#Christ half of these are set on Earth

[answrs]

I know I'm just yelling into the void at this point. but throwing a "x-shippers dni" on a fic NEITHER OF THE CHARACTERS EVEN FUCKING FEATURE IN? IS THIS REALLY THE POINT Y'ALL ARE AT NOW?

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's at a party, lunch box in tow, and he's making a fucking killing.

He sets up shop in the crowded kitchen, but that doesn't stop him from spotting King Steve in the living room. Harrington's face is still fucked up from the fight with Hargrove, and he's tipping a cup almost vertically into his mouth. He's not too surprised when--the next time he spots the jock--he has a can of beer in each fist.

More customers flood up to him, and he can't help but be a little grateful for the distraction. Harrington is one unrequited crush he just can't kick.

Lunch box cleaned out, Eddie heads outside for a smoke. He's fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket when he hears a snuffling sort of shuffle that sends his heart racing.

He edges forward, just enough to make out the heap of a person half-heartedly sitting up against the house. A person in fitted blue jeans, tight polo, and Member's Only jacket; swoop of chestnut hair catching in the flash of fire from Eddie's Zippo.

"Harrington?"

The guy startles, stability wavering, eyes blinking too much. "Munson?"

"You alright, man?" He asks, though he can already tell that Steve is most definitely not.

Steve shrugs. "Why do you care?" It's not mean, sounds genuinely curious.

Eddie gets it. He has no reason on earth to show concern about King Steve. In answer, he taps his boot against Steve's sneaker, giving him a small smile. "Not sure. But I'm here, so..."

"Just needed some air. Clear my head."

"How much have you had to drink?" Eddie asks.

"One or two,"

"Dozen?"

Steve laughs. "You're funny. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I've heard," Eddie says, can't help but laugh a little too. "Wanna talk about what's going on?"

Eddie thinks that'll be a "no," but then: "Nancy dumped me."

"Yeah, big news."

"Ugh, people are talking about it?" Steve whines. It's really cute and Eddie hates himself for noticing. Hates himself more when Steve loses his balance, tips onto Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie doesn't tip him back.

Eddie can tell that Steve isn't fully with him anymore. He's a little afraid to leave the guy alone, so Eddie talks about the latest Hellfire campaign. Sober Steve Harrington probably has no idea what dnd is, but the drunk version is kind of a rapt audience.

He's just explaining about owlbears when Steve's voice, soft and sad, says "I just want someone to love me, you know?"

The admission renders Eddie speechless for a second, his chest fucking aching for the jock. He says "Oh, Stevie," knows he sounds too sad, is sure of it when Steve's nose wrinkles (it's cute; it's so fucking cute. Eddie hates himself for noticing).

Before he can backtrack, Steve slumps over, body going limp as he passes out. "Jesus H Christ," Eddie barks.

With a heavy sigh, and way too much fondness, Eddie stands. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

He gathers Harrington up in his arms--dude is heavy--and carries him around to his van.

---

Steve wakes up, head throbbing and tongue fuzzy, with no idea how he got home and into bed. Can't really recall anything after he stumbled outside, aside from talking to Eddie Munson. But maybe that was a dream? Either way, he's home, not really any worse for wear. It's enough to let him forget all about it; what's one drunken party in a life full of them?

That Wednesday, he opens his locker after the final bell, and a Hershey bar falls out. He picks it up, flipping it over to see a note on the foil wrapping, "thought you might need something sweet to cheer you up." It's not signed, and Steve slips it into his backpack, knowing he's got a silly smile on his handsome face.

The little gifts continue to show up once or twice a week. Candy, plastic vending machine toys, sketches of the school grounds, caricatures of classmates and teachers. Sometimes they even come with a note in handwriting he doesn't recognize.

Along with the little treats, he starts seeing Eddie Munson kind of everywhere. And it's not like Steve hadn't seen him before--guy was hard to miss--but he was never around this often. Wasn't around this often and he and Steve had never shared a smile, a quick bob of the head, a quiet hello.

It isn't long before they're talking. Nothing much, nothing serious. Complaining about teachers, about classmates; sharing weekend plans. Only now Steve can't pretend to not notice the way Eddie dimples up when he smiles, the subtle muscles that bunch under the sleeves of his Hellfire Club shirt, the long litheness of his legs. Steve knows he's attracted to other guys, it's just that he didn't realize he'd be attracted to Eddie.

The gifts keep coming. Once, he opens his locker to find a plastic ring fashioned into a golden crown and a note that says, "made me think of you, Stevie." There's something about the "Stevie" that catches deep in his brain, but he can't make it connect to anything.

A few months later, Steve opens his locker and pulls out a drawing. This one--it's of him. He's gazing out into space in a way that managers to be dreamy and wistful. The Steve in the drawing is lovely, and it makes something clench deep in his gut, that someone sees him like this.

Steve tries to be more aware of the people in his surroundings, to figure out who his admirer is. He's not very good at it, even as more sketches of him--all depicting him as a gorgeous, ethereal thing he definitely isn't--show up in his locker. Especially when, so often these days, the person he sees the most is Eddie.

---

The presents in his locker continue into April, and would probably last until the end of the school year, but Steve's got a migraine starting. He keeps aspirin in his locker, gets a hall pass out of English to get some.

When he reaches his locker, though, someone is already there, with the door open. Someone in ripped black jeans, heavy black boots, a black leather jacket, and patch covered denim vest.

"Munson?" He asks. His heart beats so hard it reverberates in his ears, making it hard to hear.

Eddie jumps back, hands fluttering, face flushing bright red. "Ste--Harrington! I--uh--," he's backing up, his hands held out from his body, like he's pushing Steve away even though they aren't touching.

"Were you--?" Steve tries to ask, but the words won't quite come. There's familiar warmth low in his stomach, a twisting that has nothing to do with his impending migraine.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear," Eddie says. He's breathing hard, eyes too bright, and Steve thinks he might be about to cry, but then the metalhead is turning away, starting to run.

"Eddie, wait!" Steve calls, chasing after him without much thought. "Please!"

Eddie doesn't stop until after they've crashed out one of the side exits, are alone outside.

"It was you? Leaving the--?"

Eddie nods, presses his hands to his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Harrington. I just--"

"Don't be sorry," Steve begs. "It's been--I liked it."

"Even now that you know they're coming from the freak?" Eddie spits. He still hides his face behind his hands.

"It's sort of been the best part of my year, if I'm being honest."

Only now does the metalhead remove his hands, blink back at Steve, dark eyes wide with shock. "Really?"

"Yeah. It made me feel-- important, I guess? Like, maybe someone saw me as something more than King Steve."

Eddie smiles now, looks down at the pavement. "I just didn't want you to think that you weren't--" he stops then, presses his mouth tight.

"Didn't want me to think what?"

"That you weren't loved, Stevie."

The statement hangs between them, Eddie's face pinking again, as the words wrap their way around Steve's heart. Loved. That he's loved. It clenches at every part of him, and he surrounds himself with the truth of it, what all those little presents were saying without words.

"Eddie, I--" he's overwhelmed by the gesture, the meaning, the reciprocal buzz in his chest, because Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson, loves him, and this fact is turning Steve's world on it's head in the best way.

"I'm sorry, Steve, really. Please don't hate me, or--or--"

"It means so much to me," Steve says, his voice a little broken. He reaches a hand out, slow, telegraphing the movement. "Can I?" He whispers.

Eddie nods, and Steve strokes the skin of his face with his thumb. "Thank you."

The metalhead nods, leaning into Steve's touch, they shift close, until their foreheads meet, until they share the same air. They stand that way for a while, long enough that they hear the bell ringing, and only then does Steve break their quiet. "Eds?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"You wanna hangout some time?"

Eddie laughs. "Yeah. I really, really do, sweetheart."

[peachesofteal]

oooh okay but what if the guys find Darling right before she’s about to give birth?? She took off after the confrontation and just never went back, and they gave her space hoping she’d come back. So then they were actively looking for her and finally found her? What’s one of the ways that could go down? Sorry I’m sure your ask box is absolutely full of asks about the baby trap au and other things but this idea struck me and I had to get it down 😩

👀 these little stories have completely consumed my brain.

🩵🩵🩵

18+ / baby trap AU / mature/dark themes

Deep breath.

Just breathe.

You can do this, you can do this. It happens all the time. You’re not the first person on earth to have a baby, for Christ’s sake.

Your feet step one in front of the other in a pattern down the hall, to the kitchen and then back to your bedroom, over and over while you try to stretch your back. It’s been almost forty minutes since your last contraction, and your muscles are sore, everything from your fingers to toes cramps.

It’s way too soon to go to the hospital.

But it’s not way too soon to be really uncomfortable, and nervous, and kind of freaking out, which you currently are.

You’re unprepared, even though you’re not sure there’s anything more you could do. You have the nursery set up, to the best of your ability. You even painted her room a soothing sage green color, and got all her clothes put away. You baby proofed everything. You have bottles, and formula, and nappies. Blankets and a boppy, even some pacifiers. On the outside, it looks like you and your little flat are totally ready.

But the reality, or at least how it feels, is the opposite. You don’t think you’re ready. You’re not even sure you can do this, if you’re being honest. You don’t know if you can be a mum, if you can take care of a baby, a defenseless little human who will need you for everything.

You struggled to take care of yourself half the time.

Your muscles tense, slow building pain splintering across your lower belly and you blink away some tears that threaten to form. It’s not just the pain… it’s everything.

You’re alone. You’re alone, after the two people you loved more than anything did the worst thing in the world to you. After they took your choice away. After they ruined everything, betrayed your trust, hurt you beyond repair.

Even worse was… you missed them. You hated them for it. Hated yourself for it. Everything felt so complicated, so fucked up. You were so angry, so heartbroken and still… couldn’t stop yourself from mourning their absence. Couldn’t stop from thinking about them at every doctor’s appt, every night when you closed your eyes to sleep.

You couldn’t even think about what was going to happen… after.

It was torture. It was hell.

It was affecting your health.

You had long been on restriction, light duty, almost mandated to bed rest. You had trouble eating, trouble sleeping, trouble with your blood sugar. It was exhausting.

Bee moves, not kicking but something else, a ripple pinging across your belly and you rub there soothingly.

“I know, I know.” You murmur, eyes wandering to your bed. Laying down sounds really good right now.

When you wake one hour later, it’s to pain. More intense, more sharp, lingering in the muscles of your back and thighs. It’s clearly a contraction, much more intense, and nausea rises in the back of your throat.

Fuck. That hurts.

You bite your tongue, heaving yourself out of bed as the pain fades, leaving you a little breathless while you waddle to the closet.

Maybe you could take a bath, or try to walk some more.

Just as you’re about to turn the tap on your tub, you hear a noise, a knocking on your door. That’s odd. You hadn’t ordered anything, food or packages. And you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either. Your stomach does a somersault, and you approach the door hesitantly, standing on the other side, staring at it blankly.

Without even checking the peep hole, you know who it is on the other side. You don’t need to look.

You always knew this would happen. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that sometimes, in the middle of the night, you didn’t dream about this. Even though it was wrong. Even if it meant you were weak. Stupid. Foolish.

You take a deep breath, and pull the handle.

