#greco roman fics

[minecraftfanatic]

Time To Ball: A Wildfire Fic

"...Ms. Niika-"

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"-is that Lucan?"

"Where?!"

"Riiight there!"

"..."

"..."

"...That's Lucan. In a dress. And veil."

"Actually, I don't think that's a dress but a chiton. It's a type ooooof-"

"..."

"...Shutting up now."

"Why is Lucan here? This doesn't make sense--Marcus said he was a prisoner. He should be in shackles, not paraded around on Skorch's arm."

"Maybe that's the point? I mean, you said it yourself--he's being paraded. Parties are for showing off and this party is all about how Felden got conquered. Why not show off a wannabe rebel?"

"That...are they building up for an execution?"

Scratch scratch, "It...I don't think so? Maybe they're trying to intimidate us. If they have one of us, who knows what he's told them for cushy treatment."

"Lucan's not a traitor."

"I know, I know, but not everyone--hang on. Everyone's been using a foreign language so far but I think one of them just swapped to Ardonian."

====+====

Lucan hated everyone, everything, and all in between.

Except the sausage. At least that didn't betray him.

Prick #7 swirled her wine, speaking to Skorch while treating him like everyone else did: a sideshow or a potato.

It was actually relieving that he couldn't understand the language they were using. One thing getting pointed fingers, it's a whole new slew of worms dealing with questions he'd have to answer. Skorch was still pissed at how he threw that DRESS down the river.

Heh. Worth it.

Now, he knew that someone was spying (all that time hunting necromancers with Niika at night paid off!) and no, he wasn't gonna look for them.

What? He wasn't stupid--drawing attention is never a smart idea. Better to look bored nibbling.

Oh great, they were moving. Yaaaaaaay.

"Pyfidus Skorch," oh no, "my gratitude for your invite. Only Crown Peak can match the current spectacle."

Oh god no. Prick #8 can talk???

As the two nattered on Lucan did his absolute goddamn best to serve as window dressing, sparing an ear for important details. Frankly it sounded like a load of buttkissing, titles slash honorifics like Grands and Embers, chats on...oh hold up. What's this about the beacon?

"As Felden's future Grand I was wondering if you knew what had happened. The only reason they'd all fluctuate would require a broken st-"

"That," Skorch draws out, "is King Pythus' prerogative and none other. If he chooses to explain it shall be on his own accord."

Prick #8 didn't pucker but damn if he wasn't unhappy. Suck it, "And your...pet?" Excusez-moi? Why was he getting dragged into this? "Odd to bring a human here. A trophy I take it?"

"My kenaz," thank you for that incredibly obscure bit of trivia. Care to grace this poor ignorant mortal on whatever your sorry mouth conjured?

Prick #8 stared. A little bit more and Lucan bet's he'd have gone slack-jawed. Sweet mother of--is this why prick #4 choked on her appetizer? Or prick#2 dropped their spoon?

...Nah. That be stupid. Too stupid really. World didn't revolve around him. Probably just other dumb questions getting shot down. Aristocrats, nobles, rich folks, they were all the same.

"Your...kenaz," Prick #8 just barely kept from gurgling, "I-I see. But isn't a human's life short-lived? How do you intend to spare your heart?"

Oh. Okay, now he knew what was going on.

Bitch, do you think I'm going to die that easily. I'm not going to be a cute pet dog for you to mourn and replace. I'm taking down your whole operation and there's nothing you can do to stop me sucka.

"Did fire not consume me?" Lucan blinked, staring at Skorch properly for the first time since the two entered the party, "Did obsidian not crack free of skin? Did my blood not spray forth light unrivaled? Tell me that my heart shudders. Tell me that my star shines. Tell me that my craft matters." Skorch takes a step forward and prick#8 a step back, serenity contrasting with his conversation partner's clear regret. "Or tell me that my eyes decieve. Or tell me that my craft is sullen. Or tell me another lie, that I may present to beauty my reward for mockery."

Did...did this fucker just quote honest to god poetry???

Ah, Niika. I'm sorry to say this but death by second hand embarrassment isn't what I expected either. Sorry for not paying back all the bowls we shared together.

===+===

"...Uhhhh."

"...Lucan. Why, just why."

"You saw that too, right? Because I can barely read their lips from here and it looks like he just kicked Skorch."

Sigh, "Yes."

"Is...Is he gonna live???"

"I can hear Skorch laughing so assume yes until proven otherwise."

[loud-whistling-yes]

I suddenly very, very deeply relate to the undertale stronger than you discourse back in 2017

[h0frwann1ng]

Harpy inspired dude chiken man 🧍‍♂️

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

"dying from too much amnesia".... dude. man. don't roast my fanfic plots like this

[earthtooz]

cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

[prentissluvr]

now you know — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, canon typical violence and monsters, near drowning experience, poor editing as usual, 6.8K words. part two of makes you wonder.

summary : you become more entangled in "agent" sam's case when you come across the monster he seeks. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga. [ disclaimer, i found this on the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so correct me if i'm wrong ! ]

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

the bar isn’t your go-to spot after work, mostly because that means you have to talk to people for some reason or another, but you’re feeling good tonight. good, and also still questioning your entire worldview so you figure it’s a good time as any to get a drink.

you’re halfway through your drink, eyes downcast and tracking the details of the table’s wood, when a hand on the back of the chair across from you snags your attention. you look up, slightly startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger. the first thing you notice is how beautiful he is. his rich, lightly curled dark brown hair and finely sculpted features are the kind of handsome that resemble a classic greco-roman kind of beauty.

his unrealistically good looks and charming scottish accent as he asks, “would you mind if i sit here?” almost disarm you completely before you remember that means you’ll have to talk to him. plus, you have a date to schedule with your mysterious agent sam.

“well, i’m headed home soon, so i guess that’s alright,” you say, trying to immediately display your disinterest without flat out rejecting him. when he slides into the chair with a smile that teeters between sleezy and charming, you wish you’d just said no.

“maybe i can change your mind,” he drawls, and you have to hold back from physically cringing. you now desperately want him to go, but don’t know how to get him to politely after having made the mistake letting him sit. “let me buy you another drink,” he offers.

you shake your head. “no, that’s– that’s not really very necessary. this is enough for me,” you refuse, motioning to your half-empty glass.

“oh, come darlin’! a free drink might not be necessary, but it surely’s a nicety, don’t ya think?” he raises a thick, neatly groomed eyebrow at you, making an unfortunately successful attempt at a handsome, flirty look. 

for once, you hope that your smile looks just as pained and awkward as it feels. “it’s a kind offer, i just, you know, don’t want another drink, so… that’s okay.”

he lifts his hands a little to signal surrender. “your loss then, love.” as he searches for some other flirty quip that might persuade you better, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, and if you weren’t paying close attention in that exact moment, you would’ve completely missed the sprinkle of sand that falls from his hair and into his lap at the movement. you inhale sharply, suddenly afraid.

you try to sound casual when you pull a classic, “you know, i should really get going. i have an early morning tomorrow.” gathering your stuff up into your arms, you stand and try to convince yourself that you’re seeing things and that even if there was sand in his hair, it was just a coincidence. “have a nice night!”

then, as you spare him one last glance, he tilts his head when he bids you a flirtatious goodbye. “hope to see you here again,” he grins and a few more grains of sand fall to his shoulder, it’s light color stark against the dark fabric of his button up shirt. you try to stay unreadable, but your gaze follows the sand as it falls and his eyes follow yours to his shoulder. he brushes the dirt off and a dangerous look crosses his face. quite frankly, the look terrifies you, so you don’t waste a second to spin on your heel and rush out of the building towards your parked car.

the moment your back is turned, you’re digging around your bag until you find sam’s business card. with shaky hands and hurried feet, you punch the phone number into your phone and hold it to your ear, silently begging for him to pick up as you exit the building and the cool air of the night hits you.

“hello?” comes the newly familiar voice of sam through the phone speaker.

“sam! hi, it’s me, from the museum. you know, earlier today,” you think your voice may have come out a little panicked.

“yeah, yeah, of course,” he answers, voice please at first, then turning more serious, “good to hear from you, is everything alright? it’s sort of late.” he seems to have picked up on the scared edge to your voice. 

“i, um, god, i’m about to sound a little bit insane, but i’m just gonna say it. are you a real fbi agent? if yes, that’s great and i’m probably just really paranoid and making things up, if not, can i say something sort of crazy because i think that you might actually believe me? you know, if you’re, uh– not actually an fbi agent who thinks that totally normal reasons can explain those deaths you’re investigating?” you ramble, stumbling awkwardly through your words and feeling like a complete fool. there’s a moment of silence where you curse the fact that you had to park so far away, because you just want to be safely tucked into your car and headed home. the thought that sam thinks you’re totally off your rocker crosses your mind.

but sam’s sigh on the other line sounds almost relieved, and he answers. “i’m not– not an fbi agent. and trust me, whatever you could say that you might think is crazy, is probably nothing compared to some of the shit i’ve seen, so you can say whatever it is. i promise i won’t think you’re crazy.”

