/Dean, implied past-Cas/Balthazar. An old LJ fic I found on an ancient rec list that is just scorching hot and a brilliant character study of Cas and Dean. Balthazar decides to invite himself in when he catches Dean and Cas engaging in some frisky business, and it turns into a bit of a power-play between the two soldiers of Heaven. Cas gets DP’ed and it’s all...well. It’s fucking good, read it.

The One With The Preening by HolyFuckingHell (5.5k) Can I do a rec post without including some wing!kink/wing!grooming in it? No, I can’t. (I also really enjoyed some of the other fics in this author’s series including The One With Dean's Horny Movies).

A Single Point of Light by Destina (2.4k) - This is a gorgeous Cas/Dean/Benny Purgatory short! A delicious balance of the two each caring for and caring about Dean in their own, protective ways, definitely a delight for any fans of this threesome.

Short and sweet, fluff to angst:

Snugglebird by almaasi (5.3k) - So, so soft and sweet and snuggly, just like the title. Dean’s things are disappearing from the bunker...and so, suddenly, has Cas. What’s going on? I do love my nesting!Cas fics, so...yeah. If you need a smile this is a good one to read :)

And Cleanse Me From My Sin by thisisapaige (1.6k) - another one for my beloveds who also enjoy wing grooming and sweet Dean-taking-care-of-Cas fluff.

Needle and Thread by Misachan (4k) - Season 5 wing!fic hurt/comfort. Cas’s wings are badly injured, Dean doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s stitched up Sam and himself enough times. He can do this. If you love caretaker!Dean and vulnerable!Cas don’t overlook this little gem.

Deceptive Preludes by sp8ce (2.7k) - One of those stories that delves into some of the difficulties Cas might have after coming back from the Empty a second time, especially in regards to accepting what’s real or not, understanding Dean, and how both of their communication issues can add to their struggles. Painful but hopeful for the future, felt very believable as I read it.

[calpops]

positive | c.h.

You and Calum get positive news regarding the family you’re trying to start.

1k words

dates with cal masterlist

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

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The house is empty when you get home, a plastic bag from the pharmacy in your hand and hope in your heart. You want Calum with you but don’t know that you can wait until he gets home. He’ll be in a writing session until the moonless sky bids you only darkness as a friend. You bite your lip and look to Duke who’s snuggled up on the couch, staring unblinkingly back at you, as if to question your next move. You discard the bag and resign yourself to the cushions with the old dog but can’t promise that you’ll wait, only that you’ll try to. Your endeavor to start a family with Calum has been wonderful but the waiting game of yes or no has been exhausting. It’s been months since you both decided you were ready, months since the wedding and the honeymoon where the desire to start a family was sealed with promises and kisses and passion.

You doze off with the TV on, dreaming a dream reminiscent of one Calum had that woke him in the night. A dream of white picket fences, little feet running through hallways, porch swings and stories and a family filled with love that will last a lifetime. You rouse when the front door opens and Calum calls out for you, a soft ‘sweetheart’ pulling you from the cushions, hands rubbing at your tired eyes as he comes into focus. He stands in front of you, plastic bag in his grip and curiosity on his face. The lights are off but you can make him out from the glow of the tv.

“Did you”— Calum begins to ask but you shake your head and cut off his question before it gets all the way out.

“I wanted to wait for you,” you explain, all of the previous times you had been together. All of the negative signs warranting consolement from each other. You wanted to wait in case you needed the refuge of his arms and wanted to wait in case a celebration could be had.

“Good,” he says with a nod and offers you a hand to help you off the couch. You waited for him but now he doesn’t want to wait any longer and you can’t blame him. Months have gone by and patience is weary and nerves are frayed for both of you.

There was a night of tears and worries and heartache that bid words of reassurance. Calum promised that even if you couldn’t have kids you would still have kids, you would still have and be a family. Thoughts of adoption had been traded and it filled your hearts. You had both discussed the possibility of adopting no matter what; whether you could get pregnant or not, and decided that would be in your future.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Calum says as if he can see into your mind and anxieties. The words help instill that faith into you and know it will be okay, that a family will be had and your dreams can come true.

You nod and suck in a breath, “I know,” you say as you make the short walk to your bedroom and the en-suite off of it.

Another wait ensues once the test is taken. Five minutes feels like five lifetimes as you pace the bedroom. Calum sits on the bed, tries to pull you into his lap to wait with him, but your feet won’t stop moving—they’re trying to keep time with your mind. Your stomach roils with nerves but you calm them with the promises and assurances that have been made. With possibilities and the knowledge that pregnancy isn’t the one way to make and have a family.

Your phone buzzes, the alarm going off and ringing through your ears and rattling your bones. You walk to the dresser where you placed it and turn it off, look back at Calum who’s stood and is waiting for you to lead the way. You take in another breath, feel your shoulders tighten and then relax as Calum puts a hand on the small of your back. It’s just a few small steps into the bathroom but it feels like a journey. You take the steps together, footsteps falling in tandem as you approach the bathroom and the counter where the test still lies. Your hands shake and your throat burns. You look at Calum, not convinced you can be the one to read the test again.

“You look,” you say, eyes slipping shut and weight bearing against Calum’s chest. Calum’s arms wind around you and he dips down to kiss your cheek. He leaves you for a moment so he can round you and get to the counter.

“It’s positive.”

The two words break you from your entanglement of thoughts. Your eyes spring open and a gasp leaves you. You never thought the news would bring Calum to his knees but they hit the floor and his arms find your waist, they bring you to him, his head rests against your stomach where life and love now grows within you. You run your hands through Calum’s hair, a smile slowly forming on your face, eyes watering and heart hammering out the last of your nerves.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you manage to get out in a whisper and shut your eyes again; dreams coming to life right before you. You tremble, hands stalling in Calum’s hair, falling to your sides. “We’re gonna be a family.”

Calum stands, slowly, takes your face in his hands softly and wipes a stray tear from your cheek. “We’re already a family,” he reminds you, to which you nod, another tear sliding down your cheek. “Now we’re gonna be parents.”

You know you’ll have to go to the doctor and get a blood test to confirm that it’s truly positive but the plus sign on the counter is enough to bring you both to tears filled with hope and love. But Calum’s right. He’s your family, with kids or without. You’re positive about that. You’re also positive Calum will make the best dad and that your family will keep growing; from pregnancy and adoption, from all the forms of love that can be had in this world.

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[talkfastromance4]

tender moments-- l.h

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Feeling a little burnt out from mafia!ash so here’s a little diddy of soft Luke. 

Enjoy :) feedback is always welcomed

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

• • • •

In public:

Tender, barely there touches to your lower spine guiding you through crowds. When it becomes a bit too much, he’ll intertwine your fingers together keeping you close. When standing in line for a coffee or sweet treat of ice cream, he’ll rest his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing softly. At the store he’ll wander off to collect your favorite treats for your sweet tooth and wrap his arms around you when he comes back as you read the ingredients to a soup can, his prize presented to you with a gentle kiss to your cheek. At the bars he loves to touch even more after he’s had a few tequila shots in him. Tart kisses are left on the corner of your mouth as his fingers tickle up your thighs. When he becomes sleepy, he’ll drape his large body over yours, trying to cuddle you the best he can until you get him home. For important dinners he’ll keep his hand on your knee as you trace over his knuckles, an act that eases his nerves. On the road, he makes sure you’re always by his side so he won’t lose you in the throngs of people. When things get too hectic he’ll pull you aside in some isolated corner enveloping you in a protective embrace, his voice low and soft in your ear as he talks you down from the craziness all around. In public they’re discreet but each touch leaves you breathless.

In private:

In the morning when he wakes up hours before you will, he’ll caress your cheek then give you three kisses; starting at your forehead, your temple, then your cheek with a soft “I love you.” As you’re both cooking dinner, he loves to come up behind you and press his lips to your neck, humming at the aromas wafting from the pot or pan before you. After a rough day in interviews where it’s the repetitive questions, he crawls onto your lap on the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist and he places your hands in his hair. His cheek is squished against your tummy as he hugs you tightly and complains about his day. Night routines are a favorite of his, he loves applying new face masks to your face and kisses your nose when you’re all cleaned up. To wake you up in the morning when he just can’t wait for you to awake on your own, he’ll trace the contours of your face delicately with the tip of his finger. It’s usually on the third go around when he brushes over your lips that your eyes flutter open to see his smiling face staring at you. When mornings are rushed and you both are scrambling around the house, you share a cup of coffee, his lips and your lips kissing the cup before actually kissing each other’s lips on the way out the door. Rainy days are your favorite because you tend to stay in bed enjoying each other’s company, exploring each other’s bodies again. Soft sighs and hushed giggles are exchanged that turn into low moans as your bodies come together. On rough days he finds you in the bath, neck high in bubbles with candles lit all around. He joins you, resting you against his back as his fingers work magic over your taut muscles and his lips stamp onto your shoulders as he listens to you vent. 

Whether in public or private, you feel his love in every touch, every kiss, in every brush of skin, each one feeling better than the last.

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[sosthemortalcoil]

BLM Donation Shorts: Who Wears the Crown

@justtobefrank requested a nsfw Alice x m!Gabriel. Alice gets her revenge(?) for Gabriel attempting to dethrone her as the Prank Master

“Oh please. Prank Master? Because you got one over on me?” Alice scoffs as she steps through her apartment door, flinging her currently bright green hair over her shoulder.

“I do believe the accepted protocol is that when someone defeats the reigning champion, regardless of the arena in which they fight, that the new victor becomes the champion,” you reply, following her into her apartment.

“You know, this is why it’s probably a good thing you don’t talk a whole lot around everyone else. You haven’t quite grasped the local vernacular.”

You shrug. As far as you’re aware, the Babylon matrix your shell is equipped with allows you converse like any human would. Then again, Alice isn’t just any human.

