#he lost what little faith he had very early on

[quizzicalwriter]

Could u please do a smut where Dallas and the reader are on a late night drive and they end up in the backseat and there’s some fingering leading up to it…thank you!

One of These Nights

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: A date at the river ends with discarded clothes and fogged windows.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Porn with very little plot. Fingering, oral, car sex - all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.3k

What had started as a normal trip to the river wound up being a supervision service Dallas reluctantly found himself holding for you, reluctantly being used loosely. Despite the frown he’d worn when you stripped yourself of your jacket and shoes, he couldn’t help but watch you in awe as you ran at a full sprint into the water. You’d beckoned him closer, calling to him from the water like a siren would an ill-fated sailor. He’d only managed to stave you off by waving his cigarette in front of his face with a crooked smile, earning him an exaggerated huff of air on your part.

God himself could’ve appeared to Dallas at that moment and still wouldn’t have succeeded in peeling his attention away from you. The way you laughed as you ran through the shallows of the river, kicking up water that’d splash back on you and the lip of the shore. The sun covered you, igniting your beauty in a magnitude Dallas hadn’t thought possible. Maybe Johnny was right, sunsets weren’t all too bad.

Before he knew it he’d smoked the entire cigarette, having completely lost himself in you without even having touched you. He tossed the still-smoldering bud to the rocks below, snubbing it out with the heel of his boot before pulling his shirt over his head. He could hear your whoop of cheered laughter from the waterbed, making him smile to himself as he kicked off his boots and jeans.

The water was pleasantly warm, surely having been baked by the summer sun early on in the day. Dallas found himself thankful for it as he waded toward you, returning your smile in fervor before leaping toward you, arms immediately encircling you to pull you underwater with him. Your arms encircled his under the murky depths, fingers subtly digging into the muscle along his forearms as his feet planted along the riverbed, pushing himself upright and above water with you in his arms, boisterous laughter falling from your lips in droves as you wiped the water from your face.

“Warn me next time!” You laughed out, eyes still squeezed shut as you brushed your soaked hair back from your face. His laughter settled in his chest, vibrating against your skin as he held you close. “No fun in that, doll.”

“Could’ve drowned!” You responded before he’d even had a moment to breathe, in jest of course, but the way your eyes peered up at him made him stifle laughter all the same. He’d always done the same thing each time you both found yourself at the river, framing his walk over to you as something calm before pulling you into deeper water to dunk you both, always ensuring you were held close to his body before doing so - but doing it nonetheless.

“Wouldn’t let you drown.” He responded incredulously, rolling his eyes as though your jest had offended him in some manner. “Have some faith in me, doll.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the way his New York accent would flare up in the funniest of ways whenever he found himself frustrated, faux or genuine, it still made itself apparent and you loved it. You tilted your head back, shifting ever so slightly in his hold to rest your back against his warm chest, encircling your arms over his as you looked up to him.

“You sound real northern whenever you talk like that.” You teased, smiling bright up at him, earning you another roll of his eyes as he playfully shoved your head back down with a muffled, “Shut up.”

His hands fumbled with the wet fabric of your dress, finding himself eternally thankful that you both chose an area along the river that rarely had any other visitors given how sheer your dress had gone. He could count the freckles along your shoulders, the tempo at which you breathed, and how your chest would press against the linen. He knew he’d have to give you his jacket when it came time to drop you back off at your place, but for now, he’d savor the look of you draped in translucent clothing.

You raised a hand to cover his, bringing it over your breast, the steady thrum of your heartbeat thumping against the pads of his fingertips as he looked down at you. You met his gaze, eyes focused on his lips and the beads of water that lingered there. He made the first move, hand kneading your breast as he leaned down to connect your lips to his. His thumb brushed over your hardened bud as he nipped at your bottom lip, only pulling away to spin you around to face him fully.

You rested your hands against his chest, savoring the warmth that pooled from his skin in comparison to the chilled water droplets that continued to cascade down both of your bodies. He wasted no time in reconnecting in a kiss, a soft hum resonating in his chest as your tongue moved with his. You’d hardly noticed one of his hands had moved between your thighs until you felt two of his fingers press against your clothed cunt, slowly moving in circular motions as he deepened the kiss.

Whatever words of protest lingered in your mind at the prospect of being touched in a place so public were immediately stunted the moment his fingers circled your clit, pulling a drawn-out moan from your chest that he all but swallowed in your kiss. You could feel his breathing quicken the longer he touched you, his hold on your body tightening, pulling you to be almost flush with his front as he slid his hand underneath your underwear.

Your warmth was enough to pull a grunt from him as he curled his middle and ring finger into you, thumb circling your clit as you pulled away from the kiss, burying your face in his chest as your hips rocked with the movement of his fingers. He rested his cheek against your hair, free arm looping around your back as he plunged his fingers deeper, brushing against your g-spot in the process.

“Dallas-“ You whined, having to rake your mind for any trace of a coherent thought as he hummed in response, not bothering to slow the tempo of his fingers. “Car, please-“

He let out a quiet laugh, nodding as he withdrew his fingers, doing his best to help you from the water with your wobbly legs and into the back of the T-Bird. The setting sun gave way to moonlight that hung heavy over the water, casting a pale hue on everything below it. Dallas followed you into the backseat, both of you laughing at the absurdity of clamoring into a car with soaked clothes.

Good thing you had no intention of staying dressed.

Dallas helped you remove your dress, hands smoothing up your still-damp skin as he lifted the fabric up and over your head, tossing it to the floorboard in haste to get back to what he really wanted to touch - you. You leaned back against the backseat, spreading your thighs before him as he situated himself between your legs, letting his hands trail up your bare thighs before resting against the hem of your underwear. You lifted your hips, silently begging him to remove them for you to which he quickly obliged, sliding the fabric down and off your legs before tossing them down to the floorboard as well.

“Gorgeous.” He whispered, eyes trailing over your bare form as his hands raked up your thighs, thumbs brushing along the soft flesh of your inner thighs. You could feel yourself clench around nothing, on the verge of insanity driven by your pure need to have him in any way he’d have you. He trailed the back of his fingers along your soaked folds, a smug smile upon his lips as he felt your arousal coat his skin. His eyes flickered up to yours, drinking in the pitiful look written across your face the longer he dragged out his teasing.

He pressed his thumb against your clit, slowly circling it as his other hand brushed up your stomach to hold your breast. Before you could beg him to do anything further he sunk between your legs, moving his hand to help lift your leg to drape it over his shoulder, eyes locked on you as he placed a kiss to your cunt. Your hips jutted up at the contact, inadvertently pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He only chuckled, bringing his other hand down from your breast to press against your lower stomach, holding you steady as he swirled his tongue around your clit.

A broken string of curses fell past your lips as you rolled your hips, riding his tongue as he continued to place open-mouthed kisses along your soaked cunt. Your hands found their way to his hair, tugging on the dark strands as your head fell back against the leather interior of the car. He shifted his body ever so slightly, lifting it enough to bring his hand forward to press his middle and ring finger back into your cunt, curling both to press against your g-spot as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

You rode his fingers and tongue, eyes screwed shut from the combination of feelings soaring through your veins. Every so often you’d have to remind yourself to breathe, finding yourself more focused on the feeling of his tongue delving between your folds paired with the pressure of his hand against your lower stomach and how his fingers jutted up into your cunt. You were sure your juices had covered his lips and dripped onto his chin, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I’m gonna cum-“ Were the only words you were able to whine as the feeling built to a fever pitch in your lower stomach, the words pulling a moan from Dallas, filling him with a renowned vigor as he pushed himself closer to you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as your hips jerked, cunt spasming against his tongue as he continued his movements through your orgasm.

He didn’t stop, even as your back arched from the leather and a broken-off moan tore its way from your throat. He looped his arms around your upper thighs, holding your cunt to his mouth until your hands pried at his forearms, wordlessly begging for a moment to breathe. As your chest heaved for breath he placed gentle kisses to your inner thighs, his hands rubbing soft circles along your hips.

Dallas waited until your breathing slowed to move, situating himself over top of you, murmuring hushed words of praise as he kissed along your throat and shoulder. You could only whine in reply, mind still muddled from your recent orgasm. He helped your thigh up, resting it against his hip before pushing his boxers down, kicking them off the rest of the way. He slid his tip along your slick folds, spreading your cum along his shaft before adjusting himself to push into you.

You were still sensitive, cunt twitching around his cock as he bottomed out within you. Your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, nails digging into the muscles along his back as he slowly rolled his hips. You tilted your head back, capturing his lips in a needy kiss as he grasped at your waist, each thrust knocking the wind from your lungs. As his tongue moved with yours his hand slunk between your bodies, fingers encircling your clit as he continued fucking you.

The taste of yourself on his tongue was enough to leave you clenching around him, hips cantering with each roll of his own, helping him to reach deeper within you as your legs tightened around his waist. The slick sound of him pushing into you echoed within the car, the only sound rivaling it being the moans that slipped free between your shared kisses.

You could feel that familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, each thrust and swirl of his fingers around your clit pushing you closer to the edge. You pulled away from the kiss, letting your head fall back against the leather seat as you gave yourself over to the feeling. Dallas could feel your cunt fluttering around him as your second orgasm surged through you, the feeling pulling him to lean down against you, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he chased his own.

As he fucked you through your orgasm your fingers threaded their way through his hair, moans tumbling past your lips and into the humid air that steadily fogged the windows of the car. With a broken grunt of your name, he flooded your cunt with his cum. He held himself there until his cock finished twitching, leaving him overly sensitive as he slowly pulled himself out, only to watch in awe as his cum spilled from you and onto the seats below.

“Fuck.” He gasped, voice nearly incomprehensible over his sharp intake of breath. You looked up at him, expression completely flushed and fucked-out. Your skin felt sticky, whether from the humidity or your shared fluids, you didn’t know, but the moonlight pouring in through the fogged windows cast you both in a hue that wouldn’t leave your mind for years if you could help it.

“Hey.” You nudged his thigh with your foot, soft laughter leaving you as you motioned to your still-wet dress on the floorboard. “Can’t take me home naked, Dal.”

He nodded, laughing himself as he leaned back onto his knees to grab your clothes, a slight grimace flashing across his features when he realized how soaked your clothes truly were.

“Can’t take you back soaked neither.” He huffed out, eyes flitting over to you. “You’ll stay at mine tonight. I’ll carry you inside wrapped up in my jacket if I have to.”

You couldn’t lie, the thought sounded much more intriguing than slinking back into your home dripping in river water. So you relented, not that you needed much persuasion in the first place. You’d explain to your folks where you were in the morning.

“Sounds good to me.”

A/N: I wrote half of this to Hozier and the other half to Lana - what that says about me I don’t know. Anyways! I hope you guys enjoy this, I haven’t written smut in a while, figured you guys deserve a lil treaty treat. As always, thank you for all the love and support you guys show my work! I appreciate it more than words can describe. You can find all my work over on AO3 as well under the user, “Unscriptural!” And if you’re wondering if I received your request, I most certainly did, I have about nine other writings I’m currently finishing up so it should be published soon!

[likeabxrdinflight]

I want to talk more about the way the characters have been adapted for the live action adaptation, because character writing is the thing I care about the most and as a psychologist it's probably the aspect of any story that I'm most invested in. I can get around pretty much any plot contrivance or weird maguffin or even shitty pacing if the characters of a story are engaging enough. This is my bread and butter, so to speak.

And I want to start with Iroh, because I think he is by far the best adapted character from the original. But I suspect I think this for different reasons than other people might, because the beloved Saint Iroh from the animated show this man is not.

See the thing with animated Iroh is that he's just...a bit too perfect. We know he's been complicit in the war in the past. We know he laid siege to Ba Sing Se, we know he had a complicated past. But we never really see it, we only barely hear about it, and more often than not there are other aspects of Iroh's past that serve to further deify him. He was a general in the war, but then he goes on to protect the last dragons and learn the true meaning of firebending. He led a 600-day siege and lost his son but he came out of that experience Enlightened, having journeyed to and from the spirit world. He joins up with the White Lotus (at some point) and becomes the wise old sage we know and love.

Except most of that is revealed in later seasons and is inconsistent with his actions alongside Zuko in season one. Season one animated Iroh is kind of a passive character, largely existing for comic relief and as a support to Zuko. But there's very little to suggest he's disloyal to the Fire Nation or their cause. He says it himself- "I'm no traitor, Zhao!" Now you can certainly interpret that line in several different ways, but I suppose that's the point- there's a lot left up to interpretation with animated Iroh. We get a sense of who he is in relation to Zuko, but his own development largely happens off-screen. And because to Zuko he's a wise, caring uncle and mentor, that's largely how we, the audience, see Iroh. We love him because Zuko loves him. And that's fine for what it is, and clearly it was effective- Uncle Iroh is almost universally beloved. But it does leave a lot of questions about him up in the air.

Live action Iroh is a very different character. This Iroh is a deeply broken man who was been profoundly impacted by the war and what he has lost because of it. I do not get the sense that the loss of Lu Ten has led to any spiritual enlightenment for this Iroh- there's no indication that he can see spirits, for example, or that he has ever traveled to the spirit world himself (he does still oppose the killing the moon thing, though.)

Right out the gate, we get the sense that this Iroh has lost faith in what the Fire Nation is trying to achieve with the war. He explains to Aang fairly early on what the Fire Nation's goal and perspective is, and can rattle off this dogma quite easily. But when questioned by Aang if these beliefs are also his beliefs, he dodges them rather un-deftly. So you know immediately that this Iroh doesn't really support the war. Later you see him somewhat bluntly telling Zuko that the throne may not be all it's cracked up to be, and he's fairly openly critical of Ozai in other moments. So you know from the jump that Iroh's not really on Team Fire Nation.

And yet this is also not a truly repentant man. When he is captured in Omashu, Iroh gets another brief scene with Aang while they are both imprisoned there (this is before Aang meets with Bumi). And in this scene, Aang tries to convince Iroh to help Zuko stop being The Bad Guy. And Iroh defends Zuko to Aang and stresses the point that it is not Zuko who owes him any great debt, but he who owes Zuko. Later, when he is confronted (and hit several times) by an Earth Kingdom soldier who lost his brother during the siege, Iroh does not apologize. He does not flinch at the man's accusations, nor does he deny them. He defends himself, albeit weakly, by stating he was a soldier, and it was a war. He has the audacity to accuse this soldier (somewhat obliquely) of having been made dishonorable by the effects of war. It's kinda messed up, honestly.

But then this man accuses Iroh of knowing nothing of loss. He leaves the shot, and we saw Iroh's face just crumble, and the scene cuts directly to Lu Ten's funeral, where Zuko chooses to sit with his uncle and support him through what must have been the darkest moment of his life. Back in the present, it is only later, after Zuko has come to rescue Iroh, that he speaks more honestly to the Earth Kingdom soldier- he shows mercy and states that they've all "seen enough death."

So what we have here is an Iroh who is deeply disenchanted by the war and does not support it or the goals of the Fire Nation, but who has continued to stand alongside Zuko and support him in his goals. We have a man who doesn't necessarily regret his actions as a soldier in the war but who very much does regret what those actions have cost. We see a man who is profoundly impacted by loss and grief and has become emotionally reliant on his nephew as a source of support. Not that he's parentifying Zuko or anything, he's very much not, but he is rather obviously channeling all the love he once felt for his son into Zuko instead. Zuko is his lifeline, he needs Zuko and you get the sense that without him, Iroh would truly fall apart. I mean the man is on the verge of tears more often than not when Zuko is in even the slightest bit of danger in a way that animated Iroh was not.

This is what I think is different here. Animated Iroh seemed to turn against the war because it was morally wrong, it had thrown the world out of balance, and imperialism is bad. Live action Iroh seems against the war because it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth the cost, or the death, or the grief. He couldn't see that until he lost Lu Ten, but now he sees it everywhere. I get the sense that this Iroh just wants it all to stop, and I'm not sure he cares how that happens.

The White Lotus is definitely hinted at, but I suspect that was his motivation for joining it. It's not about restoring balance to the world for this Iroh. It's about restoring peace, so that he won't have to lose Zuko like he lost Lu Ten. So that the death and destruction stops. So he can just live a quiet life and put the past behind him.

It's a different take. And it's not that he doesn't still have a lot of wisdom to him, that he's not still a gentle, caring person. But he's a much sadder person, and he's lost that sense of "enlightenment" that his animated counterpart had. There's a selfishness you can read into to this version of his character that's much more apparent than the animated version.

I think a lot of people are gonna hate this, because it's a darker take on a much loved character. But I love it. This Iroh is human, this Iroh is flawed, and this Iroh has a lot more growing left to do. And that's awesome. If we get to actually see more of a character arc for him too, if we get to see him also growing and changing alongside Zuko? Please. It's not like he needs a total redemption arc, per se, but if in his journey with Zuko throughout the Earth Kingdom we can see Iroh gain some of his fortitude back, we can see when he decides he needs to push Zuko down a certain path, to take a side in the war, to see that it's not just the death and destruction that makes it wrong? God there's so much potential with that.

Now, maybe this isn't what will happen with seasons two and three. Maybe they'll back track and try to make him more similar to the animated version. I don't know. But for now? Live action Iroh is fantastic, and Paul Sun-Hyung Lee is giving a hell of a performance. He's warm and tender when he needs to be, fierce when he has to, and just profoundly sad throughout it all. And I love him so much more for that.

I'll be controversial here and say it. So far, live action Iroh is a better character than animated Iroh.

[luveline]

Hey Jade! Could I request some more kisses before dinner au? Steve and reader both have a bad day (Reader with her pregnancy and steve is just overwhelmed with looking after everone?) and they have a fight in the evening before, during or after dinner. The girls get a little upset and make a plan to get the two talking again and to make up and the night ends with a big cuddle. Thank you, love you and your work, you're actually so beautiful! Xx

HI!! thank you so much angel, I hope this is OK!! ♥ dad!steve x pregnant!reader, 3k.

You said we could do this. 

Steve thinks about that line most of all. Your argument blurred into one big glob of anger, wanting to be right and silly grievances, fatigue. The only thing that stuck out was your upset face as you'd sniffled and murmured, "You said we could do this," like Steve had let you down. 

Steve regrets arguing with you, but what he hates most is having lost his cool in front of the girls. He resents himself for it as much as he does you, and he's finding it difficult to let any of it go. 

It's Avery who's claimed his lap, while Bethie and Dove lean on either side of you, Dove's face against the bump of your stomach like a pillow. Steve strokes hair out of his eldest daughter's face one silky strand at a time. He knows the girls aren't used to fighting, Steve grew up seeing it, and he didn't want his kids to see it because he knows it creates a strange and sometimes suffocating anxiety, so you and he have always argued in private when you could. 

You're very pregnant (exhausted, hormonal, going through huge changes) and Steve is trying to do a lot more to account for that (similarly exhausted, and wondering if perhaps he has sympathy hormones). The baby bump means you can't and shouldn't be doing as much. You've worked your entire pregnancy, through two trimesters of intense morning sickness, and the third and last trimester offered a reprieve from that and nothing else. 

As your uterus moves and your bump drops to make room for the last hurdle of the baby's growth, you can hardly breathe. You're always aching. Steve insists you take it easy and even if he didn't insist it's not exactly a conscious decision either of you van make. Being kind to yourself is being kind to the baby, and you're the best mom in the world —you're slowing down whether anyone likes it or not. 

