#my fic: fa

[boykingofhellsam]

Fallen Apples by Cursedobjects. Chapter 1/10

Warnings: M/M, Explicit, Mentions of Homophobia.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Castiel, God | Chuck Shurley, Michael, Azazel, Raphael, Gabriel, Alastair, Jessica Moore, Meg Masters, Lilith, Zachariah, Uriel, Inias, Anna Milton, Hannah, Balthazar, Joshua

Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester

Tags: Alternative Universe - Human, Priest Sam Winchester, Human Lucifer, Rebellious Lucifer, Bad Boy Lucifer, Biblical Scripture References, Gay Lucifer, Closeted Sam Winchester, Oblivious Sam Winchester, Bad Flirting, Internalised Homophobia, Lust At First Sight, Eventual Smut, Bottom Lucifer, Top Sam Winchester, Porn With Plot, Blasphemy, Lucifer Has Feelings, Lucifer Has Daddy Issues, Caring Sam Winchester, Eventual Romance, Lucifer Is Called Lucien.

Summary: Lucien Nicholas Shirley was the second born of four brothers; Michael, Raphel and Gabriel. Everyone knew what his name was in reference to. He enjoyed the hushed whispers of his fellow churchgoers, openly flirting with the male clergy. He has a reputation.

But with the arrival of the new priest, a drop-dead gorgeous young man and Lucien was already smitten. He needed to get his hand in that man's pants. However Sam was just so oblivious to everything...

[kerizaret]

Read two fics on ao3 today by two amazing mutuals that made me Feel Things (tm) you guys should totally check them out too

^ not exactly fanart but I needed to give Emu a hug after what she's been put through in the story (@aroace-polyshow WHEN I CATCH YOU...) and I thought Rui worked best bc of the recent h☆w physical affection starvation post

@theguardianace I hope you know your fic adds 10 years to my lifespan with every update. oughhhfhh they love each other so much I am losing my mind

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

[mynabirb]

the blacksmith and the dove

[gildeddlily]

spiralling again (another wave of stsg obsession or whatever this is)

[blood-mocha-latte]

when harry met sally au for the wip ask game <33

thank you to arthur and nonnie for The Most Beautiful of asks <333

when harry met sally au is a frankenstein of a wip that STARTED as a luztoye week oneshot and grew into a 10 chapter, 135k beast of drama, nora ephron, and autumn motif. it ALSO takes bits and pieces of other movies to create the Single Most Self Indulgent thing i've ever written. she is honestly my BABY and has a tag here <33

might i offer a short snippet??

---

George kept talking, and Joe leaned away from him slightly when his hip bumped against his shoulder. He dropped back into the passengers side unceremoniously, holding up a hand to Joe as he did so. “…and up here’s the best place to be, I think, and Pennsylvania is supposed to be calmer, too, but you know — grape?”

Joe glanced over at him for half of a second. “No.” He said, then added on, awkward. “Thanks.”

“Mm. You not like grapes?”

“I don’t eat in between meals.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess. You seem the type.” 

Joe kept his eyes on the road, but glanced over for half of a second, almost curious. “What does that mean?” 

“Well, just that you’re all…” George paused, waving the grapes absently in Joe’s direction. “You seem the type. Shoulders, and all that jazz.”

Joe looked back at the road. “Alright.” He said, and wasn’t sure what to do with that. He didn’t have to know, as it turned out, because George just hummed, kept on talking. 

[kapukvati]

ummm ahaha im having such a human-like reaction about @itsyuukiiiiiii 's fanfic guys uou wont believe it!!!

erm link to the fanfic haha GUYS PLease read it pls im begging im so silly over it i mean normal im normal

[liya4kar]

Oops my hand slipped-

Anyway the Last Hourglass is one of my favorite Peepaw fic and ROTTMNT fic in general, and when I saw Raph’s new mystic tattoos I couldn’t resist.

Last Grain Of Sand In The Hourglass belongs to @last-hourglass ! Pleas give it a read if you haven’t yet, it’s really a wonderful fic!

[thatoneweird014]

NEW WHALETOYA FIC WOOOOO

[iolanthe-crybaby]

⸺ Revelación.

En retrospectiva, la ha pasado peor. Se ha quemado la piel bajo el implacable sol del yermo, bebió los orines de animales a razón de falta de agua potable, perdió y recuperó un dedo, y no olvida, porque es lo más difícil de hacer cuando su mente crea escenarios fantasiosos y lúgubres para llenar los espacios vacíos de «porqués», que su papá, su brújula moral, la persona a la que admiraba como el modelo a ser, es un genocida. Así que sí, la ha pasado muy muy muy peor. Tener medio cuerpo atascado en una pared no debería ser una gran fatalidad, sin embargo, lo es. Especialmente cuando Ghoul se ríe a carcajadas. Sabe que de verlo estaría sacudiéndose, doblándose por la cintura por la fuerza de su risa estruendosa y seca, el sonido tintineante de su munición le da una buena pista.  