“One day I’m going to figure out what your deal is,” she threatens, ditching her jacket on the back of a chair. She leans over, giving you a generous view of how tight her pants cling to her rear, as she undoes her boots. Straightening up, she kicks them to a corner of the room.

“Stare much harder and you’ll owe me a new pair of pants,” she comments.

“I was not—”

“Oh, you weren’t?” She turns, arms folded across her chest, her lips curved in a smile that spells trouble of the best kind. You swallow, warmth kindling in your stomach. “Well why the hell not? It’s a damn fine ass, and I know you like it.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Butt is rather the point.” A juvenile joke, but Alice has no compunctions about being crass or juvenile.

“I thought the point was that you now have vengeance to plot.”

“Vengeance? For green hair? I should have seen it coming. I underestimated you. Bribing Stephanie is nearly impossible. It’s a feat that few can accomplish.” She stalks towards you, grabbing your tie and winding it around her fingers. The way she teases the silk, stroking and twisting it, rubbing it between her fingers ever so slowly, has you wetting your lips in anticipation.

“I would love to know how you pulled that off. It might even be worth something.”

Her eyes flick up to yours, grey eyes bright as if she shines with an inner light.

“Something?” you echo hopefully, eyes moving back to the dance of her fingers.

She chuckles, a low throaty sound, and moves away, stripping off her shirt as she goes and tossing it to the floor in the short hallway from her entry and kitchen to her bedroom. “I don’t know. It depends on the quality of your information.”

You trail after her, hesitating before scooping up her shirt and tossing it into the hamper. Alice sits with her legs crossed on the bed. You recognize the sheer black bra and know she’s wearing the matching underwear. Her ‘get-laid’ set, as she calls it.

“The quality of information is dependent upon the skills of the interrogator, is it not?” you ask, hovering before her. She reaches out and hooks a finger in your belt, dragging you to her.

“Oh, but I am a very skilled interrogator,” she says, sliding the belt off and staring up at you from beneath half-lidded eyes. “I can tell already you’re going to give me everything,” she emphasizes her point by dragging her nails over the zipper of your slacks, “that I want.”

You wait, breath bated, but she leans back, snapping the belt lightly in her hands, attention on the plain black leather and completely ignoring you.

After a few moments you plunge your hand into your pocket, pulling out your trump card. “The hair was only part of the play. As you often say, have multiple balls rolling.”

Alice’s eyes dart briefly to the keychain and away, unable to hide her interest. “Pick-pocketing Kain? You do like to be punished. He’s going to make your life miserable when he finds out it was you.”

“I did not pick-pocket him. He left it unattended to make some comments about your… roots.”

Alice raises an eyebrow. “So, I was a part of a larger plan? Getting better.”

She leans forward, slipping the buttons of your shirt out, the belt still loosely clasped in her hands. “But you were going to tell me how you bribed Stephanie.”

“I found a book she had a great interest in.” Not technically a lie, but not the full truth either.

Alice digs her short nails into the skin of your chest, hard enough to make you groan. “Spare no details. Stephanie has a great many books, and access to more than most people could ever read in a hundred lifetimes. What is so special about this one?”

“It was thought lost when the Library of Alexandria burned down,” you admit, cheeks flushing as her hands turn gentler, sliding your shirt off your shoulders. Her hands continuing their path down your arms, all the way to your wrists, tugging them forward, as if she’s going to permit you to touch her as a reward.

“A very rare book. I’d love to hear how you came by it,” she murmurs, kissing the inside of one wrist before binding your hands together with the belt. “Don’t tell me yet; I’m only getting warmed up. It’s not fun if you go giving up all your secrets so easily.”

She tugs your hands down, and you follow the motion of the gesture to your knees, sitting obediently on your heels.

“You know,” she whispers as she stands and leans over you, “if you want me to run you through your paces, you can just ask. I mean, lean and green is a look but you don’t have to try so hard. I don’t need an excuse to make you beg for me.”

Her pants slide down her hips and she steps out of them, striking a pose with a cocky smirk. “You are so easily riled up, you know that? Tie you up, put on some nice underwear, and you start raising a flag like you’re calling out an SOS.”

She lifts a foot and grinds the ball of it on the front of your pants. A debauched moan answers her action, your cheeks heating further as the friction sends sparks shooting up your spine. “I’ve got half a mind to make you come like this,” she admits.

To your mingled relief and dismay, she stops. “No fun in letting you get off so soon.” She settles on your legs, playing with the zipper of your pants. “I am supposed to be punishing you, aren’t I? You want me to take you over my knee and tell you what a bad boy you’ve been?”

Leaning forward, she scrapes her teeth over your earlobe. “I’m going to have my fun, Gabriel. But you need to grow up.”

With that, she stands, moving behind you. “If you stay there while I take care of myself in the shower, I’ll rethink my position,” she offers. “But only if you don’t have too much fun listening in. That would defeat the point of a true punishment.”

Something hits the top of your head, half-obscuring your vision. “Looks better on you!” she calls as she turns the water on. With a shake of your head, you watch the damp, lacy panties slide onto your lap and swallow thickly. Whatever plans she has will be well worth the wait.  

[the-greta-van]

A change is gonna come

Chapter 4

“It’s fun in here right?” I hear Josh say from behind me. He’s standing in the door way with his arms crossed over each other looking absolutely amazing and showing the smallest smile. “Yeah, every musicians dream to have their own little place like this in their home” I tell him, I slowly walk over to the mic stand and bring it to the middle of the room, plugging the cord into the small amp a putting it behind me. I do a few checks to see if everything is okay I turn down the volume down not wanting to wake up Danny or Sam “Don’t worry about them out there, just go for it” Josh tells me sitting in front of the small keyboard that I assumed was Sam’s “If they get grumpy it’s your fault” I tell him playfully. “I have to grab something i’ll be right back” I tell him walking out of the room. I go to the living room where my bag is to grab my journal with my songs in it, I didn’t see Jake anywhere so I figured he was out for a smoke. I walk back into the room where Josh is peacefully sitting where I last saw him, reading from a book his eyes carefully skim through the page. “I’m gonna sing a little something that Jake and I worked on yesterday” I told Josh, bringing his eyes up from the book and closing it “I’m always up to hear some kind of music” He says with a perfect smile “Good” I say back. I started the chorus of The Weight of Dreams is what i’m calling mine and Jakes project. In a more light and airy voice I start with the first verse “All across the west we traveled wayward for, to find the weight of dreams in gold” I continued to sing the I had written down in my journal, then I started the chorus going more into a chest voice “Gold mines melting men in the sunshine, spoiled wine taste so sweet we have gone blind” I repeat it one more time them move onto the second verse. I finish the song and open my eyes to see Jake standing in the doorway and was Josh was now standing up “That was phenomenal Amara, holy shit” Josh tells me “Thank you, you can thank Jakes guitar solo for those lyrics even existing” I tell Josh truthfully, I look over to Jake with his eyes still on me. My eyes meet his  knowing what his eyes we’re telling me “See I was right, coming to Nashville was a good idea wasn’t it?” is what his eyes we’re telling me. I looked away and back at Josh. “We should head to the studio someday so we can record this, I think Danny already has drums to it and Sam has some cords to it as well” Josh tells me “Yeah they do, anyways I’m heading to bed. See you guys in the morning” Jake says from the doorway, before I could say anything back he was already gone.  “I have one more thing that’s in the works it’s not finished yet” I tell Josh from behind the mic “I would love to hear it” he says sitting criss cross still behind the keyboard with his elbow resting on his knee and his head rested in his hand, he looked so graceful in this light. He was the only one that looks at me with this certain look that I couldn’t quite place but whatever it was gave me butterflies in my stomach every time. “I don’t much on this song yet so just bare with me” I tell Josh honestly, “All we can do is work on it, you don’t want to rush a process like this, it takes time” Josh tells me in a heartfelt way. I start the song with the first lyric I have, I sing in a higher voice “Painted up in the red and dressed in lead” then I start with the part that I want to be the chorus “Are we prisoners or renegades?.. well, i’ve done my time, woah, behold the visions of burning skies, alas Babylon, woah, woah, woah, woah”. Then I stop because that’s all I have so far, “I like where you are going with that one I really do, maybe I could write on it? let’s see where another mind takes it.” he asks me “I’d be more than happy for you to write on it” I say as I tear the page out of my journal and hand it to him, “it’s all yours” I say. He takes the page out of my hand and his hand grazes mine, it’s like a fire started under hands when they met. We both look at each other and I think that’s when it all clicked that the feelings I felt towards Josh were mutual.

[puckwritesstuff]

Thanks in advance

2 & 4

8 & 9

13 & 14

46 & 50

Sorry if that too many questions.

That is not too many questions, let’s do this! Answers under the cut.

2. Favourite character?

Of the fics I've written: Drake Mallard, which would seem fairly obvious. Gyro Gearloose, however, is gaining in leaps and strides. I'm having an amazing time writing for him in this most recent fic.

Of all time: oh geez... Belle, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Hermione Granger, Robin Goodfellow, Henry V, everyone on Babylon 5, Jean-Luc Picard, Q, Elim Garak, Josh Lyman, Toby Zeigler, Harry Lime, Eliot Spencer, Mara Jade Skywalker, Grand Admiral Thrawn...

I like a lot of characters ^_^

4. Favourite pairing?

I'm not going to say that I'm captain of the Fendrake ship, but I'm probably pretty high ranked. XD Though, to be completely honest, my favorite couples to write for are OC pairings in my original works.