Worse, your Braxton Hicks have started. They come at irregular times and never last long, but each time prompts the am I going into labour early? panic. It's not fair, Steve wishes he could take it from you, and he doesn't want you to do more than you can, but he needs a little more room to breathe, and some forgiveness. 

Because Steve did assure you that you could do this. You wouldn't have agreed to another baby if you didn't think it yourself, neither of you being that irresponsible. Lots of things come before wanting. Steve wants a big family, he could cry every time he looks at you lately and the unignorable evidence of another family member to love and cherish that is your distended stomach, but he loves the one he has now. Before you even thought about trying for your fourth, you had to know it wouldn't hurt your first three, or each other. 

Steve knows you can do this. He can do it. Today was just a bad day, and he needs your faith in him, or this is never going to work. 

Steve wants to say that to you, now he's had time to think. I'm sorry I let you down, but I need you to forgive me, and I need you to trust me that we can do it. He also wants to say Thanks for being a dick about Beth's doctor's appointment, obviously I forgot to take her on purpose, I just don't like her. He decides he hasn't calmed down enough to talk to you yet. He's mad at you but he fucking loves you, he doesn't want to hurt your feelings anymore than he already has. 

Avery kisses Steve's cheek unexpectedly, snapping him from a reverie of racing thoughts. He meets her gaze to ask what she wants, but she's swift to slide down the lengths of his legs and onto the floor. 

"Bethie," she says, meandering to where her sister sits, hands catching on Bethie's bare knees, "do you want to come and colour in with me?" 

"Why don't you bring your colours down here?" you ask. 

"I don't want to carry the table," Avery says, referring to the green and purple picnic bench she has in her room. She can't carry it, even though it's only small. She's smaller. 

"I can grab it for you, Ave," Steve says. 

"That's okay, daddy, you're tired. Please, Bethie? I need your help staying in the lines." 

Bethie raises her eyebrows. Reluctant, she climbs off of the sofa and Avery takes her hands. Steve can hear them whispering as they reach the stairs, their creaking steps covering words but not sounds. 

Steve usually puts his life into perspective quite easily. He doesn't often get angry, having had the privilege to choose pretty much every aspect that's worth agonising over. He was lucky enough to love you, and to have you love him back. He was lucky enough to have a say when you got pregnant accidentally the first time, and beyond privileged to be able to ask again, and to have you yes, to want to say yes to the second, the third, the fourth. 

He doesn't get angry at you much. When you're mean, of course, when you fall for the same weaknesses he might. A short temper, a mistimed snark. He was really mad at you a few years ago when you burned your arm on a pan he told you multiple times was hot. He was so mad he couldn't speak not that long ago when you assured him you could clean the hot sauce off of his first Hellfire shirt with a lemon and ended up bleaching the black sleeve a mottled brown. But you were cleaning his shirt because you loved him. You burnt yourself trying to help him clean your shared kitchen. All these things he's angry about, they're mistakes, or they're moments of weakness in a long receipt of kindness, and sweetness. Plus, you're the prettiest woman he's ever met, you're prettier every day. That deserves something, he thinks. Reverence, patience, anything you need if it means he gets to keep being with you, gets to keep having these stupid fights. 

And there it is. The anger wears away. Steve remembers how much he loves you (which hadn't been in doubt, the love part, but the volume —when he's mad, he loves you astronomically, and when he isn't, he loves you so much they haven't made a word for it). He wants to say sorry and have you say it back. You'll kiss him and let him hold you, his hand over your tummy, and hopefully you'll admit to understanding where he's coming from. If he's really lucky, you'll let him massage your shoulders, or hold the bump up to take the weight off. 

"Dove!" Bethie shouts from the top of the stairs. "Dove, come and help, please? We need another hand for the drawing!"

Dove perks up by your side. She slides off of the couch with little convincing, your fingers twisting a curl of her hair as she goes. 

"Have to help me," Dove says. Bethie sighs and begins down the stairs to fight the baby gate. 

Steve opens his mouth about the second they're both out of earshot again and you still beat him to it. 

"Baby brain made me act like a bitch. Sorry." 

"I knew it was baby brain and I still took the bait, so…" 

"You think I was baiting you?" you ask. 

"Not on purpose?" Steve rests his cheek across the top of the couch, fake leather cool on his skin. "You had a real reason to be mad at me. I said you didn't have to take her and then I let you down." 

"You didn't let me down," you say.

"And you're not a bitch," he says,

"I feel really embarrassed after we argue. Maybe you make me feel that way," you say, looking down at your hands, "but I don't think so. I wish you wouldn't get so mad with me." 

"I wish I didn't, either." 

"Not that we don't both get angry."

"I know what you meant." The conversation is stilted and jagged and frankly painful to manoeuvre. "Do I really make you feel embarrassed?" he asks. 

"No," you say. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm trying to say. This part never gets any easier." 

"But we'll keep doing it?" 

You put both hands over your bump and give him a long, serious look. "Yeah." 

Steve shuffles closer to you on the couch and tries to land you both on the same page. "What did you mean by that? That I make you feel embarrassed after we fight? I'm not mad, I just don't get it." 

You offer your hand as though you're afraid he'll reject it, pinky finger bumping his where it rests on his thigh. Steve takes it gently. 

"Stevie, sometimes, you get really mad when we fight and I– I don't blame you because I know why you get mad like that, and you've never been cruel to me for the sake of it, you aren't cruel. You've never hurt me just being angry. You've said stuff to me that hurt my feelings–" 

"I've never hurt you for no reason," he says, worried, hoping you'll agree. 

"Of course not. Steve, you've barely hurt me. But I… I think I feel embarrassed after we fight 'cos I can't stand thinking you had that much disdain for me." You squeeze his fingers. "Even for a minute. Which isn't your fault, that's how being angry works. You get so annoyed at someone that you lose it."

"I don't hate you, though," he murmurs. "You really think I have disdain for you? 'Cos I don't, honey. Not for a millisecond. That's not what it'd be about." He can't believe he's loved you this long and this is the first he's hearing about this feeling in particular. "When we were fighting earlier, I wasn't thinking about how awful you are or anything like that." 

"What were you thinking?" you ask hesitantly. 

"That I wish you'd see my side." It comes out in a rush, a sigh, his hand sliding up your wrist. "I just wanted you to see my fucking side for once."

"Are you kidding?" you say. 

He backtracks. "Sorry, not for once. That wasn't fair. It's what I was thinking, though" 

Much less insulted by his thoughts at the time of a blow up argument than the notion that he thought you were refusing to see his side after you literally asked him to tell you his side a second before, you relax. Or, you sag, and your brows pull together in pain, free hand moving to your chest. 

Steve sidles in as close to your side as he can get and covers your hand with his. "You okay?' he asks softly. 

"I'm fine. Tell me your side."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he says honestly. "But I need you to cut me some slack. I know you're having a really hard time right now, and I know you know I'm trying to make it work just as much as you are. Is that okay?"

You take his hand from your chest and put it over your baby bump. He could weep with relief. 

"That's okay. I really am sorry, Steve, I know I took it too far." 

"Well, I got angry twice. I wish you'd told me how you felt about it, you know? I would've told you a long time ago that I– I love you even when you're pissing me off. You don't have to feel embarrassed thinking you've lost my respect or something." 

"I know it doesn't make sense," you say. 

"But if that's how you feel," he says. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just want us to be okay again. 

"We're okay again," you say, staring at him for a few long, slow seconds. "I love you." 

"That's the best one, right? After we fight? I love you, too," he says, hand slipping under your shirt. He'd do it if you weren't pregnant, but now you are he does it for a different reason, feeling along your ballooned tummy for something in particular. "Has she been kicking today?" 

"Only every time you talk," you say, beaming, knowing how special that is. You move his hand to the very top of your bump. "Feels like she's inside my lungs. Would you…" 

Steve grins and leans down. You pull the hair from his eyes, holding him to your chest. "Listen, lovely girl. You gotta give your mom a break, go back to sitting on her bladder for a bit. The only person who should be making her breathless is me." 

"Corny," you say, scratching his hair. 

Steve puts his ear to your stomach. She won't talk back, and he can't hear much, but he tricks himself into thinking your weird stomach gurgling is the baby speaking. 

"No," Avery says, much closer than Steve thought she was, the troupe of them having made their way downstairs while Steve was busy laying on your stomach. "This will work, Beth."

"I don't want them to be angry," Bethie says. 

"They won't be angry with us. Mom doesn't get mad, she gets disappointed, and dad only shouts when I den-danger my safety." 

You snort and Steve tries uselessly to cover your mouth. "It's a make up plan," you whisper. 

"Oh. We have to still be fighting, then," Steve says. He springs up, gives you a very tender if he says so himself kiss to your cheek, and crawls back to his empty seat. 

"Let's go," Dove insists, prancing through the open door. 

You and Steve try to look dreadfully morose. 

"Daddy," Avery says, "Mommy, we made you something to say thanks for being the best dad and mom's ever made."

"You did?" you ask. 

"And to stop worrying," Bethie says, drifting toward Steve on automatic. 

"My loves," you begin. Steve knows what you'll say —We're sorry. 

"Just listen!" Avery insists. "You're the bestest ever, and we have the new baby coming and we'll have to take new photos but we can't because she's still getting bigger, so we drew one." 

"Baby photos always make you happy," Beth says.

It's a family portrait on a jagged edged, five feet long piece of paper from one of their paper rolls. You're all very tall and there have been efforts to make each person individual. Steve stands out as the only one with shorts and no eyelashes. Your baby bump has been drawn like you're carrying Pluto around in your abdomen, and Dove is quite small in comparison. Avery has drawn herself to Steve's left, and Bethie stands to hers. It's the most impressive thing Steve has ever seen. 

"Oh, wow," he says. 

"Woah," you agree. 

"This is me," Dove says, pointing at herself. 

"That's me," Bethie says, almost dropping her corner of the portrait.

"And there's me and dad and mom and baby," Avery says, pointing at each figure, her arm blocking the crayon hair. "We're the biggest family ever." 

"And the best," Bethie says.

"Best," Dove agrees. 

If things hadn't been okay between you and Steve before, they are now. In an instant. The girls have presented you with evidence of his very greatest achievements. 

"How much do you think it would cost to get that framed?" he asks you. 

Your laugh jumps from you as though it had a mind of its own, loving and exhausted, fond. Unsurprised. 

"Couple hundred bucks," you say, hand cupping the bottom of your stomach. 

"We have that, right? To spare?" 

You absolutely don't. Steve says it to make you laugh again, only half joking, and is rewarded by your happy smile. You shuffle down the couch into his arms and he wraps you up without closing his arms, hands extended to the girls where they hesitate. 

"Come on," he says, waving his hand toward your back, "this mom sandwich is missing at least three pieces of bread." 

Avery cheers and sprints into his reach. Beth and Dove aren't far behind. 

—

kisses before dinner au

[w2soneshots]

Break up era -W2S

Words: 0.8k+

Warnings: angst, break up.

In which Harry breaks your heart so you book a solo trip to Greece.

a/n: I don't love this but I had to get something out for you all!!😚💞 (also please send requests to my ‘ask me anything’✉️)

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Liked by mollymae and 242,179 others

y/username: meh

-comments-

taliamar: my girl, my girl🫶🏼

-> y/username: you already know😘

freyanightingale: love u

-> y/username: love u more

y/nfanpage21: she's healing😭✨

user40137927: my faith in love has disappeared.

Me and Harry broke up last week and I've been struggling. We were together for just over two years and I truly loved him with my whole heart (still do). He broke up with me because he said he'd 'lost feelings', which completely shocked me. Faith, Talia and Freya have been desperately trying to cheer me up and get me out of my apartment. I went on a shopping trip with Frey and T, as well as lunch with Faith. I also went to the gym for the first time in a while since it's meant to act little bit like therapy. None of it helped.

y/username just posted a new story!

After sitting in my apartment crying over Rapunzel and Eugene's love life I decided that I needed to get out of London, so I booked a last minute flight to a random island in Greece.

I spent the next week buying things for my trip, packing and trying to distract myself from Harry. When the day finally came I woke up early and headed to the airport via Uber. When I arrived I went through security, checked my suitcase in then spent the rest of my time in the business class lounge. Once my flight was called I left the lounge and headed to check in. When I got on the plane I found my seat and got situated, not soon after we took off.

y/username just posted a new story!

When we landed a few hours later I went to collect my bag. Then I got a taxi from the airport to a small boat that took me to the island. When I saw it on the booking website I thought it looked beautiful but it was seriously breathtaking in real life. The air smelt clean, the people are so kind and the food looks incredible.

The hotel is so rustic looking but also very well kept and clean. "Hello dear, do you have a booking?" The sweet lady at the front desk asked. "Yes I do, it should be under 'y/l/n'." I replied. "Ah! Yes, I'll show you to your room." She gestured for me to follow her with a big smile. "And here we are!" She said as I set my suitcase in the corner. "Wow this is beautiful, and what an amazing view!" I said enthusiastically while looking out of the window. She smiled "enjoy dear." And with that she left.

I spent my afternoon exploring the island then went back to the hotel to get changed for dinner. I wore a simple white knitted dress, along with some black flip-flops. I had an incredible (and surprisingly fancy) steak, along with some wine. I spoke to one of the locals for a little while before I decided to call it a night so headed back to my room.

The next day I woke to the bright sun shining through the sheer curtains. I practically jumped out of bed, got dressed then went into town to get some fresh fruit for breakfast. I then got into a swim suit and made my way down to the beach.

I sat enjoying the peace and quiet when I got a call from none other than Harry. I answered reluctantly "hello?" "Hey." He replied slowly. "What do you want Harry?" I asked with a sigh. "I'm sorry I- I know you're on holiday but- but I just wanted to apologise, and I couldn't wait any longer." He started. "Apologise for what? Because you don't love me anymore?" I said quietly. "That's just it... I do love you. I just didn't how much I did until you were gone. I don't know why I felt that way I don't know what happened." He said. "But- Harry you broke up with me... you broke my heart." He sighed "and I'm so sorry y/n," A tear slid down my face "I want to be with you but I- I understand if you don't want me anymore I-" "I still love you Harry, I always have. Of course I wanna be with you." I cut him off. Even know he hurt me I know that he wasn't trying to, he just didn't want to lead me on.

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Liked by taliamar and 540,129 others

y/username: umm... that was a weird week.

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wroetoshaw: 😶

shannonlangdon: stunning stunning stunning!!

-> y/username: ❤️❤️

faithloisak: iconic⭐️

y/nfanpage21: love a good solo trip🤭

user63071426: omg!! Are they back together??

[serasfanfiction]

CW: blood and mentions of gore. Alastor being Alastor and never let us forget he's in Hell for a reason.

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Lucifer stared at his bed. Took stock of himself. Realized he was too wound up and any attempt at chasing sleep would futile.

He ran a hand down his face as he groaned. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his nice, soft comforter and to fall into the forgetfulness of sleep, but with the weight of his new little accessory, he knew his sleep would be nothing like forgetful.

Glancing out the window, he could see the first hints of what passed for daytime in Hell. It was so late, evening had transitioned into early morning.

He frowned in distaste. He had stayed up all night talking with Alastor. Yeah, yeah, they had been talking business, but he knew what it could look like from the outside. It didn't help that Alastor had been helpful. He had an eye for reading people and getting a basic feel for their character at the drop of the hat. Lucifer didn't have to imagine very hard to know it had gone a long way towards helping him lure in his victims.

The question remained: Was the King of Hell going to allow himself to become another one of this serial killer's victims? The idea didn't leave a much better taste in his mouth than the time currently glowing back at him from his bedside table.

This was a shining example of why he didn't interact with sinners anymore.

Leaving through his door, Lucifer made his way downstairs. Early morning it might have been, but there was still some time before the other hotel residents started filtering down. Everything was quiet in a way that held the promise of noise, if only one caught it at the right time.

It felt lived in in a way the palace hadn't in years.

Knowing he was going to actually encounter people at some point led his feet unto the kitchen. As it turned out, Lucifer Morningstar actually liked to cook. He had found it to be a great stress reliever. Perhaps it was because the urge to create was always just below the surface. Perhaps it was an innate desire to make people happy. Whatever it was, throughout most of his marriage and while he was still interacting with the Sins and Ars Goetia, he could often be found working in whatever area was set aside for meal prep. It was something he'd been teased about, but no one had complained about his food, yet.

As things began to fall apart, as he lost faith in humanity and began to withdraw from everyone and everything, there had been less and less opportunities to fall back on the practice. He didn't necessarily need to eat and he didn't want to waste food when there was no one to make it for.

Making toys, especially duck themed ones, had been a secondary fixation. When his marriage had reached the point that not even even trying to keep up appearances for Charlie's sake could hold things together (tenuous as that had been from the start), it had felt like making the toys had been the only thing he was good at anymore so he had become, well, a little obsessed.

Here, now, in the hotel built from his daughter's dreams and the hard work of the hotel's residents, he had been feeling the urge to give into the impulse to try his hand at cooking again. The stress of his new accessory seemed like it was going to finally be the thing that pushed him to do it.

The kitchen was empty, as to be expected. It was also as well stocked as he'd left it. Upon moving in, Lucifer had taken one look at what the others had been living off of up to that point and had put his foot down immediately. Where before it had looked like the pantry of a bunch of young adults who had just moved out and hadn't quite figured out how nutrition worked, with the odd exception, now it had a much more healthy variety of foods. Some of it came from various rings throughput Hell, imported through Lucifer's connections. Some of it came straight from Earth, those through Ozzie's connections.

Lucifer had seen various residents taking advantage of the wider variety of offerings, but he still held it as a victory the one time had come in to find their resident radio celebrity cooking. When pressed, Alastor had replied that he was currently putting together a shrimp gumbo, with the preparation of the roux being just the way his mother had made it. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic and in a good mood because he had shared it with the rest of the hotel's residents.

Lucifers hands knew what to do, even though he didn't have a larger plan in mind other than 'make breakfast foods.' This sort of approach often led to way too much food being made, but he was sure they'd eat it all eventually.

As the hour progressed, foods such as muffins, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and a few pre-made breakfast tacos took shape. Fruits had been cut up and placed in dishes so that anyone interested could take their pick.

He was just finishing up the yogurt and turning around to place it with the rest of the hoarde when he abruptly became aware that someone was standing just inside the doorway. Startled, Lucifer yelped, jumping, and incidentally dropping the yogurt. It was only pure instinct (and a little magic) that kept it from hitting the floor and going everywhere.

He placed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his rabbitting heart. "Oh my Father, don't scare me like that. I could have set you on fire!"

Which he had done to multiple people who'd startled him in the past. Purely on accident, of course.

Husk stared back at him, watching. His fur was unusually messy. The bags under his eyes were particularly pronounced. His shoulders were hunched and and he was gripping his arms in a posture that screamed discomfort.

All in all, he looked how Lucifer felt.

The angel's brows furrowed in concern. As he set the yogurt back to rights, he asked, "Are you alright? Because - please don't be offended - you look like shit."

Husk's ears twitched at the observation. He glanced around, as if he was searching for something or someone. When he didn't find whatever - whoever? - he was looking for, he said, gruffly, "He's not a good person. Making deals with him is dangerous."

Lucifer blinked, for a moment not comprehending what the cat demon was talking about. All at once, he realized that he'd gotten so into cooking he had actually managed to forget his deal.

His near jerk reaction was to pretend he had no clue what Husk was talking about or to laugh and make light of it. As the immediate panic of the fact that keeping secrets in this place was apparently impossible wore off, the blonde was able to pick up something else in Husk's demeanor: worry.

