#its not demonic

[samgirlie-gn]

No/Low-Empathy Sam - A Character Study

I don't know if I consider this a real headcanon - it's more theoretical, really. I'm personally low-empathy and wrote this to project/cope.

(1.3k words)

Sam knew from a young age that he was different, even if he didn’t understand how or why. Even as a young child he didn’t cry at sad moments in Disney movies – when Mufasa died and Dean was trying his hardest to hide his tears and save face, Sam wasn’t feeling much of anything. When a classmate cried, he didn’t feel pangs of sympathy – he just froze up, not sure what to say or do. What does one say to someone who lost a loved one? Is he supposed to care about some kid’s parents’ divorce? He once got angry and pushed another kid, and when the boy skinned his knee and cried he just felt… nothing. He felt something when a teacher came over to check on the boy: fear of being sent to the Principal’s office. Fear of consequences – reason enough to not do it again.

When his father came home in bad shape, mourning a difficult hunt and lives lost, Dean always seemed to know what to say and do. Luckily, less was expected from Sam as the younger son, but when Dean wasn’t around to help he tended to avoid their father. He didn’t know how to help carry the weight of the man’s burdens. He could never quite relate to the drive that pushed him to avenge his wife’s death – Sam felt nothing towards his mother. He never knew her, was too young to have memories of her, so why would he mourn? How could he really relate to his father’s feelings?

When Dean was hurt, Sam felt worry about him until he could confirm his brother would survive. He made sure that the injury wasn’t severe as he patched Dean up with young hands that shouldn’t be so accustomed to the task. Sam knew he loved his brother, more than he knew anything, but even Dean’s sorrow on the anniversary of their mother’s death wasn’t enough to make Sam cry. Dean saw nothing wrong; as far as he was concerned, Sam was perfect. He saw the best in him with something approximating an unconditional mother’s love.

But Sam feared himself. Feared that he wasn’t normal, that he was evil, that one day he would do something impulsive and destructive and feel no grief for it. To teachers, he was a “good kid” – a little quiet, but conscientious and well-mannered. But no matter how much praise a teacher heaped on, he couldn’t brush off the feeling that something was very wrong with him.

He’d learned a sense of right and wrong from Dad's teachings and Dean’s example; Dean, despite his macho façade, had greater feelings of empathy than Sam did. If Sam was gifted with one thing it was a fundamental desire to be good, to be the hero and not the villain. That desire kept him within the constraints of a carefully constructed morality. He flagellated himself with his own shame until his outside behavior hardly matched his inside.

As he aged, he learned. He watched the way people addressed others’ feelings, in movies and in real life. He learned how to express sympathy, how to lay on the pathos until those around him viewed him as perfectly kind and empathetic. And he felt like an imposter, a liar, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His ability to act only made him more conscious of what was missing on a deeper level, that implicit care and empathy people seemed to have for others. If someone’s crisis was similar to something he’d experienced in the past, he could call upon his own memories: what would have made him feel better when it happened to him? But it was still an intellectual exercise more than anything else.

Jess was the first and only person he broke down and told.

“I don’t… feel things, for other people. I mean I’m capable of love, I think—no, I know I am. But when other people are upset I’m just… not. I don’t know how to deal with other people’s feelings. Sometimes I just feel… empty. I think something’s wrong with me. I can’t fix it, I can’t make myself feel what I’m supposed to feel and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I’m scared that I’m evil, deep down. It's like something in me is missing.”

Jess was encouraging.

“Sam, you’re one of the kindest people I know. You’re so sweet to me when I’m upset, whether you ‘get it’ or not. Isn’t that what matters? How you treat people? Even if you’re a little different, you’re a good guy, Sam. I promise.”

It really didn’t make him feel any better.

When Jess died, Sam began to understand much better how that kind of loss felt for other people. Or rather, he knew how it felt for him and then could extrapolate it to victims’ families. His ability to “fake it” made him a better hunter; Dean even began to view him as the one who was better at handling grieving people, often letting him take the lead in that department. But with every bit of false care and sentiment he directed at others, Sam felt a sour taste in his mouth. He wished more than anything that any of it was real.