En cambio, lo que ve es el alijo de chapas. La bendita cosa por la que se acercó a la casa en ruinas, a sabiendas que la mínima ventisca en dirección equivocada echaría abajo las estructuras. Ghoul había sido muy enfático en ese hecho. La esperanza de comprar suministros de higiene básica en el asentamiento más próximo fue lo que la hizo ignorar su lógica e ir tras él. Un objeto inanimado no debería lucir pretencioso como lo hace el alijo, pero es la única forma en que lo describiría.   Lucy se traga la vergüenza, amaga una sonrisa, ignora el nudo en su garganta y se empuja afuera. Sólo para terminar resbalando, ambas rodillas golpeando con un chasquido la dura superficie del suelo. Aulló del dolor. Oye la tos de Ghoul remplazar a la risa, y el ruido de las espuelas la advierte de su proximidad. Casi podría jurar que fue apresurado, pues su aliento suena jadeante. Lucy estaría dispuesta en abandonar su recién descubierta vena terca para pedirle ayuda, si tan sólo no tuviera una viga presionando su costado, justo donde su exesposo Monty le dejó un recuerdo. Cada segundo es más difícil respirar, las palabras de auxilio muriendo en su garganta sin ser articuladas.

Tal vez Ghoul presiente la urgencia, porque sólo se permite regodearse un instante y soltar una broma antes de socorrerla.    “Cariño, si fueras así de callada más a menudo, con esa bonita cara que pones ahora, créeme, congeniaríamos mejor”. Lucy flexiona una pierna, dispuesta a darle una patada. Ghoul la detiene a medio camino. Esa mano asciende por la extremidad, llega a la cintura. No hay nada obsceno en el gesto, pero hace que se remueva incomoda. Inquieta más allá de la razón. Ninguno de los dos tiene la piel expuesta, él con su gastada gabardina y sus guantes de cuero, y ella con los enmugrecidos restos del mono de Vault, y aun así el calor es insoportable. Debe ser por la radiación. La otra mano de Ghoul no tarda en llegar al otro extremo de su cintura. Puede ver tan claro en su cabeza la imagen que hacen y ya desea que la viga le hubiera caído en la cabeza. “Quieta, linda, quieta. No querrás terminar como ternero después de una estampida”. Finalmente las manos se cuelan en la pared y empujan los escombros. Lucy siente que respira, y tose polvo y residuos de madera mientras sale. Las piernas le fallan. Ghoul la detiene rodeando con un brazo su cintura antes de que se desplome. Siente más de lo que ve a la mano limpiarle el rostro, y empujarle los cabellos rebeldes fuera de la frente. A su vista hay dos Ghoul, y no hay ninguna posibilidad de que alguno de los dos luzca preocupado, así que cierra con fuerza los ojos, parpadeando repetidas veces hasta que la imagen se fusione. “Lento, linda. Cierra la boca y respira lento por la nariz. Eso, así, justo así”.    En todo momento el necrófago la arrulló, tratando de silenciar sus gimoteos adoloridos con su siseo constante. Pero es hasta ahora que entiende lo que significan las palabras. Sigue su consejo, hasta que deja de escuchar el propio latido de su corazón desbocado. Ghoul le sonríe, de medio lado y con dientes más blancos que los que usualmente se ven en los de su especie. Lucy, medio atemorizada por casi morir aplastada y medio aliviada por su socorro, le imita. Él resopla, antes de dejarla caer. Ignora su grito indignado, y va por el alijo de chapas al que Lucy se aferró hasta las últimas consecuencias.

Él silba impresionado. Hay suficientes chapas para pagarse dos semanas de suministros, tres si regatean bien. Lucy ve un brillo en sus ojos, y le dice todo lo que su boca está a punto de decir. No le da oportunidad y se abalanza contra él. “¡Son mis chapas!". Ghoul chasquea la lengua, aún con el buen humor escrito en su demacrado rostro. Una de sus botas la regresa al suelo con un empujón. Ni hace falta más esfuerzo como una patada para tumbarla de espaldas. De nueva cuenta la parta posterior blanda de su cabeza sufre, y ella se hace ovillo mientras se tantea con la esperanza de menguar el dolor. Él se acerca, se sienta en cuclillas y le habla de frente.   “Y ahora son mi pago por salvarte el culo". Aquel buen genio, toda su diversión a costa de la estupidez de la mujer desaparece pronto de sus facciones, endureciéndose por completo. El agujero en lo que solía estar su nariz se abre y se cierra, como bestia embravecida. Lucy deja de respirar, mitad aterrada y mitad otra cosa que no se atreve a nombrar.   "Piensa en esto cuando hagas otra estupidez como meterte a una muerte segura. La próxima vez no tendrás chapas y tendré que cobrarte en especie”.