Johnny’s holding his breath when the door creaks open. He doesn’t know what to expect, he just prays to nothing that it’s you on the other side. That after months of trying to track you down, they’ve finally got it right. He just hopes that you’ll give them a chance, that you’ll listen to them for even a second, so they can get down on their knees and tell you how sorry they are. So they can tell you they love you. So they can beg you to come home.

You peek around the door, just barely, enough for them to catch a good glimpse of your face.

He feels like he’s gotten the wind knocked out him. It’s been so long since they’ve seen you, too long, and you’re so pretty, so perfect he has to squeeze his hands into fists to try to calm his racing heart.

“Hi.” You keep the door more than half shut, and he swallows dry.

“Darling.”

“What’re you guys doing here.” You don’t phrase it as a question, and your voice is flat. Unenthused.

“We wanted to see you.” Simon starts. “We… wanted to check on you. See if you need anything. If you’re okay.” You give him a grim smile, and shake your head.

“Let’s not pretend.” You shoot back, and Johnny feels his heart wilt.

“We’re not pretending, love. We’ve been so worried. We’re so, so sorry. I cannae start to explain, how sorry we are. We did something awful. We-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” The door moves, just a little bit wider, and reveals more of your body, swollen belly, heavy on your frame. You look tired, like you haven’t been sleeping.

Johnny wants to break down. He wants to cry, if he’s being honest. He failed you. They failed you. They were supposed to love you, protect you, care for you. Instead… they allowed their twisted, selfish desires to influence their decisions.

He can’t imagine how this has been for you. Pregnancies were difficult for anyone as is, and you weren’t just anyone. You never have been.

“Can we come in?” Simon tries, voice soft. His eyes haven’t left your frame, taking in everything he’s seeing, Johnny’s sure. Coming to the same conclusion.

“No.” You bite out. “I don’t want you here.” He’s about to start begging, start pleading with you, but you make a face, brows pushing together, mouth screwing up like you’re in pain and his blood runs cold.

“Darling?”

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, but your hand cradles your belly, and your eyes are closed, face still screwed up in discomfort. “You should leave.” Not bloody likely.

“You’re in pain.” Simon summarizes the obvious, and you shake your head.

“I’m fine. I just uh- am having some cramps.” Cramps? He knows you’re pretty far along, by the math. Worry prickles along his spine.

“Cramps?” He takes half a step, not even. It’s enough to startle you, make you draw back, door jerking in your fist, closing it to only a crack, and he holds a hand out, cautiously. “Darling. Hey, it’s alright.”

“Go away.” You spit, but the words are choked out halfway, and they sound rough. Like you’re in pain. He tries to count, in his head. How far along you are, how close to a due date you might be.

“What’s going on?” Simon tries, and they can just barely see your palm press over your mouth. Johnny’s heart is galloping in his chest now, scared. Panicked. You’re in pain. You’re in real pain, and you won’t talk to them. Won’t let them in.

He’s about to ask you if it’s more than cramps, if you need help, or a doctor. But he doesn’t get the chance.

The door slams in their faces.

[wolven91]

Human Guardian - One Size Fits All

Jon's radio crackled to life on his hip.

"Jon, can you get across to the 'Emmalis' sector please. We have an urgent escort request." Came dispatch's dispassionate and clinical tone.

The human grunted as he lifted with his knees to put the box that he was running inventory on, back onto the shelf where it belonged. With it safely secured he grabbed for the radio and thumbed the button for him to speak.

"Jon confirms, heading to Emmalis now."

"Acknowledged" Came the immediate reply.

He returned the radio to his hip and began a swift march to the part of the station which hosted the shorter alien delegates. It had been a busy week, it felt like every race had turned up all at once and realistically it wasn't far off the mark to say that. It was the first time since the circus when Jon had first passed the Guardian Initiative selection process that it had been this busy.

Apparently there was a summit of some kind coming up and with the impressive range of creatures appearing on station, both great and small, Jon ,like his colleagues was being run ragged. Most Guardian work wasn't actually being dedicated to a single person. At least, not for a Guardian who stayed on one station. Jon's role was to just being a helpful, welcoming presence. If there was a job to do that helped the station, he was there for it.

He smiled, nodded, waved or gave short cheerful banter to the other aliens he passed on his way. Most wore the similar blue and yellow jumpsuits of Guardians, or the grey and white of maintenance. These corridors being off limits to other creatures that weren't part of the station's staff. Plenty of vulnerable points in these sections, unwise to let crowds of people into the access corridors.

The access corridors ran to every corner of the station, regardless of who's sector it was or which race occupied those quarters. Staff would always be able to reach a delegate or guest in rapid time compared to those who had to use the more formal and fancy public walkways. The warren of tunnels weren't a secret, but like the 'Disneyland' of old, they weren't readily acknowledged by station as a whole. It was easier to just be as unobtrusive as one could be while playing host to the other races.

As Jon reached the 'Emmalis' sector, the half of the station that hosted much smaller races than the majority, he slipped on his 'Escort Harness' and showed his security card to the reader.

As he waited for approval and when his harness secured, he grabbed at his radio and thumbed the button again.

"Jon at Emmalis Sector, Subdoor 'Itty bitty'."

"Acknowledged. Stop calling it 'Itty Bitty', it's the 'Ikit Bitaris' entrance." Came a different voice from the radio, but none-the-less as formal as the last.

The light flicked from red to green and the bulkhead's bolt snapped open allowing Jon to walk through the door and into the 'airlock' checkpoint. A glass booth with a canid guard sat at a desk gave him a courtesy glance before allowing him to step forward.

"Mornin' Jon." The guard drawled. "You got a delegate needing to get to the council room early, 'parently it's urgent."

Jon nodded and shrugged.

"That's fine, are they ready to go?"

"Yeah, 'got their whiskers in a twist so don't wait around."

Jon stepped through the now open sliding door to see a pair of chintians waiting together on a raised platform. Chintians were one foot tall, furred or even spined mammalians. They reminded Jon of meerkats or perhaps chinchillas? Or some demented mixer of the two. The human gave a mental shrug. All the races could be compared to old Earth fauna, but you'd think yourself mad as none of them ever fit the mould 'perfectly'. There was always too many differences to say, 'you are a bipedal X'. Christ the taurians looked like cows and bulls but were carnivorous! Ever seen a cow with a set of teeth that would be better suited to a shark? It causes the mind to lurch.

The two chintians had delegate badges pinned to their belts and turned to the human as he passed through the checkpoint. As Jon stepped up, he turned his back on the delegate and stood still. This was all protocol, they had done this before and so had he.

The two chintians clambered up onto the various hand and foot holds of the harness that Jon wore and settled themselves.

Jon waited a moment before stepping away from the platform, at first taking practised care not to go too fast or jostle the harness that had countless loops sewn into the fabric allowing for easy grabbing and carrying of the smaller races, but there was still a knack to not jostling passengers. They simply hung on and Jon, or any escort, would carry them to their destination. This way, the smaller species didn't need to worry about being hit or accidently kicked by the larger or perhaps unobservant others.

Too many diplomatic incidents had happened and all parties involved considered this an acceptable resolution.

"We need to go fast! We must be there fast!`` Came the voice of one of the chintians, over his left shoulder. He felt the weight shift as the creature clambered up the harness with ease.

"Do you consent to running? Do you understand the risks and dangers of this action?" Jon asked, hoping they'd agree.

"Yes yes! Speed is needed!" the voice confirmed.

Jon began to sprint. Avoiding the busier paths, he kept to the edges of the corridors which were usually left empty for exactly the reason Jon was using them. Go-fors, messengers, assistants. They could always been seen scuttling from one location to the others, whilst those not on a time crunch could meander in the middle of the corridors.

He made good time to the centre of the station. From afar, the giant central council room looked like a crown jewel of the station. It was truly gigantic and often would have fog or clouds develop inside due to the sheer size of it.

He crouched and dropped off the delegate who thumbed a tip for Jon, but said nothing as he scuttled away from view and into a room.

Jon shrugged and mentally asked himself what he needed to do next and how to get there the quickest.

He was interrupted as his radio crackled to life again, he grabbed at it before the voice finished speaking.

"Jon? You done with that Escort?" Came the voice of a priority dispatcher, distinct as they were more like 'Account Managers', dealing with those who pay extra for services and their role was to ensure the higher paying guests were served in the right manner.

"Yeah, he's arrived."

"You got a 'Ursidain' request, a request by name this time. You've made an impression with folk."

Jon's face scrunched in puzzlement. He wasn't aware anyone even knew him. Although the name tag's all over his uniform would not lend him any anonymity.

"Got an idea as to what it is?" Jon asked as he jogged towards an access corridor to take the shortest route to the ursidain quarters. It shouldn't take long, he'd just circumvent the Council Hall.

"It's an ursidain called Fon, she sounded a bit distressed? Does it ring any bells?"

The realisation hit Jon like a bucket of cold water.

"Ah, yeah, I dealt with her last week. She's got hefty anxiety. It's likely I'm going to be 'booked' for the rest of the day."

"Cool, no problems, I'll ready 'double pay' if you're engaged through a break or the end of your shift."

Jon wrapped up the conversation and eventually made it to the ursidain quarters.

His next role was almost certainly going to be a 'Support' role. Even some of the larger species on the station had a habit of being nervous like everyone else. On a confined, diplomatic station, it was better to devote resources to calming them down then let them work themselves up.

Jon had met this 'Fon' a couple of weeks back, a mature giantess of a teddy bear, but one with pretty severe anxiety. As it turned out however, having Jon nearby, simply holding her paw or rather being held in her paws, was enough to keep her calm. He'd made the error at the end of his work to try and reassure her that everything was fine, she hadn't been a nuisance and if she needed him; he wouldn't mind.

Jon never thought for a second that she'd actually ask for him, let alone pay through the nose for him specifically to come help her. She must have serious cash to be able to not only request him by name, but double pay due to a person request is paid for by the person who made the request.

Exiting the next checkpoint, he didn't have a chance to even look round before a massive thick paw appeared and snatched him from his own raised platform, the environment now designed for creatures far larger than a human. He was immediately pressed into a sea of thick and soft brown fur. He had to tilt his head backwards just to give himself the space to breathe as a second giant paw began to rapidly stroke his hair again and again as a deluge of words poured from a frantic, motherly voice far above the trapped human.

"Oh I'm so glad you're here! I was so worried! The speech is coming up and I don't know if it'll go well and I suddenly got a feeling that something had already gone wrong! And then I thought about you and was worried the feeling was to do with you! It was-"

"I'm fine! It's okay! Take a breath!" Jon cut in; his voice strained as his ribs creaked from the pressure of being squeezed into the matronly Fon.

Two giant bellows beneath the fur and flesh that Jon was still being pressed into began to inflate, it was humbling to feel such massive biological machine work as he was pressed into it.

The bellows deflated in a loud sigh above him.

"I'm sorry Jon. Do you need me to put you down? I-I-I can go without you if you're busy?"

Jon mentally kicked himself for not taking the opportunity to escape, but he was a resolute professional. He was one of the very first human guardians and he was glad to be the one that showed the aliens that whatever they can do; humans can too.