8. Favourite fic from another author?

I tend not to go back to fics once I've finished reading them, so the term "favorite" doesn't necessarily apply, unless we're talking about "professional fanfic" like Paradise Lost or the Star Wars Expanded Universe or something. That being said, I'm always excited to see a new chapter of "A Rewritten Family HIstory" (and don't tell @1lilspark, but I'm planning on binge commenting once I've finished "Take On Me" so I can give the fic my full attention) ;)

9. Favourite fanfiction author?

I'm not sure where the line between fic and Tumblr RP blurs, but @goodliest has been my writing partner and alpha reader for years now and she writes the best Glinda Upland in the game.

13. What's your most 'overrated' work?

I'm constantly surprised that "As You Come Home" has the hits-to-kudos ratio that it does. It's not that I think it's a bad fic, I love the piece, but other than the basic 5+1 format, it's a fic that almost requires three other (long) fics to really understand and the amount of people that liked that one and none of the others is fascinating to me. I just want to know what they're getting out of it, and what their perspective is reading it.

14. What's your most 'underrated' work?

My r/WritingPrompts series, definitely. Granted, I tried to back-date them all and I didn't want to shove them in peoples faces because they're mostly very simple and kinda dumb prompts that I took far more seriously than I needed to, but I have some good writing in there, and it would be cool to see what other people think of them.

46. Favourite sentence/pragraph you ever wrote?

Oh, damn I am so bad at picking favorites... I will pick one that I really love that I think is not entirely expected and then explain why I really like it.

From "Feelings I Can't Fight":

Drake sat on the edge of the bed. Fenton sat next to him, his head on Drake’s shoulder. Drake had a hand on Fenton’s knee. Fenton’s hands were on Drake’s arm, and Drake could feel them shaking, feel his pulse through his palms. Fenton leaned up and kissed him with a question he couldn’t bear to ask. Drake kissed back, the fear in the grip of his hands on Fenton cutting through the reassurance of his arms around his waist. They fell back onto the bed.

Drake looked up at Fenton, who straddled his hips and tried to ask the question, but the words wouldn’t come. Drake traced along the edge of the faded scar on his chest and Fenton leaned down with a pleading kiss, almost begging. Drake pulled him close, trying to make his desire clear. Fenton could feel the passion and desperation as Drake’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he ran his fingers through Drake’s feathers.

Drake came up for air, his chest heaving as he panted. Fenton kissed along his collar as Drake combed through Fenton’s hair with his fingers. Fenton kissed him one last time before lying down, curled up next to him. Fenton’s eyes burned with tears and he could barely look up at Drake to try and ask again.

“Yes,” Drake said quietly, kissing his forehead.

Drake saw the relief in his face and could feel the tension release in his body. Fenton rested his head on Drake’s chest as Drake gently played with his hair. He closed his eyes, comforted by the sound of a steady heartbeat.

Drake wasn’t sure if he was lying.

I love this excerpt because I don't consider myself to be a particularly descriptive writer. I can see the images clearly in my head, but getting them on the page without it sounding awkward is difficult for me. I kneecapped myself further by not having dialogue. Dialogue is the meat of my writing, it's where I do almost everything, particularly when it comes to character emotion. I am very proud of being able to pull of this pivotal scene with only one spoken word, and everything else in sensation.

50. Is there something you often repeat in your fics (a verb, a trope etc)?

My characters get kidnapped a lot. Not sure where that comes from.

Thank you so much for the ask! Links will appear when the tags behave.

[sixhours]

Chapter 6 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re tending to a patroller’s sprained finger in the back of the clinic when you hear a commotion from the waiting area, panicked yelling. The flashback takes you the way it usually does, sudden and violent, stealing your breath, your heart a pounding rush in your ears.

You’re standing in a hallway full of gurneys, watching Joanna’s jerky, painful crawl toward you as you try desperately to kick her away. Your white sneakers slip and slide on fresh pools of blood as your girlfriend reaches and grabs for your ankle, her grip cold and burning up at the same time.

Jo.

You swallow hard, coming to. You’re not at the hospital, you’re in Jackson.

Not now. Not now, can’t do that now.

“Handle this,” you snap at the watching nurse, hoping she doesn’t hear the tremor in your voice.

“Lemme go! No! I need her !” The voice is high and plaintive, young and scared.

“Ellie?”

You step through the waiting room doors to see the girl struggling with a male nurse, desperate and flailing. Her eyes lock on yours, filling with relief.

“Joel…his heart…” the girl starts, then bursts into tears.

Shit.

You grab the portable defibrillator and the med kit you keep by the door, following the girl out of the clinic. “I’m going, it’s at the end of Rancher Street, send backup,” you tell the nurse behind you.

The door to the house is wide open when Ellie and you crash into the living room. Joel is sitting back to the wall of the kitchen island, clutching at his left shoulder with a grimace, conscious, but his skin is sickly gray and shining with sweat.

You’re on your knees next to him, feeling for a pulse, ripping the buttons off his flannel armor with practiced ease. His exposed chest heaves in fast, gasping breaths. “Joel? Can you talk?”

He gives a nod but doesn’t speak, eyes shining with fear.

“Did you take anything?” you ask. He shakes his head once.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Ellie’s wavering voice interrupts, and you turn, having momentarily forgotten she was there. 

“Ellie, I need you to go get your uncle,” you say, thinking fast. “Can you do that?”

“Uncle…you mean Tommy?”

“Yes. Hurry.”

She runs off and you turn back to Joel. You can’t work with her standing over you, and if you need to use the AED, you don’t want her to see it.

“Sure you didn’t take anything? Pills? Been drinking?”

“Don’t drink,” he gasps out. “My shoulder–”

“Family history of heart attacks? High blood pressure, anything like that?”

“Dunno,” he grits his teeth. “Parents died…early…”

You pull a stethoscope from your go bag, fitting the earpieces and pressing the pad just above his sternum, listening for the telltale signs of arrhythmia. His heartbeat is fast but regular, galloping in his chest.

“Breathe,” you say. “Deep breaths.”

He shakes his head but does as he’s told, slowing his breath down. His face begins to regain its color with each exhale.

You sit back on your heels, pulling the stethoscope down. “You might have had a small one…but I don’t think you’re having a heart attack right now.”

He looks up at you, confused.

“I want to get you back to the clinic for an EKG so we can be sure.”

“No–”

“Not an option,” you cut him off. “If not for you, then for Ellie. She’s scared as hell and needs to know you’re going to be okay.”

At the mention of his daughter, he’s suddenly recalcitrant, scowling but nodding.

You pause, thinking. “Have you had panic attacks before, Miller?”

He meets your eyes in a silent glare as if to say, who hasn’t?

“This was different. Shoulder’s been givin’ me grief, my whole arm went numb. It’s never been like that.”

“May I take a look at your arm?”

He looks like he’s going to refuse, but then reneges, stiffly moving to pull down his left sleeve in an attempt to slide it off. The movement is enough to make him cry out in pain.

“Easy, easy. Let me.”

You slide the sleeve off his arm, running up the smooth, warm muscle of his bicep and around to his back, examining his body in a way you’ve never been allowed before.

“Fuck,” he snaps when you press into the meat of his shoulder, flinching and hissing in pain.

“Aha. Ever had a rotator cuff injury?”

He shakes his head, grimacing as you probe the tender area and the muscles and tendons around it.

“Well, Miller, I think that’s what you have here. Could be just a strain, could be a tear, hard to know for sure without proper imaging.”

“That all?”

“You’re not young,” you say. “You lift something the wrong way, twist yourself into a tight space, pinch a nerve…even a few rounds of particularly athletic sex can do damage at your age.”

At your age.

“Like, say…up against a wall,” you continue, lips quirking in a distinctly unprofessional smirk.

The look in his eyes says he either wants to throttle you or rip your clothes off and take you right here on the floor. You know the line between the two is razor-thin.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because there’s a flurry of activity at the door. Ellie has returned with Tommy, and the backup you requested is right behind them. Thankfully it doesn’t look like you’re going to need it.

“Think you can walk, Miller? Or do we need the stretcher?”

~*~

The neighborhood asshole is surprisingly pliant as you apply the sticky pads and wires to his torso. You get to see the scar on his abdomen– not a bite , you decide–and this time he doesn’t flinch when you touch it in passing.

Ellie stays by his side as you wait for the machine to take a reading, biting her cuticles and watching him like he might evaporate into dust if she takes her eyes off him for a second.

The protector becomes the protected.

The girl’s eyes drift to the scar on his abdomen, and you don’t read curiosity in her gaze, only memory, something painful and deep. His hand reaches for hers and holds it tight, and you have to turn away. The exchange lasts mere seconds but leaves you feeling like an intruder.

Well, you are.

The EKG is clear, as you suspected it would be, and you return with the good news. You lean against the door frame of the exam room, suddenly bone-tired.

“I think we should do an echo to be safe, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m going to give you a brace for your shoulder. You need to wear it,” you say to Joel, emphasizing each word. “If you don’t keep it stable, it could tear. And no lifting. Nothing…athletic.”

His eyes bore into yours as you give him a tiny, knowing smile.

Ellie looks relieved enough to cry, but she doesn’t, just punches Joel on his good arm. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that, man.”

“Go home and get some rest,” you say softly.

They head out, her tucked under his arm, and you could swear you hear him whisper an apology as they leave.

~*~

You find him at your office when you return from a house call the next day, waiting in a folding chair outside the door.

“Miller?”

He jumps up when he sees you walking toward him, hands shoved into his pockets. You notice the subtle wince and the careful way he holds his left shoulder as he stands.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he says. “Can we talk? Maybe somewhere…private?”

You arch an eyebrow.

“Not for that,” he ducks his head, a flush in his cheeks.

“Alright, come in.”

He follows you inside the converted supply closet where you stay when you have a rare free moment. There’s a shelf running along the back wall, a set of filing cabinets, two chairs, a desk, and a cot behind it. 

“You want coffee?” You edge around him to get to your desk, gesturing to the folding chair in front of it. 