Lucifer's expression softened at what appeared to be a genuine warning from someone who had been burned by Alastor before and was trying, in his own way, too keep someone else from doing the same. It was especially meaningful, as Lucifer doubted Alastor would be thrilled if he heard Husk warning a potential mark.

Was this what Charlie saw when she looked at their people? Husk wasn't innocent by any means. His hands were bloody both in life and in death, and it would be so easy to be blinded by that, but look deeper and there appeared to be a too big heart under it all.

It was a stark reminder that not everyone in Hell was a total lost cause, even if the sinner wasn't seeking redemption.

Lucifer placed the yogurt on the table with the rest of the food. Feeling the need to reassure Husk, but not wanting to tell the whole truth, he explained, "I'm only paying Alastor back for helping me with something I'm looking into. It's a one off thing."

Husk's deep sigh indicated he found that far from reassuring. Lucifer remembered Alastor saying he dealt predominantly in favors and figured it probably wasn't. Hands tightening around his arms, he added, "Well, be careful. Charlie's a loud, messy crier when she's happy. I don't want to see what she's like if anything happens to you."

Lucifer resisted the urge to scoff at the idea Alastor truly posed him any threat in favor of: "Charlie cries when she's happy?"

When did that started? Since when?

Husk gave him a side look, some major judgement going on in that look. He still took blantent pity on him, more likely wanting to take the opportunity to change the subject. "She and Angel got into a tiff. She was happy when he forgave her."

Something about the way Husk said it made Lucifer suspicious there was more to that story, but Lucifer let it drop. "Aw, I'm glad they made up."

Husk grunted, clearly at the end of his tolerance for mushy talk. He reached over to the selection of food, snatching one up in repayment for his good services. As he was retreating out the door, Lucifer called over, "I appreciate the warning. I'm sorry we disturbed you last night."

Husk didn't respond, opting to make off with his prize before the conversation could devolve into anything more uncomfortable.

The conversation left him in a mood that was both uplifted and off balance. He wasn't able to fall back into the rhythm of cooking, which was perhaps for the best, as there was already more than enough food laid out. He didn't have to wait long before Vaggie - looking wide awake despite the early hour - and Charlie - much less put together - trickled their way in. Both were delighted by the spread of food that awaited them.

Angel, unsurprisingly, would not be done for several more hours, but there was more than enough goodies waiting for him.

Alastor, on the other hand, never made an appearance that day. Nor did he call in his favor.

He did not make an appearance the next day either.

By the third day, Lucifer was beginning to feel a little twitchy. It was a touch bit daunting, knowing one was on the menu, but having no clue how famished the host was. Not that he usually paid attention to the redhead's eating times. Alastor was one of the only members of the hotel that had his own private feeding grounds right in his own room. He could just as easily treat all of the Pride Ring as his hunting grounds, if he were in the mood.

Lucifer didn't think the little shit would starve himself so he could he could have a bigger menu when he did call in his favor. He wouldn't put it past him, either.

By day four, Lucifer was on the verge of putting the whole thing out of his mind, figuring that Alastor was just letting him stew for a bit. Spitefully, the blonde was refusing to give him another minute of his time until the redhead deemed to make himself present. He was also getting used to the weight of their deal and could go several hours without ever once thinking of it.

Which of course meant that's when Alastor gave the chain a little tug.

Lucifer froze mid step. He'd been on his way up to his room, inspired with the idea of a new duck he just couldn't wait to add to his collection. The hallway lit up with a green flash as the chain came into existence and then just as quickly disappeared.

Slowly, Lucifer looked behind him, irritation and panic heightening his senses. There was no one else in the hallway, a perk of being one of the only two residents on this floor. He didn't hear anyone on the landing below. Nothing to suggest that anyone had seen the flash. To his knowledge, Husk was the only one that would recognize Alastor's brand of chains the best. It was possible that even if someone had seen it, they might not have known what it was.

With a forced nonchalance, the blonde made the rest of his journey to his room. When the door was closed and locked firmly behind him, he leaned back, head lightly knocking against the wood as he rested against it.

Knowing something was coming and actually being prepared for it was always two very different things.

Regardless, he had made his bed. It was time to lay in it.

Before Alastor could get impatient and drag him out, Lucifer reached opened a portal to just into the deer demon's room. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he stepped through.

The room was warm, green and black flames flickering in the fireplace. Various lamps lit the room, casting the area into a golden gloom that countered the light of the flames. The unmistakable sound of music filtered out into the room from the radio on the shelf.

At the center of the room was Alastor himself. There was a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair was just a touch out of place.

It was almost enough of a distraction from the fact that the room looked ...bigger? Could it do that?

Alastor drew all attention back to himself with a clap of his hands. "Ah! Right on time. I do so love a date that's punctual."

Lucifer resisted the urge to cross his arms, feeling the posture might be seen as defensive. Instead, he opted for placing a hand on his hip as he casually sniped back with, "Do people want to date you? Willingly?"

The redhead laughed, waving it off. "Now now, none of that, my dear. You'll ruin the mood."

The blonde glared back. Confusion more so than anything else held his tongue. He had been expecting the violence of their previous encounter. Not... whatever this was.

Alastor crossed the room, bending at the waist ever-so-slightly and holding out his hand. The familiarity of the pose did little to prepare the shorter of the two for the question of, "Do you dance, your Majesty?"

"Er," Lucifer said, intelligently. "What?"

Alastor merely raised an eyebrow at him, hand never wavering. "Do you dance?"

Lucifer blinked, frown deepening in confusion. Was Alastor messing with him? Slowly, cautiously, and curious despite himself, he raised his hand to place it in the redhead's. "Yes, but not recently." When had been the last time he'd danced? He didn't think he'd done so since it had been announced that he and Lilith were expecting a child. They had gone out to celebrate that very night. It had been a good night.

He cleared his throat, banishing the memory. "Um, I think the waltz," at least he thought that was what it was called. It had been a minute since he thought of it's name, "Was just becoming a thing at the time."

The redhead nodded. Grip firm, but gentle, he lead the smaller man out into the center of the room. Turning until they faced each other, Alastor guided Lucifer's free hand up to his shoulder, before resting his own hand in the proper position. Over on it's shelf, the radio changed channels, seemingly on it's own, until it landed on a more appropriate song.

Seamlessly, Alastor took them through the beginnings of what was unmistakably a waltz. Lucifer, having learned both rolls, was more surprised that he remembered the steps than he was to having been delegated to the following role.

Lucifer chuckled, a touch of nervousness making it through despite himself, as they made their way around the room. "Um, what are we doing?"

Alastor tsked, the response obvious. "Can't you tell, you Majesty? We're dancing."

Clearly. "Yes, but why?"

The redhead sent the blond into a impromptu spin, likely just to hear the latter yelp, before pulling him back in, just a touch closer than they had been before. "Because it's fun!"

Lucifer grumbled. Fun for Alastor, perhaps. Lucifer felt more like he was on a roller coaster with no clue where it was going. "You know how to do this sort of stuff?"

"Waltz made a bit of a come back during the 20s. I personally preferred dance that didn't require any physical contact, but it was good to know some for when I had a partner." The music changed, shifting to something a bit more upbeat. "Such as this little number."

Before Lucifer knew it, Alastor was guiding them through what was called the 'Fox trot.' "Not as fun as the Charleston, mind you, but still entertaining."

It didn't escape the King of Hell which role he was being taught. "And can you teach from the following role?"

"Ha ha!" Alastor's look was knowing. "Perhaps next time. Always have to leave them wanting more."

Well, two could play at that game.

The blonde exerted enough strength to steal control of the dance, pulling, spinning, and then forcing his taller dance partner into a dip. The radio screeching with static was the only sign of Alastor's alarm at his situation. The new angle brought their faces significantly closer together. Grin sly, Lucifer drawled, "You never know, you might giving up a little control sometimes."

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, smile all teeth. "Sounds dreadful, really. How do you stand it?"

The blond rolled his eyes, but let the little shit up anyway. The music started up again as the Alastor set himself to rights, drawing Lucifer's attention to the fact that the radio seemed far too in tune with their dance to be coincidence. "You can control radios?"

"I'm not called the 'Radio Demon' just because I prefer the medium." To demonstrate, the little device cycled through various channels, stopping briefly on a few here and there (a news channel, a cooking show, a top hits countdown), before settling on a jazz station. The dance they feel into was more freeform, than anything structured. "Why, they're practically an extension of myself!"

Oh, and there was a terrifying thought, the blond thought to himself. Even more reason never to put one if his room.

For the first time, it suddenly occurred to Lucifer that something was missing from Alastor's person. He'd only seen it during their first meeting, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen it at all. He wasn't sure, but it had seemed like it was permanently attached to the redhead's hand at the time. It hadn't seemed like an ordinary walking stick, what with the power it had been giving off.

Glancing around the room, he didn't see it anywhere. "By the way, where's that microphone of yours? I haven't seen it in a while."

Alastor went rigid. The music abruptly cut off, dousing the room in a frigid silence.

Lucifer looked up at him, intuiting he'd stepped on a hornet's nest, but not certain why. "Um, Alastor...? You okay there-- Whoa! What are you doing??"

Alastor had abruptly dropped both hands to Lucifer's waist. Using his new grip, he effortlessly lifted the small king. Somehow crossing the room in two steps (and furthering the theory he was messing with the room somehow), he just as abruptly dumped Lucifer onto his desk. Papers and a pen went flying to the floor with little care where they landed.

Lucifer caught himself before he fell over and potentially knocked his head against the wall. He had been sat down so that his seat wasn't precarious, but his legs were dangling off the side. Alastor was standing between them, crowding him. The grip on his waist slid down to his hips in bruising holding pattern. Gone was the easy, playful mood of the dance, now replaced with something near manic.

Cautiously, Lucifer pushed himself up. He didn't dare attempt to reciprocate any touch. "Alastor?"

This close, he could see the way the deer demon's composure was likely being held together by the threads he's stitched himself up with. Something was clearly wrong, but it was just as clear that Alastor did not want to talk about it.

Indeed, the Radio Demon, because that was indeed who was currently out to play, called forth the chain that represented their deal, pulling on it just enough to drag the King of Hell a touch closer to the edge of the desk by his neck. "I think it's time you uphold your end of our deal."

Getting the feeling all of this was to divert attention from whatever might have happened to the microphone (and a seemingly extreme one, in his opinion), Lucifer raised his hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. "Easy there, big boy. If you didn't want to talk about it, you could have just said so."

When the redhead failed to respond, the blond sighed. It took little effort to bring about the change, since he had done it a couple times before. The sitting position was much nicer on the tail, but the hat wasn't so great with the ears. This thought had just crossed his mind, when said hat was being lifted off his head. He had enough time to spy a shadow tentacle spiriting it off towards the chairs near the fireplace, when a nose buried itself in his hair.

His ears twitched at the tickling sensation of his hair moving around them. He made a face at the sound of a deep breathe being taken and wondered what it was with this guy and smelling him.

As if he could hear the question, Alastor said, "As I thought, your scent changes." He sounded a little too delighted for all the wrong reasons with this information.

Lucifer endured it, as it seemed that the redhead was calming down from whatever had set him off. He made a mental note to ask about the microphone at a later time. At present, he was more concerned about the mood of the person who was about to sink their teeth into him. He could almost feel the way that Alastor's whole body was slowly relaxing with each breathe he took. Could just barely feel the thumb of one of the hands still on his hips rubbing back and forth through the fabric of his pants.

Alastor continued the journey down from the top of the head to where the ears would sit on a human. Lucifer was aware that this was all about scenting - that Alastor's sense of smell likely was as enhanced at a real deer's - but he couldn't quite hold back a hitch in his breathe.

It was about the point when he felt nudging his neck that he remembered that bucks could leave scents behind to mark their territory just by rubbing their foreheads against things.

Lucifer's hand took hold of one of the little red ears that had started this whole mess in the first place, just shy of the point of pain.

He could feel Alastor's smile against his skin, just above the collar his coat. "You promised no retaliation," he admonished.

Lucifer growled. "I said you could have your fill of my blood. I never agreed to be your property."

The redhead shrugged, but didn't repeat the motion. Likely, the scent had already been left and the damage already done. The blonde resolved to make certain to remove all hints of this little encounter the first chance he got. He released the captive appendage, the poor thing flicking itself as Alastor assessed any damage.

Alastor finally pulled away, giving his temporary captive a once over in consideration. As if merely commenting on the weather, he suggested, "You should take off your coat and shirt."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending for several seconds. When it sunk in, he sputtered, flushing. "What? Why would I do that?"

Alastor leaned forward, finally releasing the blonde's hips and moving them to the desk to brace himself on either side of the before mentioned hips. "I'm not picky, but clothing doesn't taste that good," he explained, still in that matter of fact voice. "This is also likely to get messy."

Lucifer's whole body was frozen. He didn't think in that moment he remembered how to breathe. The inherent intimacy of their position and the remembered violence of their previous encounter was wreaking havoc on his body's responses. It didn't know if it wanted to get away or to lay down and take what it was receiving.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him outside of a hug or chaste pat on the hand that his signals were getting muddled at a time like this? Even more pathetically, it wasn't even getting confused for sexual signals! Was he really so touch starved he was enjoying being manhandled by a known psychopath who enjoyed playing with his meals?

Something hot and ugly rose in his chest. Survival instincts told him it wasn't safe to look at at the feeling in front of such a predator. It was a doomed endeavor, however. They were too close and Alastor was too good at reading people. Lucifer knew from the moment Alastor's smile widened, every single fang on display as he nearly salivated at the sight. That he could smell the blood in the water.

Lucifer forced himself to ignore it. Force it down and smoother it. Dealing with this revelation wasn't for here and now, in this sort of moment, where any weakness was a weapon Alastor could and would use against him. His fingers shook with minute tremors as he brought them up to pull off his coat.

Alastor backing off enough to let Lucifer remove his upper cloths felt like coming up for air. Being physically exposed had never bothered him. He had long since made peace with the way angelic, alabaster skin gave way to blackened, demonic skin along his arms. His beauty was unquestioned, even tens of thousands of years after his fall from his father's favor. A heavenly creature might have been repulsed by the unavoidable evidence of the taint of Hell, but no sinner, hellborn, or demon had ever blinked twice.

Alastor took it all in as more and more skin was revealed. Each piece of clothing sent off to join his hat. There was no heat to his gaze, something Lucifer found himself unreasonably thankful for. He wasn't certain he could have handled that on top of everything else.

He thought he might have caught a glimpse of appreciation, but he had little time to dwell on it as one of Alastor's hands took hold of his wrist, bringing it up to inspect his arm the way a butcher inspects a prospective slab of meat. Grip tightening and head tilting to the side, the Radio Demon clamped his teeth down and bit.

Lucifer hissed through his teeth, digging the claws of this free hand into edge of the desk. Those teeth drove in mercilessly, until they encountered what passed for bones in seraphim. Only then did they stop, pulling back and out. He shuddered when he felt the what could only be a sucking sensation. His arm would not be as ideal for drawing as much blood as Alastor would need to sate himself. It would be likely he would need to bite down multiple times to accomplish his goal.

But Alastor did not bite down again. After several minutes, he pulled back, black and gold fluids dribbling down his chin.

Arm throbbing even as it knitted itself back together, Lucifer exhaled. He forced himself to focus, studying his attacker's expression.

The redhead's gaze never left his arm, expression calculating. He seemed to be waiting for something and Lucifer blamed the pain for addling his brain that it took as long as it did for him to figure out why.

"Are you trying to see how fast I heal?!"

Alastor watched the skin knit back together until there wasn't a single trace of damage. Instead of looking frustrated, he seemed to only be delighted. Alastor turned his head until they were eye to eye. An unholy and fathomless hunger stared back at Lucifer, and it was all he could do not to look away, even if his captive wrist didn't allow him any retreat. Alastor's free hand came up to run a single finger down from Lucifer's collar bone to navel, pressing just short of hard enough to draw blood.

"I want to slice you open and gorge myself on your organs." Alastor's horns extended and he gained another foot in height, loosing his grip on his demonic self a little. "I want to see how many times I can devour them, watch each and everyone one of them grow back, and then do it all over again." His hand slid back up, reaching around and grabbing a fistful of the short hairs at the base of Lucifer's skull. "You're the perfect meal."

Lucifer went limp just as Alastor yanked his head to the side, pulled on his captive wrist, and then sank his teeth into his neck. Sweat broke out across his skin in response to the pain as he was reduced in that moment to little more than a royal juice box.

There was no telling how long they'd be there. He had no gauge for how hungry Alastor was. Could only ride it out until the other was finished.

After a while, Lucifer hit a tipping point. He could feel himself going a touch floaty, detaching from the pain in the only way available to him. Without giving it much thought, his free hand rose up to run a hand through the hair mere inches from his face in something akin to a petting motion. His jaw finally relaxed and he was a little surprised he hadn't bitten his tongue off.

He barely noticed when Alastor finally withdrew his teeth, allowing the skin to begin to repair itself. Barely noticed when the tight grip on his wrist began to loosen. It took effort to focus, but the still odd feel of a tongue chasing the last drips of blood helped.

When he became aware of his body again, he noted that his spine wasn't thrilled with the position he had been forced into. Noted that the room had started to go cold (or as cold as Hell ever got) as the fire had gone out at some point. Noted the softness of the hair under his fingers.

He blinked as Alastor pulled away, shuddering as he fully came back to himself. His hand dropped away to rest back on the desk. His shoulder throbbed, but it had already stopped bleeding. As he glanced down at his chest, he noted that indeed the amount of blood that had been spilled would have made quite the mess.

Alastor hummed to himself contently, releasing his grip on both Lucifer's hair and wrist. From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the mess lingering on his chin as he stepped back away from the desk and the individual sitting on it. Despite the mess he'd made of the Devil, he himself had gotten away without a spot on his clothes.

Lucifer mustered up enough energy to glare at him. "Satisfied?"

Alastor's grin, partially hidden by the handkerchief, was lazy and bemused, some of that manic energy that always seemed to follow him calm for once. It was similar to the look he'd had that first night. "Oh, no, sire. I'm never satisfied, but I am full. Thank you ever so much for the meal."

Around Lucifer's neck, the green chain that was their deal came into being just long enough to shatter, signifying that their deal had been over. Alastor watched it go with something akin to remorse.

Lucifer himself didn't realize how much control over his own body he'd lost, how compliant it had made him, until the deal was complete. He breathed in deep, feeling the last of the fog fall away like the clouds parting. Slowly sliding off the desk, he waved a hand, using a bit of magic to clean up the blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw those shadow tentacles holding out his clothes. Wanting nothing more than to hide away from that butcher gaze, even just superficially, he reclaimed his clothes and dressed as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a hurry.

Once he felt as put back together as he was going to get, he turned his attentions back to the other occupant of the room. "Our deal is complete. I don't think I need to mention how beneficial it would be to you not to mention this to anyone?"

Alastor's whole posture was smug. "Oh, I'm happy to keep this little rendezvous to myself."

Lucifer refused to deign that with a response. Without so much as a goodbye, he spirited himself away with a wave of red smoke, just barely hearing, "How rude!" before the room disappeared.

Reappearing in his own room, Lucifer simply stood there for a long, long moment, blankly staring at nothing. Slowly, he sank to the floor, allowing his legs to finally give out under him. Everything that had happened over the last several hours crashed over him in a wave and he shuddered as it threatened to pull him back under.

In the mess of it all, he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible little thing Alastor had dragged into the light, even as he loathed himself for it.