“okay,” you say breathlessly as your vague suspicions are confirmed. then you let it just tumble from your lips. “i think that the each-uisge is real and that i just met it and–” you cut yourself off when you hear something behind you. you’ve been so focused on sam that you haven’t been paying enough attention to anything else, and when you whip your head around, you see the man from the bar following you from a bit of a distance. you draw in a sharp breath of fear.

“shit,” sam curses, “where? you gotta get away from it, meet me at the–,” he instructs quickly.

you cut him off, real panic entering your voice as you pick up your speed, almost at a run. “fuck, sam, he’s coming for me, i think– i– i don’t know. but he had sand in his hair and he saw me looking at it and he’s following me and i’m almost to my car,” you ramble, glancing over your shoulder. the man is closer than before, he’s clearly picked up his own pace as well. “but he’s getting closer and i don’t have any iron or silver or anything and i–”

“hey, hey, listen to me. run as fast as you can to your car. you’re gonna be okay.” sam’s calm and level headedness are helpful, and immediately, you begin to sprint. but with a glance backwards, you see the thing gaining on you with unnatural speed. “drive anywhere and i’ll track your phone, i’m already on my way to come get you, okay? you’re gonna be fine.” 

you don’t realize you’re crying until you choke on your tears when you try to speak. “sam i– i don’t think i can make it, he’s too fast. the lake isn’t far from here, just head there, i–” you scream when an unnaturally strong hand clamps around your wrist.

you hear sam shout your name as you’re whirled around to face the creepy man from the bar. you try to pull away, but his skin is like adhesive, literally. you can feel your skin sticking to his like there’s super glue leaking from his pores.

“sam, please,” you sob out before the phone is ripped out of your hand and tossed aside. the man, or creature, or whatever bares his teeth in your face.

“it’s too late, sweetheart. all that hunter’s gonna find of you is your liver in the water. but you already know that, don’t you? hmm? how’d you know what i am?” he snarls, tugging you closer to him and smirking.

you don’t answer, just growl in frustration and struggle helplessly against him. “let me go!” you demand through tears.

“‘fraid that’s not an option, lass.” he smirks, then he’s yanking you behind him, pressing you into his back and in horror, you realize that his shape is changing right against you until you’re stuck to the back of a tall, dark horse, high above the ground. you let out a strangled scream and desperately struggle to get off. but, just as the folklore tells it, his sleek coat is impossibly sticky, as the lake must be close enough for him to smell its waters.

the horse leaps into a gallop, and another yelp is pulled from your lips from the speed he takes off at. panic rips through you and you grip the hair of the horse’s mane to keep your upper body from being yanked backwards. in a small moment of clear thinking, you keep your other hand from touching the horse. indeed, even his mane is adhesive, and you’re now stuck with just a single free hand. 

the streets and buildings are a complete blur to you with the combination of such speed and the tears in your eyes. all you can tell is when the town fades into the forest, and you’re being torn at by harsh, unforgiving tree branches. at this point, you know that begging or screaming is useless. so, you let tears be ripped from your eyes and pulled into the air by the wind rippling past you, and silently beg to whatever entity may be listening that sam gets to you on time.

suddenly, you’ve torn past the trees and straight into the shallow waters of the lake, and your hope fades. in seconds, your feet dip into the cold shock of water, and you think of how you never imagined your life would end this way. mostly because you didn’t think that shape-shifting killer horse-men were real, but here you are.

as your helplessness increases, you remember the silver necklace around your neck. it’s small, mostly likely inconsequential, but you still yank it off of your neck and press it against the neck of the large animal. it rears up, whinnying in pain, and you would’ve fallen and likely cracked your head open if you weren’t stuck to the creature’s back.

the silver clearly burns, but it’s too small to keep the large creature from completing its mission. it’s hungry. 

as your knees dip under the cold water, you hear the rumble of an old engine, then glance back just in time to see a tall, broad silhouette against the car’s bright headlights, running towards you as your waist, then chest are pulled under. 

it’s sam, and he yells your name as he splashes into the dark water. you choke out his name, then gulp in a full breath as the water reaches your chin, then swallows you up whole. it’s coldest against your head, suffocating and heavy and horrifying.

you don’t stop struggling when you’re submerged, hoping maybe the adhesive wears up under water. of course, you’re not so lucky, but your struggle seems to slow down the horse as it dives deeper into the water. there’s a long, torturous moment that passes where you’re positive that sam will be too late; your lungs already burn and you don’t think it’ll take too long for you to be drowned and eaten by something that probably shouldn’t exist.

but, your hopelessness is interrupted when the dulled light of his flashlight hits you, just as it begins to flicker and fail from being under water. then, his long arm is reaching out, grabbing hold of the horses mane to tug himself closer. the horse attempts to kick him away, but sam is able to sink a long dagger blade into the horse’s neck. a shudder passes through the monster, then it stills, and your immediately begin to float away from it. it’s magical properties fail as it dies, dark blood oozing out into the water. 

in a haze, you notice the water tainted with blood is warmer. it’s darkness and the way it seeps through the water reminds you of the ink of a squid. in a split second, sam’s strong arm wraps around your waist as his flashlight dies and the darkness in your vision isn’t just from the loss of light, but the loss of consciousness too. 

you do your best to cling to your awareness and sam’s broad shoulders, but you go limp in his arms just a few heavy moments before he breaks the surface, gasping and struggling a bit from holding both you and the dagger.

dean is right there to help sam, knee deep in the water. he quickly takes a hold of you and carries you to the edge of the water where he lays you down on your back. sam drops to his knees right beside you, and immediately, his hands are cupping your face, one hand slapping your cheek gently to see if you’ll wake up on your own before he starts cpr.

dean’s about to shove sam out of the way to do it himself, given that he’s far less exhausted, when your eyes fly open and you cough violently, your lungs doing their best to expel the unwelcome water from your lungs. 

even soaked in cold water, sam’s hands are still steady as he turns you to your side and pats your back to be sure that you don’t choke. you can’t really make out what he’s saying, but his voice is comforting as you gasp and sputter, your hands grasping at his for something solid to take hold of. 

“it’s okay, it’s okay. you’re safe now, i got you.” sam reassures, voice soft and steady. he pulls you up and into his chest as your coughing becomes less laden with lake water and more so with tears. it crosses your mind that you hate to be seen so uncomposed and vulnerable, choking a little on your own sobs, shaking from cold and residual fear, and sort of unable to speak after your whole entire view of the world has been grabbed hold of by some other force and tilted to a whole new angle. but you let sam hold you anyways; his broad frame, large set of hands, and hushed voice are so grounding that you wouldn’t dare move away.

you’re vaguely aware of someone else shrugging a warm, dry jacket over your shoulders, and sam is quick to readjust and pull it tight around you. and with that, your head tucked into his neck and your arms wrapped around his middle, you finally begin to calm down. your breathing evens to match the pace of his hand rubbing up and down your back and you shudder against him one last time before you shift to put a palm on the ground and take responsibility for some of your own body weight. you’re still leaning against him, because you’re not sure you could hold yourself up on your own, but you want it to be known that you’re regaining your composure.

the first words that you mean to say to sam are thank you, but the moment you open your mouth, you catch sight of something glinting in the moonlight just a foot or two away. so instead of the gratitude you mean to express, the words, “is that my dirk?” tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. sam winces guiltily underneath you and in an instant, you’re stumbling to correct yourself.

“oh god, that’s not what i meant to say, i’m so sorry. that is so horribly ungrateful of me,” your voice shakes from the chattering of your teeth as you look at him with total regret. “i was trying to say ‘thank you’ and i got distracted and i said that instead, but i didn’t mean it that way, i was just… confused.” you don’t even catch the way that sam smiles at you, all soft and endeared. 

and in reality, you are worried about the state of your priceless knife. you truly mean that you’re sorry for saying that instead of thank you first, but you still scramble away from sam in order to get the knife in your own hands.

the blade has mostly been washed up by the waters of the lake, but there’s residue of a dark, sticky substance that makes you cringe. but, with a sigh of relief, you realize that there’s no further damage to the artifact and carefully clean it with the still dripping wet fabric of your shirt.

behind you, someone’s laughing and it’s not sam. you finally fully register the presence of another person. you look up to see another man, pretty like sam, but with an amused smirk on his features.

“sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. “thank you, both of you. for, you know, saving my sorry ass.”

“of course,” comes sam’s sincere voice, “i’m just glad we got here in time. i’m sorry this happened. and for stealing your dirk.” you look over at him with an embarrassed, shaky smile. he points to the other man with his chin and you return your gaze to him. “that’s my brother, dean.” dean holds up his hand in a sort of greeting and you nod back.

“let’s get you two dried off,” dean says, voice still a little amused. “where can we drop you?” he asks kindly, stepping towards you and holding out a hand to help you up. you take his hand, still dripping the dagger in your other, and he hoists you up. as you’re still finding your footing, you feel sam by your side, then his big hand on the small of your back keeping you steady.

“thanks,” you murmur to the both of them. sam smiles at you, and dean lets your hand go, knowing that sam will be plenty pleased and anxious to be the one to lead you to the car. he managed to annoy sam into admitting that he asked you out on a date within minutes after he got back to the motel from the museum. sam had been trying not to be too smiley. he absolutely had been all smiley.

now, sam’s not smiling. he’s worried and completely guilt-ridden because he’s managed to see the sweet, awkward, and at ease you, and then a version of you that’s limp in his arms. as he ushers your shaking form into the back of the impala, he wonders if he should call it off. tell you he can’t make it to a date, that there’s a new case and he has to leave right away. not call you back. it’s nowhere near his fault that the each-uisge got to you, and yet, he knows that proximity to him means danger. that’s the last thing that he wants for you, even if he thinks he might want you.

and yet, you shiver and gingerly clutch onto your 16th century scottish dirk in the back seat of his brother’s car and when he glances back at you, you have the audacity to send him an adorable, lopsided little smile. you’ve just found out that monsters are real and nearly drowned at one’s hands and you have the audacity to smile at him? smile at him like you’re just fine when you’re so cold he can see you shivering through the rearview mirror and he feels like it’s his fault? and you look like you feel awkward, like you think smiling at him is the most normal thing you can think to do, and it makes him like you very much.

you’re irresistible, and he’d really like to be able to resist you, for your own sake.

“so,” when you start to speak, your voice trembles a little, just because of the way your teeth chatter. sam’s cold too, but it seems to be affecting you more. “hot, homicidal horse-man shapeshifters from scottish folklore are real,” you state, sounding an odd mix of afraid, confused, and very curious. you lean forward and lean against the seats in front of you. “is there… more?”

sam turns his head to look at you, his face full of regret. “yeah,” he says, sighing. “pretty much anything supernatural you can think of. from werewolves, vampires, and ghosts to djinn, each-uisge.”

“oh,” you ponder, “that’s… insane,” you settle on. sam nods in agreement.

dean lets out a huff of laughter. “you got that right. sounds like you’re handling it pretty okay, though,” he commends you.

you shrug, then admit, “i’m actually… trying not to be excited right now because i almost just died from that shit, but… it’s– sort of, kind of, just a little bit cool to me. to know that it’s all real, not that there’s dangerous creatures out there killing people. very not cool,” you nod at your own words awkwardly, trying to be honest about how you feel without sounding insensitive. “and you two… what? go around and save people from them?” you ask, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“yep,” dean chimes, “we’re hunters. we find monsters and gank ‘em for a living. not that it pays.”

“huh. hunters… that must… suck,” you conclude, then try to backtrack, “not– not that i’m saying it’s not important or– or that your lives suck, or– or… yeah.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” sam assures you, “it kind of does suck. a lot, sometimes, but we… we help people, and it’s worth it.” he wants you to think it sucks. he wants you to hate it and he wants you to think it’s too dangerous and awful that you don’t even want to be associated with him. and at the same time, he wants you to think that he helps, that he thinks it’s worth it because he can’t lie about that either. and he already knows, from the way you’re taking things, you won’t think of it as any reason not to be at least alright with him. god, sam’s got no idea what the hell to think, or what the hell to want.

“yeah,” you nod, “yeah, that’s– that’s good of you two.” you sort of wondered before if all this might change how you feel about going on a date with sam. when you think about it now, it doesn’t. it doesn’t change a thing. you still think he’s delightful. “so… where are you two staying? the bed and breakfast?”

“uh, no, we’re staying in the motel just outta town,” sam answers.

“in that shithole?” you raise your eyebrows skeptically. “gosh, i hear there’s never any hot water.”

“damn straight,” confirms dean with a humorless chuckle. “but we’ve had worse. at least this the water gets lukewarm.” sam shoots dean a look that neither of you catch, and the next words that you say are the reason for it.

“well, you two should come shower in my apartment, then,” you don’t seem to realize that’s a little bit suggestive, but neither could care less. it’s clearly just a kind offer. “it’s always hot and the water pressure is pretty much perfect. and sam, if you’re anywhere near as cold as i am, you definitely need a hot shower.”

“no, no, we shouldn’t,” sam refutes, voice kind and regretful in a way he hadn’t meant to show. “we don’t want to intrude after all the shit from tonight.”

you swallow, wondering if you can convince him to stay without admitting that you’re still scared. but you figure that might be the only way. after saving your life he seems to feel guilty, and you can’t understand why. “you wouldn’t be intruding, i promise. you… you really need a hot shower.”

“i’ll be alright,” he assures you, adding, “i’ve had much worse,” for good measure. he needs you to know that it’s dangerous to know him.

you sigh and sit back, leaning into the leather seat. “would you… would you mind, you know, staying with me a little longer?” you let a little bit of vulnerability seep into your voice; you don’t want to say the words i’m still scared, but you do want to give sam a reason to stay that he’ll actually take.

he glances back at you, and it’s too dark to see the look on his face; still guilty, but soft, warm, and understanding.

“no, no, i wouldn’t mind,” he says, voice extra gentle. you let out a relieved breath, glad that he understood your message. the rest of the car ride is quiet aside from your instructions guiding dean to your apartment. he pulls to the side of the road in front of your building. sam gets out first, opening your door for you and hovering his big palm over your head as you step out of the small car. you thank him quietly with a soft smile. he heads to the trunk to grab a spare change of dry clothes and you pull the big brown leather jacket off of your shoulders. you assume it to be dean’s, so you open the passenger’s side door and hand it to him.

“thank you, dean. you, um, if you want, you’re welcome to take a hot shower here, too,” you offer, noting the way he doesn’t actually park the car or step out himself. 

“that’s alright, sweetheart,” he grins, “i’ll leave you and sammy alone.” his tone is definitely suggestive, and he winks at you. you sputter for a second, then clear your throat awkwardly.

“i, um, sure! sounds good,” you squeak out, quickly retreating from the car and shutting the door. it’s very quiet, but you think you hear dean laughing a little. you try not to look completely embarrassed when sam approaches you.

“dean say he’s not coming?” he asks. 

you shake your head. “uh, n-no he said he’s fine.”

sam raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything about the way you seem much more flustered than you were just moments ago. he’s sure than dean made some inappropriate comment, and he’ll apologize for it later. 

“he say he’d wait here?” he asks instead. the last thing he wants is for dean to have inadvertently invited sam over for the night.

“um, no, i-i figured that he’d- that you’d…” you swallow thickly, unsure how to proceed. then dean shifts the car into drive and begins to pull back into the street.

“dean, wait!” sam calls after him, certainly loud enough to hear. sam is ignored, and the gorgeous black car just rumbles down the street. “god, i’m sorry about him. i’ll call him to pick me up.” he looks at you apologetically but you shake your head.

“no, no, it’s okay! i sort of thought that you… you know, might… stay over? only if you’re okay with that, i- it’s okay if you want him to pick you obviously, but… my couch is free and comfortable. probably better than the shitty motel mattresses.” you look at him, eyes both kind and unsure, and he finally remembers that you’re still shivering, even more without dean’s jacket pulled over your shoulders.

“i… if you’re sure. let’s just get inside for now,” he urges, hovering his hand over your shoulder blade as you both turn and walk into the building. you lead the way to your apartment, quiet and soft in your movements. somehow, sam is softer.

inside, he insists that you don’t worry about him, that you head right into the shower because you’re still shivering and it’s got him really quite worried. but you resist, first grabbing him a dry towel and a big fluffy blanket to warm himself up with while he waits in the living room. you tell him where the mugs and the tea can be found, and that the kettle should boil filtered water only. 

