#-dm's words “the size of where your dick starts to the top of your head” and i sold two of them and got 50 each so i made an extra 50 coins

[william-solace-aaaaa]

Yo guys I started playing a dnd campaign w some of my friends n my husband (both of us are new to it) and it's soooooooo cool and I love this game sm but it's pretty complicated but that's what makes it gooooooddd

(Dam das alot of tags)

[loveinterestcastiel]

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father’s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

Tagged:

@heller-jensen @sunforgrace @rambleoncas @adhdeancas @evermorecastiel @holmesemrys @plantdadcas @good-things-do-happen-dean @jeanne-de-valois @autisticandroids @sonder-stars @yana125 @faithcastiel @cascreamtiel @seffersonjtarship @i-sing-for-me @purgatorybi @bibelphegor @cowboyslikedean @gracefuldean @dimples-of-discontent @judaskissdean @wafflehousegothic @icaruscastiel @67chevyimpala67 @lesbianjenderenvy

[miracle-sham]

Seduce a Bat With a Thieving Cat.

| {Maribat2k20 Dickinette – Day 1: First Encounters} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

|Triggers/Warnings: Explicit language/some swearing. |

| It's just another typical night on patrol when the Gotham History Museum is broken into, luckily Nightwing's on the scene, that is until everything goes off the rails. |

| Or alternatively, |

| Marinette's not your typical barista, so when she serves Dick Grayson coffee, everything goes sideways. |

| Word Count: 4751 |

»‹•›«

| A/N: I'd just like to preface this fic by mentioning I had already written 2k of this fic by the time Miraculous786 posted their First Encounters fic and after reading it considering the similarities (Dick's PoV during the museum bit, Marinette wielding the Cat Miraculous and hunting down a Miraculous from a Gotham Museum) I was kinda disheartened because y'know I was worried I might get accusations of copying but as I had already written 2k I decided to keep going because I had a different enough plot and I didn't want to waste what I had written so far. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or senf me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

»‹•›«

The night started out like any other Monday patrol. Except it's Monday, so of course it all goes off the rails not even halfway through the patrol. Because that's just Dick's luck.

 His comm buzzes, as Red Hood of all vigilantes, pipes up. “Just caught sight'a the tiny Catwoman copycat. Looks like she's got her eye on the Gotham History Museum again. O, you got anything on show in there that might pique the kitty's interest?”

 Oracle responds a second later, robotic voice overlay sounding charming as ever. “A bejewelled Armlet, which is the newest piece from the ancient Tibetan Jewellery collection is probably what our copycat burglar's after. She's targeted that specific collection before. Nightwing you're closest to the museum, try to cut her off before she can steal the piece.”

 “Got it!” Nightwing salutes, knowing Oracle is probably watching through a nearby security camera, as you do. He flips off the roof he's on and shoots the grapple mid flip—because he's physically incapable of not being showy, you can take him out the circus but you can't take the circus out of him—to change his route for the Museum in question.

 “Wait isn't that the collection where a bunch of perfectly preserved jewellery pieces were found in a two-hundred-year-old monastery and the pieces themselves are estimated to be thousands of years old?” Robin cuts in, followed by an “Eep!” and a series of crashes and clatters.

 “That's the one,” Oracle responds, sounding faintly amused, most likely watching whatever Robin's doing—which is probably nothing to worry about otherwise Oracle would have alerted them.

 Not that that'll stop me from worrying, Nightwing thinks ruefully.

 Red Hood scoffs. “Pretender, did you fucking seriously memorise facts about some fancy old jewellery?”

 Nightwing can practically hear Robin's frown through the comms, and boy does that make his heart clench.

 He, Robin, hesitates before answering. “I— one of my parent's last few archaeology gigs before they died was in Tibet where they were a part of the team that found a weird frog statue that's now on display at the Louvre. The statue has the same insignia as the box that the jewellery was discovered in.”

 The comms fall silent because well, they've all got their own parental issues so when it's an unspoken rule to not use that as ammo when it comes to bio parents. But the fact that Robin memorises facts relating to digs his parents went on, when they couldn't even remember half his birthdays. It's a painful reminder that the kid still loves his bio parents despite the abuse he suffered from them.

 The comms stay relatively silent (as silent as you can get, with six people's Comms hooked to the same frequency, all echoing in various white noise background sounds from their environments) until Nightwing reaches the Gotham History Museum. When the casual patrol chatter, as opposed to the white noise, starts back up, He filters out the sound out and circles the museum, keeping an eye out for their copycat burglar.