When he found out about the demon blood that tainted him as a child, Sam began to suspect that he’d finally found the reason why he was the way he was. There was just a bit of Demon inside of him, just a bit of unfeeling and cold calculation. He couldn’t confirm this really, but it seemed unlikely that it wasn’t related. He wondered what kind of person he would have been had Azazel not interfered. Maybe he wouldn’t have spent his entire life feeling like something was deeply wrong with him.

Sam never knew for sure why he was so good at fighting the pull towards evil, better than Ava and the other Special Children. But if he had to guess, he’d suspect that fighting his nature for his entire childhood gave him a lot of skill and practice for denying his darker impulses. That bit of coldness inside of him was fully overcome by the ever-present need to feel just a little less evil, just a little less broken. And he had Dean’s example to follow – a man who didn’t always do right, but always tried.

When Sam regained his soul and had to contend with memories of being soul-less, he was most disturbed by the similarities between himself and that self. Of course, with his soul he helped people, made choices out of an intellectual construction of morality. Being soul-less took away the love he had, for Dean and close loved ones, but when dealing with strangers things weren’t so different. He didn’t lose empathy – he just lost the desire to fake having it, unless he absolutely had to for a case. He got a little worse at pretending, as he found "better" things to put his time and energy toward.

Fundamentally, Sam developed a Complex – he believed more than anything that if he ever forgave himself, if he ever felt positive feelings towards himself, he might lose the shame that drove him to be good. Without his constant self-flagellation he might become not so different from his soul-less self. And that was something he could never, ever risk. This was his burden, a weight he could never put down. Eventually, in a twisted sort of way he accepted it. This was him whether he liked it or not. All he could do was pretend to be something else, and maybe Jess was right – by doing that he was showing some backwards, convoluted version of Goodness.

[beaulesbian]

Emmrich & Lucanis banter about/with Spite because it's a very fun angle of conversation between them

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[wolfythewitch]

Started malevolent, on episode 2

- we started not with a bang but with a whimper

- Arthur does not sound like a word anymore

- that demon in his brain needs to take a chill pill

- I need him tranquilized his shouting is scaring ME

[bluegiragi]

stuck between a rock and a hard place...

(this piece was not so subtly inspired by the fic Where Moonlight Meets the Sea by MildLimerence! Leave a kudos and a nice comment if you enjoyed her writing!!)

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: cannibal

[deep-space-lines]

IT'S FINALLY FUCKING DONE. I'M FINALLY FREE

UNTIL FRAUD COMES OUT

Tumblr shrinks it down pretty bad so please. please. I am begging you. look at the full sized image and zoom in. This art piece made my friends worried for my mental health I need someone to witness the amount of detail and effort I put into this

also the original sketch under the cut bc I think comparing them is really funny

[tempo-takoyaki]

"Are you satisfied yet?"

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Blob

Dpxdc Prompt #20

Danny is a blob ghost now and he's fine with that.

Turns out all blob ghosts are just regular ghosts who have expended to much energy and turn into balls of pure ectoplasm and emotion to recharge.

It's honestly a much needed and much appreciated vacation from all of his responsibilities.

He doesn't understand why he's getting so many worship-fear-cowed emotions from these people, but he's a blob right now, he doesn't have to care.

There's one boy that constantly projects awed-love-infatuated towards him. Danny likes him a lot more than all of the other guys.

In the mean time, Ra's Al Ghul has just found what he believes to be the conscious personification of the Lazarus Pits and there is no way he is going to let any of his assassins offend it. If only he didn't have to worry about his grandson being so enamored with the being as well.

Grandfather never let Damian have any pets.

"Distractions," he would say, "Unnecessary attachments."

Damian disagreed, but he was smart enough not to voice his belief. The Demon Head's word is law and he bows to nobody.

Or at least... nobody until the little blob of sentient Lazarus Water.

Grandfather says that it must be the pits personified and therefore needed to be treated with respect so there would be no chance of them being taken away.

Damian has no problem following this rule, he finds the little blob cute, like the pet Damian would never get to have. When nobody's watching he pets the blob, tells it stories about his day, and stays silent as it does happy little purrs.

In the hell that is Nanba Parbat, the blob is a bright spot in Damian's days.