"No, I've nothing else to do today." He lied. "When your call came in I was twiddling my thumbs, you know?"

The pressure increased again as he was swung from side to side by the giant bear-like alien.

"Oh I'm so glad! You could sit on my lap while the speech is given! Oh that would help so so much! Thank you thank you!"

He was pulled from the chest and brought up to a familiar face, that had puckered its lips before planting them firmly against his face. The 'light' suction nearly pulled his entire head in between those lips before they disconnected with a dramatic 'mwah' and he was returned to a galactic sized bear hug and it felt like they were moving again. He rubbed the wetness from his face as the voice spoke up again, vibrating him as it rumbled through the giant's body.

"I'll get some snacks, and a blanket and we'll make it all cosy in my delegate booth!"

Jon tilted his head at that. The delegates, especially the ursidain ones,did always get the nicest food after all.

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Hello everyone! it's Sunday, thank you so much for the tag @catdadacd I'm so excited I even finally made a banner. I've been hyperfocused on cursed Alex and witch Henry, so here, have a very large aftercare snippet with waxing poetic about how Alex is the sun.

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

It was over, it was over, and Henry could go back to his life. He could go back to staying alone and unbothered in his bayou, he could soothe the scorch marks on his skin left by the feeling of Alex’s hands on his body. It would hurt, and it might ache for far longer than he was willing to admit; in fact, he might miss Alex forever. He might compare the way every man touched him to the feeling of large palms on his hips or Alex’s hot breathe on his neck. But it was better to have had it once than never at all; because Christ, that was the best sex he’d ever had. Long arms wrapped around Henry’s waist, palms running up the blond’s chest and pulling him up onto his knees. Thoughts of finally being free of this man were interrupted by Alex pulling Henry up, then back to half sit in the brunette’s lap. It made the blond give a soft ‘oof’ sound before Alex began moving him about like a doll. “What on earth are you doing?” Henry asked as his arm was hoisted back, his palm pulled close to Alex’s face. “Checking your hands for splinters, this is an old floor, sweetheart, and you dragged your hands on it a few times.” Oh- Alex had noticed that? “Yeah, I see one,” the brunette was leaning up, looking around on the table set up until he found some tweezers. Without hesitation he pulled Henry closer, to fully sit on his lap. His arms wrapped around the blond like one might hold a kitten to clip its nails. Carefully, he inspected each of Henry’s hands, gently plucking even the tiniest shreds of wood from delicate skin. The skin-to-skin contact felt hotter than it should to Henry. They were both sweaty and warm, but it was like Alex burned hotter than a person should. The feeling of Alex’s chest again his back was like sunburn; like the longer Henry rested in that embrace the more branded he became. Marks being left on him from the way Alex set him on fire were going to ache forever, Henry decided.

-------

TIME FOR A TAG LINE UP:

@taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie @henrysfox @thighzp

@softboynick @onthewaytosomewhere @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @firenati0n @lfg1986-2 + literally anyone else I'm dumb and forgot, or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[angstyfandomhappyending]

Soap, during one of the rare occasions when 141 are given a week off and he goes back to his empty apartment in Glasgow, is working on erasing a disturbing stain from the kitchen counter when there's two solid knocks on the front door.

Soap pauses, takes out the buds from his ears which wasn't playing any music any longer since he had finished arranging his misbegotten cupboards with an array of odd looking cereals - the battery on his phone died - and toyed with the idea of grabbing a recently cleaned knife from the counter.

But he had spent a god-awful amount of time cleaning the surface of the blades spotless as the remnants of the last conversation he had with a certain superior officer played louder than any music he was hearing.

His musings are again cut short by two perfect knocks, spaced out evenly and sounding somehow crisper.

How can anyone make knocks sound so confident?

One name pops up in his head like those half-burnt breads from the toaster that Soap had managed to finagle into working in the canteen. For others, the results would be less than favourable.

He wipes that name and the odd sensation in his chest away. He wraps his fingers around the scrubber more securely. He doesn't need sharp objects to maim anything walking.

He opens the door in a rush, not waiting to analyse why on earth he never thought before buying the room that there's no peephole at all.

He comes face to face with a chest covered in a soft cream - coloured sweater stretched fine over the shadows of collarbone ending in a high-neck collar and a non-descriptive face mask.

The hand of his lieutenant is still in the air, paused mid-way. His beautiful brown eyes are shadowed by those criminally ethereal blonde lashes, his ashen blonde hair hidden inside a coffee-brown patchwork of Beretta hat and - and Soap thinks he just lost touch with his brain.

Basic cognitive functions, do you copy?

Negative.

Ghost coughs, because it is actually him standing in his doorsteps and looking like the epitome of 'cozy adorable bear' results on Pinterest - not that he knows - in flesh. Is here, truly here in Scotland. In front of Soap - who is just in his worn down shorts and a dirty apron.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Soap. May I come in?"

That quirk of the eyebrow should not make Soap tremble for fuck's sake.

"LT. What are you doing here?"

Ghost looks at Soap, for a moment the silence stretches and Soap kicks himself to high heaven for his brain currently seizing inside his skull when the man in front of him holds up a bourbon in a paper bag and another paper bag which floods Soap's nostrils with a sickly sweet fragrant.

"I have Shortbread."

If Soap tugs the sickeningly sweet and adorably stiff superior officer inside his house and proceeds to ravish said superior officer on the partially cleaned kitchen counter - top, well. It was his dear LT's fault for taking him up on the offer he made for company before they set out for the leave.

[brn-t]

Thank you @fungalhazard for commissioning me! I really like how it turned out!

Back to earth

tags: original male/original male, transformation, monsterfucker, capitalism unfortunately 😔, height growth, tail growth, monster transformation, tf kink

"Jesus christ dude what the fuck did you DO to me last night?? "

"The same shit I do Everynight! Alan! The same shit you beg for when you’re backin that gay ass up onto my monster junk every night! What, you think I knew this would happen??"

"I don’t know!! How the fuck else could I have sprouted a fucking tail overnight??"

Alan clutched the offending appendage to his chest like he was afraid it would attack him. It was long and muscular like a lizards tail, pushing down the hem of his gym shorts, flexible and vaguely prehensile. There was a small scattering of red scales cropping up from underneath the bare skin. It twitched in agitation as Alan stared expectantly at his boyfriend.

T’urin, the boyfriend in question, avoided his gaze as he wracked his brain for an explanation. He was adopted by a family of sorcerers who found him abandoned on their doorstep, so he really never knew what the hell was going on with him, biologically. But, they said they think he may be some sort of earth totem?? Whatever the hell that was...

All he knew for sure was that there was… a lot going on with him, body-wise. In his “natural” form, he loosely resembled a lion/dragon except covered in a dense coat of iridescent black feathers and three sets of zygodactyl claws. Horn-like spikes spiraled up from his head in a half circle that Alan had told him resembled a crown and made him look elegant.

Alan had been the first person outside of his family to have seen his “true form” and that night had been the first night he’d actually started to like it.

Ever since then, after they got together and had moved in together, more often than not that was the form he would default to. So, when Alan asked him to fuck him open in his monster form the first time, T’urin was nervous but mostly excited.

After that night, his monster form quickly became the default for whenever they were getting into it.

Clothes hit the floor, pants came off, and several extra feet and limbs grew out of places they shouldn't.

T’urin smacked his face and rubbed his temples with his delicate clawed fingers.

That’s what they got for not using protection

“So what now?? I can’t go to work like this! They’ll think I’m a fucking furry or something!

Like a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky, just then, Alan’s phone began to ring.

Alan picked it up and motioned like he was going to throw the phone. “FUCK fuck fuck FUcking FUCK it’s my manager, FUCK I’ve already forgotten about two shifts this month, I can’t miss another one!!” He answered the phone in his cheeriest voice, not even getting past the "Hi Nicole" before a shrill voice on the other line cut him off.

Alan looked like he was going to cry, his face scrunched up in defeat and his tail literally tucked between his legs.

T’urin stifled a giggle.

“Yes! I- …. yes. Right.. yes, I realize this is my final warning, thank you. Yes…. I will be there… Yes, Goodbye.

Hanging up the call, Alan let out a heavy defeated sigh and turned back into the bedroom, tail drooping.

“You’re actually gonna go??”

Alan came back out with his work shirt halfway on and a pair of giant black harem pants in one arm.

“You wanna eat this month?? Some of us can’t magically shapeshift their-” he shook the offending appendage at him “-freakin monsterparts away whenever they like!”

“Have you tried it though??”

Alan smacked his hands on either side of T’urin’s long muzzle and brought it close to his face.

“T’urin, light of my life, beloved eternal, I cannot express in the slightest how little control I have over this situation right now. Now please help me tie this big ass tail coming out of my ass to my leg so I can go to wOrK AND MAKE A PAYCHECK.”

The last part was yelled directly into T’urin’s delicate fluffy ears and as he reeled back he was hit smack dab in the face with some ace bandage wrap.

Chuckling, T’urin caught the bandages with one of his three sets of limbs and positioned himself behind his boyfriend who had turned around and presented his backside like a sulking child.

He hummed as he took the heavy tail in his claws, admiring the glitter of the burgeoning scalework, turning it over to play with the light.

Alan shuddered.

“Love?” T’urin asked.

“Nothing, it’s just a freakin weird feeling feelin shit on a limb you’ve never had before, like, reverse ghost limb syndrome…”

T’urin held his tail up to a beam of light coming through the curtains, turning the scales translucent.

“I think its beautiful”

“Yea well, for your sake it better be gone by the end of my shift or we’re both gonna be living out of whatever bog you spawned out of.”

A heavy drumming noise gurgled up T’urins long neck and as he finished wrapping his tail, he brought his wide gaping maw right up next to Alan’s ear.

“You promise?” said T’urin, pulling down the nape of Alan’s work shirt, something deep and primal bubbling up in T’urin upon seeing the prickly row of pinfeathers pushing up through the skin along his boyfriend's spine.

Alan spun around and grabbed his dangling tongue.

“Oh that’s a promise, If anything else goes weird, I’m gonna turn you into a boardwalk taxidermy attraction, maybe then you can actually start contributing towards rent, you deadbeat”

T’urin grinned a toothy grin.

“See you at seven.” He said, perfectly clear, despite his tongue being grabbed.

Driving of course was a freakin nightmare and it felt insane to experience pins and needles in a limb you’ve never had before.

After pulling into the parking lot of his dive bar kitchen job, Alan just sat outside his car, steaming, heart hammering in his throat, wanting nothing more than to turn back and drive home but having no choice but to walk forward.

His…scales, turns out, would rub up against his legs on the downwards motion as he walked so he grimaced unpleasantly as he scooted into the kitchen, thankful for the first time in his entire life to be a dishwasher.

The remainder of his shift went surprisingly well, despite him getting chewed out by the manager, and him jumping every time someone walked past him.

“I guess no one notices the dishwasher guy,” he thought to himself, equal parts relieved and depressed.

He actually got into his job at some point, scrubbing dishes clean and restocking cookwear until suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder.

Alan whirled around, looking at his half lidded coworker with alarm.

“Y-yes??” Alan said, angling his backside away from him.

“Yo, yer shift’sup dude, geddahell outta here.