“you should make yourself a hot cup of tea,” you say, and tell him that the decaffeinated green genmaicha is your favorite for this time of night if he’d like to make one for you too. sure that he’d feel unuseful just sitting on the couch, you give him something to do.

when you step into the shower, you expect to be soothed. you expect your shoulders to relax and your limbs to stop shuddering and your teeth to quit chattering. it’s true that the bone deep chill begins to fade, and you stop fearing hypothermia. but you are not near soothed or relaxed. it’s not horrible because of the heat, the light, and the familiar surroundings. but the water on your skin is not as welcome as you’d wished. it’s not cold enough or suffocating enough to pull you back down into the lake with the sticky flesh-eating horse, but it’s not pleasant at all. 

you wash up quickly, then step out, dry off, and get dressed even quicker. you cover yourself in the sort of clothing fit for the middle of winter when you’ve been snowed in. fleece pajama pants, a cotton, crew neck long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt to top it all off with. you don’t forget thick socks or the fuzzy blanket from your bed.

you find sam in your living room, a cup of tea on the coffee table and another in his hands as he stands with the green towel you gave him before wrapped over his shoulders.

“why aren’t you sitting?” you ask, perturbed by the idea that he’s been standing this whole time.

“i… didn’t want to get your furniture wet,” he explains, almost sheepishly. you shake your head at him, half amused by the lengths he goes to be gentlemanly. 

“that’s sweet, but unnecessary. i wouldn’t have minded,” you say softly. “anyway, the shower’s all yours. take as long as you like.”

he sets his mug down and gathers up his change of clothes before heading towards the bathroom.

“and there’s a fresh towel on the counter! don’t use that green one,” you call after him lightly, wanting to be sure he won’t reuse the already damp one.

“okay,” he calls back, and he’s turned away so you don’t see the soft smile on his lips. you settle into one end of your couch, curled up with the blanket wrapped tight around your body for warmth and comfort. no matter how much you wish you weren’t, you’re still shaken from everything, especially after the feeling of water on your skin again. you reach for the mug on the table, it’s ceramic material warm on your hands, but no longer too hot to hold. it’s a soothing feeling, along with the hot, earthy tea that slides down your throat and into your stomach when you take a long drag of the drink.

all you do is sit there, drinking tea and wondering when sam will be done. you told him to take as long he wanted, but the sight of him is comforting, and you hope he’s done soon.

he looks refreshed and relaxed when he emerges from the bathroom. he sits in the chair across from you with a grateful smile.

“thank you,” he says, voice quite lovely and sincere, “it’s been a while since i’ve had such a nice shower.” to you, he wasn’t gone too long, but for him, it was special and an absolute privilege to have a hot shower last that long. and your bathroom isn’t that nice by any stretch, but it certainly beats anything he can find in a motel. it’s homier, warmer, and familiar only because it suits you. honestly, he had trouble getting the courage to turn off the shower head; it was just too pleasant. but he didn’t want to wrack up your water bill, so he gave himself an extra minute before stepping out and getting redressed.

and now you’re telling him about how easy of a favor it was, and that he’s welcome to that sort of thing anytime. he’s so unsure of how to proceed, so conflicted, that you’re the one to bring it up. 

“so… are you still, y’know, um, interested? in going out to lunch, that is,” you ask hopefully, clumsily.

oh god. he doesn’t think he has the strength to say no, to disappoint you, to ruin this chance with you. but it’s dangerous for you and that’s the last thing he wants. yet, he’s not sure he could ever bear the face you might make if he makes some lame excuse to blow you off. and it would all be a total lie. he is interested, maybe more than just that. he goddamn wants it. 

“i am. of course i am.” he’s more relieved than scared when he says that, so he feels like it must be right. and he hates the idea that you’d even doubt his interest in you. if anyone has the right to be second guessing a date, it’s you. he’s honestly a little surprised you’d still want this. surprised, and beyond flattered. “i… don’t know how long i’ll be in town, but i’ll of course be here tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

you grin widely. “yeah, yeah that’s perfect.” your expression shifts and you look at him carefully. “and… after that? i don’t mean to jump ahead or anything and i… i know you’ll be… traveling, but it sort of seems like sometimes, you know, maybe, i could possibly… help you out? if you ever need information on weapons and lore and that sort of thing… you could, y'know, call me? i… i’d love to help, at the very least.” hopeful and clumsy. that seems to be the theme of the night for your words. 

sam’s gaze, no, his whole form softens. he loves the way you talk and he finds it sort of crazy that he’s met you only this afternoon. for a moment he thinks he’s surprised by your offer to help, but when he considers it for a moment, he’s really not. it fits you; your warmth, kindness, passion, and intelligence. he’s still scared about involving you with him at all, even more scared about involving you in hunting directly, even if you just help with information. 

yet somehow, your offer eases him. it’s a thought you’ve had all on your own, something you say you’d actually like to be able to do. he supposes he should just be honest with you.

 “i’ll call you. not just for help,” he begins, nodding to assure you that he wants that, and more. he’s so torn. torn between caving and just diving into this chance that he has or walking away and most likely saving you a whole lot of grief. and yet, it absolutely wouldn’t be fair to not give you a choice, so that’s exactly what he’ll do. “but… you… are you sure about this?” he asks with a heavy sigh, eyes careful and sincere as he examines your expression, your curled up form indicating you might still be feeling shaken.

“it’s not pleasant. people die,” he says, frank, but still gentle in tone. “dean and i, we could die. and you being involved… it makes things dangerous for you. even if you’re not out there, physically in the fight, it… it’s dangerous to be associated with us. with me. i don’t want that for you, but i… i would like to get to know you better, i know that much. and i know that it’s your choice, not mine. if helping is what you really want to do… i’m sure that you could save lives. we… could use your help. just… you can back out at any time. you can back out right now, if that’s what you want.”

he’s grateful that you really take a long moment to consider what he says. your eyes roam over his face, taking in the details of his expression, his sincerity, all of the changes in tone that you can pick up on. you think about it, you really do.

“let’s get to know each other,” you decide, voice soft. as you go on, you sound both unsure, like you’re still finding your footing, and determined, like you’re sure you’ll be steady eventually. “i’d really like that… as for the rest… for the monsters and all that, i… i’d still like to help. or at least try. if… if it’s too much, or feels dangerous, then i can… i can figure out what to do then. but if i could help save lives? i… i can’t just ignore that. i don’t want to ignore that. i do really appreciate that you're, you know, worried about my safety, it– it’s very sweet, i just– i know that i want this.” you say the last bit definitively, like you’ve been building up to it, convincing yourself of it and now you really believe it. 

sam’s relieved. he shouldn’t be, but he is. he wanted that answer, no matter his worries. he nods simply, giving you a soft smile. “okay. thank you.”

you smile back, thinking it’s sweet that he thanks you for offering your help, and maybe for something else too.

“my, uh, my lunch break is only half an hour,” you state, shifting the conversation just a little bit. “and i– i get if you’re tired, but we could… start now. you know, the getting to know each other part,” you offer, voice a little quiet and unsure again. you’re a bit clumsy and awkward when it comes to… well, most everything, but especially this sort of thing. you’re not even sure exactly what this is supposed to be. flirting? dating? or maybe it’s just as simple as that; getting to know each other. sam’s not perfect at this either, but he can certainly step into the more confident role for you. he wants you to feel at ease.

“yeah,” he says softly. “i’m not too tired. i don’t want to keep you up late, though. tonight was… tiring, i’m sure, and you have work in the morning.”

goodness, he’s so caring and considerate that it almost hurts. you fight back a yawn, trying not to prove his point as you think about waking to your alarm clock tomorrow morning. you don’t want to go to bed yet, and you don’t want to miss out on whatever time you have to talk with him.

“well… maybe i can call off. even just for the morning. i’ve got plenty of paid time off saved up,” you suggest, glad for this idea. you’re positive that you deserve to miss a little bit of work after what you just went through.

if you were offering just for him, sam would shake his head, insist that you don’t have to. but he considers that not having to worry about work in the morning and being able to sleep in would likely be very good for you. 

“if that’s what you want, it makes sense,” he says, smiling softly.

“okay,” you smile back, “i’ll email my boss, it’ll only take a minute. she’ll see it in the morning.” your computer’s in your room, so you leave sam to his own devices for just a moment. in the hallway on the way back, you speak up so he can hear you as you approach. “would you like to watch a movie? you might be right that i’m a little too tired to stay up talking, but i… don’t quite want to go to bed.” your voice quiets once you’re back in the small living room. frankly, the idea of being alone in your room, of laying down with nothing to do but think or sleep, frightens you.

his face softens like he can read your fear. “that sounds perfect to me.” you relax at his constant sweetness and subtle encouragements. 