“Sure.”

You measure out the water for the electric kettle and set it to boil, then spoon precious coffee crystals into two mugs.

“Instant?” He wrinkles his nose.

“Desperate times…desperate measures…and the times are always desperate.”

The kettle froths and beeps. You pour the boiling water into the mugs and slide one across the desk.

“Damn,” he grimaces, taking a sip. “That’s worse than the sludge at the mess hall.”

“It’s better with cream.”

He looks at the mug, looks at you, then back at the mug. “Doubt it.”

“I suppose you can do better?”

“Wouldn’t be hard to,” he mutters, but he takes another sip anyway.

“So, are you wearing the brace?”

He reaches over and tugs at the edge of his collar, pulling it aside to reveal the beige elastic band across his neck and left shoulder. “Ellie threatened to break the other arm if I didn’t.”

“That sounds about right,” you smile. “And…any chest pain? Shortness of breath?”

He shakes his head. “It was…what you said. Panic attack.”

“Do you have those often?”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t answer.

“I have them, too,” you say, the confession tumbling out before you can stop it. “I guess we’ve all seen some shit we can’t un-see.”

“More than you know,” he whispers.

The pause stretches into silence.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says finally. “For pulling a gun on you…when El was sick.”

You nearly choke on your drink. You have to feign a coughing fit while he looks on with an expression of mild confusion.

“An apology? From Joel Miller? Be still, my heart,” you say when you can finally speak.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Laugh it up. But I mean it. I appreciate you looking out for her…and me.” 

You gasp, putting a hand to your chest in mock surprise. “An apology and a thank-you? Careful, Miller, you’re going soft.”

He smirks at this, finishes the dregs of his coffee, and pushes the mug back to you.

“Holy shit. Was that a smile ? Is it my fucking birthday or something?”

“Shuddup.”

You lower your voice to a rasp, leaning in. “And here I thought you just wanted to bend me over the desk.” 

His face falls, and he looks so deeply uncomfortable that you almost regret saying it. “Yeah, about that. We can’t…I can’t…do that anymore.”

“There are other positions that won’t put pressure on your shoulder–”

“It’s not about…my arm,” he says, then clears his throat. “The new joist will be up tomorrow. Tommy said he’d swing by and help me fit it in. We can’t finish it up pretty, there’s no drywall, but at least the pipes won’t freeze up again. Then we’re done. No more, uh… payment necessary.”

“Ah…I see,” you say softly. “Then I guess…it’s been nice doing business with you, Miller.”

He nods, licking his lips. After a long moment, he stands to leave, hands on his hips, looking like he wants to say something else.

When he doesn’t, you look down at your desk, pretending to focus on your paperwork. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Take care of that shoulder. And I want you back here for an ECG next week.”

~*~

That night, you return to your little green house and climb the stairs to the attic to check the radio. There’s a new broadcast from FEDRA on the recorder; something about transmission disruptions along the network due to the events in Kansas City, letting you know it might be a while before you hear anything else.

You’ve been thinking about Joel since he left your office, having broken off your little arrangement. You knew the contracting work wouldn’t last forever, and you got the sense Joel was ashamed of your trysts–he fucked you like he couldn’t wait to get away from you–so it’s not a surprise, exactly, but it changes the nature of the job.

But more importantly, Ellie requested you at the clinic and was even ready to fight off another nurse to get to you. She trusts you, and Joel…well, you don’t think he’s going to be a problem now. He seems to have softened, the health scare bringing out some tender underbelly of humanity in him. Yes, you decide, this has been a positive development all around.

You pull the chain to turn off the overhead bulb and climb down from the attic. At this rate, you could be back in Boston before the snow flies.

You’re surprised to find the thought isn’t exactly a comfort.

[frenchmarshmalloww]

For those who were sad over my last post, here is a bit more angst but it gets better, promise :)

The timeline is kind of hazy, a sort of post S2 in terms of timing of the relationship but without the actual events of S2. OK it doesn't make any sense, just read lol.

The rules of tricking

I stand there, lost in thoughts, admiring the man laying on the couch in front of me. His body still makes my heart beat faster, a work of art if I ever saw one. Oh, how I wish I could be immune to it by now. Life certainly would be easier for me if I had been able to just get it out of my system. To just fuck him out my head, of my heart.

“Justin”

He startles me out of my musings, eyes on me from his position on the couch, hands in the hair of the trick blowing him. Not wanting to be left out any longer, I come closer, bend over the armrest of the couch and run my hands over his chest, play with his nipples. Brian sighs contently, music to my ears. I look at the other man straddling his thighs. He’s pretty hot, perfectly fitting the rules I secretly follow when choosing them. Hot enough that Brian would want to fuck them, not hot enough that I would not want him to fuck them. It’s a tight rope but I manage.

I remember clear as day, the night we came up with this new deal.

For the umpteenth time, we were coming home from Babylon fighting. I had caught Brian in the backroom fucking some twink, or was I the one being fucked? It doesn’t really matter I guess. Once in the loft, neither of us wanted to back down until, and boy was I stunned when it happened, Brian took the first step.

“Look Justin, this is getting really old. We have to find a way to just handle this better. How about some rules?”

“Rules? Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know… No tricking in front of each other for starters, no tricks in our bed, and we have to be home by 2AM every night.”

Seemed to me like he knew very well what he meant by rules. Apparently, he’d been thinking about it for a while. Still reeling from our fight though, I didn’t want to be amicable. So, like a five-year-old I stumped my theoretical foot and said “How about no tricking at all?”. It was worth a shot, right?

The look he gave me told me all I needed to know, so I switched gears rapidly. If he wanted a negotiation, then I had to come up with a proposition of my own.

“How about the total opposite?”

“What, like more tricking? Justin, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, I meant opposite to your proposition. Here’s my counter offer. We trick together, I pick them, we get them here and then we share them. No one on one, no repeat.”

I should have taken a picture of his face at that moment. The perfect mix of surprise, awe and lust. Yes, I had him.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

“OK.”

That was 4 months ago, and since then, we’ve shared guys about once a week. I guess I thought Brian would get tired of it at some point, that he would break the rules and I’d have to go back to watching him fucking anything that moves, but he seemed to enjoy it and we’ve never talked about it again.

Back in the moment, I glance at the pretty brunette blowing my … Brian. He’s very enthusiastic, too much if I say so and I need to reassert my control over the situation.

“Don’t you dare make him come” I snap.

Brian scoffs below me and says “Not a chance, babe”. Cocky bastard. I would have believed him too if it wasn’t for the way his voice broke on that last word, betraying how turned on he already was. Stupid trick.

I bend lower to catch his mouth with mine. The angle is all weird, being upside down, but somehow it makes the kiss better, filthier, sexier. I deepen it, pressing more of my weight onto him, until I feel his hand pushing urgently at my shoulder. I break the kiss and look at him questioningly. That’s the moment I realize he’s having trouble catching his breath. I must have been crushing his airways and he has to take big gulps of air now. I’m about to apologize when I notice how dark his eyes have gotten, how harder his dick is in the other’s mouth.

Smirking, I say to him “You liked it”. He plays dumb, of course. “What?”

“Don’t lie to me Brian” He never has, I don’t want him to start now.

“OK, yeah” then in a breath “Please”.

“Please, what?” I know I’m enjoying this way too much, but damn, it’s not often that I get that kind of dominance over Brian fucking Kinney.

“Please do it again” he reluctantly asks. Not ever having been able to deny him, I comply and for the next minutes, it feels like it’s just the two of us again.

Later, after we relocated ourselves on the bed, I find myself watching Brian prepping the other guy to get fucked. He’s got two fingers inside of him, and the pretty boy is already writhing under him. He’s still clear headed enough to stroke my cock so there’s still that. Once he’s ready, Brian pulls him up on his hands and knees, puts on a condom and enters him in one swift motion. The trick moans loudly and although I hate it, the sound makes me harder. Having Brian Kinney fuck you is a religious experience, it’s hard to focus on anything else. I’m this close to patting him on the cheek and say I understand how he feels. I let Brian get into a rhythm before I slide myself under them and shove the trick’s dick in my mouth. I’m not giving my best, it’s been a while since I did, but apparently Brian is putting in enough efforts for the both of us because the pretty boy is losing his mind, crying out loudly.

Few instants later, I feel Brian’s eyes on me. I know what he wants, same as always. He wants me to look at him when he comes. As if that would make what we’re doing more normal. I usually comply. Anything to pretend that it’s just the two of us. But tonight, I can’t. If he looks into my eyes, he’ll see. He’ll see all the things I’m not saying, all the things I don’t want him to know. That I cannot stand it anymore. That all I feel at this moment is disgust and sadness. So, I close my eyes to avoid his and I suck harder. I want this to be over already. I don’t have to wait long. A few deep thrusts in his ass and the trick is coming down my throat, taking Brian with him few seconds later. I swallow it all, out of habit at this point, and as soon as I feel his cock start to soften in my mouth I get up and leave. They are both catching their breath as I make my way to the bathroom. Glancing down I realize I am not even hard anymore.

I take a quick shower, trying to make it last long enough for the intruder to be gone when I get out of the bathroom. I perfected my timing so well over time that as I step out of the shower, I hear the door open and close. I dry up quickly, tying a towel around my waist and I get out of the bathroom. Halfway to the bed I walk around Brian, standing there only wearing his jeans, top button undone. I don’t stop, eager to put this all night behind me. He won’t let me though. He catches my wrist and pulls me into him.

“Hey, don’t.” The softness of his voice just about breaks me. I have to push through though, if I want to keep him, I need to play by the rules, he’s made that much clear.

“Don’t what?” I try. I know I am not fooling him, but I’ve been trapped in this role so long I don’t even know how to be anything else now.