Alan had never felt so relieved to see him, he could have hugged him.

“O-okay, thanks! Man!” Alan held up his elbow length rubber gloves, “I’ll uh, hang these up and head out then…”

The coworker didn’t respond, already looking at whatever was on his phone.

Alan took off his apron and started to pull the rubber glove off his right arm.

A painful tugging sensation ripped up his whole forearm.

“Ow..” Alan said softly.

“Huh?”

“Oh! Uh, a glass broke in the uh.. sink, be careful…”

“Whatever man, justgimme the gloves.”

Alans heart beat a little quicker, not wanting to confirm what he suspected.

“These have… holes in them, just grab the other pair in the supply closet! I’ll throw these out!”

The coworker shrugged and shuffled off. Alan quickly pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over the gloves, shoving them in his pockets and making a hasty retreat to his car, not even bothering to sign out.

The entire ride back his heart was hammering in his chest so loud he almost forgot completely about his tail.

He tried to not stare at the thick rubber gloves wrapped white knuckle around the steering wheel but he swore he could see neat little pale spikes poking out of the fingertips and he didn’t want to think about what that meant right then.

As soon as he was through the door to his dinghy apartment though all he could think about was tearing the damn things off.

They smelled of stale dishsoap and dirty sink water and work so Alan didn’t feel the least bit sad grabbing scissors to cut them away.

And yes, to his dismay, it was not normal human fingers that greeted him as the rubber peeled away.

Not only had his naturally pale skin darkened to a ruddy reddish-brown at the tips, but long rigid backwards facing pinfeathers were just starting to poke up out of the skin of his forearm. And to make matters worse, it looked like over the course of his 10 hr shift, his nails had been completely pushed out, so now his fingertips ended bluntly with only a deep vertical slit at the tip. At the crest of each knuckle he could see rectangular patches beginning to form like the scales of a bird.

Fucking christ was all he could think as he turned his hands over and over, struggling to comprehend that the things opening and closing in front of him were actually his.

“Haelfynn above, what the hell happened to your hands?” T’urin said, standing at the doorway in human form.

Alan could only turn to him, hands spread jazzhands style and flex his fingers, causing needle-sharp claws to pop out from the aforementioned slits kittycat-style, startling them both.

There was a heavy moment of silence where they both just stared dumbly at each other before Alan’s mouth twitched up into a nervous sort of smile and brought a curled paw to his mouth, cocking his hip.

“Nya?”

That was all it took and the two crumbled into hysterical laughter, collapsing into each other until they were both wheezing for breath and wiping tears from their eyes.

Then Alan grabbed T’urin by the lapel and slammed him against a wall, lifting him bodily off his feet. (had he gotten taller?)

“You’re going to fix this, now..” Alan said, the barest hint of a growl bubbling up underneath his voice.

T’urin’s eyes widened but his face looked rueful

“On it.” Was all he said, pulling out his phone and dialing his mom.

T’urin’s mom was incredulous at first but her tune changed completely after switching to video chat, exclaiming loudly and calling in T’urin’s mother to come have a look. There were a lot of questions, and a lot of answers that made the young couple blush, but by the end of the conversation it was agreed upon that the two of them needed to make a trip up north to T’urins parents place for a more in depth examination.

His moms graciously offered to pay for a private cabin on the train and said some things over the phone to Alan’s clothes which they said would “help people overlook him.”

The moment T’urin ended the call, Alan felt drained.

He collapsed onto their bed and cupped his face in his hands, or, paws? He held them aloft again just to make sure he still had all 5 fingers.

They were all there… for now.

He covered his face again, groaning through his teeth.

“What am I going to tell my boss?? I’ve got another 7am to 7pm tomorrow and no sick days.”

T’urin was uncharacteristically quiet and looked down, toeing the ratty carpet.

“I’m sorry… about all of this…”

Alan sat up sharply, “Oh, babe, no, it’s not like, i blame you or anything. I don’t think either of us have a fuckin clue as to whats going on, it’s just, like, the WORST possible time to have a magical transformation happen ever. I mean, rent’s due next week and the insurance on the car, plus you’re almost through that frozen deer carcass and THATS another $250 unless you want to go try hunting again, but I am NOT forcing deworming meds down your throat again

“They taste like shit” T’urin hissed

“Yea, well, cry me a river, buddy, daddy’s broke at the moment and also turning into some sort of critter, so you'll have to pick less diseased animals next time.”

They both chuckled but tension still stained the air.

“Are you scared?” T’urin said finally

Alan sighed heavily and looked down at himself. Aside from his hands and the tail draped over the side of the bed, he still mostly looked like himself.

But he didn’t know for how much longer that was going to be the case.

“I just… never have been good with change. You know what growing up for me was like, I just always craved consistency, and now, after finally just barely being able to carve out a life for myself… for us, here’s life again, pulling the football away just as I’m about to kick.

"What is that, a homestuck reference?" T’urin grinned

Alan rolled onto his side and yanked T’urin onto the bed with him, pushing his many braids aside and looking deep into his dark brown eyes.

“I should have never even shown you that fuckin comic” He said,

They lay there for a minute longer before Alan caught a whiff of the restaurant still on him and got nauseous all over again.

He got up, mumbling something about a shower and shucked his work shirt off and into the hamper on his way to the bathroom.

Grabbing his favorite towel, he shut himself in their tiny bathroom and stood there.

Suddenly he was afraid as to what he might find if he took off his pants…

His tail was sore from being constrained for so long so he ripped the proverbial bandaid off and tore his pants off in one go.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he unwrapped the bandage and slowly let his sweaty tail separate from his leg.

He breathed a sigh of relief and tried to give it a little wag.

It wagged.

“Huh…” was all he said, still in shock that this was his reality right now. He’d very much hoped that this was some sort of extended prank by T’urin, but standing here in this shitty apartment bathroom watching himself curl and twist this thing attached to him made it really hit home somehow.

An odd sort of fluttering feeling blossomed in his chest and he ducked inside the shower before he could examine it any further.

Showering was the most normal he’d felt the entire day, and as the boiling hot water ran over him, his muscles relaxed and he began to droop, just letting the stream purify him like a sand blaster.

He closed his eyes and turned the other way, noting with dulled alarm how the water was hitting something on his back.

He ran a hand down the center of his spine and discovered more pinfeathers pushing out from the crest of his spine all the way down to his hips. Logically, he should be freaking out right now but as he kept feeling them and how itchy they were, all he could think about was getting them out

He concentrated and…

*snk*

His claws popped out from fingertips and latched underneath the keratinous tube of the pinfeather.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled it off and flicked it into the corner of the shower.

Now in it’s place he could feel a soft feather, like one you’d see escaping from a stuffed pillow.

Oh fuck was all he could think before pulling another one off, and then another, until soon enough his whole back was covered in a dense layer of iridescent black feathers.

The warm water on his feathers felt like a massage, and Alan made a low crooning noise deep in his throat that echoed pleasingly off the walls of the shower.

So he did it again, and for longer this time.

Soon he was just humming and picking at feathers and letting the water flow over him and picking at scales and shampooing and -uhoh the ceiling was getting kinda low..

Alan looked up and suddenly the ceiling was so close he could lick it.

heh, lick it...

He opened his muzzle and extended his tongue to jokingly touch the ceiling, the hot humid air gathering to make his head feel full and fuzzy.

His tongue had gotten very long… Alan looked down his snout to realize there was a lot more hair in his field of view than when he got in…

hmmmmmmm.....

He brought a clawed hand up to inspect the strand of curly black hair

Somethingssss weird going onn..

But the steady staccato beat of the warm water refused to let him feel anything but calm and relaxed, even when soft velvety antlers started pushing through his scull and bumping against the ceiling

In his mind, he was beneath a waterfall, deep deep in the mountains beneath a natural hot spring, and he was safe and warm, completely bereft of responsibilities.

He actually started to stoop, from both the low ceiling and from how high up his antlers were extending, so he got on all fours and crouched, facing away from the taps.

Eyes still closed, his body felt like it was… slipping into place, like finally cracking a joint that needed it.

His arms extended out in front of him, muscled and furry, with his hands shortening into proper paws. Not from any discernible species, but boxy and wide, with the leathery sort of texture of a birds leg. His hind legs twitch and jerked into place, the central toes merging to form some sort of talons, like a bird of prey. His fat tail thickened up significantly and began to sprout feathers of their own, with the scales plating the underside.

By the time T’urin decided to check on him and yell at him about the water bill, Alan had slipped into the form of something that was decidedly... inhuman.

T’urin pulled back the curtain ready to bitch when the…creature in the shower startled and let forth a sharp hiss, baring its large and numerous rows of needlesharp teeth.

“OH FUCK” was all he got to say before the thing formerly known as Alan spooked and tried to make a run for it.

Unfortunately for him, bathtubs are not well known for their grippability and his long sharp claws just succeeded in shredding the shower curtain to bits

T’urin tried to reign in the ball of claws and feathers but Alan was not having any of it, shrinking away from his carefully placed hand and hissing gutterally.

“Shit what to I do??” T’urin wondered out loud.

Then the idea hit.

“OH!” he said, and then dropped his human form completely, making the bathroom even more cramped as he filled out the rest of the available space.

He didn’t know what to expect as far as a response but Alan took one look at him and yowled like a territorial lynx, clawing his way out of the tub and spraying water everywhere.

“SHIT NO WAIT, ALAN!”

Alan scuttled past him, sharp claws clacking across the cheap linoleum tiles as he squirmed through the open door and into the livingroom.

“OH FUCK NO, NO THE-”

- was immediately followed by a heavy crashing glass sound.

In the time it took T’urin to follow him out into the livingroom, the space was already trashed.

The couch and carpet were shredded, anything upright had been knocked over and the only thing left untouched were the several large potted houseplants, behind which a pair large jagged gold antlers stuck out rather conspicuously.

T’urin tsked and switched back to human form, slowly approaching the beast, his beast, with his hands outstretched.

“Of course you wouldn’t wreck the one thing thats only yours.

A glittering set of golden eyes snapped open, staring at him through the foliage.

T’urin made a grab for one of his horns but Alan was quicker and wriggled out of his grasp, making for the partially cracked sliding glass door.

Despite his yelling, Alan wrenched it open and launched himself off the balcony, disspearing into the hazy murk of twilight.

“ShitSHITshit” T’urin hissed, vaulting over the rail right after him, shifting into flighted form midair, scanning the horizon for his idiot boyfriend.

He didn’t have to look long to find him though, as a clumsily flapping (when did he grow wings??) moose-sized silhouette against the darkening sky wasn’t that hard to spot.

Thank goodness he didn't seem to have any flight instincts, as T’urin caught up with him rather quickly and tackled him to the ground, landing in some dense bushes outside of someone's house.

A dog inside the house started to bark but T’urin had them down a side street by the time the owner came out to investigate.

As he dragged him along, Alan started to groan and shed feathers, leaving a trail of them in his wake.

By the time they made it back home, he was (mostly) human again, save for the tail, the scaling on his arms and legs, and how his hair was longer now and a deep shade of brown, almost black with a few feathers scattered in it.

