#the way that it feels profoundly human

[thanatoseyes]

Please go read The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Candon. It's gayer Neon Genesis Evangelion. It's technology melded into human form. It's staring at a painting for the first time and you don't have the words to actually describe it. It's profoundly something new to the scifi genre.

[please-read-the-manga]

Was thinking about an 'alternate universe' where a young Sasuke, in the absence of guidance on how to carry out his clan traditions, tries to connect to his fractured identity by spending time in the Naka Shrine and accidentally summons the ghost/spirit of Izuna who hears his cries of injustice and grief from the other side.

Truthfully, I don't know why it would be Izuna in particular, but I'm kind of playing around with the idea that his death was viewed as so unjustifiable and horrific by Madara that Madara's devastation over it prevented Izuna's spirit from properly/completely passing over into the Pure Lands. So, Izuna's spirit remains in this unaware-but-restless state and one day it materializes to answer the call of another Uchiha (who also just so happens to be an Indra transmigrant, like Madara, if we want to go there... maybe their emotions carry extra weight and power within the spiritual world) now trying to process his own unimaginable grief, this time over the death of his entire family, bloodline, and culture. Thus they become bound to one another (for better or worse) and Izuna is, from then on, always there, carried by (and only visible to) Sasuke on his journey...

Maybe they both come to believe that if they get justice for the clan (which they initially believe is by killing Itachi, 'the kinslayer') then Izuna will finally be freed and Sasuke will have done right by his family and avenged them. But really, I think what would actually be keeping Izuna 'stuck' is the plan that evolved (at least partially) from Madara's grief over his death, Project Tsukuyomi... thus their quest expands and the two then need to figure out how to alleviate Madara's guilt/sense of loss over Izuna's death and rekindle his feelings of hope in the world once more (ie. stopping the plan). Somehow, lol.

And I think Izuna would be a fun character to do with this with because there's so little we truly know about him, but so much we can infer due to his impact on other characters' actions/story events.

Idk, in my opinion there's just a lot of opportunity here for a good mix of heart and comedy, especially with Izuna as a more defined character that has a little more freedom than other characters to be molded. I also think having someone Sasuke can connect to, that's from his clan (but is also still deceased and a reminder of how alone he is, ie. end of the day Izuna is still a ghost, an ancestral relic of the now-dying clan) would have a profound effect on him.

It'd almost be like his own inner Kurama voice except Izuna provides no chakra or power amps, only scathing commentary on how much he hates the injustices of the village (and its Senju leadership) lol. Also, I like to think his reactions to all the in-universe stories about 'Madara's deeds' (which is really Obito) would be entertaining.

A sketchy comic since I like the idea so much haha:

[mourn-and-watch]

no but essek's abnormal behaviours in the last arc and especially in episode 140 are my roman empire. which is ironic because aeor is something of a roman empire itself. but in all seriousness, it was the episode that made me realise i love essek and his development so much and it kinda summarised it even before caleb's epilogue.

and i mean the "it's not fair" scene specifically. it's like, an epitome of his whole character progression from a person who put An Objectively Important Goal above all else without hesitation to someone who can't help but care for people around even more than his goal, no matter how big and relevant it is.

the mighty nein - and he alongside them - pretty much saved the world and freed an ancient city from thousand-year-long suffering. they defeated nine extremely powerful menacing entities who managed to stay out of everyone's sight for years and were so close to achieving their goal and dooming exandria in the process. they did the impossible and became heroes and somehow, they survived, even though they had bidden farewells a couple of hours ago because they had already understood what they had been facing. and nevertheless. they made it.

and none of them was celebrating.

mighty nein are basically essek's only friends. he knew them to be very unusual people, to put it lightly, loud and stubborn and completely inescapable once they consider you to be one of their own. and they showed him so much kindness and put so much faith in him, they were here playing the most atrocious music ever and digging clay in his backyard for a spell they invented just to help one of theirs and asking him if he could bring them pastries the day after they found out he was lying to them and had started a war. they were chaotic and weird and sometimes unbearable but most importantly they were carrying so much hope with them all this time - a hope they could end the war, a hope they could stop the angel of irons cult, a hope they could get better, a hope he could get better, and now, finally, that they could save their lost friend.

and that hope shattered, just like that, the moments after they'd already made the impossible. they saved so many souls - and then could not get back just that one.

for essek "my intentions were never good they were important" thelyss it just. shouldn't have mattered. they won. it could have been worse. people die and when they die they rarely come back. they should've been happy everyone else barely made it alive.

but for some reason, mighty nein being so defeated after they saved the world exposed him to that overwhelming feeling of injustice and unfairness. and i mean, there were many things essek considered to be unfair, but when i watched his first appearance and his interactions with mighty nein later on til their reunion in aeor arc, i wouldn't dare to guess that one of the things on that list would be something that personal. and personal not even to him.

the thing is, essek didn't even know who that guy was. why mighty nein cared about him so much. he had an idea, i guess, that he was their friend once, or someone in that body was. it was also a person who wanted to unleash a terrifying horrific aberration onto the material plane. it was a person very dedicated to killing essek and his friends - and they still didn't take any pleasure in fighting him. essek didn't feel strongly about lucien or molly, because he never knew them.