He sighs deeply then lets me go and looks at me. I am not sure I know how to read his eyes. Is that pity? Suddenly panic is rising inside me. I went too far, I let him see and now he’s going to get rid of me. It happened before, when I started caring too much. It’s always the same with us. He tells me not to expect anything and I don’t for a while, and then I start to want more, and he pulls away, saying he won’t give me what I want, what I need. I leave, certain I will be better off without him, yet every time I come back, surer than ever that what he has to give is enough if it means I get to be with him. And again, and again. Except this time, he seems to be the one wanting me gone and the thought of not being able to come back to him makes my eyes burn.

“You’re unhappy.” He states. And I know where this is going, so I lie through my teeth. “No, I’m not. Look I’m sorry I wasn’t really into it tonight; this guy wasn’t really doing it for me I guess. I need better standards.” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

“Justin, we have to stop this.”

No, no, no, no, please don’t.

“Don’t worry Bri, next time will be extra hot, I swear. Might go for a blond next time. You’d like that right?” I try flirting. I never go for blonds. The only blond that gets to be fucked by Brian should be me.

“Justin, stop! There won’t be a next time.”

That’s when my heart breaks. I feel it in my chest, it’s being torn apart and shred to pieces. Then suddenly, as if something jumped started my system, I have to move, to run. I cannot be here anymore. I cannot look at him, still in the fucking afterglow of coming in this guy’s ass and see anything else than the pain of losing him, for good I suspect this time. I walk to the couch and start putting my clothes back on. When I’m dressed I grab a bag and go to the closet, I take whatever I come across, some might not even be mine, but all I think about is how I need to get out of here and fast.

A few minutes later, I’m making my way to the door when Brian stops me with a strong grip.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting out of here before you kick me out.”

He looks at me puzzled. Then something clicks in his mind and he smiles. The bastard is smiling at me when all I want is to be alone, so I can break down in peace.

“Justin, I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was we need to stop with the tricks.”

“OK… “ I am really confused at this point and it’s messing with my dramatic exit so I just stand there waiting for him to elaborate.

“Shit, I’m so bad at this. Let me try again.” He’s visibly struggling with whatever he’s trying to say, and despite the overall pain I feel deep inside my bones, it’s my turn to smile. I mean, how often do you get to see Brian Kinney struggling to express himself?

“Justin, I want new rules.” He finally says with a resolve that scares me a little. OK, fair enough.

“Yeah sure, do you want to go back to fucking them on your own?” Please anything as long as I can stay.

“No.” Fuck.

“OK then…” I keep trying to delay what I feel is inevitable. He cuts me off right there.

“Would you please just shut up and let me say this?!”

“Yeah, ok, sorry.” Go ahead, break my heart, I’m all ears.

He takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself for the worst and then looks at me and says:

“I want the new rule to be that we only fuck each other. No tricks, no backroom, no cruising, no nothing. You and me in our bed, or well anywhere really, from now on.”

I’m having a stroke. It has to be it, right? I can’t feel my legs, my heart is racing, there’s a white noise in my ears. I want to say something but my brain’s not working, my mouth either. I’m just gapping at him like a fish out of his water bowl. A minute has passed, maybe twenty for all I know, and I manage to find my voice again.

“Do you mean that?” I hate how small I sound, but I have to make sure. I can’t let myself hope.

“Yes, I do.”

“But you need it.” I feel stupid for fighting him on this, but that’s what he’s been saying for the last two years. Monogamy is shit. I don’t believe in love, I believe in fucking. Those are his words. What kind of game is he playing now?

“I need you more.”

I realize I’m crying now. 4 words. Not the 3 I desperately want to hear but this is certainly close enough. He needs me. More than he needs to fuck random guys in a backroom. More than he needs to be the king of Babylon, of Liberty Avenue.

I jump into his arms, sobbing in his neck, peppering him with kisses. I’m so happy I could sing, dance, whatever. He wraps his arms around me instantly, holding me tight. I feel his smile against my hair and it makes me cry harder.

“Hey come on, don’t cry. You know I don’t know what to do with crying people.”

I ignore his attempt at lightening the mood and kiss him deeply, letting myself feel it all. After a few minutes, we break apart, both breathless and hard.

Brian, pulls away slightly and looks at me like he can see into my soul.

“Justin, you know I …” He trails off.

His eyes are pleading with me not to push it, not to force the words out of him. I see the fear, but also his desire to make me believe, that in his own fucked-up way, Brian Kinney does love me.

“Yeah, I know. Me too.”

Relief floods his features, he must have been really torn up over this. I’m an asshole for enjoying it but I feel like I deserve it somehow.

“So now that it’s settled, could you stop being such a drama queen and put that stuff back?” He points at the bag on the floor.

This time, I let him joke the seriousness away and throw the bag in the vague direction of the closet.

“I’ll put it back later. First, I need you inside me, seems I’m the only one who did not get off tonight.”

I take his hand and lead him to our bed. From behind me, I hear him murmur, not sure I’m even supposed to.

“Whatever you need Sunshine, whatever you need”. And for once, I know he means it the way I want him to.

[yamisnuffles]

The Ecstasy of Anthony J Crowley

Aziraphale smites a demon and inspires Crowley's best impression of Teresa of Avila.

Rated E. 2809 words. Read on Ao3

- - - - -

The smell of ozone permeated the air. It made the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand on end and triggered something bone deep in him, something forged in sulfur and ruin. It told him to shed his skin, burrow into the wet, loose soil and become part of the loam. You are a snake. You are oil. Go back to the earth and be consumed. Get out of the light.

The ground in front of him was an obsidian streak. All that remained of a demon, now but char and smoke. That could have been him. Countless times over the millennia, that should have been him. Babylon, Egypt, Greece, and more. They’d been at odds for so long and yet Crowley had survived it all. His chest rose and fell with every frantic gulp of air. Fear, yes, but something else, something that pooled molten hot at his core.

He couldn’t look away from the hard, angry line of Aziraphale’s shoulders nor from solid fingers with their neat trimmed nails now crackling with residual energy. A spark skipped from one knuckle to the next. Crowley wanted those hands on him, no matter how they might burn. Especially because they might burn. He wasn’t entirely fireproof, not when it came to Aziraphale. There wasn’t a shred of him that was safe from Aziraphale.

Sulfur burned a vibrant, violent blue. Crowley could feel the memory of it in his skin as he looked in Aziraphale’s eyes. Then Aziraphale blinked and that blue cooled to a river, an ocean. In the space of that blink, his face went from coolly impassive to terrified.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His hands ghosted just above Crowley’s arms, his shoulders, in search of injury. “You’re shaking. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No, it’s not—”

Crowley shook his head but he felt lost in a fog. He could still feel it in the air, the strain of Aziraphale’s ethereal might against this mortal plane. If he raised his hand he could just about touch the protective curve of a wing that pressed against the fabric of reality, just beyond reach but close enough that they both shivered.

Crowley all but lunged at Aziraphale. He wanted to taste. He needed it. He missed his mark and had to drag his hungry mouth across Aziraphale’s jaw to find his lips. Once there, he pressed in, in as far as he could go. Words of divine command remained there like an echo, on tongue and teeth. It was something electric that numbed and enlivened all at once. Crowley couldn’t get enough of it.

There was a question on those lips but Aziraphale was quick to respond, sinking in with a groan. It was messy and delicious and it only made Crowley want more. He was beyond the point of caring that he had an erection that was straining ever more against too tight denim. What did he care if Aziraphale felt the hard press of it on his stomach when the taste of the angel made his teeth and tongue tingle? It was the taste of that first storm and a wing over his head. It was surer to destroy him than a swan dive into holy water and he was more than happy to leap.

Aziraphale gasped when he came up for air. The hand he pressed to Crowley’s chest was the only thing that kept them parted as he spoke. “Should I ask what spurred this?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

A soft laugh was paired with an even softer smile. “Alright then, what do you say we continue this back at the flat?”

“Lead the way, angel. You know I’ll follow.”

“Will you now? Anywhere?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and Crowley arched one right back at him. “Yes? Is that even a question.”

“Oh, but there are so many possibilities.” Aziraphale looked down at their discarded picnic blanket. “We’d been enjoying a nice meal before we were so rudely interrupted. Perhaps I’m in the mood to eat something more.”

“Whatever you want.” Crowley’s voice jumped an octave with each word. He took a moment to quickly pack the remains of their prior meal into the tartan lined basket, leaving only a wide expanse of inviting blanket. The smiting had lit the sky like a beacon that warned any mortals away. The danger of it rolled thick through the air. They could do whatever they liked without fear of prying eyes. Not that Crowley particularly cared one way or another at the moment. “So, uh, yeah. Could do that. If you’re still hungry.”

“For you? Always.” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. With a snap of his fingers, the blanket was rolled on top of the basket. He walked onward, trusting that Crowley would grab their things. “But there is a bit of a chill in the air. It could be unpleasant,” he mused as he found the path out of the park.

“Could be…”

That always was caught somewhere between Crowley’s third and fourth ventricle. The angel could be insatiable but it still felt impossible to Crowley that he was on the menu. Months after the averted apocalypse and he had no clue if there was bottom depth to that hunger. He knew his own want was endless. If there was any end to it, he would split himself apart to make more room for Aziraphale. He wanted to consume and be consumed, now more than ever.

He drifted helplessly in Aziraphale’s wake until it led them back to the Bentley. A drive to either the shop or his flat seemed impossible. He had no idea how he’d survive the wait, no matter how fast he drove, but he’d go as slow as Aziraphale needed.

Aziraphale took both basket and blanket and tucked them safely onto the floor in front of the back seat. He remained stooped, eyeing the interior.

“This seems spacious,” he mused, as though out shopping for furniture and not a place to fuck. Crowley barely heard him over the blood pounding in his ears. “I know how you are about this beastly contraption, though.”