So obviously when he leaves to meet his Father and claim his right as heir to the Cowl he slips the blob into his go-bag. No one will notice, the blob normally floats around as it wishes, sometimes going missing for hours.

By the time Grandfather realizes the blob has been away too long for it to have been without intervention it will have been too late. No one will suspect that Damian took the blob with him.

At least, that's what Damian tells himself to justify taking the little guy with him. He is comforted by the low hum in his bag, the blob is happy, if no one else.

[beeturtlle]

hi i got very into kny recently

[disgracefulthings]

Sha Hualing: I think your husband is cheating on you

Luo Binghe: Keep speaking ill about my Shizun and I'll rip your tongue out!

Sha Hualing: Just listen for a second! I heard Mobei-Jun's weird husband serenading Lord Shen with a romantic song!

Luo Binghe: ...what song?

Earlier

Shang Qinghua, very off key: We're no strangers to love~ You know the rules and so do I!

Back to the present

Luo Binghe: Oh, that is apparently a normal human custom. Singing that song unexpectedly to another is akin to a minor act of war. Shizun will probably retaliate by standing motionless by Shang-shishu with his arms spread out

Sha Hualing: Human culture is so weird

[tenmastrousers]

meet downhill longboarder wwx

[anbaisai]

Couldn't unsee Aira's hair as literally pink Azul hair so I had to make this once episode 10 of Dandadan dropped

[allastoredeer]

Someone on Twitter said they're scared of deer because deer will just stare at you for a long time before bounding away and, well, this was the first thing that came time mind.

RIP Angel Dust. He's never going to get a midnight snack ever again.

[ms-spkhd]

Part one

Admittedly, Eddie feels really fucking stupid about it in retrospect. Jeff tells him, in that soft and placating way he tells him anything, that he should stop worrying about his hindsight bias. Yeah, right. Hindsight bias doesn't apply for Steve Harrington dangling himself in front of Eddie's face like the metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It feels like a kick in the head, if anything. One that rattles his brain against his skull like the ricochet of a bullet. Or a maraca with a single, tiny bead in it, if he wants to be more technical about it.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Steve Harrington is, like, into Eddie--which definitely throws all of his preconceived notions about boy wonder with serial monogamy problems of the heterosexual variety out of the fucking window and past the goalpost--and Eddie's been farting around for the past few months twiddling his fucking thumbs about it.

Well, it's not definitive.

The more that Eddie ruminates on it--and he spends several nights ruminating on it--Jeff's theory that Steve might be tipping the Kinsey scale sounds like...well. A theory.

It's the doubt that comes rearing its head that stops Eddie in his tracks from actually doing anything.

("Wow," Jeff grumbles as they hotbox in the back of Jeff's hand-me-down olive green Pinto a week after their stunning revelation, "trust Virgin Supreme to self-sabotage when someone is begging for you to climb on his lap and--"

"I told you that in confidence," Eddie spits as he digs through the glove compartment for a cassette to replace the oft-abused Kill 'Em All tape that's been blaring on repeat for the past two hours. "You're really mean when you're high, you know that, right?"

Jeff shrugs and takes a hit of the blunt they've been sharing. "I'm releasing my inhibitions. You can't silence me.")

Eddie trusts Steve. Of course he'd lay down his life for the man that dragged him out of hell without a single look behind like a preppy fucking Orpheus. But there's always the lingering thought that, despite everything they've gone through together, Eddie loving Steve would be the tipping point that ruins everything.

He finds himself balancing the line of keeping it in, too scared of the risk his heart will pose on their friendship, and fully committing to the pipe dream of Steve Harrington possibly wanting him back.

And, in Jeff's wise words, Biblically.

"Hey, Bird," Eddie asks Robin one night at the drive-in theater when Steve's out buying their snacks--medium popcorn loaded with cheddar powder and butter for Eddie, since he just popped a Lactaid ten minutes beforehand, and Milk Duds for Robin--"What would you do, hypothetically, if you think someone is really into you--"

"Here we go," Robin sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat. Eddie can't help but feel miffed at her dismissive attitude, but he knows for a fact that she's all ears.

"--And you, hypothetically, really like them back, but you don't know for sure if they actually, hypothetically, want you, or if it's just wishful thinking on your part?"