Despite being surrounded by others. Despite his reunion with his daughter and the joy of creating new bonds with her. Despite the friendships he was slowly creating with the members of the hotel.

Despite all of it all, he was still lonely.

tbc

Part 7

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page pt4 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Taking the day to go to the beach you meet someone new...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Masterlist!

Warning! James is a dick, use of language

“Oh, Flo, where did you go?

Where did you go? Where did you go?”

The song was expected at this point as you ran along the beach. You huffed begrudging, humming along. The song reminded you of America.

The fights kept coming in the few months before you left.

It happened one day, after a day of talking with Sam about trying to start your next book. You had returned home to an upset James. He had met you at the door with a dark look, something storming in his mind that immediately had you asking. Despite your questioning, he remained silent, pacing back and forth before heading to the bedroom and slamming the door shut. 

“You're falling about

You took a left off Last Laugh Lane

Just sounding it out

But you're not coming back again

You're falling about

You took a left off Last Laugh Lane

You were just sounding it out

But you're not coming back again”

You just stood stunned in the hallway before turning with a frown to make dinner.

A few minutes later James sauntered out, a mean smirk on his face,

“You’re fucking him aren't you?”

The question came out of nowhere and you dropped the spoon, 

At first, you thought he was joking and you cracked a smile.

“Yea, me and an aroace man!”

His eyes sharpened,

“I am not joking you little bitch,”

At the term you froze, anger tightening your muscles as you turned off the stove.

“You will not speak to me that way.”

James huffed and then chuckled, he approached you, running a hand down your hair and the back of your head, then resting on your neck. The next gleam in his eyes frightened you and you pushed at his chest but against his height, you had no power. He gripped the back of your neck and pulled you closer, his mouth brushing close to your ear.

“I will say anything I want.”

And with a final warning, he stepped back fingers slightly digging into your hair before he released. 

“You’ll do well to remember that.”

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Everything was pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

The song finally finished out and you slowed then paused in your running. A sudden weight on your shoulders and in your chest you sank into the sand, not caring about the mess. How could years go to waste? You put your head on your knees. What had you lost?

A love, yes but a vibrant career in one of the best publishing firms in the US. But what of your family, your friends? You disappeared within a week, leaving the only world you knew behind. Despite the state of America, you missed it. You had grown up in your childhood home, worn walls and height lines scribbled into the door frames. You made your first stories in those rooms. 

You close your eyes. After a messy relationship in your late teens and early 20s, you left your hometown. Leaving to a liberal arts college on the East Coast you pursued your masters in creative writing. One faithful day in your first year of your masters you met Sam. He was in an engineering program online but was taking a few classes in the college. You had heard his distress over an essay in the campus cafe. And, as a new 23-year-old master's student eager to make friends on campus. You had approached him, explained your position and he nearly grabbed you and threw his essay at you. What followed was the closest friend you had ever found and 6 years of friendship followed. At 25 you graduated with Sam following and entered the publishing business. A few months in you met James and the rest, 

Well, the rest is history.  

You stare out into the clear skyed ocean. Sighing, you turn your music back on and just stretch out your legs. Turning the music down you zone out. It was a couple of days after getting Simon’s number, Thursday to be exact, and you had driven out to the coast hoping to get some inspiration. But nothing came up. 

You watch the ocean. Now that was something you missed, the sealife along the East Coast. You remember always loving the sea, during the evening taking the boats out to spot blue whales and others. 

You soon became lost in thought and as time passed, the sun grew high towards noon. As your thoughts traced the bottom of the sea a shadow overtook your form and you blinked. A body, you notice, a man standing over you, he was speaking. You pull an earbud out to be met with waves and a deep voice pulls your eyes to a handsome face, and a fishing hat?

“You alright down there?”

You look at him unsure, the combination of casual clothes and a camo fishing hat humors you, and you work to pull yourself up. He offers a hand, and with a good spirit, you take it. He pulls you up effortlessly, muscle flexing in the bright sunlight.

“I’m sorry I was lost in thought.”

He gives you an honest smile that doesn't fully reach his eyes making you wonder.

“Quite alright I understand the feeling. Seems to be a lot.” 

It’s a strong statement that takes you aback for a moment as the man stares out into the endless blue. You take a moment to observe, something in your writer's mind buzzing. The man is a bit older than you, he carried himself well, shoulders back in proper form but there was a weight there. He wasn’t as tall as Simon but nearly there. His blue eyes meet yours again and there is a depth you try to understand. You brush some sand off your legs to break the weight of his gaze. 

You return to his face with a small, shared smile, wondering what he had been through. Holding out a hand you introduce yourself standing a little straighter. Seeing this he nods and grabs your hand.

“Johnathan Price” 

His hands are rough, worn after years of work as the name sparks a flame of recognition. Price sees it in your eyes. 

“Captain John Price?”

He chuckles and releases your hand but you see the change in his form, subtle but tense. 

“Was, retired now. Now how did a lady like you know that?”

You expect the question, and you grin pointing to the hat.

“Johnny goes on and on about you.”

Price relaxes instantly, his smile now reaching his eyes and he chuckles again. 

“Soap, a good man. I haven't checked in on the lad in a while. How do you know him?”

You continue to explain your bookstore and meeting Johnny. As you speak Price relaxes and he mentions to a bench a little across the way, towards the end of the beach. Taking a seat you finish up.

“Sounds like John alright. He not giving you any trouble is he?”

You grin,

“Not at all, I've gotten quite used to him dropping by. He and Simon stop in a lot.”

That catches Price’s ear,

“Simon? Now that is interesting. How is he?”

You find his interest understandable, and you answer the best you can. 

“He pulled quite a stunt to help me, but I've enjoyed him so far.”

“He certainly has a presence, no worries though at heart he is a good man. He left an impact I assume?” 

He says it with a familiar grin, one that tells a history, there is also curiosity there. He raises a brow in expectation which makes you giggle. He looked like a dad, the image of Soap and Simon running around coming to mind for a moment before Price catches the look and raises another brow. 

There is respect for the man in Price's tone and you question how long he’d know the quiet man. 

“A while, a long while. He served as my lieutenant for years. He and Johnny are close. Been through a lot.” 

“I like that about Johnny, he has a lot of stories.” You lean back on the bench to stare up at the sky. Gathering clouds hint at a coming rain blowing in from the sea. You deal in stories but you can’t seem to catch a break, your eyes return to Price to see him observing you with keen eyes.

“Something troubling you?” he asks it honestly and you sigh, feeling the light shine upon you to share. 

“Yea. I am an author without ideas currently.”

Price hums, 

“I see, that's quite the predicament indeed. What’s causing it?”

You sigh again and the weight of the past few months falls upon your shoulders.

Price sees the change in you instantly and you just crack and break down the situation for him. It starts with your masters, to meeting Sam and James, the company, and your first books. You had started with children’s books following your interest in childhood literacy. As you explain the premise of the books, a fond smile lights up your face. 

Of three books, your second was your favorite: It followed the story of a fox kit lost amongst wolves. He was smaller than the rest of the other cubs but soon grew to love his own identity. The Fox’s Den pulled its name from this book. You had based the story on the forest around your childhood home and roaming through the woods while your parents were always too busy to keep you entertained.

With the success of your first books, your manager had insisted on middle-grade fiction and you wholeheartedly agreed. But your old boss at the publisher had dropped the expectation of a young adult or new adult book and you had started brainstorming, but that was when your world came crashing, well, tearing down. You explain this to him. 

“Everything was torn out from underneath you, there was nothing you could do. Your heart was, and I believe, still is in your writing, but everything that has happened has tainted your worldview,”

He pauses to regard the ocean for a moment, the winds blowing in cause choppy waves. 

“Often when things turn against us, or we have our backs against the wall is when we find it from within ourselves to overcome. Be it from within, or I believe in your case, around you. Perhaps you are just looking in the wrong place. Your past consuming you and tarnishing how you are experiencing the present.”

Price seems to be talking from within himself and it makes you wonder. You look out into the gathering storm. The waves cut like sapphire and the distant rumble of thunder. The close wildness of the ocean engulfs you in the moment. You take in the smell of the sea and exhale. Price was right, you had come here for a new life anyway, and you meant to make the best of it. 

Price watches you for a moment,

“I just feel like I am missing something in all of this. Why did it happen?”

Price sets a friendly hand on your shoulder,

“You may never know, but don’t let it consume you, instead revisit your old passions. Take what you remember of home and try to find something here to spark your interest. Besides James sounds like a right nasty bloke.”

Hearing someone older say it makes you feel a lot better. While your friends of course had been on your side it seemed like the entire company had turned against you. All except your manager who had followed you to Sam’s family company. While the boss held no power over you anymore your manager agreed with the sentiment of increasing your output to an older audience. She felt it would be good to expand into that market. 

“You're right.” 

Price’s advice comes at a good time, and he was right. Maybe you were looking too often into the past. Your phone buzzes, and you look and find a message from Simon. You smile, he was asking to take you up on the offer of tea. Price notices and smiles himself. 

“Well, you better get in before the rain hits, dear.”

You put your phone away and nod to the man.

“Thanks, John.” 

He stands up and nods.

“Until next time then.” This is all he offers before returning to his original route. Despite there not being an exchange of numbers you couldn't help but feel you would meet the man again. 

You sit for a moment longer, lingering on the feeling of being understood and the wildness of the sea. But as the wind picks up you receive a text from Sam. He calls a moment later.

“Where are you?”

“At the beach Mom, what's wrong?”

“I’ve got some interesting news. Besides the news says there's a storm brewing and I think you should head home. Your boyfriend is looking for you, he’s been in twice already.”

At that you are at a loss for words, a slight blush coming over your face,

“Come home buttercup before he haunts the place-” there's a pause on the other line, “and Soap says hi.”

You laugh at that, getting up and starting the run back to the car.

“Alright, I’m on my way, see you in a bit Sam, I'll be in a little late.”

“Drive safe. Bye”

With that you hang up and run, feelings of excitement building.

Taglist: @ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost

End chapter 4

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's a Real Fucking Legacy: To Leave

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader/former Tommy Miller x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1+ Warnings: Bad words. Relationship problems. Suicide/death/blood mentions. Author's Note: The previous one was supposed to be a one shot with this tacked on to the end. When I was writing the other day, my brain said, 'no, just post it now,' so I did. The response was very overwhelming and kind. I hope this part lives up to expectations. Where the first part focused heavily on Joel's confrontation with Tommy and his relationship with reader, this one focuses on reader's confrontation with Tommy and her relationship with Joel.

Please follow @wyn-writing and turn on updates (if you'd like).

Masterlist | Taglist Sign Up | ← Part I

Two brothers—one giant fucking mess.

Their lives, long before this one, were always bloody too.

Fist fights and war zones and broken noses and bullet holes.

So many bullet holes.

So many bullets.

You stopped being afraid of the actual monsters long ago; when people showed you that they were capable of being so much worse than just ripping one another apart.

But that day, that last little faith you had in anything is dissolved as Tommy’s fist cracked into Joel’s cheek.

He didn’t come in, just knocked Joel back a few paces and looked at you like you’d shredded him far worse than any bullet or bloater that ever looked his way.

Then, again, it was just you and Joel and the baby.

Baby, that’s all Joel called her in the aftermath of it.

Baby, he’d say followed by the suggestion that you should really discuss changing the name.

Everything was silent after that.

No gunshots outside, no knocks at the door.

No bullshit for days.

Joel pressed hasty kisses into you in the early morning light, two fingers pushed deep inside of you and encouraging, praising little words falling from his mouth into yours. 

It’s been days of his quiet observance to your routine. How you behave; how you react; how you nurture his little girl. 

He’d held you that night, long after you cleaned him up, and just let you cry against his thick, broad chest. Not once did he ask to know who your tears were for or what they represented. 

Now, though, he’s pressing himself against you and fortifying all his lost strength and the hastily put together pieces of his heart with the soft cries you give back out to him. 

The knock comes just as you’re about to; hard knuckles hitting the door while Joel’s buried up to his between your legs.

“Ignore it,” he whispers. “They’ll fuck off, you’re so close.”

Nodding your head, you cover his hand with yours and push further as he encourages you more and more.

“Come on, sweetheart, come on”—another knock—“FUCK!” 

Joel pulls himself from you and stands, sucking his thumb and then each thick digit into his mouth afterwards as he walks towards the door.

“Who is it?”

“Tommy.” 

Joel looks back, a question in his eyes but you’re already pulling pants on as you come around to the table. Something tells you that Tommy expected you to follow him out the door, explain yourself and beg him to come back to just talk.

As much as you love him—loved him—your family now needed you in that moment. You owed him nothing.

Still, as the door swung open, he looked at you like you did.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks, eyes going from Joel’s shirtless figure to your half dressed one.

“And if you were?” Joel asks. 

“Baby.”

“Baby?” Tommy pulls back like he’s been slapped, like he has a right. “So I go to find us a better chance at life and you jump in bed with my fucking brother first thing?” 

“First of all, you’re gonna keep your fucking voice down,” Joel says, pulling his brother into the room. “Our daughter is still asleep and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Your daughter,” he says, like he still can’t believe it, looking from Joel to you and back. “The daughter that should be mine.”

“Should be,” you agree. “Could’ve been, would’ve been.” Your arms are crossed over your chest. There’s an aching deep in you that you’ve been trying to keep in since the moment you saw him.

“You left,” you remind him. “I waited for you, Tommy, there was no first thing.”

The baby cries and Joel moves instinctively towards her along with Tommy’s gaze. 

Tears roll easily down his cheeks, caught in the gray hairs of his overgrown facial hair. “I fucking radio’d,” he says on a step forward. “Marlene was supposed to tell you, she was supposed to keep you informed.”

“The only thing that bitch and the Fireflies did was take you away from me followed by any sense of fucking safety I held onto—or did you not see the fucking spray paint and the lack of a goddamn floor?” 

Another step forward, closer now and he looks the same but so different. Cold paled golden skin with freckles joined by sunspots blossoming in random, beautiful patterns. 

There is gray streaked through his curls—his thick mustache. 

His face is longer than Joel’s, chest somehow thicker with a rounded out barrel shape and you remember sleeping on it. Pressing your ear to the flat plain beneath his pecs and hearing his heart beat steady. There was comfort in those moments, safety and stability in an unsafe and unstable world. Now you lay your head on Joel and he gives you the same. Sometimes, you even think he gives you more.

Your grief is churning again, painful and ruinous. Because this man in front of you was supposed to be dead. After years with nothing, he comes back now. After years of grieving for him, keening for him in those confines of those walls and these ones. He looks at you like he has all the rights to the hurt that he caused; like he can come in here and take from you the very thing he put into your hands.

Crimson blushes up to the tips of his ears beneath all these things you say to him, held back by Joel’s strong arms.

“Don't you dare stand there and feel sorry for yourself, Tommy; don’t you stand there and blame your brother or me or my fucking daughter for the shit that you did.” 

“Do you love him?” He asks, eyes squinting like he’s studying you—picking you apart like all those nights just so he can see how it all fits back together again. He doesn’t know, he never will again—not the way he did.

You shrug. “What the fuck is love anymore, Tommy?”

Covering his face, he pushes the tears away and runs his hand down the length of his beard. “When you look at that little girl”—he points to Baby in Joel’s arms—“what do you feel?”

He is looking for love but that’s not the answer. When you look at your daughter, there is so much more than that within you. There is love, yes, but there is also fear; pride; strength; weakness. All in beautiful, bruised violet tones that live just beneath your surface.

This feeling does not paint with the same brush as love because there is no brush for this; no clear picture to be made because all it does is grow and bleed and seep far beyond whatever edges you thought existed. It cannot be contained, there is no neat little box for it to fit inside of.

Joel, too.

It is the same for him but more. More than a need to protect and care for and nurture but there is a warmth within it all for this man who puts on such a cold mask. Do you love him? No.

There is so much more than that inside of you for your family.

Obligation. Bloody—blood bound—and waiting to be broken. Ready to do whatever it takes.

“I thought you were dead,” you tell him. “I waited so long for you and I never heard a goddamn thing.” Saltwater cuts into your words and and Joel’s broad body cuts into the frame of your vision. “I loved you, Tommy,” you continue. “I loved you and then I hated you and then I mourned for you and then I loved you again. 

You walked away and took my whole life with you, you took that love and you took your laughter and your guitar and your singing and all the things that made me feel like a person. You know? I had something and somebody to come home to, I had a reason to keep going through the motions of every single fucking day in this shit hole that we call a world now, Tommy. I had you and I loved you and that love—that connection—made me feel like a fucking human being again.” 

“Are you done?” He asks. “Are you done blaming me?”

The hold has on your hip tightens, those fingers curled into your skin at the edge of your jeans. Joel’s looking down his nose at you, this man with all his height and all his strength, with terror half in his eyes. Because he knows by now, he realizes, the last few years have made you stronger than he is—tougher. Diligent and resilient and half feral with anger bottled up close to your chest just waiting to be uncapped.

“I’m not blaming you, Tommy,” you tell him. “I’m thanking you. The love that I had for you was so pure and unbridled and the closest to the before that I have ever known. I would have gone with you, I would have bled for you. But you took the coward’s way out—“ 

“That's not what I did—“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy, that is exactly what you did and you know it. You left with some excuse about wanting better for me.”

The tears in my voice are nothing compared to the ones on his face, sitting there and taking this—so different from the man he once was to you. The man that ached to argue and debate. He never could do that with you, though. He never had a reason to until now. “I did want better for you, I do still.”

Your hands rise in gesture of the walls around you. “This is it, Tommy,” you say. “You leaving me took all the breath out of my lungs, I thought I was fucking dying and my only hope was that your death was a lot quicker than the one I was experiencing.”

“Neither of us are dead, though,” Tommy says.

“No,” you agree. “Neither of us are dead but I wasn’t living for a long time, I didn’t want to. I would’ve bled for you, Tommy. I would’ve followed you anywhere but for them”—you look from Tommy to Joel and your daughter in his arms—“I would die for these two and that’s why I’m still alive so do what you’re good at and get the fuck out of my house.”

Joel’s hands are wrapped around your one, pulled to his lips over and over again. “I talked to Tommy.”

“Cool.”

His jaw clenches and the grip he has on your hand tightens slightly. “I know you’re hurting, sweetheart, but I think he kind of gets it. He’s not mad at you—me. He told me about where he went, where he wants to take you.”

“Oh? So, what? You made some fucking trade for me? Giving over the baby and the life that he could’ve had? Starting everything for your brother only to come in in the middle and leave when it gets too hard for him again?” 

Joel’s head shakes, pain in those big, brown eyes. “He helped set up a city out in Wyoming, they’ve got electricity, water—food, baby. A life, a real one. Clean and safe.”

“What do you want from me?” You ask. “How do you want me to react? How fantastic for him that he has a real life, baby.”

He swipes a thumb across the swell of your cheek and makes those same soothing sounds he gives over so easily to Baby at the first sign of any kind of distress. “He wants us to go back with him, sweetheart.” 

Huffing a laugh, you ask him why the fuck he’d want to do that. “Some unburdening of his fucking soul for what he thinks he left me to the last time? He took my life and gave me two more.”

“He still loves you, sweetheart, and he wants the best for you whatever you may decide that means. He told me he figured you’d moved on when he got nothing back, that’s what he had to hold onto to not think the worst because Marlene just kept saying she couldn’t find you.”

Couldn’t find me, sure.