“Just what part of you do you think would sully my car? Any bit of it can count itself lucky to be blessed by your backside.”

Aziraphale sidled up close and kissed Crowley’s neck. Then his ear. “And just where,” he asked in a low rumble, “is it that you want my backside?”

He palmed at Crowley through his jeans and the demon’s hips stuttered in response. He pinned Aziraphale against the car so that any remaining space between them dissolved. That serpentine part of him that existed just below the surface ached to taste the celestial scent that clung to centuries old fabric. Perhaps then he could untangle that intangible, ineffable something that marked Aziraphale as an angel like no other. 

“Whatever you want to do. Wherever. I told you.”

“I know.” Azirphale kissed either cheek then pressed a hand to the small of Crowley’s back to pull him closer still. His breath brushed the shell of Crowley’s ear. “But you never told me what this was about. So tell me now— what do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted to bend Aziraphale over the hood of the Bentley. He wanted his mouth on Aziraphale and Aziraphale’s mouth on him. He wanted Aziraphale inside him, taking him apart piece by agonizing piece. He wanted everything and he didn’t know where to begin choosing.

Crowley panted. He could barely find air through his desire. He wasn’t entirely sure his lungs were even working as they should anymore. He abandoned it all— lungs and heart, mind and soul— to Aziraphale. Let them move as all. That’s what he really wanted.

“You,” he said.

“I could tell that much, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, pressing his own growing hardness against Crowley’s. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

A growl rose from the back of Crowley’s throat. He used what little willpower he had to step away from Aziraphale. “Lay down in the backseat.” Aziraphale moved to comply only for Crowley to stop him. “Wait. Actually. Just…” Crowley took the blanket and spread it over the seat. “There. That leather can be murder on bare skin.”

“Bare skin,” Aziraphale repeated. He slid into the seat and as soon as he was reclining, a miracle had his clothes folded in a neat pile in the front. “So, like this then?”

Aziraphale’s knees were up and parted to perfectly frame his blushing cock as it rose from amongst golden curls. Crowley felt like the air had been pulled straight from his lungs. He clambered into the back of the Bentley with as much grace as he could manage. As soon as the door was shut behind him, his own clothes vanished. He might have sent them to the front seat or to Mars. He neither knew nor did he care.

He slid beneath Aziraphale’s legs so that they were perched on his shoulders. He kissed pale thighs and nipped the tender flesh just enough to draw out a gasp. He pressed his nose into skin, fat, and muscle. He knew these bodies were only shells but what a glorious one Aziraphale had. He had to remind himself that he had an eternity to explore it all. Later. Now he had that electric feeling to chase, the one that hung like a dissipating shroud around Aziraphale.

He let his tongue fork and followed it like a divining rod down across downy flesh to what he desired. He pressed it deep into Aziraphale with a moan. Thighs clamped tight around his ears when he pushed deeper still. It should have been enough to hurt but all he could think was strong. Aziraphale was so strong and yet he was willing to make himself vulnerable to a demon. No, not just any demon. One particular demon. One demon who got to breathe the petrichor after the storm.

“Crowley.”

He would sooner tire of the beating of his heart than the sound of his name dripping off Aziraphale’s tongue. He lapped it up, got drunk on it. He was insensible to all else beyond his name mixed in heat and sweat and the needy twitch of muscle. He could have stayed that way until every last syllable was wrung into that heavenly choir but he couldn’t ignore the throbbing desire for more, more, more.

Crowley let fingers slip in the place of his tongue. He resented the distance but was more than repaid for it by the sight of Aziraphale. The angel’s hair was a mess of fluffy curls. His skin was dewy with sweat that glistened in the dull glow that lingered around him. Crowley didn’t remember much of Heaven. Hadn’t spent much time there, really, but he had spent a lot of time amongst the stars. Aziraphale was as pale and luminous as some of the best swathes of the Carina Nebula. Crowley wished he could run his fingers through that celestial substance. In a way, he supposed as he hooked his fingers just enough to make Aziraphale cry out, he still could.

But still, still there was that drumbeat in his head for more. Closer. Deeper.

Aziraphale looked at him when he stopped his ministrations. “What— Do we need to… did you already...”

His eyes were blown black and looked unfocused as they travelled over Crowley’s form in search of answers to his half formed questions. Crowley couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest any time he reduced Aziraphale to incoherency.

He took Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “Come here.”

He pulled Aziraphale up so that the angel was straddling his lap. It was an awkward position. Crowley’s knees dug into the seat back in front of him and Aziraphale had to stoop to stop from hitting his head against the interior roof of the car. Already, though, it was better. Aziraphale’s arms and legs were wrapped around him and torsos were pressed together. There was, however, only one whisper of touch on the head of Crowley’s cock, one final gap between them that was bound to drive him mad if they didn’t cross it. His fingers dug into the meat of Aziraphale’s ass and he swallowed hard under the watchful gaze of smiling eyes.

“Like this?” Aziraphale asked, wiggling just enough downward to send Crowley’s head crashing back.

“Yeah. Yes. If you want. That’s—”

Aziraphale sank down onto him in one smooth, excruciatingly slow motion. Crowley swore he saw another flash of divine lightning. He certainly felt one jolt down his spine. Sight, sound, smell, all of it vanished for a moment as his body seized to an immediate stop. His heart was the clap of thunder that followed.

He realized vaguely that somewhere beyond the pulse of blood in his ears, Aziraphale was talking.

“Wuh?”

“I asked if you are alright.”

Crowley thrust up and groaned as a frisson of energy danced over his every nerve. “Fuck. Yes. In the name of everything holy or unholy or who even cares, yesss.”

Aziraphale wrapped steadying hands around the back of Crowley’s head. His thumbs were tucked behind Crowley’s ears and his fingers raked along the short, bristley hair under the base of his skull. It made the hair on Crowley’s neck and arms stand on end and sent him skittering on the razor’s edge of too much and not enough.

When it came to Aziraphale, he would always err on the side of not enough. He pressed forward into a kiss that landed like the first tumbling flakes in a rolling avalanche. Before long, he was buried in the sensation of rolling hips, teeth, tongues, and the continued hum of divine energy that electrified every movement. He had the vaguest notion there were fingers tugging a bit too hard on his hair, that the blanket had slid away and he had leather sticking to places he’d later regret, and that a million other imperfect things were happening. Yet none of it, not a moment of it, took from the perfection of Aziraphale on him and around him.

“Aziraphale. This is— I— Fuck.”

“I rather think I know the feeling,” Aziraphale replied, a laugh on his breath.

A star was born in the too tight cavity of Crowley’s chest. “Angel, you have no idea.”

How could he? Crowley wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. There was probably something he should say but even at his best, words could be elusive around Aziraphale. All he knew was that this was perfect. That Aziraphale was perfect. Aziraphale was good in ways that should have been agony to him and instead brought only exquisite, blinding ecstasy.

Aziraphale slammed down once, twice, and Crowley had just enough time to wonder if he could get another body if he was discorporated there before he felt the warm, sticky spill of Aziraphale’s release between them. That was his undoing. There were heels in his back and nails in his scalp and all he could feel was the spread of Aziraphale’s pleasure marking him.

He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Every time he thrusted up in search of more he felt a bit of himself caught on Aziraphale and remained there inside him. He was on fire with it. In agony so hot that it wrapped into an exquisite ecstasy. He let it tear out of him in a silent scream. By the time it was over he was barely aware of his body. He was just a pleasant haze drifting from that celestial fire.

He was brought back to his boneless body when Aziraphale shifted and pulled him down with him. And what a wonderful feeling it was in that body when he could no longer tell what parts belonged to him. He was one of a pair in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs.

Aziraphale swept a soaked strand of hair off his forehead. “Better?”

Crowley buried his face in a salty expanse of chest hair. “Much,” he mumbled.

“In any mood to tell me what that was about?”

Crowley considered. Telling could be fun. Telling could lead to more.

“Nah.” He snapped his fingers and the Bentley’s engine purred to life. “Not right now.” He managed to wriggle out a stretch without disentangling himself. Another snap and the Bentley was on its way to Mayfair. “Right now, sleep. Maybe for a week.”

Aziraphale sighed and Crowley could feel the curl of a smile on the top of his head. “Alright then, but I’m not sitting about that empty flat of yours for a week.” Another snap and the Bentley veered off toward Soho. “A change of course. You can sleep in my flat.”

“Wherever you want to go, angel,” Crowley said with a yawn. “You know I’m with you.”

[cakesunflower]

Sugar Coated Pain [Boxer!Calum AU]—What Happens After Head Canons

A/N: Hey y’all! So if you’ve read my boxer!Calum fic, Sugar Coated Pain, this is a little something extra. Just some head canons for what happens after the story ends! I missed Noelle & Calum a lot, so I figured I’d write some stuff up for them & their family.

Calum proposed to Noelle when baby Dahlia was a little over a month old. Even though Noelle knew it was coming, she still cried when she entered Simon’s Stories to open up for the day, still on maternity leave yet offering to open because Beverly had been sick and there had been no other option, only to see the words “Will you marry me?” written on the chalkboard wall with Calum down on one knee in front of it, his grandmother’s gorgeous ring held out in a box ready for Noelle to wear. 

Turns out Beverly hadn’t actually been sick. 

The store opened a bit late that day. Calum and Noelle were too lost in consummating their engagement right then and there before heading home when Beverly actually showed up to work. 

But they didn’t get married until a year after that. 

They took their engagement photos in Dumbo, right in front of the Brooklyn Bridge

Unlike Beverly and Ashton’s wedding, Noelle and Calum’s was kept small by both of their requests. Only friends and family were invited, just a little over fifty guests. 

They had a rooftop wedding in New York, complete with a gorgeous view and flowers and drinks and a good time.