“perfect,” you smile. “you’ll… have to get up so i can move that chair out of the way. you can sit on the couch, though.” he stands and moves the chair away from the tv for you, then sits on the other end of the couch. you snuggle into your own corner after picking a dvd. turns out that sam has seen and loves your favorite movie. 

turns out that he’s also a little too respectful and careful to get very close to you as you watch, but he doesn’t mind when you grow sleepy and stretch your legs a little more over the cushions. you don’t ask; you’re a little embarrassed, so he tells you it’s alright if you rest your feet against his thigh. and he doesn’t know where to put his hand after that, so you tell him that he can rest it on your calf. he does, and just that is infinitely comforting.

and turns out that, halfway through the movie, when you fall into a soft, quiet sleep, the only thing that sam’s worried about anymore is if he should let you just sleep there or carry you to your own bed. he doesn’t care if he has to sleep curled up in the corner of the couch or that chair or on the goddamn floor; he just doesn’t want to wake you.

[deantfwinchester]

A New Chapter

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AUJoel x Teacher!Reader (pregnant)

Moving forward in the narrative a bit y'all. Our girl is pregnant now, so we're a couple years into their marriage. The premise of this one's a little goofy, but he looks so pretty in the Gladiator trailer I couldn't help myself.

Summary: You and Sarah go Halloween costume hunting and find the perfect family costume, much to Joel's chagrin. He'll do just about anything for his little girl, though. :)

Warnings: fluff as per usual. a teeny bit of angst and emotional h/c, but so so fluffy. a couple of suggestive little innuendos for fun, but very much PG as usual.

A/N: I'll make a little timeline at some point explaining how these all fit into the same universe, but they're definitely the same couple so far! I've got plenty more planned for these two, and I'm excited to keep going, but I've also got a kind of multi-chap AU situation I may try to write? Idk, guess we'll see which bulleted fic I'm inspired to expand next, lol.

Word Count: 3.3k

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“You can’t be serious,” Joel looks at you, exasperated. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you respond, smiling wide. 

“Hell no!” he says, amused at the very idea. 

“What, Sarah’s got that precious little goddess dress from the costume store, and they were right next to it!” you exclaim. 

___________________________

You’ve just presented Joel with a gold and white roman general costume you found while you and Sarah were shopping for Halloween costumes. You took her to the costume shop after picking her up from school and the two of you were over the moon. Halloween is your favorite holiday hands down - you and Sarah have always had that in common. It was one of the first things you bonded over, and Joel was thrilled that the two of you wanted to do that together. You hadn’t been looking forward to finding a maternity costume though - it was still early September, but you knew one that fit well right now would be pretty uncomfy by the end of October.

You and Sarah walk a few aisles in before stopping in your tracks at a beautiful mythology display - long dresses and beautiful accessories with the names of different Greco-Roman goddesses in a row, with a family-costume display showing mannequins of an adult man, adult woman, and a teen girl and young boy. The young boy’s costume had a shield and chest plate of worn-looking plastic, and the teen girl’s costume was a long ombré-colored dress with little gold appliqués printed on the hem.

Sarah was enchanted. And you were enamored with the childlike wonder she felt touching the low-quality polyester and spandex blend. The adult women’s costume mirrored the toga-like shape of the girl’s, but was one-shouldered and of a different shade. Sarah saw them and immediately knew what she wanted to be for Halloween this year - a princess in this goddess dress and you an empress to match. The names on these costumes were inaccurate as hell, but you weren’t here to hold Spirit Halloween to historical accuracy or academic integrity. The look on her face made it clear you couldn’t say no - especially when you saw the Maternity option hanging in a thick plastic bag next to it closed with a plastic snap. At least this costume would hang loosely no matter how much you’re showing by Halloween. Might even drive Joel a little crazy. 

Once you agreed to it, you decided just the two of you couldn’t do it alone - not when there was only one member of your family to be left out. You grab the Adult Men’s costume hanging next to the mannequin - it was different from the boy’s, not some sort of battle armor, but labeled Emperor to match the adult women’s. It’s white and lined in gold leaf appliqués just like the goddess costumes. It's a beautiful costume, with a cape and a little caged skirt thing hanging over the tunic. You’re especially fond of the myriad golden accessories accompanying this costume - wide bangles and a little headband of golden leaves. You’re torn between cackling at how much Joel would undoubtedly protest such an elaborate costume and practically salivating at the image of him wearing it. He’d look ridiculously hot in this costume — you’d just need to convince him. 

Joel isn’t totally averse to costume-wearing, especially for his girls’ favorite holiday. He would put on a little something here and there to appease you or Sarah - maybe a cape or a few accessories. You’d seen pictures from one Halloween a few years before you met them with Sarah in a pretty little pink fairy costume and Joel in a much too small pair of wings and a feathery tiara, holding a matching wand. Seeing it never fails to make you smile.

Joel is a wonderful father to Sarah - he can always tell her No when necessary, whether it has to do with her health and safety, development, or due to financial constraints, but always explains to her why. As much as he’d love to spoil her to pieces, he wants to make sure she grows up with a realistic understanding of the world around her, and understands both her privilege and the difference between Want and Need. The way he communicates with her and makes parenting choices with a focus on the kind of person she is and will become is in large part what drew you to him - to a place where you not only felt comfortable being with him, but having a child with him. You are more than confident he’ll be a wonderful father to your next child as well — he’d made that clear when you’d first found out.

When it wasn’t necessary to tell Sarah No, however - he couldn’t ever look his little girl in the eye and resist. Letting her polish his nails, play with glittery make-up, and wearing little wings to match her own were just a few of the things he’d done to make her smile. If the only reason to say “No” was that he didn’t want to, well it simply wasn’t reason enough.

With this knowledge in mind, you were fairly certain Joel could be convinced to put on this elaborate costume - maybe with some work boots instead of the mannequin’s little sandals, though. And a pair of shorts under the skirty pieces, probably. Once you and Sarah have picked out the shades you want and spent way too much time staring at the wall of accessories for your own costumes, you leaf through the men’s costume bags for Joel’s size and snag one off the rack. Sarah’s eyes go wide when you turn around and raise your eyebrows at her, and a huge grin spreads across her face - she’s laughing excitedly at just the prospect of her dad in this elaborate costume, and shaking her head vigorously while agreeing - it has to come home. 

____________________________________________

“C’mon baby. Y’all’s are beautiful but this?,” says Joel, gesturing to the elaborate white costume you’ve removed from the bag and hung up to present to him in all its gilded glory. “This is insane. Looks more like a damn wedding dress than a Halloween costume.”

“Oh but Joel, it’s so beautiful! I know it’s a little elaborate, but Sarah and I are already gonna be matching. We want you to do it with us! Dress as a family for the party,” you plead, and you can see his resolve beginning to crack. He shakes his head, both hands on his hips, and glowers at you, though it lacks any real contempt.

“Darlin’ I think it’s precious that you and Sarah got these little matching costumes. Hell, nothing could make my heart happier than seeing you two looking so gorgeous together in these pretty dresses she chose. But y’all are my beautiful little stars of the show, let’s be honest,” he finishes, placing his hand heavily on your hip and drawing you closer. “You, Sarah, and her perfect little sister on the way,” he grins, resting his other hand on your belly and locking eyes with you. 

“That’s kinda the thing though, Joel. This is the last Halloween we can do this, just the three of us. Every Halloween after this will be a different kind of special, but it’ll never just be us and Sarah again after this year. You know she’d love it, no matter what the reason,” you say with a slight smirk, knowing you and Sarah both want this, at least in part, to mess with Joel. 

He locks eyes with you,and his are gentle and wistful at the idea. You’re both elated at the mere thought of the future ahead with your growing family, but the change is a big shift for all of you. You worry about Sarah more than anything. You’ve had this conversation a couple of times already — the age gap between Sarah and the baby is so big, you just worry she’ll feel left out when you two get busy, or get hyper focused on the baby those first few months. 

You aren’t afraid to admit that you’re scared — scared you won’t be able to give the baby everything she needs or scared you won’t bond like you should. It’s a big relief to you, a new mom, that this won’t be Joel’s first rodeo. He’s already assuaged your worries on multiple occasions during this pregnancy and preparation period with his existing knowledge in child rearing. There’s not a man in the world better suited to fatherhood, and his quiet confidence and reassurance when your anxieties arise comfort you more than he’d ever understand.

But the fear is still there — fear of not being enough, leaving Joel to feel like he’s alone in this all over again, even with you standing beside him. You’re especially scared you won’t ensure Sarah continues to get all the attention and love she needs. You know fully well that your love can only multiply — it does so a little each year a new set of students arrives at your classroom door — but your attention can unfortunately divide, and sometimes will, despite your best efforts. 

Yes you both want to mess with Joel a little with your request that he wear this elaborate costume that’ll make him a bit bashful; but more than anything, you want him to do it with the two of you for Sarah. To make that choice to remind her that the two of you would do anything for her — as goofy as the request may be — no matter how much your lives change in the coming years. You want to do as many special things for her as possible beforehand — and you need his help for this one. 