El aire vuelve a faltarle a Lucy, pero esta vez no hay viga ni caída con la cual justificarse. Su único pensamiento es él, ella y el oficio más antiguo del mundo como un trato justo entre los dos.

Ghoul vuelve a sonreír, casi como si leyera sus pensamientos y quisiera cumplirle cada uno de ellos.

“Un pulgar extra nunca está de más”.

Lucy palidece al instante, el violento rubor de su rostro volviéndose una cosa del pasado.

Ghoul se ríe a su costa, marchándose sin dar vuelta atrás. Albóndiga tan leal como siempre le sigue los pasos. Ambos felices e inconscientes de la revelación de Lucy, de la decepción que pesa como toneladas en su vientre.

“Apresúrate, Vaultie, no vamos a desperdiciar más luz del día por tus tonterías".

[elisedonut]

fuck i'm actually going to end up enjoying Sevpercy huh

maybe in a picky I like them when they are in my head or when I do it kind of way

or in a time travel way because when it comes to Snape I like his teenage self a lot more than his adult self

[direwombat]

wip last line tag

tagged by @adelaidedrubman and @socially-awkward-skeleton

tagging @detectivelokis, @aceghosts, @trench-rot, @deputyash, @river-ward, @inafieldofdaisies, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @schoute, @voidika, @harmonyowl, @purplehairsecretlair, @cassietrn, @madparadoxum, @gaeadene, @g0dspeeed, @ivymarquis, and anyone else wanting to share!

here are the closing lines of the penultimate scene for the jakesyb abo fic.

“Oh, I promise. I’ll ruin you, sweetheart,” [Jacob] answers, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll make you mine. You ain’t gonna want anyone else when I’m done with you.”

The words should scare [Sybille]. Such violent possessiveness reminds her of her father. But instead of being afraid, she’s comforted. Here, in the arms of a cultist and killer, she sleeps sounder than she ever has in her life. 

[whiskeyknees]

…. maybe me not being able too regulate my emotions as a teenager was indicative of bigger problems like perhaps a personality disorder

[violsva]

OC-tober Day 3: In a Cherished Memory

(Wow, I have a lot of deep-seated reluctance to talk about my [WiPs, interests, creations]. Let's try anyway. If I exposure-therapy the feelings away maybe I won't have to examine them.)

So I thought I'd try OC-tober (by @icannotreadcursive), mostly to give a daily theme to the general rotation-in-my-head of the Toronto novel characters that's happening anyway. This one is about Josie.

Just off rue Sainte-Catherine, Joe—Marie’s eye is caught by a tall woman.

Her dark hair is held under a kerchief, but it’s not a sign of respectability—her face is made up and her dress is bright red and very short, almost at her knees. She must be cold, but she doesn’t show it.

Joey stares, maybe—she is so tired, and so worried that she is attracting notice, and she so much wants something familiar. She doesn’t think there’s anything familiar about this woman, but she can’t stop looking.

Then the woman catches her gaze as well. And then she turns fully toward J—Marie, and comes right up to her.

Marie is about to apologize, but the woman speaks first. “Oh, non, cherie!” she says. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

“Pardon?” Jo—no, Marie asks. She has had little trouble getting used to elle and la féminine, but the false name she keeps struggling with.

“Ton visage, cherie! Ça!” The woman pulls her glove off and swipes a finger over Jo—Marie’s lips. “Ce n’est pas bien, ma chere!” She waves the red-smeared finger at Joe—Marie.

This close, Marie sees that her makeup is skillfully applied over rough skin, that her hair by her ears is—Marie gasps. This woman is like her.

“Mademoiselle?” she asks.

“Viens.” The woman tucks her arm into Jo—Marie’s and pulls her along. Marie follows, wide-eyed, not knowing what to expect but hoping—hoping very much.

[peggingprowl]

The trouble with having so many wips is that i want to write them all. and then I don't write any.

[patrice-bergerons]

WIP Wednesday

from pt. 2 of light on the water, featuring james staying with robbie while he coalesces, guilty secrets, and football.

“What have you been hiding from me all these years, sir?” James asks in his haughtiest detective voice.  This is the most exciting thing to happen to him all week.  “What is your guilty secret?”

Perhaps Lewis has been a Downton Abbey man all this time, swooning over the period costumes and the intrigue, or he loves his Strictly Come Dancing or Big Brother.  Perhaps, even, what has Lewis in its grip is one of those brash American shows—the Real Housewives of Some Sad Place or Other.

“I think you’ll find I’ve been loud and clear about it, Sergeant.”  Lewis stops on a channel where two men in suits are talking about…midfield formations?  “Tonight we have a game to win.”

James baulks—first at the telly and then at Lewis.

Lewis wants to subject him to football.

“I almost died, you know,” he points out helpfully, letting his head fall against the back of the sofa with a warranted amount of despair.