i don't think he mourned his death and failed resurrection. he mourned mighty nein's hope, the one they put in him when they had no reason to, the one they offered yasha in the cathedral and the one they kept after the spell for veth failed and the one they carried til the very end because they wanted it to reach molly. they had saved people with this hope. they had saved nations. they had saved the world. but they ended up feeling like it hadn't even been worth anything.

how desperate would it feel, witnessing people who for some reason always saw good in you when they absolutely shouldn't, who made literal miracles out of nothing, who ended wars and fought gods and tricked the hags and freed cities from horrors beyond anyone's comprehension purely because they thought it was the right thing to do and also loved their friends this much, silently crying over a dead body they couldn't bring back to life? how desperate would it feel to realise that with all your knowledge about time you dedicated your life to and threw away any principles for, you can't undo this? no one can. some things are left to fate alone and this time it wasn't kind to them. no matter how much good they did, they still got slapped in the face.

and it was, i think, such a genuine moment of empathy. like, essek is the character who prefers to put up a facade and act distant and self-composed but this time he just. walked away unable to watch this. the could only say to fjord that it wasn't fair. even when he was caught off guard in nicodranas he was able to explain himself and his motives to an extent even though he was a nervous wreck whose extra important plan went to hell the second the only people he cared about appeared. this time he had nothing to elaborate on. it just wasn't fair. it wasn't fair his friends didn't get what they wanted the most. it wasn't fair he couldn't do anything to make it right.

it is such a sad and beautiful and even cathartic scene because it is about person who started a war that destroyed so many lives - and then met this ragtag group of weirdos who saw a lonely stand-offish guy and said "hey, let's be friends!" and didn't even wait for him to answer. he saw them being serious and calculated and he saw them being ridiculous and extremely stupid, he saw their mistrust to outsiders and their loyalty to each other, he made spells with them and paid a visit to their hot tub, he ate their stale pastries and drank their hot chocolate mixed with whiskey, he was welcomed amongst them and in their wonderful home, both in xhorhas before they even found out what he had done and in the tower when they already knew - and then, he saw them mourning their loss, defeated and helpless, and he, a person who believed there were things more important than whole nations, let alone just one life, couldn't help but share the pain they felt. a pure display of compassion from someone who detached himself from it, who didn't believe he could grow into a better person capable of it again, but became one nonetheless without even realising it

[goldensunset]

i love a lot of games but pokémon legends arceus really feels like it loves me

[gingerbreadmonsters]

its so important to me that you know how much ive already cried over this wip and its literally only been two days

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[elainemorisi]

cannot tell if I'm Sturgeon's Lawing it, overextrapolating, or in fact remotely onto a thing, but... Media These Days is really taking shortcuts with like, [especially moral] characterization, right? like this isn't a remark in any direction about the contents of the morality, it's a remark about how many times I've watched/read a thing and sat there going like, I'm pretty sure you (writing) expect me to take this as believable, but you actually just have a paper doll mouthing words here, this isn't believable just because the paper doll is mouthing The Good Guy Words

and like it's something beyond Pet The Dog, is the thing. I've no objections to dog-petting as a tool. one identifiable difference being that The Good Guy Words are then later made load bearing for reversal, of all fucking things. it's one thing to have Designated Good Guy that's fine (and actually this stuff is more Designated Sympathetic, so again, "moral" being used very loosely). but if you want?? as I think you want??? me to first believe that DGG is in fact G but then! to be shocked when he isn't... you gotta do more than mouth words. we don't actually share an unspoken and obvious moral code, you the writer and I. but also even in cases where I don't outright disbelieve your definition of Good it... still doesn't work. there's still no there there

and like the fixes are there, but they're not so similar as to feel like the explanation is really in them (closest generalized fix is "remember the agency of other characters" but like that's a fix for so much bad writing it barely counts). it sorta just seems like this particular bar has sunk into the floor? but why?

tl;dr the experience is "I'm not conflicted[/shocked/moved], I'm confused" and I swear, it's increasing. often in total (but popular) shit, sure, but sometimes in not-utter-shit-in-every-other-respect stuff too. and just, why??

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[grosutina]

Now you're gone, cut off, alone

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

Choso schedules your first kiss. You tell him that’s not how romance works. He respectfully disagrees.

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: i have no excuse for this i just really wanted to indulge myself and write something funny and cute with choso 🧍‍♀️

There were a lot of things you had accepted about your life.

Your taste in men was questionable at best, catastrophic at worst.

You were somehow best friends with a 150-year-old half-cursed spirit who had the social skills of a damp napkin.

Choso had absolutely no idea how romance worked. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Currently? Currently, you were experiencing another prime example of Choso’s complete and utter lack of understanding when it came to romance.

It all started because Choso had been staring at you again.

You ignored it at first. He did this sometimes—watching you like you were a particularly interesting puzzle, his expression blank but his eyes full of deep, incomprehensible thought.

But this time? This time, something was different.

"Choso," you sighed, setting down your drink with a dull clink against the wooden table. Your fingers toyed with the rim of the glass as you fixed him with a tired stare. "You’re looking at me like I just told you I eat drywall. What’s up?"

He blinked, slow and deliberate, as if carefully selecting his words from some internal archive. And yet, when he finally spoke, his words were as blunt ever. "I want to kiss you."

You choked. On air.

There were many ways to confess romantic intent. Some people wrote love letters filled with poetic declarations. Some planned extravagant dates beneath starlit skies. Some flirted with playful smirks and teasing banter.

Choso? Choso just dropped the bomb mid-eye contact like it was the daily weather report.