“I just — I know it’s silly, but I want her to enjoy this chapter as much as possible before things change. And I know you do too, I’m just…,” you look down at your feet as you say this, unable to find the words to continue. Your eyes mist over as you think about it, and before you know it, you’re in his arms, face pressed tightly against his chest. His hand holds the back of your head, pulling you close, thumb moving gently back and forth over your crown, soothing the concerns he could see encroaching as you spoke. 

“Sweetheart.‘S not silly at all,” he pauses, searching for the words to help you find solace in your unease. “I know you’re worried about that, I do. And do you know how much it means to me that this is on your mind? That you’re busy growing a little person in there, having to think about mothering a baby for the first time, and she’s at the top of your list?” Joel stares at you with a sincerity that aches in your chest before he continues, “And that’s why I want you to remember that she knows. You’re an incredible mother already, baby, and none of that’s gonna change. The fact that you’re concerned about it in the first place is enough. I really believe that, baby. Sarah’ll always know that we’re here.”

You’re crying for real now, burying your face in his chest again as he squeezes you tight, resting his head on yours as it lies in the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes and holds you for a bit longer, slightly swaying back and forth to soothe you. He knows the hormones are playing a part in your worry and reaction, but also knows better than to identify them as such. No matter the cause, you’re experiencing these feelings — and no matter how fleeting they are, he’ll make sure you get what you need. 

After a minute or two of holding you in silence, Joel pulls his head back and looks down at you, rubbing your back to rouse you from your trance. You look up at him to see a small smile on his face and enough warmth in his eyes to have you weeping all over again.

“Alright darlin’, let’s go give this ridiculous getup a shot,” he says, gesturing toward the bedroom with his head.

“Really Joel?,” you ask, voice filled with hope and gratitude. 

“Course baby. If I’m gonna wear it, gonna damn well make sure it fits right.”

“Wait’ll you see the accessories!” you say excitedly, wiping your eyes and sniffing back the last of your tears.

“Oh good lord,” he huffs out, rolling his eyes playfully before grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom, costume in hand.

______________________________________________________

~ Halloween Night ~

“Have I told you yet how gorgeous you look in this costume?” you ask in Joel’s ear as Sarah runs ahead of the two of you toward the door to Tommy’s. 

“Only about seven times since I first put it on, sweet girl,” he says to you through a smile, chuckling at your insistence. “Better give it a rest, or my head’s gonna be too big to fit through the door by the time we get home.” He smirks at you, squeezing your hand in his as you cross the yard. 

“Ah, I think it’ll fit just fine,” you reply, rubbing a gentle hand against his chest. “Did I tell you how sexy you are tonight yet?,” you whisper closer to his ear now, smiling while you do it, grinning wider as a light blush touches his cheeks before he smiles at you as well.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Mighta mentioned it once or twice.” His brows furrow as he feigns consideration. “I’d much rather talk about how incredible you look tonight, darlin’,” he whispers into your neck before pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, all too softly for the hormones rushing through your system. He knows it too, when your eyes go wide and your own cheeks flush, and is far too satisfied with himself for your liking. Years into your relationship and he can still drive you wild with so little — you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve as well, but the second trimester has been giving him an unfair advantage lately. 

Before you can gather your thoughts, you’re behind Sarah at Tommy’s door as he opens it to greet you, cowboy hat on and beer in hand. Otherwise, still dressed in his work flannel and jeans. Damn, Joel’s gotta be jealous right now. 

Tommy hugs Sarah and ushers her inside before looking at the two of you, eyes widening as he takes in Joel’s appearance, pretending to hide the elation growing on his face at seeing his brother in such an elaborate outfit. 

“Well ain’t that a lotta gold? Not sure what I expected when Sarah told me, but this wasn’t it,” he says, biting back a laugh. “Gotta say brother, didn’t think you had it in ya,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder, unable to conceal his entertained grin any longer. Joel rolls his eyes in response, and along with Tommy, looks to you.

“Now you look beautiful honey. Though I gotta say, if you’re goin for one of the Vestal Virgins, I think you may be in trouble,” he jokes, looking down at your growing bump and pulling you in for a hug.

“Aren’t you a riot,” you say flatly, rolling your eyes and smiling at his comment before hugging him back, “Hi Tommy. Y’all having fun in here?”

He moves aside so you and Joel can enter the house and Joel follows after Sarah to grab you both a drink. He’ll grab a beer like his brother, while you’re relegated to a soda without caffeine for the time being. 

“Course we are!” He waits until Joel moves further away and leans toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I have to say — Thank you. Thank you so much. For that,” he gestures toward Joel at the little drink bar with Sarah. 

You chuckle a little with him, “You’re welcome. Go easy on him tonight though, alright? I know he’d much rather be wearing what you are right now,” you ask.

“Alright, alright, I promise. But please take pictures. Take so many pictures,” he laughs, and you laugh with him. “Seldom I get to see my brother like this, I’m gonna need a record of it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s kinda the idea. Speaking of which, you really put some effort in on the costume for tonight, huh?,” you ask, unimpressed, but good-natured.  

“Hey, I’m hosting! A little busy gettin’ everything together. Besides, a cowboy hat always suits me,” he gives a winning smile before changing the subject. “Now how are you and my little niece doing tonight?,” he asks, moving a hand down to your belly and bending a bit to greet the little one from outside. You place your hand on top of his and move it over to the side where you’ve been feeling the baby moving around lately.

“Say something to her again,” you instruct, “she’s been wiggling up a storm today.”

Tommy speaks to the baby above your belly again and you feel a little foot move ever so slightly against his hand. The way he lights up warms your heart, and you’re nearly overcome with emotion. He’s so excited to feel her that he hugs you to him once again. 

The two of you talk a bit longer about the newfound quickening, and you’re elated at his enthusiasm. It’s an incredible feeling, knowing just how much this baby will be loved — how surrounded she’ll be with family, and how happy everyone will be to have her there. Before you can think yourself into happy tears, Joel returns, smiling wide overhearing his brother’s excitement. He has a beer in one hand and an odd-looking green drink in the other, adorned with a black bendy draw covered in skulls. Your eyes widen as he hands you the cloudy slime-colored monstrosity. Tommy looks warily at the drink, and excuses himself to go talk to Sarah instead. 

“Oh Joel, what is that?!” you ask amused.

“Go on, try it darlin’” he says, gesturing for you to take a sip.The morning sickness had been rough in the beginning, and though it had tapered a few weeks back, you weren’t exactly looking to reawaken the nausea anytime soon. 

You sip with hesitation. It’s surprisingly tasty, a little fruity and fizzy. When you look down in it to find two gummy eyeballs staring back at you, bobbing around in the green. You laugh aloud at the sight, and Joel smiles so wide his eyes nearly close - he has two favorite sounds, and that’s one of them. Soon enough, he’ll have three. 

“It’s delicious, but what the hell is it?,” you ask through the laughter. 

“Sarah and I thought you might like a little Halloween mocktail to shake things up. I think it’s lemonade, sprite, and some of that blue stuff? Might be some pineapple or orange juice in there too, I think Sarah just started adding stuff. Gummy eyeballs were apparently a necessary garnish - she said they’re ‘on theme’ and that you’d agree.”

“She’s very right. Thank you sweetie, I appreciate it,” you say, taking another sip before kissing his cheek. You got him this time, and he grows a slight bashful blush at the public affection, but it’s never unwelcome. 

“Course. Happy to experiment for you anytime, sweetheart,” he grins back and you lose the battle, jaw dropping open a bit in response, eyes wide at him. 

He laughs again and puts his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, before kissing you gently, just enough to keep the rise going. The two of you look over to see Tommy and Sarah talking excitedly, mixing some sort of other “punch,” this time in a shade of red. You raise your cup to Joel’s lips, and he takes a sip, looking surprised at the quality of their amateur mixology. You lean your head against his shoulder as you both look on at the party, wistfully watching your daughter enjoy herself. You stay there for a while, doing everything to remember the final Halloween of this beautiful chapter, just before a new one begins.

[tsartistry]

So there is a character in Niobe Fic that I have not really mentioned at all, and I don't think any of you care, but I care and I wanna talk about Elmer. I think he's neat. I will be honest upfront, this is me indulging in one of my favorite friendship tropes:

Small Precocious Child and the Big Beefy Bodyguards who will protect them at all costs.

More than anything, Niobe needs to make sure no demigods get anywhere near Lester, so she hires monsters as security around her home/business. After all, monsters can smell demigods from miles away. She pays them handsomely, and includes very delicious and filling meals as part of their compensation so they won't be compelled to wander away and hunt for food.