T’urin dragged him into the livingroom, dumped him onto the shredded couch, and went into the hallway closet for a broom.

When he returned, Alan was sitting upright with his head in his hands.

T’urin huffed and poked at him with the dustpan, jolting Alan out of his thoughts.

He just looked up at T’urin, eyes wide as saucers, tail twitching back and forth.

“T’urin, I flew just now, didn’t I?”

He nodded. Alan took the dustpan and got on his knees.

“Did you know? That rooftops looked like that? Like little glittering mahjong tiles? That the wind feels cold against your face that high up?”

T’urin brought in the garbage can from the kitchen..

“I did.”

Alan dumped his pan of broken glass. “Why would you ever return to earth??” he said.

T’urin brought him from his knees and drew him into a tight hug.

“You didn’t know how to fly yet.”

[destieltropecollection]

DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 6 | Hurt/Comfort

There are cameras in the Dungeon | @destiel-wings

Rating: General Word Count: 1,368 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Angst and Feels, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug Summary: Dean realizes there are cameras in the dungeon. He rewatches Castiel's confession on tape. Emotions come to surface.

Sheltering Wings | @aaronthe8thdemon

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,535 Main Tags/Warnings: Season/Series 05, Whump, Huddling For Warmth, Cuddling & Snuggling, Light Angst, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed Summary: He puts his arms more fully around Dean. He wraps Dean invisibly with his wings. If only he could protect Dean indefinitely from demons and angels and physics and all the other realities of the universe… but he can’t. It’s not possible.

In the low lamp light | @deanabean

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1,568 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Has Nightmares, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff they love each other your honor, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles, Forehead Kisses Summary: “Did I wake you up? Didn't mean to.” Dean asks into his lips. Dean chances a look at the clock above the mantel. Christ, it’s been an hour already! He didn’t even notice. At least that answers his question. Cas shakes his head sluggishly and seriously who gives him the right to be this adorable whole half-asleep?! “No, you didn’t. The rain did.” Dean hums. And he's kissing his husband again. They end up trading soft kisses back and forth for a few minutes before Cas pulls back, drops a small kiss on Dean’s forehead, and then cuddles close to Dean's side, ticking his nose into Dean's neck. . Or the one when Dean is little bit sleep-deprived and Cas decides to keep his company.

Broken Water Heaters and Subpar Motel Rooms | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,616 Main Tags/Warnings: Minor injury, references to homelessness, set in s9, Human Cas, Guilty Dean, Protective Dean, vague references to suicide (none occurred), references to past child neglect/abuse Summary: In the chill of the morning following the incident with the Rit Zien, Dean lets Cas sleep in and calls his boss.

catch your breath | @demonmary

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2,086 Main Tags/Warnings: Panic Attacks, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon Summary: The first time it happened, Dean wished he had said something before it reached a boiling point, before his nostrils were filled with a stale smoke that hadn't existed in decades, before his muscles were burning, all of them, all at once, and his head was screaming, he was screaming, or he couldn't scream, god, he wanted to scream.

Just to Prove the World Was Here | @withclawsandsympathy

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,385 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, The hurt here is more psychological wounds than physical ones, Themes of loneliness and isolation, John critical moments, POV Dean, Human!Cas, An exploration of love in its many forms of expression Summary: The end of the world has a way of warping the things we once knew, molding them into forms far beyond recognition. Time blurs at the edges. Hope cracks along its many fault lines. But there's one thing strong enough to withstand the apocalypse itself. Love, in all its forms -- if you'll let yourself have it. Or, the world is still worth saving. And so is Dean Winchester.

Last Stop ‘Till We Reach Heaven | @destielsuperfan

Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,017 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character, DeathCastiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jody Mills, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, post Season 8 finale, Sorry I Killed off Sam, It’s for Plot I Promise!!Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, nothing graphic but they do have sex, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Gardener Castiel (Supernatural), Cas has a cat, Short & Sweet Summary: Dean is about ready to give up. Loss after loss is enough to tell him to stop trying because with every attempt it seems Dean is left more and more alone. With a final trip to see his friend Jody Mills, she gives him news of a long lost face he’d assume he’s never see again. Risking it all for answers, Dean makes one final stop to place he couldn’t have pictured only to see the face of his last hope.

Leave The Stones Unturned | @sobernatural

Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,749 Main Tags/Warnings: Past sexual abuse, Angst and hurt/comfort, Underage Prostitution, Trauma, Dean Winchester has PTSD, non-linear narrative. Summary: All Dean wants is to make Cas feel good, because if there's someone who deserves it, it's Cas. And Dean is good at making others feel good. Made an entire career out of it and everything. So fucking what if Dean isn't 'in the mood'? Not like that has stopped anybody before.

Ineffectual Healing | @aaronthe8thdemon

Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,856 Main Tags/Warnings: Blood and Gore, Injured Castiel (Supernatural), Whump, Light Angst, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Season/Series 06, Pre-Slash Summary: *At least we rescued the… whatever that thing is,* Dean thinks as he tries to ignore how Cas’ skull is resting heavily against his stomach. He’s got Cas’ shoulders and Sam has the harder job at the foot-end, which means Dean walking backwards and trying not to trip while struggling to keep a good grip on the crunched vessel of his idiot friend. Because of fucking COURSE Cas just ran headfirst into the basement and got bitch-slapped by an overpowered witch.

Aurora/Boreas | @the-elf-barbarian

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,076 Main Tags/Warnings: S9 Cas is fallen/human, Heaven Can't Wait UA, Minor Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Only One Bed Summary: Not that anyone was asking, but Cas had settled into his small life in Rexburg after locking the doors of heaven. After Dean had kicked him out, he’d found a place for himself. Nora liked him, and he was good at the various clearly-defined tasks his day now revolved around. Maybe it wasn’t as earth changing or epic as his life had once been. but he was mortal now. And, while he may not have a home. Neither did the vast majority of all humans in history and they had, most of them, done just fine. Or at least that’s what he would have said, until Dean walked back into his life. Now they have a new case, a light show to catch and a little too much time to discuss what went down.

It Doesn’t Immediately Collapse Under Them | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,060 Main Tags/Warnings: Past Minor Character Death, Normal Human AU, Past Child Neglect/Abuse, Past Childhood Bullying, Single Dad Dean, Single Dad Cas, Baker Dean, Professor Cas, Bonding Over Trauma, Minor Injury Summary: After a long day of feeling like he's done nothing but let his niece down, and still weighed down by the trauma of his brother's death that led to him being her guardian in the first place, Castiel takes her to the park in an attempt to salvage the day. There, he finds Dean Winchester with his daughter Emma. While Emma and Claire play, Dean and Castiel watch them from the ancient swing set and get caught up in their own conversation. Something about Dean has Castiel opening up to him, and the two bond over ranting about Valentine's Day, sharing their jobs, and slowly realizing they understand what the other's been through in the past.

Happy Wife, Happy Life (or not so much) | @pssy-wagn

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 24,600 Main Tags/Warnings: Major character death, infidelity, murder, suicide, top!Cas, bottom!Dean, no happy ending Summary: After being together for five years to his wife Daphne, Castiel is stuck in a rut. Coming through the doors of his Gas-N-Sip, is the most beautiful man Castiel has ever seen. Getting to know each other more intimately, Dean and Castiel get consumed in a passionate, yet dangerous affair.

Accidents Happen | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 6,860 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Dean, Friends to Lovers Summary: When Dean ends up involved in a car accident on a lonely road, with no one else around for miles, he finds himself completely out of it. His only conscious thought is, Get to Cas. And so he does.

Hanal Pixan | @twinone1221

Rating: General Word Count: 6,930 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Stull Cemetery, Past Character Death, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, References to Mayan Religion & Lore Summary: Dean grew up trying to forget his life before his mother died and actively avoiding memories of the rest of his childhood. One day, he finds himself back in his hometown with an unexplained urge to visit her gravesite. There he finds a strange man that guides him down the unexplored path of long lost memories and transcendental love.

Only to you I confide | @naughtystiel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,536 Main Tags/Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, alcoholism, priest!cas, hurt/comfort, happy ending Summary: “Sometimes, brokenness makes us a victim. Others might want to use it against us, to hurt us, but I believe it can motivate us to be strong. To not only believe in what’s above us, but to believe in ourselves.” Dean’s eyes started to water and he bit his lip, tilting his head just right so his hair would cover what a mess he was.

Lipstick Whore | @valandrawrites

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,886 Main Tags/Warnings: Prostitute Dean Winchester, Femme Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Feminization, Crossdressing Kink, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dominant Castiel, Dom Castiel, Castiel is Obsessed with Dean Winchester, Stalking, Stalker Castiel, Desperate Dean Winchester, Depressed Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Women's Clothes, Emotional Manipulation, Spit As Lube, Castiel Has a Panty Kink, insta-love, Unsafe Sex Summary: Dean Winchester paints his lips and services the men Cain sets him up with. It's better than working the corner and keeps him and Sam in a safe apartment with 3 squares a day. His life ain't so bad. It's fine. Except every now and then a real wacko comes around. Like tonight when the enigmatic, handsome, and erratic Castiel greets him in room 11 at the Bunker Blues Mote.

Scent Deprived (WIP) | Destielshipper4Cas (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 26,085 Main Tags/Warnings: Touch-Deprived Castiel, Caring Dean, Strangers to Lovers, Hurt Castiel, Slow Healing, Past Abuse, Bottom Castiel, Top Dean, Alpha Dean, Omega Castiel, Happy Ending Summary: Dean rescues an omega from an illegal research facility. But after years of scent deprivation, the omega is catatonic at best and on the brink of going feral at worst. Now it’s up to Dean to save him. In order to break past Cas’ defenses, he might just have to let him into his home and heart in return.

Still Water Run Deep | @thisisapaige

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 41,168 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent After s15e09 The Trap, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Castiel, Mark of Cain, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Summary: In the darkest depths of the ocean, sealed into the ma'lak box with Chuck trapped behind the Mark, Castiel loses the battle against God's rage. When Sam and Dean find Castiel on a dark patch of highway— the Mark missing and his grace weak— he cannot speak. It rains. It rains and it rains and it rains. It is a Great Flood. In order to stop God, save the world, and resolve the issues simmering between them for years, Castiel and Dean need to communicate. Perhaps they should build an ark instead.

Holy Ground | @father-salmon

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 43,601 Main Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: It’s been 15 years since Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have talked to each other. After a falling out after their senior year of high school, Cas went to Stanford, then to New York, then never went back. Until now. Sam and Eileen are getting married in their hometown of Lazarus and have invited Castiel. Not wanting to disappoint one of his closest friends and the only link left to Dean he has, Castiel agrees, ignoring the pain in his heart and all the memories he’s buried deep inside. Fate intervenes when Dean discovers that Cas is attending the wedding and everything falls apart. Between wanting to avoid Cas and begging on his knees for forgiveness, Dean is caught between a rock and a hard place. And Castiel, who’s never stopped loving Dean, is trapped in his own anger— for Dean not reaching out and for the pain he’s caused him that night in the Barn. These two men will have to navigate old feels surfacing as well as their own traumas and separate lives they’ve gone through and really understand what it means to be on Holy Ground.