You stared at him, mind attempting to reboot as though someone had just yanked the power cord from your brain. "I’m sorry—what?"

"I want to kiss you," he repeated, his deep voice steady, his tone as casual as if he had just stated a fundamental truth of the universe.

Oh. Okay. Yeah. No big deal. Just your heart casually leaving your body and ascending into the stratosphere.

"Uh. Why?" you managed to say, because apparently, your brain had short-circuited, and this was all it could come up with.

Choso tilted his head slightly, a faint furrow appearing between his brows, as though he was confused by the question itself. "I do not know. I just feel… drawn to you."

Your soul nearly detached from your corporeal form. Was this real life? Were you hallucinating?

Choso, utterly oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued without hesitation. "I read that humans kiss to show affection. I like you. Therefore, I want to kiss you."

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

This was so unfair. So deeply, profoundly unfair. Because Choso was saying quite possibly the most romantic thing you had ever heard, and he was doing it with the blank, expressionless face of a haunted Victorian painting.

"Okay," you finally forced out, struggling to regain control over your entire existence. "But, like—have you ever kissed anyone before?"

Choso hesitated. "No."

Right. Of course. That made sense. He was, technically, 150 years old, but he had also spent most of that time as a sentient fetus in a jar, which also meant—

Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

"You… you do know how kissing works, right?"

"Yes," Choso said immediately. There was a pause. "…No."

That was what you thought.

You sighed, leaning back into your seat. "Okay, so, kissing isn’t just—like—you don’t just slam your face into someone else’s face and call it a day. There’s… a process."

At that, Choso straightened, looking at you with the heavy sincerity of a medieval knight about to go into battle.

"…Do you want to?"

...Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Your brain instantly blue-screened.

You had to physically reboot yourself before responding. "Are—are you asking if I want to kiss you? Like right now?"

Choso nodded, his expression unwavering, his seriousness almost comical. "If it is something you desire, I will fulfill it."

Okay, what kind of phrasing—

You inhaled deeply, grasping for logic. "Dude, that makes it sound like you’re about to duel me."

"I am prepared," he said, dead serious.

"No—No, Choso, that’s not—" You facepalmed. "Listen, a first kiss isn’t supposed to be a…transaction. It just… happens."

Choso nodded slowly, processing. Then, after a contemplative pause, he asked, "So when should it happen?"

Oh, for the love of—

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. "It’s not something you schedule."

Choso frowned, his dark eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Why not?"

You blinked. "Because that’s kind of... weird?"

Choso seemed to consider this, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. Then, with complete sincerity, he pulled out his phone, tapped open the Notes app, and typed:

Kiss [Y/N]

You stared.

"…Did you just put it on your to-do list?"

Choso nodded, completely unfazed.

"Choso."

"Yes."

"You are ridiculous."

"I am thorough."

You opened your mouth.

Paused.

Closed it.

No thoughts, head empty.

Fine. Whatever.

You were so not dealing with this right now.

A few days later, you were minding your business, sipping your little drink in the sanctuary of your apartment, when Choso—unprompted, suddenly announced:

“I believe now is the time.”

You blinked, mid-sip. "For what?"

Choso met your eyes with the unwavering solemnity of a man delivering a prophecy.

“…The kiss.”

Your brain performed several acrobatic flips before promptly crashing into a brick wall.

“I—” You choked, nearly inhaling your drink. “What—”

“You said it must happen naturally,” he explained, voice calm, tone absolute. “And I have determined that this is a natural moment.”

“…Have you?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a surety that suggested he had spent hours contemplating this very moment. “I have done research.”

Oh. Oh no.

You stared at him warily. "Choso," you said slowly, carefully, as if approaching a feral animal, "what research?"

“I watched a rom-com.”

“Okay.” You exhaled sharply. “Which one?”

Choso paused. “Shrek 2.”

You nearly died on the spot.

“Dude, that’s not—” You groaned, slapping a hand to your forehead. “That’s—That’s not a romance movie.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “But the ogre and the human shared a bond of great depth—”

“Choso.”

Choso frowned, a picture of mild disappointment. “Fine. Then perhaps you would prefer we reenact the upside-down kiss from ‘Spider-Man’—”

“Oh my god—” You buried your face in your hands. You peeked at him between your fingers, only to freeze.

That’s when you realized something—

Choso—aloof, unreadable, forever stoic Choso—was nervous.

Not visibly, not in a way most people would catch. But you knew him well enough by now to notice the minute tells—the way his fingers flexed, the way his jaw tensed, the almost imperceptible way his gaze flickered down before meeting yours again.

He wasn’t saying all of this because he thought it was a joke.

He was saying it because he was genuinely trying to make it special.

Your heart stuttered and did a little backflip.

You exhaled, gentling your voice. "Choso."

He looked at you immediately. “Yes?”

You softened. “Just… kiss me.”

Choso’s eyes widened just a fraction, the faintest breath of hesitation passing through him.

And then—

Oh.

Oh, this was real.

This was actually happening.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs, your hands feeling unsteady as they curled into fists at your sides. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and steady.

"Choso," you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He paused. "...Yes?"

You exhaled shakily. "You're supposed to close your eyes."

Choso’s brows furrowed slightly. "But then how will I know where to aim?"

A breathless laugh tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. “Just—trust me.”

Choso hesitated, then, with the same meticulous precision he approached everything with, his eyes fluttered shut.