Periodically throughout the Riordanverse we get glimpses of the monsters having an entire underground society (Monster Donut, the serpent on the train in TON, etc.) It seems like the majority of them want nothing to do with Demigod Bullshit and just want to live normal lives. So I think Niobe had no shortage of Monster Applicants wanting a Normal(ish) Job that pays Actual Wages instead of whatever Kronos was paying them (if he was paying them at all.)

Elmer is a Manticore that Niobe hired to be Lester's personal bodyguard. He has one job: If he smells any demigods, get Lester out of there.

Of course, Elmer has no means of sniffing out any other kinds of special children. So when Lester starts hanging out with Carter and Sadie, Elmer is just like "Well, the kid does look pretty lonely. He should have some normal human friends. As a treat."

Lester, being a mortal who doesn't remember anything about Greco-Roman myths being real, doesn't see Elmer for what he is. Which makes things very awkward for Sadie, who can see his true form almost immediately.

But Elmer seems pretty fond of Lester, and pretty chill in general so... maybe he's not dangerous? But there's definitely something WEIRD about Lester's life that she wants to figure out.

(and for those just joining us, Lester has a service dog because the process Niobe used to erase his memories gave him literal brain damage, so now he has a seizure alert dog)

[ophelias-lamentation]

Celtigar and dayne hairstyles pls???

Hairstyles of Houses Dayne and Celtigar

So the Dayne’s are dornish so they keep the Greco-Roman inspired hairstyles but as opposed to most other dornish houses who wear gold or copper they wear silver. I have a headcannon that I got from a fic that the dornish are expert glass artists so they wear slot of glass accessories, the daynes however opt for amethysts and tanzanite.

House Celtigar is of Valyrian descent, their hairstyles are unlike the the Targaryen’s however and have a strong stormlands and crown lands influence with elaborate updo’s and marine inspired, especially crustacean, headpieces. I hc that like the Velaryon’s they trade a lot so they are a richer house.

[positivejamwriting]

Fic Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3

Ongoing

En Prise (86k, E, Astarion/Gale)

“Together, then.” Gale says, eyes flicking down to the dagger. “As a show of good faith. We sate our damned appetites together.”

“Shall we toast to it too? Drink of each other’s cups like smitten newlyweds?” Astarion finds his charms again as he licks a brazen stripe up his neck. It’s a worthy distraction for those nimble hands to press the dagger against his chest. Not threatening, not yet at least. No– with the flat of the blade against his mark, Gale sees it as the offering it’s meant to be.

A semi canon-compliant fic in which a deal to keep each other fed leads Gale and Astarion to dark curiosity, codependence, and romantic evenings of scheming and murder.

Read if you like: Consensual but not safe or sane, a "this better not awaken anything in me" taglist, unabashed and gleeful toxic yaoi, making each other WAY WORSE.

---

ingi ferroque (20k, M, Astarion/Gale)

Two eyes, dark and shiny as sea glass, bulge and blink as Gale brings the knife to the offering’s throat. The battle rages on and the babe bleeds upon Athena’s boots. Let it take, he prays. Let her hear.

“My. What do we have here?" Gale hears a soldier’s voice in place of his Goddess. "Two little lambs left upon the altar?”

A Greco-Roman AU that follows famed Legate Astarion, Priest of Athena Gale, and a Nero-esque Emperor Cazador as Gale is hauled off from exile to Rome to for reasons unknown...

Read if you like: Enemies to lovers, the inherent sexual tension of historical banter, HBO's Rome, loving descriptions of man thighs under historically inaccurate toga hemlines.

---

Semperservus (17k, E, Minthara/Gale)

The Seduction of Dekarios. The maiden in the river, bathed in holy light across underdark waters. The God whispering promises in her ear. The forging of new love, in fires of the only mortal left on this plane with ambitions as great as his once were.

Post-Game, God!Gale fixated on making Minthara his new Chosen.

Read if you like: Dunking on delusional God!Gale, Minthara's 'aura of a third son' banter, not breaking the cycle, comeuppance for Gale leaving you on the docks for the goddamn crown

---

Spinneret Sour (26K, E, Astarion/Gale/Shadowheart/Jaheira)

The elfsong hookah is grossly underutilized in fic. Our attempt to fix that with a giggly, thank-god-we're-alive foursome.

Read if you like: Gale getting bullied by hot elves (plural!), fluff and smut, sexualizing that old man/woman, smoking is hot when it's fictional characters

---

Completed

Last Glimpse of the Topsail (8.8k, E, Gale/Shadowheart)

She can feel it– the ebb and flow. The thread that joins them is a braided harbour rope going taut and slack with the tide. Shadowheart breathes it in and can feel Gale take her exhale in turn.

Or: Inappropriate use of Zone of Truth, cast by one lovesick cleric upon one terribly lovesick wizard.

Read if you like: Friends to lovers, resolved sexual tension, matching each others freak, ASMR: goth gf hypnotizes you to confess all your slutty secrets (romantic)

---

Four of Swords (3.6k, E, Astarion/Gale + Gale/Shadowheart + Minthara/Gale)

Kept, a rational voice in Gale's mind would remind him when they pressed gifts into his hands. You are a kept man in a devil's tower, nothing more.

But it’s Shadowheart that helps him dredge the Chionthar. It’s Minthara who pulls the crown from the deepwater muck. And it’s Astarion who places it upon his head.

Another gift. No. A reward.

A corruption arc in 3k words, Gale finds himself less of an ally and more of a kept pet wizard to Ascended Astarion, Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, and...lbh just regular Minthara.

Read if you like: Corruption via praise, fancy robes, and unlimited spell scrolls, magic collars, calling dibs on the wizard.

---

Eclipse (3.2k, E, Gale/Shadowheart)

There will always be the dark of Shadowheart, lurking just beneath the waterfall of his wife’s soft white curls. Gale sees her in the firm hand of the wolf tamer at the edge of the forest and in the quiet whispers of 'is this too much' when she sees him in pain.

But on occasion– when the animals are fed, the roses tended, and some kinder deities than the echoes of their pasts smiles upon them– there is an eclipse.

Gale and Shadowheart partaking in some simulacrum shenanigans (a threesome with both versions of his wife)

Read if you like: The world's most romantic painplay, bratting so your wife's alter ego steps on you, married life between two people with 9th level spells.

---

Netherese Duality Series (9.2k, E, Gale/Gale's Netherese Orb)

Gale is used to catching the eyes of the otherworldly. Whatever follows him now offers no such comforts.

There are nights he feels eyes heavy on his back in the dark of his study, only to turn and find himself alone. And there are mornings, still, when shadows pass over the candle by his bed the moment he wakes– as if some presence had been watching him from his bedside.

Isolated in his tower, Gale is less alone than he thinks.

Read if: You think Jekyll & Hyde takes could be a whole lot more horny, "that man got 1000 times hotter when his life fell apart", the idea of an interdimensional being talking Gale through it.

---

Game Theory (19.5k, Astarion/Gale/Enver Gortash)

To Gale, working with Gortash is a bitter pill he must swallow, but one he can chase with the sweetness of the Crown in his capable hands.

To Astarion, it’s pure hedonism and power. It’s a section of the city in the palm of a pair of new gauntlets. It’s blood from a populace who will never tell him no again, and it's Gale at his feet.

But the aloof housecat often thinks itself a ruler on high over the loyal pup, even when they both wear the master's collar and eat his of scraps. Enver has come to enjoy their meals together.

Read if you like: the evil throuple from hell, Gale 'rip to everyone who died of hubris but I'm better' Dekarios, kept pet wizards, psychosexual 4D chess

---

Perfect Bound (4.5k, E, Astarion/Gale)

“Whatever happened here?” Astarion teases, coming face to face with Gale. He makes a show of looking him up and down, one slender finger against his own lips in faux concern.

Gale makes a growl of annoyance around his gag. He gives one pointed tug to his bound wrists and flicks his eyes upwards as if to say is it not obvious?

“Trapped? Oh, but that can’t be it. Astarion says, mouth dropping open as if he’s just noticed the binds. “I seem to recall you saying you had everything quite in hand.”

My first Bloodweave 1 shot! A classic dangerkink Dekarios take in which Gale gets a little tied up and Astarion is there to help.

Read if: You like your bloodweave with a thread of pred/prey or you like seeing wizard hubris punished (in a sexy way)

---

Typecasting (19k, E, Gale/Shadowheart/Tav)

"You see, the problem about writing on drow society is one often does not make it up from the Underdark to hand pages to publisher. Of course there are many…less researched volumes. Of hapless men and leather-clad matrons. But I told Shadowheart I would be a gentleman, so that is all I will say on the more sordid parts of my education. You’ve nothing to fear.”