Hopefully she found what she was looking for when she destroyed your apartment. She’s just as responsible for this new life, these new loves and hurts, of yours as he is—maybe more so.

“So what do you think we should do, huh?” You ask. “It's a long fucking way to Wyoming from Boston, Joel.”

“Yeah.” Your hair is wrapped around his finger again, body so closely leaned in to yours at the kitchen table. “It only takes one step to leave.” 

[autistichalsin]

This is something between a headcanon, a fic idea, and a ficlet, but...

Summary: The Tadfools have realized something about Halsin- something even Halsin himself didn't know. Wyll gets volun-told to talk to him.

Halsin had grown up in a community of wood elves. And of course, this community of his was far from perfect, but it was his, and it was all he knew.

They were also very close to the local Druidic circles, and so no one was surprised when he expressed an early interest in joining them. As a show of goodwill/recruitment strategy, the local Archdruid offered little lessons to young children, showing them how they might manipulate their wildshape. As children, few of them managed; it was considered impressive (and adorable, to boot) if a child accomplished cat ears and a tail. Halsin managed this, proudly showing his parents his little ears the day of his first lesson.

The second lesson, he turned into a bear, to the bafflement of everyone- except his parents, who took aside the Archdruid for a quiet word.

Somehow, even though he could transform into the bear any time he wanted- and many times he didn't want to, at that- it would be a few more years before he could transform into anything else, only managing the partial transformations his peers had. In spite of this, the Archdruid seemed so faithful that he had great power within him; all the more so when Halsin spoke to him of his mysterious companion, a nature spirit who wouldn't reveal himself to any others.

No one said anything about Halsin's mysterious affinity for bears, and he thought nothing of it. He was kept too distracted with lessons to notice any patterns to it, whether those were triggers, or timing of his transformations.

it was just a part of him, and it stayed that way as he grew older, became an initiate, and mastered his wildshape faster than any of his peers- aside from lacking control over his bear. When he became a proper Druid, too, no one had anything to say.

It changed when he became Archdruid- people began to remark on how strange, and worrisome, it was for an Archdruid to lack control of himself. But there was little anyone could do about it, when the numbers of Druids had fallen so critically low. Even after a century, they had simply not recovered. It wasn't common for shorter-lived species to become Druids, and of course, the longer-lived ones weren't born as often. They'd simply have to wait for their numbers to replenish like a forest regrowing saplings after a wildfire.

So, really, Halsin couldn't be blamed for not knowing. It had always been treated as just a strange quirk of his, and though he had heard a certain word a few times in his studies, no one had ever given any indication it had applied to him. It was a word for others, not himself.

But then came Tav and their tadpoled companions, and with them came a remarkable amount of both insight and bluntness where their lives were concerned. Naturally, that extended to Halsin.

When he saw them approaching him, Wyll opening his mouth with a look that made it clear he'd lost an argument about who would have to speak- never a good sign- Halsin tensed reflexively, knowing he wasn't going to like what came next.

Sure enough, he didn't, as Wyll asked something completely illogical. "Halsin, were you going to ever... tell us what you are?" he asked, in a tone that made it clear they were all less than happy. "We don't judge you, of course- Astarion's a vampire! But we needed to know so we could prepare ourselves!"

Halsin stared, dumbfounded. "Prepare yourselves for what?" he asked, staring at them, more confused than he ever had been.

"... You truly don't know?" Wyll asked, sitting next to him. "How could you not? You even told us you couldn't control the bear!"

"Well, I cannot always," Halsin admitted, cheeks coloring a bit from embarrassment. Hells. When was the last time he had blushed? "As I said, sometimes, when blood runs hot-"

"-But we aren't talking about blood running hot, though, that probably is related," Wyll said patiently. "Halsin, last night was a full moon. Surely... surely you have some idea what you did? Even though you wouldn't remember directly, surely someone else told you before?"

Halsin shook his head. "Enlighten me," he requested, swallowing hard.

"... You really don't know," Wyll said again, rubbing his forehead. "Hells. Ah... You... transformed. Into a bear. None of us were hurt, but it was quite difficult to calm you. I know that generally, werebears don't remember what you d-"

"-Werebear?!" Halsin repeated, stunned. He shook his head, laughing. "My friend, I am not a were. I simply have hot blood running in my veins, and... well, little other outlet for my emotions, which love to make themselves known when they have been caged for too long."

"... Right." Wyll spoke slowly, disbelievingly. "... Halsin. You are an intelligent man. You know many other Druids, some of which with passions much more intense than your own. No other Druid struggles so. It is just you. It doesn't mean there is anything wrong with you! But if we hadn't been able to calm you- if you weren't happier as a bear than as an elf- one of us might have been hurt."

"I would never have attacked you, my friend." The mere implication stung, and Halsin's voice reflected that fact. "And I would not say I am happier as a bear. Merely... more like myself."

Wyll's grimace certainly didn't help, and Halsin groaned, rubbing his eyebrow in irritation. "My friend, I assure you, it is a mere coincidence. I have been like this since I was a child; my mother and father would have had no reason to keep this from me. It is simply another uncommon trait I possess, like my size." He looked down at his hands, flexing them.

"... Halsin." Wyll inhaled sharply. "I did not know your parents, so I cannot say what they thought, what they did, or why. I can simply tell you what we see. We see a man who, despite being an extraordinarily powerful Circle of the Moon druid, cannot control his actions in bear wildshape- but only in bear form, still capable of controlling himself in all others. We see a man who cannot control his transformations, either, when overcome with emotions. We see a man who speaks of his bear form as though it was a separate entity from himself. And we see a man who transformed at the full moon, with no memory of having done so." Wyll gazed down at the ground. "I enjoy a good gambling game every now and again, but even I would not bet on this being anything else, Halsin."

Halsin fell silent, and Wyll looked guilty now. "It does not change anything, you know, about who you... are." He reached up, touching his horns self-consciously. "You are still yourself, just as you were... a half an hour ago, before you knew any of this. This simply... lets you know so you may make the first step to controlling your wild side."

Halsin opened his mouth, but no sound came. He was staring into the fire, suddenly unsure, suddenly reliving his entire life through a new lens. It couldn't be... but Wyll was making a frightening amount of sense.

He just couldn't understand why. Why this was so. Why this had been kept from him. Why he had only discovered it now, and why it had taken this group of people to reveal it to him.

Fear and betrayal and something else he couldn't identify rose inside him. Before he was aware of it happening, much less able to stop it, his eyes flashed yellow, his body was engulfed in golden light, and his cave bear stood where the elf just had been.

Halsin could have changed back. He decided he didn't want to.

Instead, he let out a sad little noise, inched forward, and rested his big, fluffy head in Wyll's lap.

"... Okay. Okay. Cuddling. I can do that," Wyll muttered, petting Halsin's snout. "Look... sometimes parents make mistakes when they want to protect you. I mean, hells, you probably know that already, you're way older than me... but sometimes we need reminding. They were just trying to protect you, I think, but... sometimes, our attempts to help the ones we love hurt them more instead."

Halsin let out a little huff, and reached out a paw, gently patting Wyll's horns. Wyll nodded. "Precisely," he said, taking Halsin's paw in his hands. "So... look. I can't imagine it's fun to be you right now, realizing all this after 350 years and everything, but... Well. You were way too normal for our group anyway, my friend. You had to be more of a misfit to fit in with our group of misfits, see?" He laughed a little, and was rewarded with another huff of air, this one a little lighter, and what he swore was a smile. "Chin up, Halsin. We're here for you, like you have been for us, okay? And... don't... If this form makes you feel safer, you don't need to turn back any time soon. Not until you're ready."

Another bear-smile, and Halsin pressed closer, burying his face. Wyll smiled too. "You're welcome, my friend. You'd do the same for any of us."

[chumpovodir]

i don't have it in me at the moment to make a long, detailed rant about this but r/castlevania's insistence that games!Isaac is a lesser character for being a "self-harm obsessed, shallow BDSM playboy that only serves as an inciting incident" compared to N!Isaac?

first of all, i think y'all are letting anime stereotypes from the early 2000s massively color your opinion and it's really obvious you didn't bother looking at his character any deeper than that. edit: i'm putting this under a cut because it was actually, in hindsight, a pretty long post lmao

"BDSM playboy"? my man was sitting in the ruins of his home for 3 goddamn years letting the clothes rot off his back, in no condition to care about his appearance and with precious little materials to forge something new. you could also argue that his skimpy look is a mark of his arrogance (already well-established by his fight with Hector previously, and feeling so cocksure he sends his Devil away and even arms Hector with a sword, confident he could easily take him in a fair fight), going into battle barely clothed as a show of faith in his own skill after playing Hector like a fiddle. or even as a radical show of his devotion, the Devil Forgemasters crest embedded in his skin for the world to see; the fact that the physical marks of his position may fade away, but it goes so much deeper than that - it's seared into his very flesh, and will only die when he and his corporeal form finally leave this earth. also, it just speaks to a really shallow understanding of BDSM in general to associate "skimpy strappy outfit = kinky"

"self-harm obsessed"? first of all, where is ANYONE getting this notion from the game itself?? (considering there's a very low chance these people even know about the mangas) there is literally no scene in-game where he self-harms - further proof people are grafting a grab bag of stereotyped character traits onto him when the canon doesn't support it. if this is about his tattoos, i consider this a bit of a reach, but then i don't regularly associate tattoos with masochism.

there is of course this one, singular panel from Prelude to Revenge where we see him slitting his wrists:

but the context here makes it clear: 1) he's doing this as a morbid way to mark the passage of time and 2) most likely in response to the sheer contrast between him and Hector's respective situations - how would you feel seeing the guy who was at least partially responsible for your predicament living a happy life, while you're forced to live in the abandoned ruins of your home, constantly surrounded by all that you've lost? this is an act being shown when he's at his very lowest.

and this is the only instance we actually see - there is no other official material that implies this is something he does on the regular, although it's a popular headcanon considering the general fandom consensus that he most likely had a very rough start to life.

shitting on him for being "merely an inciting incident"? i don't even know what to say to this - do you understand how characters and stories work...? the narrative lives and dies on the push and pull of characters taking actions and other characters responding!

but it sure is curious (read: hypocritical) that this is a negative in these people's eyes when you point out the similarities between Lisa's and Rosaly's deaths.

sure, there is a bigger story about the cruelty of humanity as a whole that Lisa was executed, unprompted while Rosaly's execution was deliberately manipulated by Isaac - but that also adds to Isaac's character, the fact that both he and his younger sister were persecuted for being bonafide magic practitioners, and the sheer hypocrisy of and underhandedness of knowing that pain firsthand, and choosing to inflict it on an innocent woman anyway. it really shows how much his morals, if he ever had any, has truly eroded to the point he only cares about causing maximum damage.

i don't even want to waste my words on the ways N!Isaac is a worse character, comparatively, if you actually take into account the themes of the Devil Forgemasters' respective stories as presented in the games. but it does chap my asshole that, from this angle, both N!Isaac and N!Hector end up for the worse since now their stories are completely decoupled and it ruins the symbolism and duality that their game counterparts had.

[fandom-hoarder]

A Bibro's

Sastiel Rec List

-for the canon-adjacent connoisseur-

1. Pagan by posingasme

Gen | Rating: Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 17, 782 | Chapters: 8/8

Tags: Blasphemy, Idol Worship, Fallen Castiel, Priest Sam, Hunterverse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: Castiel has fallen, too soon. Madness and desperation plague him, but, as always, his heart is still in the right place...with Sam Winchester.

🔆

2. Run Right; or Lie by orphan_account

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 5,197 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: AU, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Pre-Slash

Summary: AU in which Dean died during Faith, the first seal was broken in season one, and Sam met Castiel when his faith was as strong as ever.

🔆

3. Kneel Before the Lord Our Maker by EnInkahootz

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 3,000 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Supernatural Kink Bingo 2021, Porn, Smut, Blasphemy, Angels, Angel Kink, Religion, Religion Kink, Angel Wings, Wings, Flying, Clouds, Cock Worship, Dom/sub, Sub Sam Winchester, Dom Castiel, Dom Castiel/Sub Sam Winchester, Dreams, Blow Jobs, Post-Episode: s04e07 It's the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester

Summary: After first meeting Castiel and being disappointed in It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester (Season 4, Episode 7), Sam has a dream about Castiel being the classic sort of angel he had expected to meet. Sam dreams of using his mouth to worship Castiel's holy cock, which Sam sees as an extension of god.

🔆

4. What This Is About by MissMisdemeanor

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 3,147 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Castiel/Bottom Sam Winchester, Riding, Sweat, Hook-Up, Secret Relationship, Canon Compliant, canon adjacent?, Making Out, Early season 5 Supernatural

Summary: “This is something you’ve wanted before today,” Cas states, and it’s true. He’s not sure if Cas even had to read his soul to get at that.

Sam’s breath stops. He freezes momentarily. “Yeah,” he admits. “Shit, Cas, yeah. I’d have done this the day we met.”

🔆

5. A First Grasp by Fae-and-night (goodgirlgonegeek16)

M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,034 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Season 5 angst, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, or at least the sastiel alternate ending to that episode.

Summary: Sastiel-flavored coda for “Free to be You and Me” with some early seasons bamf!castiel.

🔆

6. My Sastiel Valentine by rosworms

M/M | Rating: Mature | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 3,371 | Chapters: 3/3

Tags: Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, Slash, NSFW, Sastiel - Freeform, Sam/Cas - Freeform

Summary: A very slight AU of the episode 'My Bloody Valentine' where Sam is affected by famine in a different way.

🔆 55 more fics, in relatively chronological order, below the cut 🔆

7. Boy in the White Suit by posingasme

Gen, M/M | Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Words: 13,460 | Chapters: 7/7

Tags: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Post-Apocalypse, Dark Sam Winchester, Insanity, Alice in Wonderland References, Blasphemy, Self-Destruction, Madness

Summary: Sam said no. Dean said yes. Sam lost his mind. Castiel lost his friends. That’s the road so far.

🔆

8. A More Profound Bond by confxsed

Gen, M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 5,824 | Chapters: 5/5

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Angst, Season/Series 05, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Pre-Slash

Summary: Five little moments where Dean notices the relationship between Sam and Castiel growing.

🔆

9. some space underneath my skin by hellsreluctantheir

Part 1 of touch -- The soulless Sam and Cas were fucking verse.

M/M | Rating: Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 23,607 | Chapters: 8/8

Tags: Soulless!Sam, Season/Series 06

Summary: Humans liked to touch each other in ways that baffled Castiel. Not just in the manner they slyly referred to as biblically. He watched them clap hands onto shoulders and backs, lean into each other in exhaustion, sleep sitting up with feet resting against each other on the floor. A constant, reverberating, nonverbal hymn. I am here. You are here. We are here, and we are alive. Angels did not need that kind of reassurance. Castiel could hear his siblings' songs no matter how near he was to them physically. Prayers and psalms in the back of his mind. It saddened him, somewhat, to think that humanity would never know that.

🔆

10. The Unexpected by muzivitch

M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,253 Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Sam and Castiel discuss his missing year. Also, Sam has a crush that would be obvious to anyone but Castiel (except it might even be obvious to him, after all). Takes place after 6.12 "Like A Virgin."

🔆

11. Doing Just Fine by masterlynovak

M/M, Multi | Rating: Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 1,069 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: idk it's a threesome but not really?, Dean is just watching Sam and Cas have sex, voyerism

Summary: Dean wakes up in a room with a naked Sam spread out on the bed.

🔆

12. Wings by Rowan203

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 1,415 Chapters: 1/1

Summary: AU after season 6. Sam comes back from the cage broken and changed. Dean and Castiel deal with it in different ways.

🔆

13. Between the Shadow and the Soul by Vee (Vera_DragonMuse)

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 6,456 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Poetry, hell is the absence of love, take shelter in me, castiel thinks sam is the wolf, sam thinks castiel is in another story, really they're both just lost in the fog

Summary: What if Sam was the one that went to Purgatory with Castiel?

🔆

14. The Sun Pale as Milk by Icanseenow

M/M | Rating: Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 39,879 Chapters: 21/21

Tags: POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 08, Purgatory, Post-Purgatory, Slow Burn, Nearly Human Castiel, Post-Season/Series 07

Summary: Instead of Dean, Castiel is the one to return from Purgatory first. He finds Sam, and together they spend a year. Looking for Dean and not looking for Dean.

🔆

15. a body of proof by lordofsoup

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Words: 21,525 | Chapters: 5/5

Tags: Angelic Possession, Consensual Possession, basically possession (romantic), Trials of Hell, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage, Sam Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, a minor point but i wanted to mention it, references to honey!cas, Developing Relationship, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Body, includes art!! [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Sam's sickness worsens after the second trial, resulting in him being rushed to the hospital, the extensive damage has left Sam drained of his fight. To continue with the trials Sam must allow Castiel to heal him, by possessing him. While having an alien home under his skin is nothing new for Sam, Castiel's constant presence unwittingly unburies a host of issues. Two people desperate for forgiveness in the same body should get crowded at times but between the nightmares, the sickness, and the blood; there are some cookies, a quiet beach on the coast of Oregon, and a chance at something new between them.

🔆

16. ficlet - sastiel, a/b/o dynamics by wrenseroticlibrary_archivist

[also on tumblr]

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 580 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Post-Season/Series 08, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fallen Angel Castiel, Mating Cycles/In Heat, First Time, Porn, Ficlet, Alpha Castiel, Omega Sam Winchester

Summary: When Castiel had Fallen, he’d clearly become an alpha.

🔆

17. Stay in Touch by Cuda (Scylla)

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 6,310 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Post-Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Missing Scene, Human Castiel, Newly Human Castiel, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, First Kiss, First Time, Masturbation, Sexually Inexperienced Castiel, Castiel and Sam Winchester in Love, Sastiel - Freeform

Summary: Concerned about newly-human Castiel's decision to leave the Bunker on his own, Sam sets out for Idaho to find his best friend - and get some answers for himself.

🔆

18. Angels and Answers by klove0511

Part 1 of Milestones 'verse

M/M | Rating: Explicit | Rape/Non-Con | Words: 15,190 Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Possessed Sam Winchester, Memory Alteration, Human Castiel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Time Blow Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Sam Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Alternate Season/Series 09, Winchester communication skills

Summary: Cas has discovered his sexuality as a human when the Winchesters bring him to the bunker, and he and Sam fall into bed together. When Gadreel forces Dean to drive Cas away, the two must find their way back to each other, freeing Sam from Gadreel in the process.

🔆

19. So polite by bloodandcream

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,174 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Season 9, Angst, Sam topping from the bottom, Erectile Dysfunction

Summary: “Please,” was whispered into his mouth. So polite. Sam was in control here.

🔆

20. Had Worse by posingasme

Gen, M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 3,687 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Bunker Fic, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Sam has a very high threshold for pain, and an iron will. So this current hunting injury, even with its weird attack on his view of reality, is nothing compared to what he has been through in the past. He’s had worse. But that does nothing to reassure those who love him.

🔆

21. I'm always dragging that horse around by Trojie

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 5,499 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Unrequited Wincest, Unrequited Destiel, Enochian, Phobias, Hell Trauma, Season/Series 09, Episode: s09e11 First Born, Angel Healing, Implied Wincestiel, Hopeful Ending

Summary: Sam has a horror of angels and Cas has a compulsion to heal. It doesn't help that they speak the same languages, or that Dean is elsewhere - somehow he's always between them, and somehow they still have to meet in the middle.