You did the same.

And when he finally kissed you, it was—

Perfect.

Soft. Warm.

Tentative at first, as though he was memorizing something fragile and unfamiliar. But then, as you sighed into him—melting into the moment—he grew bolder. His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing the delicate skin beneath your ear, cradling you with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

…For about five seconds before Choso pulled back and, in the most serious tone imaginable, asked, “Should I be doing something with both of my hands?”

You burst out laughing.

Choso, mortified, went stiff. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because—” You wheezed, struggling to breathe. “Because you looked so serious, and then you asked that—”

Choso averted his gaze, clearly embarrassed. “I wanted to ensure proper form.”

“Oh my god.” You were still laughing as you grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist, giving them a light pat, grinning. “There. Perfect form.”

Choso blinked, glancing down at where his hands now rested against you, before looking back up with startling intensity.

“…Okay.”

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you again—deeper, slower.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, soft and all-consuming, as your hands instinctively gripped around his shirt. Choso held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable. He only pulled back when absolutely necessary, his breathing slightly uneven, his dark eyes half-lidded and—oh. Oh.

They were so pretty.

You stared at him, breathless, still trying to gather your thoughts when Choso exhaled, studied you for a moment, and then, in complete and utter seriousness, said:

"I still do not understand the purpose of closing my eyes."

You groaned.

Choso, entirely unfazed, simply tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you again.

(You let him.)

[rednightmare18]

oh, fine. let's talk about sin.

This is a note about religion and KCD2—particularly how it applies to Hans & Henry’s relationship development.

It isn’t my intention to write the definitive post on this subject, and this is certainly not an academic summary, a Tumblr History Lesson, or a thesis statement on why you can’t write whatever the hell you please. But as much as I detest fandom discourse, I also dislike seeing my words misused as a bludgeon against fan writers, and so I am stepping in to provide what I hope will be some useful CliffsNotes to everyone.

Take them or leave them, they are here with the intention to help fic writers make (briefly) informed decisions about how to embark on their creative research. KCD2 spoilers under the cut. PSA: If I see you using this nastily to harass fanfic writers you don't like, I will be very upset with you.

The medieval Catholic Church's doctrines were not representative of a homogeneous, mythical One Medieval Worldview on everyday life—nor was the MCC a monolith of its own. It is important to differentiate the Catholic institution from “the average medieval person’s ideas about daily life.” A quick foray into documents and moral treatises written by church officials at the time will reveal that the clergy was also not a monolith, but a hierarchy of individuals with vastly different ideas and recommendations on how humans should live. We simply cannot stamp a single religious document, decree, or interpretation (that was successfully published and preserved for hundreds of years; the vast majority were not) as a one-size-fits-all primer on what your average village blacksmith thought about things. I would certainly bristle were a historian from 2800 to suggest my country’s government & preeminent religious institutions painted an accurate picture of my (or my neighbors’) moral opinions on every subject under the sun. I bet you would, too. Critically, this does not mean all the common people embraced same-sex romance and all the religious officials reviled it. Indeed, it means people are people and their opinions will differ based on their personal experience, environment, personality, and priorities. Christianity profoundly affected the medieval world and mentality in ways both conscious and unconscious, much as any major global religion does, but it does not and did not make Europe into a dystopian Christian hivemind that thoughtlessly parroted a single unified view of every topic under the sun.

Religious opposition vs. religious guilt. Remembering that “people are people,” it is likewise important to differentiate religious opposition from religious guilt. Male lovers, particularly those in a position of high status (who were expected to produce heirs), would certainly face opposition to their desire to fuck off into the woods and kiss their boyfriend forever. It would certainly not be prudent or safe for a minor lord like Hans Capon to openly flaunt his romantic love for his squire; religiosity-fueled accusations of sodomy were useful as political bludgeons to threaten enemies and de-legitimize rivals. Caution is required. However, I find it is also important to note that Hans and Henry seem to express no personal guilt over their love for each other, religious or otherwise. It is telling that they do not step back from their relationship after consummating it under duress; on the contrary, both of them immediately seem to take it for granted that they will continue sharing their lives without any further negotiation required, and admitting their romantic feelings for each other has changed little of this, save for bringing them closer and providing relief. It is also telling that if Henry chooses to confess to his dream-parents that his devotion to Hans is romantic in nature, they react with surprise, but do not lecture him about sin. (In fact, his mother immediately leaps to Henry’s defense after his father reacts with shock.) Henry himself expresses no grief to them beyond a vague acknowledgement that hearing this must be a surprise. This is important—Henry’s parents appear in his dreams as representations of Henry’s inner doubts, guilt, grief, and misgivings. They do not throw up any real opposition or disgust to his intention to “settle down” with Hans. (Which is frankly a bonkers thing for Henry to say in any sense.) Despite the opposition they face from their environment and the expectations of status placed upon them—and despite Hans’s anxiety about being forced into a betrothal and how this may frustrate his intention to spend every waking moment with Henry—Henry and Hans both seem to feel completely positive about consummating their romantic relationship. For all intents and purposes, they canonically provide each other with comfort, love, and certainty. Not a shred of guilt or self-hate bubbles up into the canon text where each other is concerned. (This isn’t to say you can’t add this element in your fanworks if you choose. I’m not your dream-Martin!) NOTE: There is one moment during The Kiss scene in which Henry shows clear inner conflict. After Hans initiates a kiss (that Henry visibly rushes to accept), Henry turns his face away from him briefly, which causes Hans to perceive rejection and scurry away. Henry's expression is visibly troubled before he turns to the door. I see a valid argument for interpreting this brief expression of distress as gut-reaction frustration or revulsion, either at himself or even to the physical kiss, but we don’t really have enough canon input to say for certain what causes this flash of doubt. In any case, when it’s gone, it’s gone. At least for the purposes of KCD2 where it left us. You can’t “break up” with Hans after this or back out of the romance; Henry has decided for himself that the only way to go is forward.