"Any you mean this totally hypothetically?" Robin says as she turns to face the rear seats where he's sitting and chewing at his cuticles.

"Yeah. This is a theoretical situation that I want your input in. Think of it like a...thought experiment."

Robin nods with narrowed eyes, like she sees through the bullshit with an all-seeing eye. "Right. Thought experiment. Is this hypothetical person a queer or not?"

"It never crossed your mind," Eddie confirms. "She looks like the posterchild of suburban heterosexuality, but she's gotten very invested in your very gay sex life out of the blue recently."

"So which one of you is the man invested or tell me about what eating out is like invested?"

"Tell me what eating out is like invested."

Robin hums in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin like the situation is really vexing her. "That sounds pretty gay, Eddie."

She is right, that does sound pretty gay. But it doesn't help him in his predicament at all, since Steve seemed to back off about the 'so do you play rock paper scissors to find out who gets it?' questions after Eddie frustratedly admitted that 'DnD club president and metalhead virgin at almost twenty' wasn't exactly a hot item in Indianapolis, much less Hawkins.

"Okay, new layer," Eddie says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What if, say, instead of asking you out--which you think is her next move--she starts trying to set you up with a bunch of girls you don't know."

There's muffled chatter from outside the Beemer's windows. Cars rev in the distance as they pull into the lot. Eddie watches Robin in contemplative silence as she thinks through her answer.

"That is difficult," she concedes, and Eddie is feeling more desperate than ever. "Can't imagine that ever happening to me."

Eddie mumbles, "Thank God it's a hypothetical."

"But if you think about it, it's either some misguided attempt to put me out there, or it's a Hail Mary to get me to realize I like her."

"Okay, well. Both options seem pretty hard to differentiate when you don't know what the fucking context behind the action is."

"For what it's worth," Robin says, her expression softening ever-so-slightly, "I think it's the Hail Mary. It's not my place to tell, but you should really give up the idea that it's wishful thinking and give it a shot."

Eddie's a millisecond away from asking, is it that obvious? before there's a sharp knock against his window. He yelps, head whipping around to find Steve with that sly grin slapped on his stupid, handsome face.

Eddie rolls down the window and tries to school his expression. He doesn't need to, really, because Steve shoves the popcorn into his hands and declares, "A medium sized popcorn with cheddar powder and lots of fucking butter for you, my friend. Bone of a teeth."

"Just fucking say it regularly," Robin groans as he yanks open the drivers seat door and tosses her a box of Milk Duds. "I know you can, you jackass!"

Steve laughs, full and hearty, as he turns to look at Eddie in the rear seats. He's like bottled-up sunshine contained into the shape of an American heartthrob. He's like Venus as a boy.

Eddie feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

Another week of ruminating goes by, this time with Robin's words echoing in his head like a reverb pedal, and Eddie keeps that yellow pick near his heart the entire time. It's a real push and pull type situation, he realizes. His heart goes one way, his brain goes the other, which is fucking typical.

He doesn't talk to Jeff about it, because he knows he'll get the same answer, and he doesn't dare talk to Robin about it again. He feels she knows too much, and he has know idea how much she's accidentally telepathically transferred to Steve.

Eddie is about halfway through debating shaving his hair off as a way of regaining control when he finds Steve standing on his doorstep like a fucking Mormon.

"Eddie, man," Steve says with zero preamble, "my cousin's boyfriend has a roommate that I think you'd like."

"Nice weather we're having," Eddie responds blankly. Frankly, with the way things are going, he's getting sick of it.

But he can't help the way that Steve still looks beautiful as his eyebrows bunch together and pretty pink lips pinch into a thin line.

"Come on, man. I think this'll be a good start for you. I think he's into the same bands as you. I think Kathy said he was a Skid Row roadie, or something like that."

"I'm not that big of a Hair Metal guy," Eddie admits, and Steve deflates a bit.

"Well, if it helps, he kind of looks like me.' Jesus Christ. "Devastatingly handsome and all."