🔆

22. The Best Medicine by sarasaurusrex

Multi | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,247 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Comfort, Fluff, Depressed Sam Winchester, Season/Series 09, Misunderstandings, Castiel Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Established Castiel/Sam Winchester, Domestic Fluff

Summary: Castiel confuses Sam’s symptoms of depression with symptoms of the flu and tries to help. Set mid season 9.

🔆

23. anything you need, that's what i'll be by starlightswait

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,092 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Dissociation, Bodily Autonomy, Season/Series 09, Aftermath of Possession, Post-Episode: s09e11 First Born, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Food Issues

Summary: There is a strange discomfort in healing Sam in the days that follow Dean’s departure.

🔆

24. muscle memory by hellsreluctantheir

Part 2 of touch - Sam's POV s7 - s9

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 5,830 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Season/Series 07, Season/Series 09

Summary: Sam lost his soul, slept with an angel, got his soul back, lost his memory, and then lost his mind before they could have a conversation about it. It's fine. The Hell trauma is gone, and he's coping. Even when Castiel comes back, he'll continue to cope.

🔆

25. Divine by Matthew1972

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 8,120 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: POV Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Kissing, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Winchester, Top Castiel, Bottoming from the Top, Angelic Grace Play, Angel Wings, Morning Sex, Oral Sex

Summary: Coda/AU scene to episode S09E11, First Born. "But nothing is worth losing you", Castiel shows that what he said was something he meant. Held safe in his arms and wings Sam learns the stunning truth about 'his' angel. How he heals the pain inside of him with something more than trust, care and touch.

🔆

26. Even If We Can't Find Heaven by ellerkay

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 8,044 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Having Faith, Loss of Faith, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Pining

Summary: Sam finds his faith and loses it and finds it again, albeit in a very different form. A Sastiel love story and exploration of Sam’s faith and spirituality. [Note: prayer during sex🙏]

🔆

27. Table For Two by the_diving_fox

M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,775 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: somewhere in s9, Human Castiel, valentine's day fic, POV Outsider

Summary: A tired waitress at Ann's Diner happens to serve Sam and Castiel amidst all the other obnoxious Valentine's Day couples. Sam and Castiel manage to surprise her, though.

🔆

28. Two Beat Up Humans by PacJazz

M/M, Multi | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 3,863 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Fluff and Angst, Pre-Slash, PTSD, Post-Gadreel, Human!Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Post-trials with no angel healing hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 09, Nightmares, Domestic Fluff, Hair Brushing, Insomnia, No Smut, Enochian-Speaking Sam Winchester, Sleepiness, Literal Sleeping Together [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Both broken, yet eager to help the other heal.... Sam and Cas are living in the bunker now, sans-dean after the gadreel betrayal. Cas is newly Human now, and while he needs some help learning the intricacies of that, Sam needs some help healing. They both share things, and think through what they've lost. *In slight AU where post-gadreel Sam is living in the bunker with newly human Castiel*

🔆

29. A Crucifixion Without A Christ by angelshotgun

M/M | Rating: Explicit | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con | Words: 18,501 | Chapters: 10/10

Tags: Angelic Possession, Castiel's Angelic Grace, Major Character Injury, Hurt Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hell Trauma, Sam Winchester is Loved, Hurt Castiel, Guilty Castiel, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, voicemail fixit, Post-Gadreel, Trust Issues, Sam Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Hunter Retirement [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: When Sam Winchester is badly injured on a hunt, Cas has to possess him to keep him alive and help him heal. And though Sam agreed to let him in, Cas is acutely aware of how many times Sam has had his bodily autonomy taken away from him, and how much Cas himself has contributed to Sam's pain. And now that he's inside Sam's head? Well, he tries to be as unobtrusive as possible, but Sam is just... traumatized. And hurting. Maybe, he thinks, maybe this is his chance to put aside his own feelings for Sam to help heal the hurts he had a hand in creating?

🔆

30. Moments of Madness by orphan_account

M/M | Rating: Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,140 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Season/Series 10, ish, Canon Compliant, Enochian-Speaking Sam Winchester, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage, Protective Dean Winchester, Castiel Loves Sam Winchester, Kissing, Fluff

Summary: It just happens, the first time. Dean's a Demon, and Sam's so alone. The next times?

🔆

31. Blankets by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,212 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Episode: s10e01 Black, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Castiel

Summary: Sam and Cas try to take care of one another.

🔆

32. Situational Failure (The Chicken Soup Remix) by StripySock

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 2,540 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Season/Series 10, Remix, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Sickfic, Frottage

Summary: There is a fear in Cas that if he lets Sam make himself at home in all of the places that Dean had declined to fill, he will lose the ability to ever refuse it again.  Or: Sam is sick, Cas is failing, and Dean is nowhere to be found. [implied unrequited destiel]

🔆

33. Feathers Falling by posingasme

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 13,144 | Chapters: 6/6

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angel Wings, Castiel in the Bunker, Permanent Injury, Protective Sam Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Fever, Delirium, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Alternate Canon, Season/Series 10, Angst [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Castiel has been hurt, but he won't reveal how bad it is. Sam distracts him from the pain by reading him classic love stories, and Cas just doesn’t think any of them depict a love as strong as theirs.

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34. Since When Does Sam Have PLANS? by Fae-and-night (goodgirlgonegeek16)

Gen | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 343 | Chapters: 1/1

Summary: "Dean’s POV on Sastiel, late seasons Sastiel, the ‘mistaken for a couple’ trope.

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35. Keep You from the Gallows Pole by Fallynleaf

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 7,337 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 10 Finale, Mark of Cain Cure, Charlie Lives, Implied Unrequited Destiel, Implied Unrequited Wincest, Implied Wincestiel, Asexual Relationship [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Season 10, if it were the love story of Sam and Cas.

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36. Episode 199.5 by posingasme

Part 1 of Before 200...

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Words: 56,473 | Chapters: 20/20

Tags: Mark of Cain, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Stolen Grace, Protective Dean Winchester, Demon Blood, BAMF Castiel, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Alternate Angel Lore, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Guilt

Summary: Dean is dealing with guilt, and fear of losing control to the Mark again. Castiel has new Grace, but eventually, it will burn out just as before. Sam just wants a fresh start all around. Life in the bunker is getting a bit...crowded. Memories and tempers are boiling over, along with something that has been heating up for a long time. Things get nasty when an old foe comes for Sam, and it's all hands on deck.

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37. Wingman by posingasme

Part 2 of Before 200...

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Words: 65,222 | Chapters: 21/21

Tags: Spoilers, Mark of Cain, Dreams and Nightmares, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Psychological Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Destructive Dean Winchester

Summary: Now that Sam and Castiel have been honest with one another, and Dean has given his blessing, the two are forced into the awkward stage of figuring out where to go from here. Dean is still battling against the Mark, and his anxiety manifests in various ways, some of which are healthier than others.

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38. Sentimental Iterations by fabella

M/M | Rating: Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 33,370 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Future Fic, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 10, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Betrayal, Deception, Winchester Style Death (Not Typical Death), Semi Curtain Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Anal Sex, Rimming, Bottom Sam, Oral Sex, Sam is a big damn hero, Castiel-centric, Human Castiel, Big Brother Dean, Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, Mental Instability, Sacrifice, Brother Feels, Grief/Mourning [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Castiel learned everything he knows about devotion from the Winchesters. In this peaceful future built on the back of Sam Winchester’s most recent sacrifice, Castiel discovers that death itself can be overcome. If he’s willing to pay the price. [Notes: Set after season 10. An entirely different take on season 11.]

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39. Sam's Room by NobleHouseOfBlack

M/M | Rating: Not Rated | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,864 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: No Dialogue, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Platonic Cuddling, Feel-good

Summary: Sam's room in the bunker didn't seem like his room. He slept there occasionally but there was nothing that would indicate he lived there.

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40. The Devil’s Gonna Let On That You’re In The Details by sahwen

M/M | Rating: Not Rated | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 3,055 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, Post-Episode: s11e10 The Devil in the Details, Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Season/Series 12, this fic spans across a lot of time, Hook-Up, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Trauma, Protective Dean Winchester, Supportive Dean, Post-Possession

Summary: Sam and Cas have been hooking up casually for a while when something feels off to Sam. He’s sure it’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

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41. Loved by the Devil, loved by an angel by N_13

Part 1 of Of this damned reality

M/M | Rating: Mature | Rape/Non-Con | Words: 3,076 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, everybody needs a hug, and therapy, Hurt/very little comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, No really every relationship in this is fucked up on some level, Hurt Sam Winchester, Season/Series 11, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, Enochian-Speaking Sam Winchester

Summary: Cas has loved Sam for quite some time. Then he said yes to Lucifer and everything went to hell.

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42. Heartbreak is Savvy and Love is a Bitch by Cuda (Scylla)

M/M | Rating: Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 2,405 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Lapdance, Light Dom/sub, Dom Castiel, Sub Sam Winchester, Sensation Play, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Safewords, Sam Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Sam Winchester is Bad at Self Care, Castiel's not the most experienced dom, Established Relationship, Light Angst [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: Castiel and Sam work on some fractures in their relationship. A gentle attempt at sensory play goes awry, leaving them scrambling to ratchet things back up to normal. Part of the 2020 Supernatural Kink Bingo.

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43. Thirty Years too Late by hyperbolicfae

Gen, M/M, Other | Rating: Teen+ | Rape/Non-Con | Words: 2,770 | Chapters: 2/2

Tags: Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Aftermath of Torture, Implied Mind Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Mary Winchester

Summary: Mary Winchester has rescued her son. She’s just thirty years too late. Or: The aftermath of Sam’s rescue from the British Men of Letters

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44. whore of babylon by angelszn (artbabe)

M/M | Rating: Mature | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 2,465 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Infidelity, Movie Night, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Floor Sex, Non-Penetrative Sex, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Past Rape/Non-con, Guilt, Gift Exchange [contains background destiel]

Summary: “Dean is a good man, and I love him. But sometimes, I…” Cas licks his lips. “Sam, I’m afraid.” Sam should leave. He should walk away. He should run. But his body is heavy and wine-drunk, his head spins at what Cas might be hinting at. “What are you afraid of?”

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45. The One You're With by gracerene

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 5,397 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Unrequited Wincest, Unrequited Sastiel, Platonic Sex, Friendship, Sexually Inexperienced Castiel, Fuck Or Die, Curses, Frottage, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 12, Hung Sam Winchester, Present Tense

Summary: Sam knows better than to touch anything in the bunker that looks even the slightest bit suspicious. And yet…

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46. Wins & Losses by Threshie

M/M, Multi | Rating: Teen+ | Major Character Death | Words: 17,384 | Chapters: 8/8

Tags: Temporarily Dead Castiel, Heartbroken Sam Winchester, Comforting Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sastiel, Wincest, Wincestiel, Poly Vee With Sam Pivot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Men of Letters Bunker, Angst with a Happy Ending, Touchy-Feely, Grieving Sam Winchester, Idiots in Love [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: A few months after Sam and Castiel start dating, the angel is killed. Still reeling from the loss of his best friend, Dean can’t just sit and watch Sam’s heartbreak slowly pull him away, too.

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47. Now I am here by Matthew1972

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 13,728 | Chapters: 5/5

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Asexual Relationship, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Feelings Realization, Hugs, Boys Kissing, Case Fic, Monster Hunters, Crime Scenes, Angst, Blood, Hurt, Pagan Gods, Magic

Summary: Castiel and Sam have come to another nameless town to free it from the claws of a dark and ancient power. As they work the case their friendship grows stronger, changing into something more or does it? This, here, now… brings the confirmation they each needed.

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48. Something Good by posingasme

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 5,876 | Chapters: 4/4

Tags: Food Issues, showtunes, Sleep Deprivation, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester

Summary: Everyone deals with their losses in their own way, and Sam prefers to work things out on his own. But his angel friend can’t stand on the sidelines as the hunter wastes away in pain. Sam may have had a complex past, but an angel’s love is proof that he must have done something good.

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49. Something to Talk About by Fae-and-night (goodgirlgonegeek16)

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 777 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: mentions Castiel but he's not actually here, Bunker Era, Dean being a big brother, telltale hickies, Love Bites

Summary: To be honest, Sam thought it took Dean way longer than he would’ve expected to figure he and Castiel were together.

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50. Lois by posingasme

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 4,195 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Superman References (DCU), Awkward Crush, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings

Summary: Jack discovers the joy of comic books, and reminds Castiel of a time when Bobby Singer called him Superman. And Dean had an opinion about who his Lois Lane was.

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51. Happy Ain't a Two-Story Victorian, But it Might Be This by Cuda (Scylla)

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 3,382 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Episode: s14e15 Peace of Mind, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake Marriage, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Dean Winchester Tries, Family Issues, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Bonding

Summary: Sam and Castiel have been on a mission to an Arkansas hamlet, and they haven't checked in. When Dean and Jack trail them to a quiet street in Charming Acres, what they find is nothing like either of them expected. To be honest, cleaning out a nest of vampires might be easier than this, but Dean's going to give it the old college try. Whatever that means.

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52. Milestones and Misunderstandings by klove0511

Part 2 of Milestones 'verse

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 2,711 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: mildly homophobic!Mary, inappropriate anniversary gifts, protective!Dean, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Season/Series 14, Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, Oblivious!Dean

Summary: There is something different about Sam and Cass. The lingering stares, the intimate touches. The careful whispers and secret smiles. Dean knew it. He was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

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53. Stricta Dormire by klove0511

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | Major Character Death | Words: 3,583 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Temporary Character Death, Fairy Tale Type Death, Established Relationship, Hurt Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hell Trauma, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Castiel, Grief/Mourning, True Love's Kiss

Summary: When Sam is hit by a spell, Cass is the only one that can save him. Meanwhile, Dean is grieving his brother, unaware of the struggle going on within Sam’s mind.

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54. Roadhouse Rough by posingasme

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 12,738 | Chapters: 10/10

Tags: Curtain Fic, Alcohol, Hurt Sam Winchester, Retired Hunter Sam Winchester, Bartender Sam Winchester, Permanent Injury

Summary: The last tangle with the last archangel ended with an act of spite, from which Sam will never recover. Lucifer’s bitter parting gift to his wayward vessel means Sam’s forced retirement. He runs the hub from his very own Roadhouse, and watches over a powered-down nephilim, while a weakened but recovering Castiel hunts at Dean’s side. It’s a rough life, but someone’s got to do it.

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55. Familiar Spirits by Cuda (Scylla)

M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 6,619 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Wisconsin - Freeform, The Beast of Bray Road, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Season/Series 15, Monster of the Week, Case Fic, Sastiel Secret Santa Exchange, Sastiel - Freeform, Sastiel Secret Santa 2019

Summary: Fills in a little gap of time between 15-7 and 15-8. Sam's on the hunt for Eileen, and winds up on a case in the middle of Wisconsin in December. What seems like a straightforward case of werewolves gets out of hand, when the werewolves turn out to be something Sam's never encountered before. It's Castiel to the rescue, but in the middle of the night in a refrigerator of a forest, one wrong move could be the last one they ever make.

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56. a rock with a hole in it by De_Nugis

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 11,052 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: faerie - Freeform, possibly in some way a Canadian shack fic, except Faerie, Consent Issues, animal death (hunting), Unrequited Destiel, Soulless Sam Winchester, POV Castiel

Summary: Castiel walks back into Faerie with Sam's soul in a jar in his pocket.

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57. Right Now by spideybegins

Gen, M/M | Rating: Teen+ | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 1,512 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Hurt Sam Winchester, Comforting Castiel, samcas, Sastiel - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 15, Angst, Crying Sam Winchester, Don’t Look at These Messy Tags, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, no beta we die like men

Summary: The one where Cas hears Sam crying and realizes he’s been avoiding the youngest Winchester for much too long. Set somewhere in season 15.

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58. It’s Good to Be Here Again, With You by raisinghellonstarbug

M/M | Rating: Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 2,240 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Canon Compliant, Reunions, Mentioned Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Season/Series 15, Episode: s15e07 Last Call

Summary: Sam is missing Castiel and doesn't understand why he left. He knows Dean has something to do with it. But then he shows back up just in time before Sam's in real trouble.

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59. wishing too hard for them to stay by angelfishofthelord

Gen | Rating: Not Rated | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 1,727 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Episode s15e17 coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, One Shot, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Speculation, POV First Person, POV Sam Winchester [complete tags on Ao3]

Summary: You tell me you’re doing to die, and I don’t yell at you. Instead I say, “Let’s go for a walk.”

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⚠️ Unfinished Fic - last updated in 2013

60. Of Blood And Water by lovedsammy

M/M, Gen | Rating: Mature | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Words: 20,081 Chapters: 7/?

Tags: 8x23, Fallen Angels, Post Season/Series 08, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Romance, Angst, fallen!cas, Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Cas, Slash, stigmata!sam, Stigmata, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, AU, Season/Series 9 canon divergent, Friendship

Summary: Now AU to season 9! Post-8x23, "Sacrifice". Both of them were wounded, broken, in need of repair; both of them had done things in the name of the greater good and had ultimately failed and caused something or another to bend and break and destroy upon itself. They'd both wrecked themselves to achieve an end, and in turn wrecked others. But they couldn't have been more than two opposites on the end of the spectrum that somehow aligned at the middle-point, and now there was no going back.

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💜💀🖤 Self Rec 💜💀🖤

(because this is a list of my favs, and I wrote it for me)

61. grief and husbands on the interstate by ladygizarme

M/M | Rating: Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Words: 2,787 | Chapters: 1/1

Tags: background wincest, background wincestiel - Freeform, they're a polycule but they're sam-centered, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Rimming, Bottom Sam Winchester, Spit As Lube, Wound Tending, Episode: s14e01 Stranger in a Strange Land, part coda, Part fix-it, Polyamory, Anal Sex

Summary: En route from Detroit back to the bunker, Cas makes them stop at a motel. Sam is exhausted, and so is everybody else. But right now, Castiel's priority is Sam, and he knows just what he needs. Part coda, part fix-it to 14x01.

[cellarspider]

20/?? Special delivery

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

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We return to a movie that has never been to medical school, Prometheus. 

Here it is. The scene that everybody remembers because it gave a fair few people the screaming heebies. This is their version of the chestburster scene–except for the less impactful, literal version of the chestburster scene we’ll get later, I mean. This one, though, this one, they got it right.

Content warnings for gore, nudity, nude gore, exhaustive discussions of the place of chestbursting in franchise history.

But first! I saw a tag with a desire to see the scene with David and the star map. To spare everyone from watching the rest of the movie to get there, here it is!

[See previous post for lengthy description of the events. I didn’t talk about the music in this before though! It really adds to the sense of wonder in this scene. It reminds me of Daft Punk’s Overture to Tron Legacy (2010), another beautiful and flawed movie. Given the modern use of temporary music in editing that definitely sneaks into what directors demand of scores, there’s a chance this was a direct influence. In terms of the “oh wow, space!” feeling it gives me, I’d also mention the Star Trek TNG opening theme.]

Anyway! On with the horror.

In Alien, the creature’s life cycle was developed by writer Dan O'Bannon, who had two major ideas for its early appearances: sexual, reproductive threat directed at a male character, and Crohn’s disease. O’Bannon had Crohn’s, and he said that inspired the idea of a critter chewing its way out of a man’s guts. 

That personal connection has been lost through subsequent media, in part because the series has continued to use the same creature and the same method of killing, minor deviations like in Covenant and tasteless ones like AvP Requiem notwithstanding. The chestburster is a thing that can only ever really work once in a movie. The first time is relatively drawn out, made a setpiece of the movie, and is a horrifying plot twist for anyone who goes in blind. After that? Drawing it out may risk becoming meaningless gore or boring, so most movies have chosen to just have the little bugger pop out within seconds. It’s the sideshow before you get to the main event, despite being the iconic scene of Alien.