Everything’s the same—but different. Homophobia in the 1400s was a different beast from homophobia in the 2000s. I will not dive into this here because I've written about it elsewhere to share background research on my own monastery fic, and because the topic is far too large to summarize in a bullet-pointed list. Simply, the medieval world did not codify sex acts or romantic feelings as identity markers in the way we do; while sodomy was certainly a taboo, this was a classification of non-reproductive sex acts, not slang for “gay man.” We cannot, in essence, “backport” our contemporary homophobia into the Middle Ages; it doesn’t make sense. Similarly, we cannot backport our bizarre late-1900s+ anxiety about pregnancy termination into 1403, but if you think I'm going to dive into that here except by way of brief comparison, you are cuh-razy. Worth noting that taboo also does not mean alien... or secret. More on that below.

Normalcy, Secrecy, and Taboo. One thing KCD2 (and KCD1, to a lesser extent) does very well is dismiss the Victorianized pseudo-history that same-sex romance, sex, and affection were some sort of widely-kept secret from society that did not dawn upon people until the second half of the thousands. In KCD, no one is surprised or bewildered by stories, both fictional and local, of same-sex lovers. Yes, medieval people knew about gay sex and no, “discovering” that it exists would not have shocked them—because a taboo is not necessarily an unknown. While NPCs react with different shades of opinion to conversations about same-sex romance, the world does not treat this as alien; it wasn’t. It is discussed casually, albeit with some discretion depending on context and company. KCD2 even enables you to play a Henry who has had prior sexual experience with men (see the Black Bartosch interactions) and has already embraced his own same-sex attraction to the extent he can confidently, casually sexually advance on men.

The Elephant in the Room: Class. Remember that the class divide at hand provides as much—if not more—opposition than the religiosity. Feudalism itself was built into medieval Catholicism. I sometimes think KCD downplays the importance of class, especially in KCD1, as it allows Henry to openly speak to Hans in ways that are unthinkably inappropriate given the feudal consciousness of the time, with almost no punishment or reaction from those around them. Not just because these interactions might indeed arouse suspicions of same-sex romance, but because a commoner risks severe punishment (or death!) for putting his hands on a lord, interrupting him, and insulting him in public. (Yes, including a noble’s bastard, a designation which is more harmful than not in many ways.) That's not to say Hans himself would not allow Henry to speak to him in this way; it's clear he desperately enjoys the novelty of someone who speaks to him freely, even in the earliest hours of KCD1, before they are tightly bonded. But it is strange there is so little blowback or external punishment for Henry when he baps His Lordship upside the head and calls him a buffoon in front of a gaggle of His Lordship's soldiers, on the precipice of dangerous military action, with Captain Bernard no doubt on the verge of apoplexy nearby. For this reason more than any other, I would argue, Henry and Hans’s relationship spits in the face of feudal order—and it does so even without the romantic consummation.

That's enough of that now, Jesus. I hope someone finds this to be a helpful bullet-point summary and it facilitates a more confident venture into historical fiction research! So TLDR; regarding the fandom's current anxiety of, "Am I making the Sin of it all too big of a deal?" my ultimate answer is yes, but also no, for it deeply depends on the context and the creator's intention. Love you lady, buhbye.

[ladylollys]

i really love the scenes where tyrion is called upon to join other men in doing violence (such as the battle of the blackwater or the attack by mountain clans on the way to the eyrie). he always seems sort of shaken and sort of proud of himself in a very realistic way: killing another human being is inherently frightening and disgusting, but at the same time, tyrion has been treated as physically helpless (and specifically as less than a man) his whole life, and he is filled with anger he normally has no safe way to express. these brief tastes of what it would be like to be treated as a fellow warrior by other men... of course this is tantalizing to him. of course some part of him relishes it. in these moments, other men are willing to interact with him as a fellow group member. and he thinks: is this how jaime feels all the time? because for a westerosi lord, this is what it means to be a man.

and it's understandable but also profoundly sad. like... congratulations on your tenuous, conditional membership in the world's worst boys club.