Stuck in the underdark with a drow city before them and freedom, Shadowheart & Tav keep Gale as a fake prisoner to keep their cover.

Read if: You're a 'Gale has an erotica collection' truther, you like strong ladies and puppy-eyed men, the dynamic of 'dom teaching dom with one eager to please sub, slightly convoluted reasons to !!leash and collar that wizard!!

[sleepnowmychild]

Your recent post, somehow that was actually helpful to be reminded we're allowed to not try to force ourselves to see the gods as we work with them and the characters in the myths as completely synonymous. Trying to navigate that has actually been really difficult and confusing for our practice.

I feel like since helpol fell from the massive powerhouse it was in ancient times, when it was so widespread and engraned in several cultures, a lot of people tend to see it as something of the past. Like they're just old stories from a far off time and it was never a wide spread religion with differences between reigons and time periods at all.

Everyone's relationship with the gods and how they practice will differ, and the time periods and cultures changing over the years will also effect how we worship (like we dong exactly casually sacrifice animals anymore you know). But I've always noticed that a lot of modern people find it kind of hard to see ancient religions like religions, and more like set of stories you're in a fandom for.

Whatever your worship looks like, it's completely valid as long as you can separate the real gods from their 'fandom-ified' modern interperations we see in retellings like PJO, LO, hades game and Epic etc. Some retelling will be better than others, but even the best ones aren't equal to the actual religion and ancient texts.

Tbh the 'fandom-ification' of religions and their stories is kind of inevitable, I'm sure in like 5000 years when some new religion is the most widespread, all the major ones we have today will face the same fandom treatment as a lot of ancient polytheism religions do now. I mean,,, people already write Jesus x Judas fic for the jokes today, one day it'll be dead serious fanfic like people make for the greco roman gods right now.

[deadhellenist]

types of tagamemnon posts

- "hey did you know in (ancient greece/rome/gaul/asia minor/etc) people used to do this isn't that hilarious"

- (in response to the previous) "hey op i have a degree in greco roman studies and i'm 99% sure that's something the victorians made up"

- (a joke about worshipping hellenic dieties)

- (a not-joke about worshipping hellenic dieties)

- "please enjoy this incredibly detailed fic i made that's a spin-off of a homeric epic"

- "(character from a homeric epic) was a dilf you like you agree you reblog"

- "soooo (roman generals and or politicians, dealers choice) were definately fucking right? right?"

- (twinkified octavian/augustus)

- (in response to previous) "nooooooo you can't do that!! not to my weirdly idolized big macho man!! what would julius caesar think!!"

- (i, claudius gif)

- (percy jackson)

[incubationformadness]

Thinking about how the Capitol in The Hunger Games is obsessed with classical antiquity - which does not belong to them - while simultaneously trying to wipe out the indigenous culture in the districts. How they idolise Greco-Roman culture not simply for its decadence but for its bloodshed.

I know that in canon we don't see much reference to Ancient Greece & Rome other than Plutarch briefly explaining bread and circuses, but I wanted to make Effie (a Capitolite) aware of classical antiquity from her education in my fic because a lot of far-right propaganda relies on a warped, distorted nostalgia. 'The good old days when...' kind of dialogue. This isn't new - Italian fascism, under Mussolini in particular, tried to emulate Ancient Rome.

My point is that the Capitol is in itself a theatrical illusion - it has no original culture of its own. It is merely extortionate luxury and authoritarian power in faux Roman wrapping paper. But the Capitol needs to appear to possess a seemingly superior culture - more advanced that the 'backwards' districts - in order to legitimise the dictatorship. You can't have the divine right of kings without belief in divinity.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @orchidscript

@lemonlyman-dotcom @corsage @bonheur-cafe @nisbanisba 🩷

Chapter 1 of Rhythms (formally known a Poet Fic) is up on Ao3 today! Here is a snippet from Chapter 2, in which we join poor 2011 Carlos lamenting his entire existence:

He has to stop this endless fucking solo dance of dreaming for something that can never be a reality. But his thoughts always seem real enough to his stupid body.

Carlos bites his lip, tugs at the denim around the excruciating pulse of his crotch to loosen the chafe. Not again. He’s lost count of his boners today. Luckily, he managed to concentrate hard enough in wrestling practice so that he only had to deal with a semi, and everyone was too absorbed in perfecting their Greco-Roman facelocks that nobody noticed. It’s the threat of being spotted with a springing bulge that makes them cease in the end, the horror of that concept.

Chapter 2 coming next Sunday. Open tag and tags below:

@anactualcaseofthetruth @sapphic--kiwi @emsprovisions

@ironheartwriter @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @captain-gillian

@nancys-braids @butchreyes @literateowl @kiwichaeng

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@carlos-tk @three-drink-amy @tellmegoodbye

@herefortarlos @sugdenlovesdingle @theghostofashton

@honeybee-taskforce @freneticfloetry @chicgeekgirl89

@sanjuwrites @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @alrightbuckaroo

@liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@lightningboltreader @goodways @paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings @reyesstrand - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[theamazingmaddyas]

One completely untapped part of the Greco-Roman Riordanverse fandom, especially in fics that include the demigods getting technology is the amount of parodies of modern media Rick adds to his series, especially in TOA above all the others, and in the Senior Year Adventures.

In Wrath of the Triple Goddess, the show The Great Witch's Brew Off (a parody of The Great British Bake Off of course), is mentioned, so for the last two months I've been thinking of shows that could air on HephaestusTV. (Note, while I just reread TOA, I have a bad memory, and I know for a fact there are parody medias in that series, like I'm pretty sure there's an Instagod in TON, but there isn't a collective list and me a few months ago didn't think to write it down, something I regret already)

So, here's a list of six shows I believe have a chance of airing on HephaestusTV! I would love it if other people could make lists and add to it.

Disclaimer, I rarely watch reality TV, so some of these I haven't watched myself, and am basing my ideas off of my vague understanding of the plots. For that reason, my bolded explanations aren't in depth for any, to keep it consistant:

1) Dancing with the Gods (Dancing with the Stars) pros are probably nymphs, dryads, and satyrs

2) Keeping up the the Olympians (Keeping up with the Kardashians) note: I feel as though I've heard this before, but I don't remember where or why

3) Domain-ly Feud (Family Feud) instead of families, each team consists of gods/dieties with similar domains

4) Demigodly Ninja Warrior (American Ninja Warrior) Instead of Las Vegas, the final four stages are held in Olympus. Qualifiers are in CHB and Semis are in Camp Jupiter.

5) Say "Yes" to the Peplos (Say "Yes" to the Dress) a peplos is a garment worn by Ancient Greek woman, for those who didn't know.

6) The 100,000 ₯ Pyramid (The $100,000 Pyramid) note: I'm like 58% sure I used the symbol for drachma correctly, but if not, tell me

[koukouture]

Hiii okay so I am trying to figure out what time period roughly Garlemald's fashion would look like for my fic and the problem is I get really conflicting vibes.

Like, on the one hand Garlemald has all of this dark, Star Wars-esque armor for the military

And on the other you have more traditional double breasted military jackets that have been staples in imperial uniforms for centuries with epaulets, sashes, stiff fabric and sometimes fur for Garlemald's winters I presume

And then a lot of the normal citizens are kinda just wearing the universal normal fantasy world civilian clothes with varying degrees of detail and embellishing to distinguish class or profession.

Obviously we can eliminate Greco Roman clothing styles even though Garlemald is heavily based on Imperial Rome due to their advancements. We can also place them ahead of industrial revolution fashions since Garlemald is well beyond all of that as they have trains, cars (yes I saw cars in the ruins of Garlemald come on now) and obviously their airships, robots, and various types and styles of guns.

I know Garlemald is rooted mainly in Imperial Rome but I'd argue a lot of their influence could be attributed to Fascist Italy circa WWI because yeah Garlemald is very much pulling a fascist thing.

Having said that I would roughly place their fashion around here with some exceptions and fantasy influence because of course. After seeing Jullus and the Imperial Armor set I am doubling down on this early 20th century look for Garlemald so here are some references of civilian clothes for your Garlemald needs

And some evening wear because I know a lot of us are writing Garlean balls lmao

Not a lot of stuff for the guys lmao outside of the double breasted military coats that are kind of timeless, suits have remained roughly the same throughout history though it is worth mentioning that bowties were mostly the rage back then

Two brands that are nice to look at are vintage Dior and Chanel as they were both founded around this time as well as Hugo Boss who used to make uniforms for the Nazis.

For something more fancy, Edwardian wear is a good reference but after that, ruffles aren't super popular and give more rise to more timeless silhouettes.

Obviously you need to have some fun with it! FFXIV is super loose with time periods and fashions you can play around with it however you want!