Brighter Than Sunflowers | @nessarose-thropp

Rating: Mature Word Count: 61,325 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Season/Series 14, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Artist Dean Winchester, Mental Health Issues, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Claire Novak in the Men of Letters Bunker Summary: Dean has spent the last six months drowning in his own mind until one day he's finally rescued. He's free now, but that doesn't mean he's okay. Faced with overwhelming changes to his life, he has to find new ways to keep going.

The Unbroken | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 126,551 Main Tags/Warnings: Zombie Apocalypse, Croatoan Virus, endverse, hurt/comfort, wing fic, soul bond, strangers to lovers, bottom Dean, top Castiel, badass castiel, protective dean, openly bisexual dean, mutual pining, slow burn Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing. But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done. Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake. There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

Keeping You In Sight | @ao3gingerswag

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 136,374 Main Tags/Warnings: Slavery, hurt/comfort, blind castiel, past abuse, past sexual abuse, slow burn Summary: Castiel valued his solitude, and was happy to stay hidden away in the mountains for the rest of his life. But when his seeing eye dog dies, that solitude is suddenly broken when Gabriel shows up not with another dog but an actual human slave. Castiel doesn't believe in slavery, but he can't turn away the very hurt and broken man he's given.

[disembodiedvoicebracket]

Ok John Doe propaganda! Where do I even begin.

An evil all powerful elder god tried to go through a portal but it shut on top of him, chomping him in half. The chunk that wound up trapped on Earth is John. He got locked in a book/death dimension for <literally uncountable amount of time> and lost his memory.

He got released and tried to possess Arthur, only he kept control just long enough to murder a man on instinct before promptly losing control again and getting stuck possessing only Arthur's eyes. Every time Arthur loses his mind a little bit more, John gains control of new bits. Neither of them like this situation so they set out on a quest to figure out what the hell happened, get separate bodies, and maybe fall a little bit in (queerplatonic) love with each other.

And since John stole Arthur's sight, he has to describe everything to him in great detail, forming the entire base format of the podcast!

One time Arthur wound up in a coma for a month but John doesn't sleep so he was just STUCK THERE, UNABLE TO DO ANYTHING, FOR A FUCKING MONTH. But it was also sitting there, listening to the noise of the hospital that he discovered meaning in a meaningless universe and fell in love with what it means to be human. That's also where he literally named himself 'John Doe,' the default nothing placeholder name, which is very funny but also super symbolic because he just wants to be an everyday ordinary human! He doesn't want to be a god anymore!

Because, yeah, they figured out who John was and John was like, "Hey, I was super evil! I don't wanna be evil anymore!" so now they're on the run from the super powerful elder god who wants John back.

John's still very much figuring out who he is as an individual person, but he's extremely verbose, makes stupid jokes, is extremely jealous and codependent when it comes to Arthur, has picked up Arthur's tenancy to recite long poetry at the slightest opportunity, is learning how to be a detective, and misses Arthur's piano playing. He also WANTS TO GO TO THE MOVIES ARTHUR LET HIM SEE A MOVIE.

His favorite sentences are "YES ARTHUR!" and "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ARTHUR!"

There's also an evil (sort of) alternate timeline (sort of) version of him called Yellow, who has exactly the same voice as him but their personalities and ways of speaking are different enough that you can tell them apart, which is an incredible flex from the writer and I think should earn some points in a disembodies voices competition.

(John Doe from Malevolent)

[thewiglesswonder]

My Wig in christ, pour on some more TOH salt for me, I've entirely blocked out season 3 because I genuinely wished for something more. Like GD, they could've went all out with a bang but they ended with a whimper :|

Buddy, you've come to the right place!

"Ending with a whimper" is the perfect way to describe another element that I haven't gotten to talk about in-depth too much: Belos' death.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: a story is only as good as its antagonists. Without a really strong force to struggle against, your protagonists feel flat and the story feels kinda pointless. Belos, in the first half of the show, was set up to be an amazing antagonist. Beautiful, creepy aesthetic, killer design, incredible voice work, and, most importantly, major hints of complexity.

Seriously, of the modern age Disney villains that I can think of, none of their backstories even come close to the level of detail that Belos' has. From what we know for certain in the show, by his memories and Gravesfield's folklore/history, the Wittebanes were orphaned at a very young age and entered into the established Puritan commune in colonial New England. Which, if you know absolutley anything about Puritans, you know how hard of a thing that is to do. Philip, the younger of the two, was practically raised by Caleb, and looked to be extremely close with him.

Let's take a second to unpack this. You've got a young child, who may not even be old enough to quite remember what life was like with two parents and a permanent home. Everything revolves around his brother, the only source of comfort and stability, who navigates through the world, brings them to a new place, carves him a mask (which, in my opinion, speaks to not everything being especially neurotypical up there, but that's another thing), plays with him, makes sure they're properly enfolded into the town and its proclivity for witch-hunting. Caleb was Philip's entire world.

And then, when he's still a teenager, Caleb up and runs off with a witch. The thing that Philip's been told his entire life is a servant of the devil, whose only purpose on this earth is to beguile and bewitch the righteous to the path of evil, damning them to hell.

Look me in the eye and tell me that isn't a goddamn sympathetic backstory if you've ever heard one. Not every villain can or even should be redeemed, but fleshing them out as characters goes a hell of a long way when telling any story.

And what does the narrative do with this? Jack shit.

We have enough information from the background alone to stitch together this incredibly complex backstory for our main antagonist, and here comes the finale! Where we are told that Philip was always evil and always will be, nothing to be done except kill him.

He gets next to no speaking time as a giant monster, and gets kicked to death. That's it.

Just... everything about how Belos was dealt with in the second half of the season was so incredibly incongruous with what we've had revealed about him. The main-villain spotlight was pulled from him and given back so fast it gave me whiplash, and they couldn't even dredge up the skill to give him a death that at least felt satisfying any way, shape, or form.

[xandermatthews2290]

What is up with Eden

I’m going to contribute my thing if just dropping mysterious should be evidence into CH2

Eden has been one of the serious focal points of CH2 as well as the entire series, heck she’s literally the 1st person that we check in with but there’s one moment that strikes me as genuinely weird that I think will involve the trial of Arei

Who on earth is Eden talking about here? It’s definitely not Arturo as she arranged her meeting with him and he very explosively went off on her. Add in the fact that she’s in the laundry room where 1 piece of bizarre evidence sticks out to me this time more than ever

There’s a mysterious ball of Hu and Teruko’s old clothes held together with some kind of starch, which we all should be aware of which leads me to my big question

What if Eden isn’t being followed in the 1st images?

What if she’s actually just making sure that she isn’t the one being followed while she can go make the clothes ball?

Second off what on earth is the clothes ball used for?

Arei’s been hung up to death on a set of monkey bars for christs sake, Why in the name of surviving are there fish in the playground, broken water jug handles in the trash, damaged ceiling lights, a carousel wrapped in duct tape, and a ball of sticky clothes have to do with committing a successful murder?

I’m very seriously starting to ask myself who in the cast would NEED to do this in order to get this stuff done. You can excuse half of this stuff as a red herring but there’s so much of it that directly relates to the murder

Lastly my final screenshot that actually got me thinking while writing this up:

Arei’s rope, yards of this rope are rather carelessly left underneath the carousel which as anyone who’s been watching relates to Arei on a deep personal level. And who do we see in the bottom left hearing Arei bitch about her rope: Eden who was with Levi, Teruko, and David when Arei opened up about why she was like this.

Yes, Arei and Eden made up in the infirmary, but is one good conversation and a promise to do better enough for Eden to be ready to fully forgive her after a chapter and a half of being tormenting by her?

Yes, Eden’s secret wasn’t that bad, but maybe it just doesn’t seem so based on what we know, her secret is bizarrely normal compared to things like Nico’s gender identity, Charles having repressed trauma, David being a manipulator, Rose putting her family into crippling debt and Ace’s eating disorder,

Yes in ny previous post I talked about how David can’t be the culprit because the person with his secret is still alive(Whit) in Eden’s case this would be Charles who gave her secret to Teruko for safekeeping, but the motives have a track record for failing to be relevant in DRDT and it’s a pattern that could continue to hold up. Lastly if we’re really dying on that hill then the culprit could only be Hu, Levi, Veronika, Teruko, David, or Whit. I fully respect the fact that I could be wrong, but who are we as a community of obsessed murder mystery enthusiasts if we don’t at least try to theorize, if there are any serious disagreements feel free to comment

[wjehfshs]

Ok I seen eldritch pacifist reader but what about eldritch mother or father reader but they only kill when they're children are in danger or hungry.

the task force 141 were sent to do some mission only to see a creature brutalized an entire enemy base but they couldn't see how the creature looked like and when they were done with the mission came back to the base.

the rookies also came back who the same mission but in a different building, and call price to show what they found which was a weird looking creature but small like the size of a teddy bear and the creature wouldn't stop crying.

but when they saw Price they stared at him before jumping on him and climb behind staying there like a baby koala.

Price trying to get them off of him and just gives up...atleast little one eats MRE like is a buffet.

and when is time to sleep, price sleeps as the little one sleeps on big pillow, and price sleeps he Wakes up feeling something heavy on him at first he assumed it was the little creature but.

HOLY SHIT WHAT ON FUCKING EARTH IS THAT. as Price stares at a Giant Eldritch reader that has long arms and slender body. Price tries to fight back but reader was too strong and when Price thought this might be his last day, he was saved by the little one making cute noises, making reader go after the little one at first Price thought reader was going to kill them but then realized the way reader is acting soon figures out that YOU ARE THE FATHER/MOTHER.

And reader decide to spare everyone and speak " out all the mortals I've met and killed you spared my child, why?" As Price gives his answer.

A week later the boys go on a misson to kill a target but we're captured and lucky( probably not)for them reader saves them by killing the enemies one by one without letting the target know and when the target was alone the poor fool mentioned about feeding them to the cannibals and reader just says " no I believe you make a good treat for my chicken"making the target turn around and scream as reader drags them to the ceiling and eat half of the targets body making the boys watch in horror and reader is like " oh my bad " as ten of readers children pop out behind them making the boys dumbfounded or pass out. The end

Ofc!