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - your fs' strengths and weaknesses

hi dear reader! let's take a look into your future lover's potential strengths and weaknesses. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪

⋆⟡₊⊹ pile 1 ⊹₊⟡⋆

strengths

this person is very loyal, consistent, dedicated. not only are they calm and patient, but they also approach their endeavours with a sense of practicality.

they're not a person who gives up easily. they're entirely committed to everything they do, and won't stop until they get what they want. very hard-working.

i can see them being this reliable source of security for the people around them.

it's likely others see them as one of the first people they seek if they need any help, especially in a practical manner. you can rely on them to get things done in an orderly manner.

your fs loves profoundly, and deeply. they're good at creating emotional connections that go beyond the surface.

though they very much possess a more grounded and practical nature at their core, they do see human connection as an emotional matter. i can see them potentially having a lot of earth placements (i'm getting virgo energy strongly), with perhaps a water venus.

if this person cares about you, they genuinely care. with all their might.

they're incredibly observant. very detail-oriented and attentive to the small things.

your fs is likely to be very attuned to your emotional needs as well.

they have good intuition, and the ability to see through people quite naturally.

like they're the type of person who will notice the minor details about your habits or behaviour, which can give them a good understanding of how you function.

as an example; they can easily notice your discomfort by one look at your facial expression. they're the type of person who can comprehend the way you feel without you having to verbally and directly tell them.

this is a person who can make you feel loved for your flaws and insecurities. they easily see beauty in the things you yourself might deem as unlovable or undesirable.

if you think you can talk about yourself in a degrading manner in front of them; think again. best believe they will make you stop, and tell you to quit being so mean to yourself.

i thought of the song “pov” by ariana grande during this reading.

like this is the type of person, who not only sees you as genuinely beautiful, but will also want you to understand how wonderful you actually are in their eyes.

it's giving billie eilish's “i want you to see how you look to me”

weaknesses

this person has notably been through a lot. albeit this has given them thick skin, it can still prevent them from comfortably making themselves vulnerable in front of you.

meaning, it might be difficult for them to openly talk about their own feelings and genuine thoughts. they might still be quite closed off and guarded at first.

when it comes to you, you can talk about yourself all day and they will listen quietly, but they'll likely not enjoy opening the topic of them, and the way they feel.

they will focus a lot on you, making sure you feel heard out, nurtured and taken care of at all times, but might not want you to do the same.

this person still has a good amount of deeply rooted insecurity inside of them. they can easily feel like they don't have enough to offer you, but might hide behind a stronger facade.

might be a hard shell, soft core type of person.

your fs might have the tendency to pretend they have it all figured out, they're mature, they're headstrong and self-assured, and disguise much of their self-doubt behind that.

they could get quite stubborn, “my way” and inflexible.

they're likely to be a little overly obsessed with things remaining stable, and might have trouble accepting change.

it's like they have this exact vision of how they want things to be, and don't want to accept anything else. they could have trouble giving in and comprimising.

i also see your fs as too much of a coddler. they might get a little overbearing sometimes, with how much they wanna take care of you all the time.

they might get too easily worried and concerned for you.

some of you might think or even say “you're not my parent, stop acting like you are”

i do think their intentions are pure and it comes from a loving place; but it might get too much for some of you who need your own freedom and space to breathe.

⋆⟡₊⊹ pile 2 ⊹₊⟡⋆

strengths

as soon as i started reading, i heard “all i see is you”

your fs will be completely tunnel-visioned and focused on you.

like even if there's a huge crowd, their eyes will follow only you.

this is a person who's very self-sacrificial, and selfless.

they're supportive, generous and giving. someone who'll willingly give the shirt off their back to someone else, even if it means they'll end up shivering in the cold.

but also in a material manner; someone who doesn't hesitate to spend a lot of money on their loved ones. they think it's a natural thing to want to give them the most beautiful gifts. it definitely seems like one of their main love languages.

let's say they did a secret santa thing with their friends. your fs is the type of person who, while everyone else probably bought something silly and more trivial, will likely still put a lot of effort into the present.

your fs is also a person who's quite committed and loyal to the ones they love. they do seem like someone who's devoted and dedicated to their special relationships, and are very sure of the people they hold extra close to their heart.

they're also a person who isn't afraid to get into conflicts for their loved ones.

if you end up fighting or debating with someone while in their presence, it's highly likely that they won't allow you to argue on your own, and have your back courageously.

your fs is also a person who's quite thoughtful, careful and mindful with their words.

i can sense them being aware of the weight of words, and how heavily they can impact or affect others. they aren't the type to just speak without consideration for others.

in addition, they seem to be very wise.

i can see them being a reliable and mature person who guides others very naturally, and has a lot of valuable advice to give.

someone who's not only always ready to help you out whenever you're in need, but also genuinely helps you out.

the type to check on you asking if everything went well, after you asked them to give you advice for, e.g. a job interview.

your fs is a person you can have the most interesting conversations with.

i don't think they're much of a small-talker, as much as they are a person who enjoys having conversations that go deeper.

someone who likes talking about complex topics, and hearing you out on what you have to say on certain subjects.

they seem incredibly intelligent, and knowledgable. someone who values education. i can see some of them even being in a position of teaching people and distributing their knowledge.

your future lover has a good moral compass, and strong principles. well-established manners too.

they don't seem like someone who's into casual and lighthearted dating. they take their relationships seriously.

definitely marriage material.

the type of lover you don't have to worry about introducing your parents to. an easily likable son/daughter in law.

weaknesses

your fs seems like the type to get jealous rather easily.