When Calum saw Noelle walking down the aisle with her mother at her side, he didn’t bother holding back the tears. He’s only ever cried publicly twice so far: when he first met Dahlia, and when the love of his life walked towards him with the full intention of becoming his wife. 

We can’t forget Beverly walking down the aisle holding Dahlia as well. 

There wasn’t a single dry eye when they both spoke their vows. If there was any doubt that the two of them were in love, it disappeared as Calum and Noelle shamelessly and genuinely talked about how much they loved each other.

Their first dance song was Dancing In The Dark—AKA the song that was playing through the store when they first kissed. 

Their honeymoon was in Florence, Italy. They didn’t leave the bed for the first two days. 

When at the gym, Calum sometimes found himself going a couple of rounds with a punching bag. Every time Noelle saw him, it excited her just like it did the first time. 

But with his family, going back into the ring was never something Calum ever thought about. 

Calum’s phone was filled with pictures and videos of Dahlia. 

Noelle’s favorite videos to watch are of Dahlia during tummy time when she was younger, Calum filming and constantly encouraging their daughter to lift her head, roll over, etc. 

He got a tattoo of a dahlia flower on his right upper arm. 

Dahlia tends to wake up early, so Calum gets her dressed and brings her along when he takes Duke out on a walk. 

Duke and Dahlia are best friends. He’ll always choose to cuddle with her over Calum and Noelle. 

Calum and Noelle also have a designated date night during the week. Dahlia stays with either her grandmother or Aunt Beverly and Uncle Ashton so Calum and Noelle can go out and run around like a bunch of kids in love like they used to. 

Except that love was always there, but with a baby they never got too much alone time. 

Calum loves seeing his wedding band on his finger, and the sight of Noelle wearing both her rings fills him with a rush of love.

By the time Dahlia was a year and a half, Beverly and Ashton were expecting their first child. 

Dahlia’s first words were “dada”. 

Calum cried. 

Dahlia loves her cousin.

Bev and Ash’s kid, Harvey, is her best friend. 

When Dahlia was 3, going on 4, Calum and Noelle started discussing about having another kid. 

They were watching her play in the living room with Duke, her toys surrounding her, as they stood on the kitchen. 

They still were in awe that they had a child. 

“Can you believe we made that? An actual person.”

“A really cute person.”

“What do you expect? She’s my kid.”

That earned Calum a smack, which he only returned with a laugh before wrapping his arms around his wife. 

He’d pull a pouty Noelle towards him before saying, “We should make more.”

Of course Noelle was quick to agree. 

Any excuse to have sex with her husband, right?

They’d start off in the bedroom, but eventually Calum starts showing up to the book store to drag Noelle into a back room during her break. She doesn’t complain. 

She’ll show up to the gym where Calum can take her any way he likes in the privacy of his office. 

She’s pregnant before the end of the month. 

Finding out was different the second time around. The two of them sat on the bathroom floor as they waited for the tests, holding hands as they had a whispered conversation about the idea of a new baby. 

It was something they discussed often since deciding they wanted more kids, but now it was seeming more real. 

And when the pregnancy test had the two lines for a positive result, it was a happy day in the Hood household. 

After their first doctor’s appointment where they got the sonogram, they told their families and the boys.

They told Dahlia she was going to be a big sister as she ate a McDonalds Happy Meal. They aren’t quite sure if she was excited about a sibling or her chicken nuggets.

But then they got home and went into Dahlia’s room because she’d been a bit too quiet for a while, they were confused to see her pulling some toys out of her toy chest and placing them to the side.

“What’re you doin’, bug?”

“These are gifts for the baby!”

Noelle blamed the hormones for bursting into tears.

Calum was more prepared during the second pregnancy.

He brought all of the things Noelle had craved during the first time, and even though sometimes she wanted something new, he had no problem venturing to a 24 hour mart at 3am to get what she wanted.

Whenever he came home and saw Noelle asleep on their bed with her bump becoming visible, Duke on one side and Dahlia on the other, the love that shocked through his body was overwhelming.

He talked to the baby all the time, just like he did when Noelle was pregnant with Dahlia, only this time his first born joined in.

Calum and Noelle made a bet on the gender of their new baby.

He said it’d be another girl, Noelle thought it’d be a boy.

If Noelle won, Calum would have to eat one of her weird cravings.

If Calum won, he’d get to pick Noelle’s halloween costume.

Noelle won. It would be a boy.

Calum had to eat hot Cheetos dipped in yogurt.

“What the fuck does pregnancy make you eat? How is your stomach not fucked up?”

“You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. You did this to me.”

Noelle’s mom always came by to drop off some food; Calum loved her enchiladas. 

Just like the first time around, everyone was in the waiting room when it was time for Noelle to go into labor.

His parents and sister flew in as well.

Noelle had Calum and her mom in the delivery room.

He’s felt lots of punches and kicks, but the grip Noelle had on his hand as she pushed was the deadliest.

Calum knew they were about to meet their son, but he absolutely hated the look of pain on Noelle’s face and the sounds of her screams.

He thought she looked beautiful anyway.

But he knew if he told her, she’d pause the labor just to punch him.

The sound of their baby crying silenced Noelle’s screams.

Henry Thomas Hood, named after Noelle’s late father, was as perfect of an addition to their family as Dahlia had been.

Dahlia instantly fell in love with her baby brother.

Beverly took a picture of Calum sitting up in Noelle’s bed with her; Henry in her arms as she leaned into Calum’s embrace, Dahlia grinning on his lap.

He carried that pic in his wallet.

And every time he looked at it, he thanked every single star for the day Noelle walked into Astros to watch that first fight.

--

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[fuwafuwamedb]

The King’s Dumu Lugal Pt 10 (CasGil, Hakuno, Siduri, CasCu)

Previously: One, Two, Three, Four, Five , Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

____

Ur liked watching him work.

Each time the sharpened scalpel like writing instrument chiseled away another bit of Cuneiform, Gilgamesh found that his son would reach out. Perhaps he wanted to write his own letters to the people. Maybe he simply wanted to stick the writing instrument into his mouth and chew on it. Whatever the case was, Gilgamesh found himself signing the documents for two.

King Gilgamesh and First Prince Ur-Nungal.

The first time the words had been inscribed upon one of the tablets, he had needed to take a moment. He needed to admire the look of it.

First prince.

It offered so many meanings. Perhaps there would be a first princess, a second prince, a whole collection of children. If there were children, then that meant that there was a blushing and prideful bride, one of whom he had bore so many children with.

There would be a great deal of celebrating going on in Uruk as these tablets were read aloud.

The great king had a son. The first prince was alive and he was with his father, writing to them of all the universe.

Siduri would weep.

His mother would be beside herself in need of seeing her grandson.

“Abum!”

“Is there something wrong?” Gilgamesh glanced down once more, finding his son pouting.

“Ah~! Ah!”

“This has a sharp end. Your mother would have my head if she saw me allow you to use this.” The woman gave him cloth made toys mostly. He had no doubt in his mind that even a slightly blunt object would be met with outrage from his precious wife.

Wife… That word gave him pause.

Hakuno had never agreed to be his wife, not fully. There were no vows, no confession and pledges of eternal loyalty. Their son was their bond, but she still shied away from him. The fact that there were so few things tying his woman to his side left a great deal to be concerned with. Perhaps that had been what had bothered her this morning.

He and his son moved to the living room area as Ur needed to have himself changed and cleaned up. His son settled amongst his toys and blankets, happily beginning to wave the toys around as Gilgamesh sent off his tablets into the Gates of Babylon and off to Uruk. A collection of new tablets came in their place, leaving him to begin reading.

There was no such thing as a domestic life for Hakuno. She had no simple time where she could lounge with their son properly and lose track of time. Each second that she was here, she was on a clock with the Chaldeans. She would be running errands or bringing him food or tending to those who had been injured. There was always something around the corner that the woman needed to worry about and the fact that she had to spend so much time fretting about the next task that she had coming left there little time for his son to get proper attention.

“Abum!”

His tablets were abandoned, his attention returning to the boy entirely. His mouth pressed to his son’s belly, blowing raspberries- or rather, loud lip wagging noises into his son’s belly- resulting in an eruption of giggles and squeals.

The priceless first prince, Ur-Nungal was going to be spoiled to the very tips of his toes when he was able to go to Uruk. If not by the people, then by Siduri alone.

He could hardly forget when Siduri’s husband had passed, leaving her all alone in the world. She had wanted kids, opting for hounding him to give her princes and princesses to spoil instead.

“Oh oh.”

Gil glanced down, noting his son’s pause.

Following that attention, he laughed.

The toy that had been nearby had ripped. It seemed his son’s strength was far greater than the typical child’s. Not only had the toy ripped, cotton had come flying out, decorating the floor.

“…It would seem that you killed it.”

Ur’s face scrunched. He could see those eyes turn to him, the wobbling lower lip and the scrunched eyes giving warning just before he found his son’s piercing wail echoing in the living room.

“Shhhhh,” Gilgamesh lifted the boy, attempting to hand him any other toy in the room. There had to be another to his liking. The sheer number alone made it evident that there were other favorites. He tried the ones that were clearly made by Hakuno. He tried some of the ones from his youth. He tried the blanket. He tried the strange stopper for his son’s mouth. Any and everything he had available was attempted.

The wails continued.

While he could repair a small seam, he could not fix this toy.

Did they have someone here at Chaldea that could fix this thing? Perhaps that vampire fellow, but didn’t he drink blood or some such nonsense? That wouldn’t do. He needed to watch Ur but the toy…

Siduri could fix it.

If he sent the toy through the gates, it would come back tomorrow with new tablets, but… that would not help with the interim. His son was still wailing his lungs out and his voice would soon grow hoarse. Perhaps…

Well, perhaps a small visit.