Eldritch reader, reader has children, violence

When they got to the enemy base and saw EVERYONE there massacred they knew they had to just leave

They grabbed the info they needed and dipped

That’s when they realised they missed a vital piece of information in a different base not too far from the main one so they sent out some rookies to get it for them, good training for the rookies

That’s when Price got a call saying that they found, something…

He went out by himself to the enemy base and that’s when he saw the rookies crowded around a table

“So? What is it lads?” He asked, almost pissed at now vague they where initially

They all moved out of the way to reveal a tiny creature

The size of maybe a kids teddy bear

“Jesus Christ. Ok this isn’t fuckin funny lads calling me out here to show me some stuffed toy you found”

He was cut off by the creature yawning

He whipped his head around back to the tiny thing as he stared, dumbfounded

The rookies explained the situation to him and he ultimately decided to sleep in the abandoned cafeteria to keep alert as he grabbed a pillow from one of the rooms

He set it down and pulled out his pre-made meal

The little creature sniffed around the meal like a dog

He looked at the creature then back at the meal

“Oh alright you can have it, ya cheeky bastard” he put the meal down on a table, picking up the creature and setting it down on the table next to the meal

Immediately it stuck its tiny head in the meal and started taking bites out of it

After it was done and he had eaten some rations he brought with him he set the creature down on the pillow and used his giant military backpack as a pillow for himself

The next morning he felt a weight on his chest

Initially thinking it was the little creature he opened his eyes but instead he saw a giant version of this creature lying on top of him

He scrambled to get his gun in a blur before the creature spoke

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just wanted to thank you for keeping my child safe, I am [name]” you explained

He paused

Holy fucking shit

After a while of you explaining how you lost your child during feeding back at the main base he nodded and almost ran to his car to go back to his base

A little while later on a mission the whole 141 had been captured due to carelessness

Whilst they where locked up in a cell they heard screaming

It was you

They physically could not form words as you ripped each solider to shreds with your 10 children

All they remember is seeing that

Blacking out

Then all waking up back in their own base

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Number 16 for Alfred plz

Short, contemporary set fic. Alfred wakes from a nightmare and Matt knows what to say. On ao3 here. From prompt 16. “Are you afraid to fall asleep because you think you’re gonna have a nightmare?”

21st Century, Ottawa.

Mathew's bedroom was still and dark when he woke, and he stared at the dim glow filtering through the blinds. The light of the streetlamps was tinted blue in the storm, and he wondered why he'd woken. Kuma was still dead asleep on his memory foam sheepskin bed just next to the vent. If there'd been any intrusion in his space, he'd have been up, hackles raised and howling. Oh. He had to piss. Fuck, he must still be drunk. Groaning and cursing himself for not taking a pit stop when he and Alfred had finally put the beers and video game controllers down to go to sleep, he finally peeled himself out of bed. The room was cold, and peeling off the duvet made his thoughts switch languages and wish for a quick death in French.

Shaking the drama off, he shoved his feet into his indoor boots and shuffled down the hall, rubbing at his eyes and letting the. Business completed, he was turning off the water and drying his hands when he thought he heard something. He stumbled, still groggy, down the hall, away from the bedroom. Again, Kuma didn't howl or join him.

The TV, mounted above the fireplace, was on and thew an eerie cast over the living room as Matt approached, poking his head in. There was Alfred, hunched over.

"What are you still doing up?" Matt asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Alfred glanced up, expression inscrutable.

"I couldn't sleep," He said, sounding wrecked, like he'd been throwing up or crying.

"You good?" Matt asked, frowning.

"Fine."

"Liar," Matt replied. Alfred's gaze flashed up, the hint of Cherenkov radiation flashing in anger.

"Don't give me that face, o mighty superpower." Matt laughed, rubbing a hand down his face, incredulous. "Christ. You know, I'd normally be happy to do the usual song and dance where you deny everything until I hit a nerve. And then you can have your semi-annual mental breakdown on my couch, but it's 3 in the morning. So get yourself up, turn off the TV, put your ass in a chair in the kitchen and spill your guts while I make us hot chocolate, and then we can go back to sleep. Okay?"

Whatever it was that made Alfred their kind's weird undying version of superman seemed to drain from him, and his shoulders slumped. It was like watching someone drain the water from a nuclear reactor and shut it down.

"Yeah, all right."

In the kitchen, Alfred sat at the old kitchen table. Matt raided the cabinets and dumped milk, cream, and chocolate into a pot, breathing in a bit of the soothing steam as it warmed.

"You going to start talking?"

"I'm organizing my thoughts," Alfred said as he stared at the kitchen table, tracing the grain of a knot Matt had sanded smooth himself with two fingers. He glared at the wood. "Or I'm trying too."

"Okay. Take your time. This will take a minute." Matt's heart ached, and he opened another cabinet. There was vanilla extract there, but glancing at his brother and full of something softer, he selected one of the vanilla beans he had purchased on his last trip to Mexico and scraped it clean. In it went with the chilli and clove and cinnamon to simmer away.

"Doing okay?" Matt asked. Alfred's hand had gone still on the table, balling into a fist.

"Yeah," Alfred said.

Deciding his brother needed more time, Matt took down a bowl and whipped the living hell out of the rest of the cream until his arm shook. It was always a process. His brother's emotions were structured with the strongest joy on earth on a delicate pedestal of half-processed memories. He stirred the hot chocolate, and now melted together and velvety, it clung to the sides of the pot.

"Okay," Alfred said at last. "Okay, fuck."

He quickly poured two terracotta mugs, scooped on the hand-churned whipped cream and even dusted them with more cinnamon. He sat across the table from Alfred, shaking his left hand out. It was sore from all the whisking now.

"Damn, Matt. You were busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. That's amazing."

"Have to do something while you brood," Matt replied, pulling his hoodie sleeves back down. "Now, what's the fucken problem?"

"I had a nightmare," Alfred said plainly. Well, that'd been easier than usual.

"The 'showing up to the Armed Forces Committee with no pants' nightmare or the 'I got hung for witchcraft and dad presented the head of the fuck who sentenced me on a silver platter' nightmare."

"Neither," Alfred said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He sighed and took another long drink.

"Alfred," Matt said. "Talk."

"I'm trying," He whispered. "It feels like if I say it, it'll come true."

"That's bullshit," Matt replied. "Out with it."

Alfred sighed. "You're a piss ass when you don't sleep, you know that, right?"

"I'm going to be puking chilis and tequila when I wake up. I'm allowed to be cranky." He countered. "Saint Bibiana can't do shit about it. Now, what was this nightmare?"

"I dreamt I woke up, and the world ended while I slept," Alfred said. "Russians yeet some ICBM at me, I tossed some back, the world burned."

"You've had that nightmare since the Russians dropped their first bomb."

"Yup," Alfred said. "But usually, in the dream, I cross from New York into Quebec, and you're there. A little crispier than usual, but there and mostly okay. This time..."

Matt stared at Alfred over his mug.

"This time, what?"

"This time... nothing. No survivors. No glowing zombies, no gas-masked raiders, nothing." He paused, and Matt was silent.

"No you either," Alfred said, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and leaning into the table. "Just ash."

"Alfred," Matt said gently, softly. His brother didn't look up. "Alfred, look at me."

Watery blue eyes appeared from behind his hands. Alfred sniffed, and Matt gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm not going to die,"

"I'm stronger than you," Alfred said. "I'm stronger than everyone. If anyone would survive and be alone, it'd be me."

"So you're afraid that if you go to sleep, you'll have another nightmare about this?"

"I'm scared that if I fall asleep, I'll wake up alone." Alfred scrubbed his hair and looked on the verge of tears again. "Just me on planet earth."

"Alfred, you didn't die on me. I won't die on you, much less the entire planet."

"When the hell would I have died?"

"Does the American Civil War ring a bell?" Matt replied. "You were dead for four days after Gettysburg. But you lived."

"No one was firing nukes at Gettysburg."

"No one is firing nukes now," Matthew said. "If you're okay, I'm okay."

"Can you just... can you promise me you won't die?" Alfred said. Sometimes there was something so childlike about his mind. "Just promise you won't leave me here by myself."

"Cross my heart and hope to live, bud." Matt made the motion of the cross over his heart. He smiled. "Happy?"

Alfred nodded. "Swear to god, though, I will fucking kill you if you die before me."

"Hard same." Matt returned. "I'll set your ass on fire and make DC look like a bathroom candle if you leave me here alone."

Alfred took another sip of hot cholate and shook his head. "You're a firebug, you know that, right?"

"Well yeah, I had to settle for pyromaniac since my big brother is the one with the nuclear hellfire in his back pocket." Matt knuckled his chest and swallowed bile. "But I might be getting there. Holy shit, this is giving me heartburn."

"It's not even spicy." Alfred laughed.

"You know damn well chilli powder, and I don't get along." Matt exhaled, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in his mouth.

"Why'd you make it if you knew it'd give you heartburn?"

"I'm not the one who needed cheering up," Matt shrugged. "Hang on a second. I need antacids."

"Jesus Christ, gringo."

"Hey," Matt flung open the drawer he kept various bottles of over-the-counter pills and tablets and popped something he'd hoped would help. "That's tabernaco to you, Tex-Mex."

Alfred snorted. "Did Mari start calling you that before or after you vomited Salsa Verde all over her nice floor?"

"I put in that floor for her," Matt said. "And it was before if you must know."

"You've got too much slav in you."

"Eh," Matt countered, sitting back down, this time with a glass of water. He shoved his still-hot mug at his brother, and Alfred took it to finish it off. "Katya hasn't pegged me in a while, actually."

Alfred snorted hot chocolate so hard he choked. "Ew, dude, gross."

Matt smacked him on the shoulder. "Finish that up, and you can come huddle for warmth like we're fucken four,"

"Fucking heat-seeking missile,"

"Goddamn right."

[theroseceleste]

Helping Miguel Unwind - Part 1

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This was my 100 followers on Twitter giveaway prize. The winner said they were happy for me to publish it. They also gave me their OC's details which I then wrote into the scenario I had planned out for the milestone celebrations.

The OC is a half dragon, half human woman named Cordelia who helps out in Spider Society HQ. In this scenario, she helps Miguel O'Hara relax and unwind after a stressful day.

This IS a NSFW short story.

Enjoy!

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One late afternoon in Nueva York, the sun was already beginning to set over the bright futuristic city on Earth-928.

A tall, dominant building towered over other skyscrapers in the city skyline. This magnificent structure was full of spider people; superheroes who worked there, protecting the spider verse on a day to day basis.

Inside the control room in the Spider Society HQ; a half dragon, half human woman named Cordelia stared at bright orange screens, keeping an eye on the status of the spider verse. She stood at her own desk in her casual clothes - a red halter neck top and blue jeans. Her beautiful long tail swished occasionally as she moved her focus onto different screens at her desk; her metal tail cuffs scraping along the floor.

Behind her, a spider person named Margo zoomed around as an avatar - her human form was somewhere across the multiverse on her own Earth. She was hopping between workstations as she assisted in sending anomalies to their own universes.

Across the room stood the head of operations - Miguel O’Hara. A stern, moody character. Standing tall at six foot nine inches, his large muscular frame towered over his desk as he also observed the spider verse. His body was tense - even more so today than usual.

Cordelia could see Miguel try to stretch occasionally to ease the stiffness building in his neck and back; however no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite release that tension. This only darkened his mood; the weight of saving the multiverse rested on his shoulders, and it was starting to feel like it in a literal sense.

The half dragon’s bright blue eyes remained fixed on Miguel for a while; wandering over his frame, thinking of ways she would like to try and make him feel better - if he allowed her. She had known of him and the Spider Society for a while and had built up a bit of a rapport with Miguel. He might appear to be stern and no-nonsense most of the time, but he did hold a level of respect over Cordelia. She was working with the society, despite not being a spider person herself, and he was grateful for the help.

For the entire day, any of Cordelia’s questions to Miguel was met with short and to the point responses. Swallowing hard, Cordelia decided to make an attempt to lighten Miguel’s mood. Her large white ears twitched nervously as she approached Miguel.