“i only look at you, so i do not want you to look at anyone else as well”

obviously this doesn't automatically have to be a bad thing. however, they're likely to overdo it at times, and possibly get jealous of people like your friends too.

they look at you as very charming, and someone who has the ability to make everyone fall in love with you. therefore, they might get overly protective and to a degree, even territorial. they wouldn't like you getting a little too friendly with, e.g. a guy friend, for this reason.

your fs seems like more of an introvert. i don't think they're someone who enjoys hanging around a lot of people all the time. they often seek more intimate and quiet spaces.

i can see them feeling left alone and lonely a little too quickly.

they might cope with a lot of their problems by withdrawing.

it might be hard to get to them once you two ran into issues and you might need to give them their alone-time to process their thoughts on their own.

i don't see them enjoying conflict or confrontation. they seem a little frightened and scared of heavy drama, and might be prone to running away to actively avoid it.

your fs seems to have this tendency of hyper-fixating. they might easily get obsessed over things, and therefore quickly lose sight of other, possibly more important things.

they might constantly feel this need to prove themselves to people, and can find themselves having an inferiority complex.

this has the potential to result in them working extra hard all the time, and possibly overcompensating in areas where it isn't even necessary or very beneficial.

there's a lot of need for reassurance and validation from others in order for them to feel like they're doing a good job.

⋆⟡₊⊹ pile 3 ⊹₊⟡⋆

strengths

your fs is in possession of a complex nature. they're likely to have a rich inner world, and a good sense of intuition.

they might be a more private and secretive person, who isn't as easy to decipher. someone with a more enigmatic exteriour, who carries themselves with an air of mystery.

it's likely they're more reserved in nature, and prefer keeping their cards close to their chest.

a deep soul not many people get to see.

beyond that shell however, i can see a kind and caring heart. someone who holds much more empathy and compassion inside them than what meets the eye.

great listener. someone you can comfortably seek in times of distress. not only will they lend you an open ear, they'll also display a shoulder to cry on for you.

they just radiate this aura of understanding and comfort. someone who can make people feel understood without having to say much.

your future lover puts a lot of importance into developing a sense of trust and stability in their relationships.

they genuinely treasure their loved ones, and put a lot of effort into making sure they feel considered.

they're very protective. they do have a possessive vein, it's more of a “these are my people, so it's my responsibility to make sure they feel looked after and cared about”

i don't see them as extremely suffocating though.

if you give them the feeling that they can trust you just as much, they'll grant you room and space to unfold yourself in your own autonomy as well.

they enjoy seeing the people they love thrive and do well.

it's likely they'll love watching you blossom in, e.g. your career. and gently support you through every trial.

your future lover has a quick and sharp mind. they're the type of person who remembers nearly everything you told them, down to the most minor things.

very attentive to their surroundings, and thoughtful.

likely to consider small details about you, you yourself might deem as trivial, but to them, they're very significant.

i can also see them having this balance of being sweet in many ways, but also knowing how to mentally challenge you.

they might enjoy the occasional intellectual debate. quite savvy and witty with their words.

weaknesses

this person seems to be a perfectionist; someone with high standards, who's constantly striving for the highest level, and therefore can feel inadequate rather quickly.

like 99.8% is not good enough, it needs to be 120% at least.

although they're very hard on themselves as well, i also see them having the bad habit of nitpicking other people.

the way they verbally express themselves does have the potential to offend people sometimes; despite your fs' initial intentions being pure.

it's almost like, the more they care about you, the more they might nag.

they're quite realistic, straightforward and blunt.

i don't see them liking to sugarcoat their words or make things more digestible for anyone more sensitive. like “you better take the truth for what it is, it's not my problem if you can't.”

your fs is also very.. very clever. i can see them being amazing at manipulating people without them even noticing.

it's like you fall into their trap, and aren't aware of it until you look back on the situation later; and you're like “ah damn i should've seen it earlier.”

they're incredibly charming, and aware of how to use their charm to their own advantage.

they seem like a person who's generally calm and laidback, doesn't let people rile them up easily.

but once someone does manage to rub them wrong; they're excellent at making them regret it.

again, spirit keeps asking for emphasis on their communication; impressively eloquent.

they just know the right thing to say at the right time.

so, it's rather likely you will not be able to beat them when it comes to verbal arguments.

they can feel threatened rather easily, and might often feel like people are out to get them.

especially when it comes to the things they've been able to build for themselves.

their territorial behavior comes from them not liking to let anyone close to their prized possessions, which in their mind, often includes their lovers.

[thedilfdiaries]

Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

[jessiemoonsims]

Koschei the Deathless

poses by @helgatisha crown by @plazasims hair 1 hair 2 by @hezeh skin by @northernsiberiawinds lips 35 by @ddarkstonee eyes by @obscurus-sims nails by @remussirion brow by @goppolsme outfit by @plazasims coat by @bluerose-sims shirt by @becky-sims earings by @aithsims4 magic ball and pose by @natalia-auditore Lord outfit by @lady-moriel Thanks to all creators! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Koshchei the Deathless is the keeper of secrets, immortality, and magic, whose name has become a symbol of eternity. His life is hidden in a needle, securely concealed behind countless barriers. For ages, he resided in his cold tower, surrounded by mountains of gold and the silence of centuries.

Koshchei adores caves, glittering gemstones, and dragons. He is intelligent, sarcastic, and somewhat grim, but beneath this exterior lies a deep sorrow born of eternal solitude.

A great collector, Koshchei has devoted his existence to gathering and preserving everything beautiful: from works of art to the rarest gemstones. Vasilisa the Wise was meant to be the crown jewel of his collection, the pinnacle of all he cherished. But she fled, failing to appreciate his desire to surround her with eternal beauty, leaving him alone amidst his immeasurable riches.