Eddie's damn near about to snap like a worn-out Stretch Armstrong being mauled by two pitbulls. He feels like he's about to blow a fucking gasket in front of the guy he's been holding very ill-advised affection towards since his sophomore year of high school. The very same guy who's been trying to set Eddie up with literally everyone with a functioning penis with exception of himself, the only guy Eddie has wanted. Ever.

There's no way Steve is that dense, right?

Eddie knows that the guy's smart, despite everyone telling him otherwise. Steve can definitely do mental math better than Eddie can dream of doing--since Frankie Gershwin passed down the sacred Hellfire DM calculator once Eddie took over Hellfire after he graduated--and he actually graduated on time, unlike yours truly.

But Eddie doesn't fucking get it.

"Steve," Eddie blurts, rather unceremoniously, "what are you doing?"

Steve blinks. His smile wanes dangerously low. "...I'm setting you up with a handsome dude."

"I don't understand why you're doing this though. Are you fucking with me, or something?"

"No, dude, I just..." Steve's expression shifts. His shoulders sag and he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks devastatingly earnest. "I just want to see you happy."

"If you want me to be happy," Eddie snaps, "then just ask me out yourself, since I've fucking been in love with you since April."

Steve freezes, hazelnut eyes like full moons on dinnerplates.

Eddie's hand flexes on the doorknob as he resists the white-hot urge to slam the door shut on Steve's shocked face. Maybe he should take a vacation down south to Mexico. Perhaps change his name and never come back. Hopefully there'll be sweet and earnest boys with olive skin and luscious hair waiting for him on the beaches of Cancun. Holy shit this is a fucking disaster.

"Oh," Steve says.

"Yeah, oh."

"You love me?" Steve asks, eyes sparkling like the rural sky. He draws closer to Eddie, raising a hand that begs to touch him.

"When have I not?" Eddie admits as leans into Steve's touch against his shoulder and laces their fingers together.

I guess I was, uh. I wasn't expecting it." Steve smiles softly and gazes at their intertwined hands.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me too?"

"Oh God." It's like Eddie's staring straight into the sun, with the ways Steve's smile grows more intense with each second. He wants to have it burned into his retinas. "Of course I do. It feels so stupid how much I'm obsessed with you."

"You know, you have a weird way of putting it, what with all the setting me up with guys I don't know," Eddie chirps. Steve chuffs and shakes his head like a guilty dog.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to want me back. I wasn't sure you'd go for guys like me."

For jocks hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, as if Steve hasn't quite jumped over that hurtle of guilt over the person he was in high school. Sure, he was king of the letter crowd, but he's nothing like the douchebag from '83. Steve would never shove him into a locker or be a general chest-beating moron around Eddie, because he's not a moron. He's sweet and dorky and a little misguided, sometimes, but he has the heart of the size of a mack truck and a kindness to show it.

The thought of Steve talking Eddie's ear off about Sportsketball and the works sends an excited little shiver down his spine.

"I would," Eddie says, completely and utterly honestly. "God, I would for you."

He brings Steve's hand to his lips and smacks a wet kiss over the soft skin. "And the necklace..."

"That was my Hail Mary," Steve admits with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

"I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me."

Steve releases his grip from Eddie's spindly hand and brushes his fingertips against Eddie's collarbone, tugging at the chain of the necklace until it untucks itself from underneath Eddie's shirt. Eddie watches the way that Steve lights up like a fucking electrical surge at the hint of sunshine yellow against his pale skin. It makes Eddie flush a bright red.

And when Steve's palm flattens against Eddie's chest and pushes him inside Eddie's new government loaned trailer, he lets himself be pushed against the wall and kissed.

And kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Sufficed to say, when Eddie wakes up the next morning with Steve drooling against the back of his neck and his warm hand splayed against the skin of his naked chest, Eddie vows to always take Jeff's word for it.

____________

holy shit i was not expecting for part one to get that much fanfare. to be honest, i was totally intending for it to be a one and done to explore eddie and jeff's friendship, and believe me, my heart is so warmed by the reception it got. i recently have gotten myself out of a months long slump and have been swamped with college work, so i apologize for my writing being so few and far between. thank you all and i hope this is the resolution you were waiting so patiently for! :)

@grtwdsmwhr @eyehartart @bananahoneycomb @notasmoothman @colidamae

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.