“What is it, Cordelia?” he asked as he heard her approach, his gaze continued to stare at multiple orange screens. Her half-dragon’s claws on the floor gave her away

“You seem really stressed today, Miguel… I was just wondering if I can help at all?” she spoke softly.

With a sigh, he turned to face the assistant. He realised that perhaps he might have been rude to people today. Before he could say anything, an alert blared out within the control room. Lyla swiftly came into view over his left shoulder.

“I’ve found an anomaly on Earth-1549. It could interfere with a canon event,” the flickering AI informed him.

“Oh, for Christ sake,” Miguel muttered under his breath. This was just what he didn’t want. “Get Peter and Jess to meet me there as soon as possible,” the society leader barked as he punched the destination’s details into his watch. A red and orange glow lit the room as a portal opened up. With a determined look on his face, Miguel brushed past Cordelia as he strode towards the portal; his mask materialised before stepping through.

The portal disintegrated after Miguel had gone, leaving Cordelia alone. Her ears drooped slightly in disappointment before turning to face Miguel’s large desk. With a sigh, she began to watch the anomaly mission carry out. Miguel’s watch showed that he was now on Earth-1549.

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Many thanks for reading part 1. I will upload part 2 as soon as I can. I hope you enjoyed the start.

Liking and commenting would be greatly appreciated. Keep your eyes peeled for part 2!

Love, Rose Celeste xx

[kenny-the-ken]

Mad City

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! Hello guys!! Long time no see!! My writer's block has been literal fucking hell on earth lately, I'm slowly getting back at it though!! So here is the first instalment of my Gang AU!! I have been so excited to write this and I took my time cause I wanted it to be gooooood!! This is just the first part so I'll have the next part out soon guys!!

The streetlight flickered, the fresh snowfall glimmering under the dull, orange that came and went with each flicker of the lightbulb. The streets were quiet, the snow lay still, not a footprint in sight. Silence. Peace and serenity as the calm peace was broken by the deafening echo of three gunshots, coming in quick succession and followed by the silence once more.

The once white snow beneath Stan’s feet was now tainted a scarlet red, the body of the man that had crossed him now laying lifeless at his feet. “It's done.” Was all he muttered into the brick, burner phone in his hand, before hanging up, popping the back open and taking the battery out, followed by the sim card, which he snapped in half.

The drive back to base wasn't long, the streets of South Park belonged to those in a higher position, those whose names were spoken only in hushed tones, out of fear. They ran this city, and anyone who dared pose a threat, or think they could deal drugs on their turf, well let's just say, they'd end up like the guy left laying with three bullets in his head.

Car tyres screeched as Stan pulled to a stop, exiting his luxury black car, heading inside their base. And once inside Stan could hear the bellowing of an argument.

“What the fuck did you think was gonna happen, Eric? I mean, you trusted Leopold of all people with a large shipment of cocaine! Kenny's gonna flip!” It was Kyle, and even through his gritted teeth and obvious immense anger, he continued on with decoding. Kenny was planning a heist on the bank in town, and Kyle was their only hope of bypassing security and wiping the cameras clean so that they wouldn't be caught. The ginger hadn't been persuaded easily to join them, but it was simply money that he couldn't pass up.

“Well I'm sorry, Kyle, but I didn't see you having any better fuckin’ ideas!” Eric retorted. Their relationship dynamic was something that often confused Stan. He was sure that they'd hooked up before, but neither would ever admit it, both far too proud to be honest.

Stan and Eric were known as Kenny's bodyguards. They were often sent to kill or threaten those who opposed them, and even though Stan may be saying it himself, they did a pretty good job. Stan was emotionless, no empathy for those who dared to threaten not just his, but his friend’s lives. Eric on the other hand, well, Eric felt plenty of emotions, and none of them good, at least for the person who he was taking them out upon. He was ruthless, and everyone knew it, he wasn't someone who was easily pushed around, in fact he seemed to take great pleasure in the torment of others.

Kenny, now Kenny was a completely different story. The once muffled blond was nearly his younger self’s complete opposite. At only 23, Kenny had set up, trained, and equipped the gang with everything they could possibly need for power and control. Stan admired it, really. He wasn't seen much, he was always busy, calls, drug deals, cartel cooperation, gun smuggling, you name it, Kenny was in on it.

“No, you tell that mother fucker that if I don't get my shipment of drugs by tonight, then there's gonna be a fucking war, understand?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Kenny wasn't one to mess around. Coming from the background that he did, it was no surprise that he was ruthless. He was used to this way of life, his parents used to cook and sell meth for Christ's sake! This was all he'd ever known, and god damn was he good at it.

“Stan, Eric. I need you guys on standby tonight. Kyle, how's getting into the bank’s main systems going?” Kenny spoke with authority, he'd been doing this from he was a teen, he'd been drug dealing from he was sixteen, so this wasn't exactly a surprise to anyone that Kenny was running a pretty big, and successful gang in South Park, and they were expanding, and rapidly at that. Kyle shot Kenny a quick thumbs up, his other hand still absentmindedly typing on his keyboard.

“Stan, my office now please.” Kenny spoke with authority in his tone. Kenny wasn't stupid enough to do business where he lived, so he had bought an old garage in a shit part of the city, and ran his business from there. It was quite deceiving, larger on the inside than it looked on the outside, and besides, his philosophy always was, don't shit where you eat. He learnt that one the hard way with his parents. The base wasn't anything fancy, but it was discreet and well hidden, and that's what matters most, especially in this line of business.

Making his way towards his office, Kenny continued walking, Stan hot on his heels behind him, the ebony haired male knew how the blonde worked, he was blunt. Kenny didn't grow up with words that were in a thick coating of sugar, no, Kenny grew up around addicts, for a while he was an addict, but that trend always seems to break everytime he died, his secret weapon that only those closest to him knew about.

Sitting at his large oak desk, Kenny motioned for Stan to sit facing him. “Close the door, Marsh.” He nonchalantly added, before looking through some of the mass piles of paperwork that sat atop his desk, still carefully eyeing Stan as he sat directly facing him.

“So, you took care of him then?” The blond was never one to beat about the bush, to Ken, time was money, and any time wasted was money lost. “I doubt he'll be selling fentanyl on our streets again, considering I put three bullets in his skull.” Stan laughed, his demeanour relaxing. He knew Kenny would be pleased with his work, and now he could finally relax. Or so he thought, till Kenny passed him a file across the desk, motioning for him to open it.

Tolkien Black

Head of Organised Crime Unit

Jimmy Valmer

Head of Drugs and Money Laundry Intelligence

Timmy Burch

Head of Cyber Crime Intelligence

Bebe Stevens

Chief of Police

Attached were pictures of each member of the police, all of whom were in pretty high up places. Quirking a brow, Stan's crisp blue eyes met with Kenny’s icey blue’s, a smirk on his face. “It seems we have a few not so secret admirers. I'll be pairing you up with Cartman, Tucker and Donovan, I want eyes everywhere, you understand? These fuckers wanna shut us down.” The raven haired twenty four year old worried his lower lip between his teeth, mind racing as his eyes quickly scanned the pages of information Kenny had already collected on them.

“Do you want them dead?” Stan asked, his tone stern, and Kenny smirked in response, a twinkle in his eye. “If they can't be bought then, yes. The question is, Stan. Are you game enough?” Kenny always had been a tease in one way or another, Stan tutted, flipping the brown file closed before standing to his feet, placing out his hand to Kenny, which he took, their eyes locked in their own staring contest.

“Tell me, Ken. When am I not game?"

[quidcumque]

GRAVEYARD KEEPER: FIRST THOUGHTS

I heard it compared to Stardew Valley and aside from the silly title screen, it's definitely visually there. Play through? There are a hell of a lot of cons, but they won't keep me from playing it

Con: no character customization, no choices at all. You ARE a heterosexual white male-presenting protagonist with a female-presenting white sweetheart. Any headcannon re either of you being 🏳️‍⚧️ remains headcannon

Hilarious: you are reading a text from your sweetheart when crossing a road and you get hit by a car. Keep track of your surroundings, kids

Con: the dialog writing starts out real clumsy. You do eventually get choices, but I prefer how SV makes you the strong silent type when you're not actively involved

WHICH REMINDS ME, CON: don't let the dialog bubbles cycle on their own without me clicking??? I missed so much unretrievable info because I was mulling over the first half smh

Plot: she swallowed the dog to catch the cat, she swallowed the cat to catch the bird, she swallowed the bird to catch the spider, she swallowed the spider to catch the fly. I don't know why she swallowed the fly, maybe she died crossing the street and woke up in a shitty little medieval FLAT EARTHER village and she has to rube goldburg her way to and through a magic portal to get back to her sweetheart. Or something.

Pro: I don't play rpgs much so while I don't prefer this style over sv's do-whatever-and-you'll-suck-less-as-you-go gameplay, it's pretty awesome in and off itself BECAUSE it's so different. It also contributes heavily to the swallowed-the-spider-to-catch-the-fly effect because it's got EIGHT TABS OF TECH TREES and I started drawing graphs

Pro: you're on a derelict homestead/graveyard with a familiar need to clear rocks/trees/stuff and bring the area back to life. BUT doing things gives you different xp/knowledge points which is how you advance on the tech trees, so it's different from just a carbon copy SV feel

Con: Jesús Christ you can tell this was made by a dude. So was SV, but where it had nearly equal gender ratios (plus the aforementioned character choices), I've seen... not very many women thus far, and what we get is not exactly impressive. I have no problems with "ms charm" telling me to fuck off until I deserved to talk to her, as half the men I met said the same. But I've met two wives thus far, and uhhhhhhhhhhh one is straight up called sweet but stupid in her bio and the other opens EVERY SINGLE DIALOG with "you should talk to my husband, he's in charge" like jfc lady you're the one I need for recipes, calm down? Does he beat you? What the hell?

Con: let's set aside that I'm pretty sure the "medieval idiots thought world flat" thing has been debunked, because I found info but it didn't have good citations. Also maybe we're going for parody over historically accurate, fine whatever. But whyyyyyyyyyy do you have a guy named "G*psy Traveler" like I know I have an inflated sense of how widely it's known that that's a slur, but it on top of the flat earth thing and the WOW that's bad female-or-anything representation, it builds an image of the creator/creators as the really stereotypical basement dwelling head-up-ass dudes who have never ever looked outside their zone and never ever want to

Pro: like two steps into the tutorial you're slapped in the face with Soilent Green is People and you just live with that

Hilarious: I can tell when I have a first conversation with somebody I was supposed to have met already, because my pre-scripted side of the conversation suddenly backslides in terms of my acceptance of the situation

Pro: time is an illusion and represented only by the cycle of emoji-labeled days. Weeks are not counted, so I legitimately have no clue how many "weeks" I went through last night

Unsure??? I don't know how much I'm going to have to drink the church koolaid to progress? I saw an indication up the tech tree that suggested my good/evil choices MIGHT matter, but I've got no idea how. I told the inquisitor who'd just BURNED A PEOPLE ALIVE IN FRONT OF ME that sure I'd be his friend, and I don't know if the game allows for that to have been a choice made out of the fear that I'd be burned next if I said no

Pro: I still want to play it. The myriad cons will influence how I talk about it to my friends, but it's still giving me dopamine, and that's good enough