Prometheus’ equivalent scene wins back a fair amount of tension by altering the details of the event, if not the general arc of it. It certainly hammers on the reproductive horror aspect, but loses the original subversion of targeting a male character. Which is a shame, because male-targeted reproductive horror is still boundary-pushing. From the world of horror gaming, Outlast: Whistleblower produced some notably panicked reactions from male players when they encountered the emasculating, specifically reproductive threat of Eddie Gluskin. (Content warning for gore, death, forced feminization, misogynistic language, censored nudity.)

Regardless, we have The Chestburster Scene again, but now it’s in the back half of the movie, and happens to the main human protagonist.

I find it very odd that this movie is so self-consciously iterating over things that were first done in Alien. It’s like watching a devout Catholic pray at the Stations of the Cross.

Speaking of crosses

Before we get to the main event, there’s the first actual attempt at character work between David and Shaw in the movie, as we’re in the final act. David confiscates Shaw’s cross as she wakes up from her post-boyfriend-barbeque faint. “It may be contaminated,” he says.

Shaw’s christianity is one of the few character traits in the film that ties into one of the themes, and has its own arc. She’s giving up her cross to the person who killed her partner, a metaphor for a crisis of faith which is so blatant as to barely be a metaphor at all. And, given the general arc of how these things go, means she’s going to get it back at some point. The context for it is going to be confusing and disappointing, frankly.

And it’s especially weird given the other metaphor going on simultaneously: David runs some scans on her, and declares she’s three months pregnant. This is a non-virgin virgin pregnancy. She is Alien Mary. This, then, is the narrative reason why Shaw is infertile–so that she could be the Mary figure, and, more practically for the plot, have foreknowledge that something was wrong. 

Except it really didn’t have to be that way to make this work. While christian allegory and the creation of life are themes in this movie, Shaw’s infertility was handled with zero grace. And honestly, the movie could work without it–Shaw and Holloway did not have romantic chemistry, as far as I could tell. Lean into that! Just say they haven’t had sex in ages. This scene would actually flow better, because Shaw explicitly objects that she only had sex with Holloway “ten hours ago. There's no bloody way I'm three months pregnant.”

Which again hammers in how stupid fast this movie has been racing its characters toward their doom, but I’m immediately distracted by David pronouncing “it's not exactly a traditional fetus.”

It certainly isn’t. It’s an alien squid, placed there by the holy spirit of black goo. She’s all set to give birth to Squesus. 

I think that’s the only worse way he possibly could’ve said it.

David, frankly, gets some of his worst dialog of the movie here, because he is infected by The Plot for a bit. “It must feel like your God has abandoned you,” he says, after sedating her, “to loose Dr. Holloway after your father died under such similar circumstances.” Which leaves one momentarily with the wild mental image of Dad Shaw sacrificing himself to a flamethrower-welding corpo, but no, David means ebola. David found this out via that dream-watching tech that exists solely to be a mildly unnecessary plot point. Blessedly, this is the last time we see any mention of it.

It’s very strange, how the movie is stuffed full of plot and edited so tightly around the plot that characters barely have room to breathe, yet what it prioritizes as plot-relevant is so scattershot. This failing is also inflicted upon the part of the otherwise very effective Chestburster: The Prequel scene.

Shaw attacks the people who come to take her away to cryo, running in her underwear to the PAULING MED-POD the movie very loudly announced earlier, so that you wouldn’t forget it exists. She tells the PAULING MED-POD that she needs an emergency caesarian. The PLOTPOINT MED-POD informs her that it’s only formatted for male patients.

I’ve seen many people complain this makes no sense. It’s in Vickers’ quarters,  why would she have an expensive medical device that she can’t fully use? Others counter that no, it makes sense, because the med-pod was actually installed for Peter Weyland, thus justifying its male specificity. He’s a selfish bastard, he got it for himself, plot hole avoided.

…Except that doesn’t address the more fundamental problem: What does this add to this scene, to balance out the fact that the audience is now distracted by this information? It slows Shaw down a bit as she figures out how to cue up a foreign body extraction from the abdominal cavity, adding to the tension. But you don’t need that to be what draws out the scene. Maybe the PAULING MED-POD has a slow boot-up sequence. Maybe someone follows her there, and she has to fight them off, possibly killing them in her panic. A dead body in the room would solve an actual logical problem with a later scene.

It’s frustrating, because the pacing of this scene is actually excellent, as is its premise. Shaw has to forego anesthesia and make do with self-administered local painkillers, because the prosthetics and CG teams have done a bang-up job making her stomach writhe unpleasantly, making it very clear that whatever’s in there is mobile enough to be a danger to her, even if it’s removed. 

The pods instruments are mostly CG, but its combination of unhurried routine and abrupt, industrial roboticism adds to the uncomfortable nature of the scene. Sound design is also important here, with all sound effects well-chosen, and mixed to imply claustrophobic closeness and how trapped Shaw is.

The creature itself? Eh. It’s a slightly phallic squid, and squids were already slightly phallic to begin with. They added on a slightly vaginal mouth, which is also a lateral move--squid mouths already look quite a lot like an unworksafe orifice with a beak tucked away in it. Unless you're looking at Promachoteuthis sulcus, whose inner lip structures fold into patterns that look distressingly like human teeth.

Honestly, this is freakier than the actual prop. Good job, Promachoteuthis sulcus. You're only 25 mm long, and a delightful tiny terror.

...But the fact that Shaw’s stuck in the pod with her flailing squid-child is what actually adds another minute of fear and wince-worthy pain, as the almost comically brutal medical staple gun closes her incision and the pod slowly opens up.

She tries to kill it with what appears to be a soothing mist of decontamination spray. This is the one other stumble of the scene, because it’s just… I mean, look at it.

It’s just been spritzed with Febreze. There’s nothing that leaves you wondering if the thing’s still alive for later, you know it’s still alive.

But overall, a well-done scene. The standout horror scene of the movie, which is light on scares. That sparsity wouldn’t even be worth mentioning if the movie were going for slow tension, but with its strange blend of existential quandaries and unremarkable horror tropes, it takes a very strong, singular scene to feel like the tension has actually paid off. I don’t think it completely balances out the deficits of the rest of the horror, but it very nearly manages it, and does manage to be memorable.

Next time: An entirely underwhelming horror scene, and the movie takes another swing at having themes.

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(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

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Citations for alt-text rambles:

https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/aug/30/memory-the-origins-of-alien-review-francis-bacon-greek-myth-dan-o-bannon-sci-fi-classic-film 

https://www.stanwinstonschool.com/blog/aliens-chestburster-mechanism-behind-the-scenes 

https://avp.fandom.com/wiki/Seegson 

https://stackoverflow.com/questions/3314219/how-do-u-v-coordinates-work 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surgical_staple (medical gore cw)

https://sites.uw.edu/pauling2020/ 

https://www.paulinamarket.com/

Overflow Ramble #1

A shot of the screen on Chekhov’s g–I mean the PAULING MED-POD, showing the text “EMERGENCY PROCEDURE”, and that it is “AWT VERBAL CMD”. The med-pod turns out to be a Weyland product, because all corporations in Alien movies are either Weyland, Yutani, or Seegson, if you’re particularly unlucky (cite 3). 

They made the mistake of putting more actual words on here, and so I’m squinting at the top right corner at “CARDIAC STRESS TEST”, “ELECTROCARDIOGRAPHY” AND “MECH ALGN TCH”, which means the pod appears to think she needs to have her heart checked or her wheels aligned.

But what I find funniest is that there’s coordinate sliders in the center bottom: X/Y/Z and U/W. You know where I recognize that from? 3D modeling. U/V/W are used as an alternate coordinate system in that context (cite 4). Somebody was designing this, thinking “well, we need more buttons. Where can I get more buttons?” and then looked at the horrid mass of options and sliders in their modeling software and realized they had the answer.

Overflow Ramble #2

A close-up of David’s hands, holding a sample container and placing Shaw’s necklace inside. Two details, one of them insane, the other just plain funny: First of all, this is a different set of hands than the one when David was messing with the black goo–there was a small but notable blemish on the fingerprint that wasn’t there, proving once again that hand and arm doubles are one of the odder things you don’t think about in film production.

Second: The container is turned so that the label on it is facing away. This allows you to see the necklace, but it also highlights a completely flat Braille label, reading “PN#ZTZouSthe#Z”, which is obviously very informative.

But the real reason why the label is facing away is because it almost hides the fact that the label says “PRODUCT CODE” on it, which means he may have just put Shaw’s necklace in an empty peanut butter jar.

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(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

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[evilwickedme]

So if Superman is Moses and Captain America is David, do you think that Spider-Man is Job?

He's always miserable, with suffering piled upon suffering and loss piled upon loss. But he always has faith in the goodness of humanity and the righteousness of his duty. He maintains his faith throughout all of his trials, and that's what makes him a hero.

(I was thinking about how Judaism and Xianity see G-d differently, and more specifically how they see faith and obedience to G-d differently. In Judaism faith isn't about obedience, and G-d is often an allegory for the world just as the world is often an allegory for G-d — at least that's how I interpreted the fact that 90% of our prayers are thanking G-d for creating a specific aspect of material reality. So if the story of Job is, from a Jewish perspective, isn't about unwavering obedience to a single entity but instead about having unwavering faith in the goodness of the world, then it fits Peter Parker almost to a T, right?)

Wow ok I am SO pissed off that I wrote the answer to this for a full hour and now it's just fucking gone because Tumblr decided not to publish it when I hit post. What the very fuck. So I'm going to try to shorten what I wrote a little and hopefully it'll still make sense. But this is a great ask, for real.

Anyway. I feel like something that's been lost in my most popular posts is that my central thesis when it comes to the Jewish nature of superheroes is not that there's a 1:1 between every hero and a historical, mythological, or Tanakhi figure. The central thesis is, instead, that the very concept of heroism as presented in comics is tied to the Jews who created the genre; it's just very easy to demonstrate these kinds of concepts with direct allegories that have such clear parallels. I actually have a third secret parallel that'll probably never see the light of day, between Magneto and Aher (and like, does anybody even know who Aher is? he's not exactly a well known figure).

One of the reasons I haven't posted this comparison is that it is largely thematic, and therefore requires considerably more explanation, especially for goyim or those who aren't familiar with Aher's story (אלישע בן אבויה fyi if that means anything to y'all). But that's sort of my point - it's much easier to point that Superman is literally Moses and Cap and David serve very similar purposes as characters than to talk about the fact that superheroism is based in Jewish values and traditions: the very idea that heroes are meant to make the world better through action as opposed to sacrifice, the value assigned to every single life (he who saves one life etc), characters becoming better people over time rather than going through dedicated redemption arcs, etc (I can't remember what I wrote here and it's driving me nuts thank you very much for asking).

I gave a lot of context here to the difference between Golden Age and Silver Age writing here but honestly again that took forever and I don't feel like typing it all up, so I'll just point out the basic facts which are that the people creating the comic book industry in the late 30s and early 40s were desperate Jews trying to save their people across the ocean, and also were only about ten or twenty years removed from having lived in the Old Country themselves. Their life and culture was intensely Jewish, they'd grown up in specific Jewish tales. By the time we get to Spider-Man, the situation is entirely different. It's been 25 years of comics (Superman debuted in '38, Spider-Man in '63), and the Jewish foundations of comic books and heroism are already baked in to the genre. Yes, the industry is still overwhelmingly Jewish, but now the separation from a purely Jewish upbringing and Jewish separatism in the Old Country is forty years old. The attempt now is to specifically make stories that haven't already been told - for Spider-Man, the main concept was that there had never been a teen hero before who stood on his own - one that wasn't part of team like the fantastic four, or, more typically, a sidekick.

All these differences actually mean that the coding of these characters is very different. Superman being Moses was intentional; Cap was created as anti-Nazi propaganda. Spider-Man was and is Jewish because he is such a pure example of what Jewish heroism is. He's flawed, he's angry, but he can't help himself from trying to save... Well, everyone. It is, however, important to note that he debuted a long while before Magneto was confirmed Jewish (I don't actually know if he was the first, bc I'm having trouble finding that kind of info easily on the internet, but he's certainly one of the most notable Marvel Jews ever, and he was confirmed as a Holocaust survivor relatively early); it was a whole before Marvel realized you could make somewhat prominent characters Jewish, let alone heroes, and by then Spider-Man was one of their best selling characters, and they're still afraid to this day to alienate readers by confirming him as such.

But moving onto Job - I think I have a very different read of the Book of Job from you, but that's not surprising to me; the Book of Job is incredibly opaque, and I doubt that any two people will interpret it exactly the same. Also, I was raised Orthodox, and I often have very different perspectives on various Jewish things than the typical American Jew. Here's how I view it, though.

Firstly, Job absolutely does not maintain his faith throughout the entire story. Yes, initially he's presented as the most pure person ever, one who has never even been tempted to do a chet (חטא, closest translation is sin; another word would be aveira, which would best be translated as a transgression). And, indeed, it is not his deeds that lead to him losing everything; it is instead Satan who argues to test his faith by taking everything he holds dear away from his - his money, his cattle, his children, his health, his wife.

It's noteworthy, for any goyiche reader, that Satan in Judaism is not the Christian Devil who rules hell. He's an adversary, for sure, but he's more like an opposing counsel; his role is to argue for every human's guilt, especially when someone has committed a terrible aveirah. Forgive me for saying this, but he's essentially a devil's advocate. He can be viewed as the manifestation of yetzer hara on a wider scale (yetzer hara and yetzer hatov are the two natural impulses we all have in ourselves, the first to be selfish or to commit bad deeds and the other to commit good deeds and help others; this is a neutral fact rather than a condemnation of any person, and also I'm massively oversimplifying things here). Also, he's a tattle-tale.

Anyway, back to Job. Yes, at first he does maintain his faith, through the loss of his property, his children, even his health; his wife, before she dies, begs him to curse God, and yet he doesn't. But when she does die, he spends a chapter lamenting the day he was born, regretting that he wasn't stillborn. At first this doesn't look like a direct accusation at God, but it absolutely is, as God is in charge of life and death, but also evidence by the following:

So Job does lose his faith, because as far as he can tell, he has never done anything wrong in his life ever, and yet he has been cursed to grieve everything he has ever had, and he won't even die.

Most of the book is dedicated to dialogue between himself and three of his friends, who come to the common conclusion that he must have done something wrong to deserve this treatment. But Job remains adamant: I did not deserve this.

The general lesson that many people take from this book is that God works in mysterious ways, blah blah. But like... We know, in fact, exactly why this story happened. We saw it! We saw Satan advocate to try Job! So what's the point of the book?

The point is the Job keeps asking "why". The point is that Job hears that God won't forgive his friends, despite the fact they blame him for his misfortune, and he still chooses to pray for them. The point is that he refuses to take what has happened to him quietly. Not accepting that what happened to him was just, but not accepting others' injustice either.

Ugh. I phrased all of this way better in the first draft. I really truly hate this.

Anyway my point is that Job, despite being far richer than the average Jew by the standards of his time, actually is meant to represent a very common situation: what do you when bad things happen. Do you blame yourself, or do you blame God? Do you let other people beat you when you're down, or do you stand up for yourself?

And the thing is those themes are universal, but they're not really related to Peter Parker in particular. In the shallowest sense, the kind I used to compare Cap and David or Superman and Moses, they do not have similar stories or backgrounds. Job has everything, and he loses it all, and he mourns all of it, including the property and money; Peter Parker is working class, has never had enough money, but we see again and again that he views it as a tool rather than a goal in and of itself. Spider-Man's origin is about learning to battle your yetzer hara, your darkest impulses, and we see Peter again and again trying to do his best even though he's often being pulled by his instincts to use his power for selfish purposes. Job does not ever have to learn any such lesson; he never did anything wrong.

The one thing in common between the two stories is that they both believe that every life has value - well, if Peter is being written by a competent authors at least - with Job praying to save the men who are literally called the "resha'im", the evil ones, and with Peter being the little man's hero. But that can be said about most heroes, especially the notable ones. Hell, there's an entire double page spread dedicated to the concept in Batwoman: Elegy. This is more of another indication of Jewish values making their way into the foundations of superhero comics than it is a similarity between Job and Peter.

Also, I feel like I need to be clear. Our prayers thanking God for creating something? Traditionally are simply thanking God for creating something. I'm not saying you can't interpret it as a metaphor for the world if that's what works for you, if that's how you see God, but God was very literal to most Jews for thousands of years, and I could talk for ages and ages about the schools of thought regarding God and the world and Maimonides and shit.

Speaking of which, we need to discuss the fact that Job is literally just some guy. Like he's not a prophet, he's not a leader or a judge, he's just some rich dude who lost everything, mourned it, and then got it all back. I've talked about this before, but one of the foundational ideas of my thesis is that the similarity between prophets having powers (such as Samson but also really any judge being considered a higher authority despite not even communing directly with God) and superheroes invokes Maimonides' claim that the first degree of prophecy is the need to act for the better good, being unable to ignore the ills of the world and doing your best to fix them - that people who incapable of ignoring that urge (and Peter, despite his occasional selfishness, often prioritizes Spider-Man in his life specifically because of that urge) are possessed by the spirit of God. Literal prophecy, communing with God, cannot exist without this base level. So, in effect, Peter is significantly holier than Job.

Anyway. Again, I've definitely missed some points because of Tumblr's fuck up and I intentionally skipped most of the history lesson that gave a lot of context which I didn't feel like typing up again, but this is most of it. Sorry if this wasn't what you hoped for, but this was a really interesting thing to talk about anyway, and I'm very grateful you gave me the opportunity to think it over.

[stepfordboys]

In His Father's Shoes

With bated breath, Timothy tiptoed into the family's home office. Hoping to find his stashed birthday present, but instead found his father, Tim. Tim's smug expression made it clear Timothy's entrance was expected.

"Don't even bother pretending to be surprised this time, Jr. I catch you every year trying to sneak a peek at your birthday present." Tim snickered.

Timothy laughed. "Fine. Fine. So, what's the punishment, old man?"

"No punishment," Tim said plainly. "In fact, I'm going to reward your childishly devious behavior. You can have your present early this year."

Timothy beamed with surprise. "What!? Really!?"

Tim's expression got even smugger. With one foot, he gently pushed his kicked-off and well-polished dress shoes in front of his son. "Happy birthday, Jr."

Timothy's expression quickly went from joyous anticipation to disappointed confusion. "Your... shoes? That's my present?! You're joking, right!?"

"Try them on." Tim teased, pushing the shoes closer to Timothy.

Timothy's confusion only grew as he looked down at his father's, well, his new shoes.

"Where's the enthusiasm? Where's the gratitude?" Tim teased even further.

Timothy sighed, slightly smirking and jokingly rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll humor you, old man. But I better get my real present after!"

With a raised eyebrow of suspicion, Timothy slipped his bare size 9 feet into his father's size 12 dress shoes. The shoes clearly hadn't been off his father's feet long - warm like a heated blanket. Oddly, the warmth was comforting to Timothy.

"How are they, Jr?" Tim teased.

Timothy exaggerated the look of confusion on his face. "Strange... they're a little too big for me."

"You can't fool me, Jr." Tim teased, slightly less playful this time. "You love them."