A bit of lore of the character:

Koshchei does not age because he is not bound by the ordinary laws of nature. What does not change cannot die. He exists as an eternal phenomenon, untouched by life or death. On one hand, he is a metaphysical entity, akin to the very concept of immortality — something that simply "is," without beginning or end. On the other hand, he has a personality, feelings, and attachments, making him vulnerable in a profoundly human way despite his supernatural essence.

[spitefulsatanfics]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

— by little devil 🕯️

pairing: castiel x she/her reader (sister!winchester)

relationship: found family, forbidden-ish romance, chaos, overprotective brothers & a confused angel boyfriend

genre: novella-style headcanon list with mini-scenes and dialogue

rating: pg-13 for sibling snark, awkward angel flirting, and Dean making threats with a smile

synopsis: they already call him ‘family.’ but now that he’s dating you? it’s personal.

🕊️ The Softest Beginning, So Quiet You Almost Didn’t Notice

It wasn’t fireworks or trumpet blasts. It was slow, almost painfully gentle. Just Cas looking at you like you mattered.

“You are… important to me,” he says one night. “In ways I do not yet understand.” “Cas, are you trying to say you like me?” “…I believe I do. Quite profoundly.”

You kiss him first. His hands hover at your waist like he's holding the Ark of the Covenant. His grace hums under your skin like a secret.

🔫 Dean Instantly Entering Protective Dad Mode™

“Wait—wait. You’re dating Cas?” “Yes.” “…Like romantically?” “…Yes.” “As in, our Cas?” “Still yes.” “…Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot him in the trench coat right now.”

Dean has a five-minute existential crisis. He’s not mad—he just doesn’t know where to file this in his brain. Angel. Family friend. Brother figure. Now… boyfriend?

He eventually settles on:

“If he breaks your heart, I break his wings. Fair?”

Fair.

🥲 Sam Playing the Long Game, But Absolutely Making It Weird

Sam’s not overprotective like Dean. He’s worse—he’s strategic.

“So, Cas. What are your intentions with my sister?” “I… intend to cherish her for eternity?” “...Okay but like, emotionally?” “Yes. That’s what eternity is, Sam.” “Right, right. Just checking.”

He once sat Cas down for a three-hour PowerPoint titled "Understanding Human Dating Rituals and Why Not To Hurt My Little Sister." It had transitions. And music.

Cas thanked him earnestly. You have never wanted to sink into the floor more.

🕰️ Trying to Date in Secret and Failing Miserably

You sneak off with Cas for a weekend hunt and come back with a glow.

Dean narrows his eyes.

“You two look suspiciously… happy.” “We killed a werewolf?” “You also braided his hair.” “…Yes. That too.”

The braid betrayal almost gets you grounded. Sam just whispers “you’re brave” as Dean storms off muttering about “angel fingers in your hair.”

🕯️ Castiel Being Ridiculously Formal Because You’re Their Sister

He tries to call you by your first name—but half the time still slips into “Miss Winchester” like he’s meeting your father.

“Cas, you’ve seen me bleed and cry. You can call me Y/N.” “Yes. But... it feels improper now. You are important.”

Once, he showed up to a date night wearing a suit and tie he clearly borrowed from Heaven's idea of prom.

Dean choked on his beer. Sam took photos. You blushed so hard you nearly caught fire.

💌 Wingshields, Everywhere

Castiel doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when his wings curl protectively around you after a rough hunt, that’s what it means.

He'll tuck you beneath them, voice low, heartbeat slow.

“You are safe now. Nothing will touch you while I still breathe.”

(Dean accidentally walked in on this once and backed out slowly like he’d just seen your prom dress fitting.)

☁️ Trying to Be Normal But Accidentally Summoning Grace Mid-Makeout

You once kissed him too hard in the bunker kitchen. The entire room lit up like a dying star.

Dean walked in mid-spark and shouted,

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF I GET ONE MORE RADIATION BURN—”

Cas blushed. You giggled. The microwave hasn’t worked right since.

🥪 He’s Always Watching Over You—Much to Your Brothers' Distress

“Cas, she went to the grocery store. You don’t need to tail her like a CIA op.” “There have been four incidents of djinn activity in the region. It is only logical I accompany her.” “You’re hovering.” “I am… protecting.” “…You’re also holding her hand.” “That too.”

Sam facepalms. Dean sighs.

You kiss his cheek in the cereal aisle and whisper,

“Thanks for being my angel stalker.” He’s never been more proud.

🧊 Unintentional Heartbreak When He Talks About Forever

One night, Cas traces your face with reverent fingers.

“You are mortal,” he says, almost broken. “And I am not. But I will spend every second you allow me trying to make this life—your life—better.”

You don’t cry until later, curled in his trench coat with your brothers asleep in the next room.

Because angels love like they’ve already mourned the ending. But you love him anyway.

🌟 Dean and Sam Slowly Coming Around (and Grudgingly Supporting You)

“Alright. He’s weird. But he’s your weird.” “Thanks, Dean.” “Still gonna shoot him if he makes you cry.” “Noted.”

And Sam?

“Honestly… he might be the only guy strong enough to handle you and our family.”

Eventually, they stop seeing Castiel as just the trench coat angel.

They start seeing him as the guy who looks at you like you’re made of stars. And that? They can live with.

𓆩🕊️𓆪 He’s your angel, your miracle, your boyfriend with zero concept of sarcasm and an infinite capacity to love.

And no matter how complicated the Winchesters make it— Castiel thinks you’re worth every cosmic complication.

𓆩🕊️𓆪