He could go to the rayshift, shift over with his son and the toy, present the toy for repairs, and then come back. Hakuno was clearly occupied with her own work-

Hakuno had made the toy.

It would stand to reason that-

Ur was still wailing.

While Hakuno could fix it, he could use the opportunity in Uruk as a chance to get a crib for their son and to check in on Uruk. His son was meant to be in Uruk anyway. An hour in Uruk would not hurt anything. If anything, his son would appreciate being home.

He changed Ur into robes more fitting for this trip, wiping at tears and attempting here and there to get his son to cease his tears.

They hurried to the command room, grabbing that foolish Caster, Cu Chulainn, on their way.

The man was only too happy to remove the loudest, most abhorring sound in all of Chaldea from the premises. He promised to remain until called upon to bring them back as well.

Uruk formed around him and his son a moment later.

He stood just at the foot of the stairs to his palace, looking up at the glory that was his kingdom. Frozen in the midst of a singularity and moment in time, the kingdom was no longer fully functioning in the span of time, but the people and the problems and benefits of this world were still going. Like gears still turning in a clock with no hands, Uruk worked evermore.

The wailing of his son was garnering the attention of those around him. Giving a proud smile, Gilgamesh held up his son.

“My son has a broken toy.”

The response was immediate. The cheers and the excitement of those around the palace plaza had others escaping their homes and leaving their vending. All were coming forth to see the crying child, cooing and cheering the young boy so much that the tears were paused.

This was new, after all.

A child who had seen no more than two, perhaps three adults at one time was now seeing a mob. The boy’s red eyes blinked up at them all, his hands being lightly touched only for him to burst into a smile. He had his mother’s smile.

“King Gilgamesh!”

Gilgamesh glanced back, seeing the rush of green fabrics coming down the stairs. The veil and the hood were falling from her person, fluttering away in the wind as her brown hair came loose. She didn’t pay it a single mind. He could see it already, the desperation, the need to see her closest acquaintance’s son. Siduri didn’t pause a bit as she pushed her way around the people and came to his side.

Her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes growing to the size of moons.

“M-m-my k-k-k-king!”

“Would you like to hold him?”

Siduri fell to her knees. The sight of tears brimming those eyes was worth a thousand wails from his son. He couldn’t help the chuckle that came, moving to his own knees as well so he could safely place his son in his attendant’s arms.

Her dark eyes met Ur’s gentle gaze, the tears were falling heavily.

“…My king…. My king, he’s the most beautiful baby boy that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Ur reached up, his hand pressing to her cheek. He was wiping at her tears, Gil found, that patient gaze bringing forth only more rivers down his poor attendant’s cheeks.

“Continue about your day,” Gilgamesh bid his people. “My queen will come soon enough. She is away still, but I felt I needed to bring my son out. He should know his people.”

A few more pats came to his back, but the people were smiling as well to Siduri.

“You are beautiful,” Siduri murmured. “You are the most beautiful little man. You will end up making your father green with envy over you.”

“Don’t spoil him too much.”

The woman waved him off with a warning look, as though she were a rank higher than she was.

“Siduri, we did not come to be indulged today. We came because of this.” He held out the toy from his gates, showing it to the woman.

“What is it?”

“A toy. Apparently, my son’s only favorite amongst his collection.”

Ur was already looking at it, his eyes beginning to brim with tears again as he caught sight of the tear. When Siduri held it, his son emitted another sob, beginning to shake.

“I have some sewing supplies in my chambers,” Siduri told him. “I would be honored to repair it.”

“I also have need of a small cradle for my son. He’s too young to do much meandering, but my bed is feeling rather full with both him and my Hakuno.”

“Hakuno?”

“My queen.”

Siduri nodded, once more alight with excitement. “I cannot wait to see her, my king. She must be ill if she is not with you today.”

“Let’s not take long.”

Ur was returned, although he did note that Siduri seemed reluctant to let him go from her arms. Her gaze drifted over that face, a small and adoring smile fixed into place upon her lips.

Then they were hurrying. Up the stairs, pausing at the doors so that the guards could enjoy the sight that was his son, then into the palace. His son looked around in fascination, his hands reaching for everything. He squirmed and twisted, making sounds and saying abum more times than was needed.

“We’ll be in the audience chamber,” Gilgamesh told her simply.

He had to let Ur down.

His son caught sight of the lions and a squeal erupted from him. The moment that Gilgamesh had him on his feet, he was waddling, his arms grabbing the nearest beast and hugging it.

Another one of the lions nipped the back of his robes, pulling him onto their front paws and beginning to lick his hair.

“KISCHIES!”

Ah, but he did have kitties, didn’t he?

Gilgamesh found himself smirking, settling upon his throne and watching his son pet the various lions around him and be licked into a tussled state. His mother would no doubt have been panicking, worried over such beasts…

But then again the sphinxes were far larger. He had his doubts.

The servants came to see, as did his advisors. More of the guards who were switching rotations much faster today were rushing into the audience chamber. They would near the boy, but, with him around his lions, they could do no more than admire and coo to him. His son merely glanced their way, motioning and telling them ‘kischies’.

A boy so much like himself, they drawled, admiring him to their fullest.

It was a good thing that Hakuno cared and devoted so much time to their son, introducing him to the Chaldeans.

Sitting in his audience chamber and watching his son being admired like a new statue was a good reminder that there were few that would not be intimidated by his son’s stature. Many would hear prince and become fearful, deciding against playing with him or, even worse, opting to try to leave a bad impression of him in other’s minds. There were the dangers of manipulation of the boy’s developing mind. There were dangers of him becoming overly indulgent upon the servants.

Later on, once their time here was completed, he would have to inquire with Hakuno about her child-rearing strategy.

“My king!”

Siduri waved the toy in her hands, drawing the immediate attention of Ur.

“Ah!”

One of the lions was going for his arm as Ur climbed hurriedly to his feet. The boy was starting to waddle towards Siduri. He wouldn’t-

The boy turned, raising a hand and blasting the lion back with a burst of unfocused mana. The lion rolled back, hitting one of the potted plants before Ur was turning to Siduri and trying to rush over to her.

He stumbled, just short, being caught only by the fearful and awed attendant.

“Ah!” Ur grabbed his toy from the woman’s hand, letting himself lean against Siduri’s embrace. The boy’s mouth pressed to the cloth, echoing a series of kisses he’d seen Hakuno give her son.

His son did magecraft.

Effectively, he noted, seeing the lion slowly sit up and try to gather its bearings. The other lions were settling in, their eyes watching Ur more warily now.

He would not be stopped, they knew. What they had received had been an effective warning not to keep him tempered.

“King Gilgamesh,” Siduri looked over at him, her eyes still wide from what had transpired.

A small chuckle escaped him.

The small chuckle grew into a quiet laugh.

The quiet laugh grew louder, his head falling back a little as he flew to his feet.

“Siduri! My son is immaculate!”

The woman nodded, agreeing no doubt because the boy had proven himself at under a year to be more effective at magecraft than the apsu were upon entrance into their studies into the practices of healing. None of them would have been able to create such a blast against his lions. None, but his son could.

The child of a mage and a mage king.

Ur-Nungal would be a grand caster. He would be a grand mage, far surpassing Gudako herself when he was to his adulthood.

He scooped his son up, proud to see those red eyes turn to him and the title of abum come forth as his son proudly called him father once more. The sense of excitement and adrenaline, of the need to show his son to every single man, woman, and child in this kingdom ran thick through his veins. There would be time for such things. In time, he would have everything he wanted.

“The cradle is in the process of being built,” Siduri told him.

“Leave it in my chambers. I will retrieve it for my other chambers in due time.” He pulled the communication device from his pocket. “Ur and I must return before my woman worries.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Is that a problem?”

Siduri laughed, the sound music to his ears. “My king, if she is like any mother, she will no doubt be livid that you did not give her the opportunity to let her see everyone admire her baby boy just as you were given the opportunity to do today. I’ll have some butter cake left in the cradle for her. I’m sure she must wish to indulge in some sweets.”

“Thank you, Siduri.”

“It is my job and my honor to do so.” Her smile was only brighter as she looked to his son. “…I knew you would have a beautiful baby, my king. I really hope you bring your Hakuno and him back quickly. I want to be able to help teach him words.”

He pat her head gently before connecting with Cu Caster.

The palace vanished, leaving his son and him standing once more in the rayshift.

“She’s right you know,” Cu spoke up form the control room. “Hakuno’s going to be pissed when she finds out you were toting that little guy into a singularity.”

“It is an old singularity and there were no threats.”

The celt snorted. “Right. So you weren’t panicking there when the lion was going after him?”

“Don’t tell Hakuno about that.”

“King, I didn’t even know Hakuno had a brat until you came yanking me from my afternoon of runes to sit around and watch your dumb ass go presenting your son like a trophy through your kingdom. Beats hearin’ him cry though.” The man leaned in, smiling away at Ur. “You’re damned cute though. Must get it from your mom-AH!”

Ur pinched his nose.

“That’s my boy,” Gil praised, watching the Celt shift back and rub at the spot.

“His fingers are like pinchers.”

“He’s quite a strong mage.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

That earned him a smack.

Ur giggled at the sight, his arms waving in the air a moment before he almost dropped the toy he had.

They returned to Hakuno’s chambers a few minutes before the woman came in herself. From head to foot, there was dirt, splotched and coating her hair and clothes. He held himself back from any kind of embrace, opting instead to hold Ur. 

“There was a problem with some piping downstairs. There was a lot of dirt from the mountainside that got in.” She shivered as she motioned towards the bathroom. ”I’m going to clean up and then we can start thinking about dinner. Was Ur good?”

“Ur was fine,” Gil replied, watching the woman slowly undressing. “We enjoyed the many tasks of being a king today.”