"Okay, Dad. No more fooling around. Where's my real-" Timothy lost all thought, silenced by a faint voice suddenly popping into his head. "He's right. You do love them. You could easily spend all day standing here in your father's shoes... your shoes."

"You look a little tense all of a sudden, Jr." Tim teased. "You're hanging out with your old man. Nothing stressful about that. Just relax."

"He's right. Your father is always right. Relax. Relax. Relax." the voice droned, this time louder than before. The word "Relax" echoed through Timothy's mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Suddenly, Timothy felt as if he had just gotten done having a full body massage - every inch of him utterly relaxed.

"There, much better." Tim relished in his son's newly calm expression. "You feel nothing but relaxed. Too relaxed to think. Too relaxed to do anything but stand there. Let all thought dissipate. Let it all evaporate. Clear your mind completely. Let my words be the only thing that resides within your mind."

"No thoughts of your own. Only fathers. Only fathers. Only fathers." the voice rang throughout Timothy's head, erasing all apprehension. He felt blank. Empty and still, like a statue.

Tim maliciously smirked. "My words are truth. My words are your reality. Do you know why, Jr? Because I'm your father. I made you. I'm your creator, your god."

"He made you. He created you. You're his son, his creation. He owns you. Owns your body. Owns your mind." the voice droned, no longer resembling a stranger but his very own inner voice. Suddenly, Timothy was washed over by a wave of faith, deifying his father in his mind.

Tim looked his unmoving son up and down, grinning like a supervillain, enjoying every second of his son's blank expression. Trying to contain his laughter as Timothy began to drool. "You know, those shoes are a little big on you." he teased, his eyes now on the perfectly-polished dress shoes. "Big shoes require big feet. Size 12 feet."

"Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet." Timothy's new inner voice droned. His feet vibrated, slowly expanding and widening, stopping only when his feet fit perfectly into the shoes.

"Much, much better." Tim smiled, but his satisfied smile only lasted for a moment. "Hmm, now your feet are almost too big for your body, Jr! Big feet belong on a tall, meaty body."

"Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty." Timothy's inner voice droned. His ankles pulsed, spreading up through his entire body. His clothes tore as his legs stretched and thickened; torso broadened; butt swelled; chest expanded; neck and arms bulked. Timothy was now as tall and wide as his father.

"Perfect. Simply perfect." Tim was beyond thrilled with his son's new and improved physique. "Hmm, that baby face of yours doesn't quite match your new masculine physique, does it, Jr? A strong, masculine face is what a masculine body requires. A face like mine. My face."

"Father's face. Father's face. Father's face." Timothy's inner voice droned. His face pulsed, losing all sense of boyishness as it morphed into chiseled statuesque perfection. His wavy hair receded, leaving it short and more mature. His face now resembled his father's exactly - a mirror image.

"Perfect. However, Do you know what should come from such a manly face? A deep, manly voice. A voice like mine. My voice." Tim scoffed.

"Father's voice. Father's voice. Father's voice." Timothy's inner voice droned. His newly thickened neck vibrated, significantly jutting his Adam's apple.

"Let's hear that new manly voice in action, shall we, Jr?" Tim teased. "Speak, boy."

"Sir, yes, Sir." Timothy expressionlessly stated. His voice now identically resembled his father's - deep, rugged, and undoubtedly manly.

Tim's satisfactory smirk returned. "Perfection." He got up from his chair and walked up to his son. He softly caressed his son's newly chiseled jawline with his index finger, examining him like a freshly chiseled statue. He then looked directly into his son's eyes. "You may look empty, but I know you're still in there, Jr."

Timothy looked like he checked out long ago, but, in reality, he'd been watching from afar. Locked away in the empty darkness. Trapped in his own mind - a helpless observer. Forced to watch himself be converted into his father's likeness.

Tim maniacally grinned, once aging, gazing back down at the perfectly polished dress shoes his new and improved son was wearing. "You know what they say about big feet, Jr.: Big feet. Big meat."

"Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat." Timothy's inner voice droned. His crotch vibrated, swelling and growing. His already torn pants tore more as his cock released itself. He now had a thick, juicy member between his legs: just like his father - exactly like his father.

"Perfect!" Tim sat back down in his chair. He looked his son up and down once more, prideful in his work. "Now, you resemble me completely. However, the body must match the mind, Jr. My body. My mind."

"Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind." Timothy's inner voice droned. Suddenly, he has flooded with his father's interests and personality. Far back in the darkness, Timothy felt himself disappearing - not evaporating but sinking. Falling further into darker nothingness as his father's mind replaced his own.

"Sink, boy," Tim commanded. "Lose yourself to me. Feel yourself drain into your balls. Fill them. Swell them with your essence."

Timothy sunk further, now melting into his balls. Losing all sense of humanity as he morphed into thick, hot cum. Timothy's cock stiffened as his balls swelled with his old self. A small part of himself still hung on by a thread.

"Let go, boy," Tim commanded, his malicious grin beaming ear to ear.

Timothy's newly low-hanging swelled balls pulsed. The small part of Timothy that remained filled with dread, as he knew his time was soon up. His newly-thick member stiffened to an uncomfortable degree, ready to fire off at any moment.

"Cum!" Tim demanded.

With that came a massive load. What was left of Timothy's mind jettisoned out onto the floor. Timothy was now nothing but a sticky mess on the home office carpet. With a moan of gleeful satisfaction, Tim pressed his beautifully shaped, perfectly adorned foot into the puddle of his son's expelled essence. He wiggled his toes around, absorbing his son into his warm, sweaty dress socks - enriching the masculine scent of his godly size 12 feet. Timothy was gone. All that remained was Tim.

[amourlyns]

⠀ 「 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧. 」

⠀ ━━ 🌷 💕

✦ 𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 ⨟⠀ Arthur comes back to your homestead after months of being gone.

✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ⨟⠀ Arthur Morgan + fem!civilian reader ✦ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ⨟⠀Inspired by Both Sides Of The Moon by Celeste and Gott Street Park 🫶🏾

✦ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ⨟⠀ None

⠀ ★ ⠀ | ARTHUR CONFIDES IN YOU WHEN HE can. It’s never when wants of course, he didn’t have that luxury. The life he lived would never offer him that. You knew that very well, so did he.

In fact, Arthur Morgan is the very reason your springs were lonely, left alone in fields of sweet grass, spring clovers and fresh morning dew.

Sometimes it felt like the cardinals were mocking you, singing in a lovers coo with nothing but soul in their hearts. Every spring, you’d watch the environment change by yourself, somehow your thoughts would drift to him, that damn cowboy who stole your heart one faithful evening.

It was the little things of course, little echoes and path ways that led you back to him. Sometimes it was a deer, a fawn on new shaky legs. So young, so spirited. Speckled over with daisy white speckles on brown fur.

Then sometimes it was simply a meadow, covered with soft grass, fallen logs cultivated in lichen, springtails and moss. You could already envision the various ideas scattered throughout his journal from the mere description of Strawberry in the springtime.

Filled with life and greenery, everything was so beautiful, so full. Yet it still felt empty without him— Arthur. Suddenly the look of morning dew on an early morning under the suns golden rays didn’t satisfy you anymore.

What was the word for this yearning? This desire to bring back

Your lost love? Mooning, it was mooning. In fact, the moon was a somber reminder of that. Beams of moonlight illuminated your bed; the bed Arthur Morgan used to lay in.

It still had to he faint scent of leather, gunpowder, and sandalwood. The smell of Arthur came in like rising tides at dusk, washing over you in waves. Hazy visions of the outlaw clouded your mind, calloused fingers that used to rub along your side and spine.

Maybe this love was tainted, like an icicle melting off into a stream during the spring. It would form again, then melt once more.

It was the cycle of your love, he’d always trickle back to you. Creating permanent cracks in your mind, pathways that always lead you back to Arthur Morgan.

Your thoughts come to a stop, the knock at the door startles you. Surely it wasn’t… Could it be?

It takes you about two seconds to fully process everything, you’re already peaking through your blinds to figure out who might be at your door at such an hour. A familiar blue button up shirt and an even more familiar hat instantly soothed your wild thoughts.

Your heart only swelled, with your chest filled with warmth.

Oh, Arthur.

Your feet are quicker than your mind, it would be wise and logical to stay in bed and just wait it out. But you’re thinking with your heart instead, your feet propel you forward

You’re finally met with your door, there’s a sense of dread. The possibility of Arthur not being the one at your door was frightening. Apparently not frightening enough to make you turn back though.

Palms would grab the handle of your door knob, twisting with in a slow fashion. You’re met with the sound of creaky door, heavy boots and a shaky breath.

One thing you note, is how hesitant he is to enter your space. Despite the many months you’ve spent together in the privacy of your residence, away for prying towns folk and travelers… he still hid away. Was it out of shame? Or was it out of guilt?

You’d always feel Arthur back in again though. With open arms and an open door.

[unreadpoppy]

Cirice

Priest! Raphael x Fem! Tav

Read on AO3

Warnings: This is kinda dark and blasphemous, and it goes a lot into religious guilt I guess. Raphael is very manipulative and there is a non consensual kiss at the end.

A/N: Remember when I said I would take a break from writing? I lied, bitch. Anyways, this is inspired by the song "Cirice" by Ghost, and by some things I have been thinking about lately. Enjoy.

After the sudden death of Father John, a new priest had taken his place in the church, and in a short amount of time, he had amassed the love of many. 

Father Raphael was a handsome man. When he preached, he spoke with such power, his voice echoed around the room. After mass, it was customary to see him talking with some of the followers, most of them older women, who would swoon with every smirk he sent their way. 

Soon, the church had more and more people attending it, all charmed by Father Raphael. 

Of course, he loved the attention. How the flocks of poor, little lambs would follow him around, asking him for advice. He especially loved when they confessed their sins to him, pouring their hearts out and asking for a forgiveness that would never come. 

After all, there was no God;. When they cried about their fear of eternal punishment, they were unaware that Hell was already here. 

Tonight’s mass happened while it rained outside. Near the end of the ceremony, one person entered the building, all wet. Even amongst the multitude of people, Raphael could feel her presence. Try as she might, she couldn’t hide from him. 

Tav. The lost little mouse. She would always sit in the back, make as little noise as possible, and leave without even looking at him. Raphael had tried to speak with her before, but she would cower away. 

At first, when Raphael had first started preaching, Tav was always there. She’d go every time there was mass, arriving early and quickly leaving once it was done. Always with her head down, praying intensely.

But for the past few months, she attended less and less. Raphael, being the devil that he was, could feel that her faith was starting to waiver. 

And that was exactly what he needed. A lost soul, an insecure one, ready to be taken by someone else. Like the snake that once convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, Raphael would make Tav turn from God and onto him. 

Mass ended, and after a few ladies had questions for him, Raphael ushered them away, saying that the rain would get heavier if they stayed too long. Everyone left, until there was only Tav, who kneeled on her bench, hands clutched and eyes closed as she prayed. 

Slowly, Raphael walked towards her until he was in front of her. She finished her prayer, making the sign of the cross, and turned to look at him. 

“May I sit here?” He asked. Tav nodded and made space for him to sit. He looked at her, noticing the distant look in her eyes and the frown on her face. “What ails you, child?” 

She shook her head, arms embracing herself. “Nothing, Father. It’s just the cold.” 

“Are you sure? Because I have noticed how less and less you join us here.” Her back straightened. She had been noticed.  He got closer to her and said “You can tell me anything.”

“I…I don’t know if I should…say what I want.” Tav whispered. 

“And why not?” Instead of answering, Tav looked up at the giant crucified Jesus that hung on the back of the church, the one Father Raphael would preach from underneath it. As Tav looked at Christ’s face, she shuddered. 

“Ah. I see now.” He looked in the same direction she did. “Do not worry, child. God is all forgiving.” Raphael said, although he knew a different truth. 

“Is He?” She said. “Is He truly that forgiving?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Tav took a deep breath. “I used to come here almost every day, since I was small. My parents wanted me to be a good Catholic girl. I was baptized, I did first communion. I prayed every single night before bed.”

“But?”

“But…I never felt this connection that everyone speaks of.” Tav said quietly, as if confessing something she shouldn’t. “I never felt God’s presence as everyone else claims.” She looked at him for a moment. Although his warm brown eyes were inviting, she always felt something sinister behind them. 

Tav looked down again. “Forgive me, Father. I shouldn’t be saying these things in the house of the Lord.”

She attempted to stand up, but Raphael put his hand on her shoulder, making her sit again. “Please, wait.” Tav looked at him, fright in her eyes. “I can see you have more to say.”

“How?”

Raphael smirked. “I can see that there’s a thunder breaking in your heart. I can see through the scars inside you.” He placed a hand on her back. “Tell me, what have you done?” 

Tav sighed, the warmth of his hand was welcomed, considering she was still shivering from the cold. “As I said, I used to pray every night. And I believed that if I didn’t pray before sleeping, something bad would happen.” She gulped. “It was horrible. If I slept before praying, I would spend the waking hours worrying about everything. I couldn’t find sleep if I didn’t pray.” Tav took a deep breath before continuing. “So I just stopped. And right after I did so, my grandmother died.”

A tear ran down her face, and Raphael wiped it. “And ever since then, things have only gotten worse. It feels as if God is punishing me. Tonight was the first night I prayed in three months, and I felt nothing!” Tav sobbed. “But how is it fair, Father? My prayers always fell on deaf ears. He never listens, but the moment you stop praying, He punishes you?” 

The sound of thunder from outside echoed in the church. The lights went out. Raphael smirked. 

“What a poor, sad, little mouse you are, my dear Tav.” He put a hand on her head, caressing her hair. If it was someone else, Tav would have found it a gentle touch, but coming from him, she felt something was wrong. “You are lost and you feel that God has failed you.” He spoke, as if talking to a child. “But fear not. God has not abandoned you.” 

She looked up at him, frowning. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.” He smirked and she got a bad feeling in her stomach. “God hasn’t abandoned you, because He was never here to begin with.” As he said that, Raphael made a gesture with his hand, and all the candles in the church were lit. 

Tav immediately stood up. “What…what are you?” She demanded, walking away from him. 

Raphael stood up. “I am your salvation.” 

She ran towards the open door, but he waved his hand and they closed in front of her face. Tav turned around, her back on the door. He approached her. “You have wasted a whole life praying and believing in a God that wouldn’t listen. One that would soon damn you to an eternity in Hell before helping you. But I listen to you, and I can make all your indulgences come to fruition just like that.” He snapped his fingers, making flames dance around his hand for a moment. 

Raphael was right in front of her. “You won’t be lost, little mouse, for I have found you.” 

“What…what do you want from me?” 

Raphael’s smirk grew. “I want your devotion. I want that everytime that you pray, it won’t be for him-” He pointed towards the cross. “But instead, for me. I want you to place your faith in me.” 

“And-and why should I do it?”

He chuckled. “Why not? You said it yourself, you don’t pray to God anymore. But I am here, I can see you, I will soothe your worries away.” Raphael whispered in a dark tone. “Wouldn’t it be much nicer to pray to someone who would listen?” 

Tav felt conflicted. This was all blasphemy and went against everything she had ever believed. But, as she said before, Tav never felt God’s presence near her. It was much easier to believe in what was right in front of her, someone she could see. 

“I guess…it would be nice.” Tav said, looking at him. His face was inches away from hers. 

“So, do you promise to devote yourself to me? To turn away from God and believe in me? To get on your knees and pray for me, your savior and master?” 

Tav hesitated momentarily. “I-I promise.” 

Raphael smiled, and he was engulfed in flames, human skin melting away, and in turn, a devil stood in his place, still with the priest’s clothes on. Tav’s eyes widened as he grabbed her face with both of his hands and said “Good” before harshly kissing her.

Tav contorted to try and get away from him. Then, he bit down on her bottom lip, and soon, the taste of blood filled her mouth. He let go, his own lips tainted with her blood.

The deal had been made, and Raphael was satisfied. As Tav put a hand on the mouth, he took a step back. “I will see you soon, little mouse.” He snapped his fingers, disappearing in thin air and leaving Tav alone to wonder what had she just done.

[aufi-creative-mind]

I hc that the Bargainer Statues are early depictions of the Fierce Deity (who's true form therefore has 4 eyes), who is referred to as a Kishin in Japanese, which according to folklore, are wrathful, powerful, even scary-looking beings & vicious fighters, but are also deeply compassionate, benevolent, & protectors at there core. They're said to enact just & righteous vengeance for those who've been wronged.

Anyway, my thoughts are that he is the 3rd in the Hylian/Demise triad, being where the Hero's Spirit originates from. I also hc that he created the Sheikah much like how Hylia created the Hylians. (So, if the naming conventions follow, his true name could start with "Shei" or "Sheik.")

Anyway, he's a god of war, the moon, heroism, & death. Which is why Link is always able to see spirits. He gathered spirits & fought or soothed Poes (the enemies) either by fighting them or playing the Song of Healing.

The Dark Clumps being pieces of the pseudo-flesh that spirits form to create Poes & the Depths Set being made from this pseudo-flesh.

Also, I hc that the symbols are actually ancient Sheikah script, which the Fierce Deity taught the Sheikah. And before losing or giving up his immortality, he tasked the Sheikah with taking his place, which is who delivered the spirits to the Bargainer Statues before Link.

This is part of the reason why the Sheikah are so heavily associated with death & graveyards.

As for who the Bargainers are, they are this thing called a bushin in Japanese culture, which there deities have the ability to split pieces off of themselves & create lesser copies that rule over certain areas, but are lead by the source deity. The same is said for the Goddess Statues. Basically, Hylia & Fierce gave up their immortality, but the statues are still being run by their bushin.

Stop me, I will literally talk you ear off if you don't.

Anyway, what are your thoughts??

.................................................... OP. My guy, my gal, my non-binary pal. Why did you drop this on my inbox? This needs to be its own proper post! This is a very fascinating take on the Bargainer and the other known deities in the Zelda world.

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Ngl, I haven't thought much about the Bargainer and their role is since there's so little in their lore. Other than "guiding lost souls into the afterlife without prejudice" and exchanging materials, weapons and outfit sets in return of Poes... (Kinda like how the Goddess Statue exchanges Blessings for Hearts, Stamina and Sage's Wills).

And seeing so many Poes in the Depths in a state of purgatory, makes me think that they are akin to the Grim Reaper of sorts. On top of the Yiga notes about how those "strange statues" would rip the souls out of fellow members if they come too close to it in the Depths.

I also imagine that the name "Bargainer" is a recent title when they were (re)discovered by present-day Hyruleans. And their true name had already been lost to the looooooong passage of time. And for all we know, the "Bargainer" was the god(dess) of the long extinct Zonai people.

That's about as far as I have for the Bargainer.

As for other deities like Hylia, Demise and the Fierce Deity, I don't have much beyond what is present in the games and the popular headcanons shared within the Zelda fandom.

I do have headcanons on how each race and clans interpret these deities and their own faith systems. For example, the Sheikah view Hylia as a "two faced" deity with "light and shadow" themes in their faith. Which is in contrast to their Hylian counterparts who have more clear-cut views on Hylia as the benevolent protector-goddess of their people (And why the Horned Statue exists and is shunned and hidden away).

(Though this is all part of my BotW-TotK Family and Legacy story.)

TL;DR I don't have a lot of ideas / headcanons on who or what these deities are. BUT I do have headcanons on how they are interpreted by different peoples/races.

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But seriously though OP, if you're reading this, you need to create dedicated posts and elaborate more on these headcanon ideas. They have POTENTIAL to become some very delicious reads.