 Twenty minutes pass and there's still no sign of her nearby. Nightwing double taps his comm. “Looks like our kitty cat's a no show. Are there any other places she might tar—” A loud wailing alarm cuts him off. “Shit.”

 He whirls around, searching for the origin of the alarm. There, third skylight over, leading into the ancient Tibetan section added specifically for the bejewelled armlet's appearance at the museum—the section, not the skylight. If the skylight had been added then that would just be bad security choices on the Museum's part.

 “Nightwing. Report.” Batman growls in demands over the comms because Batman's incapable of speaking in something other than growls and guttural grunts.

  “Turns out, Oracle was probably right. I got eyes on the cat.” Nightwing responds, finally catching a glimpse of the copycat burglar, grappling her way out the skylight that the blaring alarm is coming from. Making a split-second decision, he sprint-swings after her. The chase is on kitty.

 “Whatever you do, don't engage,” Batman orders, voice sounding like someone dragged a beat-up thug across a gravel driveway.

 So Nightwing does what any self-respecting rebellious bat does, and ignores the order. “Engaging now.”

 “Nightwing.”

 Of course B tries to use the Robin Listen™ Voice. He pouts, turns off his earpiece midswing and continues to chase after the copycat burglar. He's a good few places behind, but his long legs and familiarity with the museum roof, is slowly but surely helping him catch up to her.

 She glances back at him and puts on a burst of speed, and upon reaching the edge of the museum's roof, pole vaults herself over the edge, just missing the next roof, and hurtling towards the street below—not a dangerous move at all.

 Nightwing has a split second of panic as he watches her as she's seemingly plummeting to her imminent demise, then decides to do the Vigilante Thing™ and dives after her.

 He reaches an arm out and is so close to catching her when the pole she used to vault extends out and wedges itself between the two buildings either side of the street. The copycat burglar then uses the momentum from the fall to perform three pullover flips on the pole-bar—like she wasn't just nearly falling to her death.

 Because of her move, Nightwing's forced to regrapple and swing by her in order to not crash into her. He spots a rooftop with two taller buildings either side and thinks to himself, a good point to ambush her at—provided she heads that way, if not, I can always grapple over to the other side of the street.

 There are gargoyles on both the taller buildings, so it doesn't take much to grapple up to one and hide behind them (like the bat he is)—to keep her from realising he's still here.

 Nightwing watches as the copycat burglar finishes her pullover flips and stabilises on the pole-bar, then walks across it like a tight rope—fortunately heading towards the building that he's planning to ambush her on. Finally, today's luck is looking up!

 Once she reaches the building, she steps onto a window sill and grabs the pole-bar. Nightwing studies her and the pole-bar as it contracts and compacts to a baton size. The copycat burglar attaches it to her belt then scales the side of the building seemingly effortlessly.

 She takes the path of least resistance as she reaches the top. Which is surprising to Nightwing considering she only just "lost" him. She then starts crossing the middle roof with the two taller buildings on either side.

 It's at that moment, he decides to drop in on their copycat burglar. And by drop in on, he means flip over the gargoyles he was hiding behind, and then triple backflips off the roof he's on, so that at the end of his fall he collides with her, pinning her to the ground. Unnecessarily showy, but who's he to not put on a show.

 Nightwing pulls out a pair of manacles and handcuffs her wrists. She turns her head enough to get a good look at him and gives him the most unimpressed glare he's ever seen. And I've lived with Batman, he thinks to himself, surprised at how good her unimpressed glare is.

 He leans down, trying to intimidate her. “Where'd you put the armlet you stole.”

 She hisses—like actually hisses, like a cat or a snake.

 However, having been used to villains making weird noises upon being captured—Manbat anyone?—the sound doesn't startle Nightwing as much as it probably should. That is until he catches sight of her slit pupils, and cat ears and tail twitching. Of course, his immediate thought is and they call Batman a furry.

 Unfortunately, in the split second where his thoughts are distracted, she mutters “Cataclysm,” beneath her breath. There's a horrible creak of metal rusting and warping followed by a clatter, as she yanks her hands away—causing the manacles to shatter in two.

 “Hey, wait a second!” Nightwing protests, he's about to ask what she just did, when she twists underneath his pin and flips the both of them over.

 Having not expected the flip, he's caught off guard once more but his reflexes are too well trained to be completely overwhelmed by the move, so he cartwheels out of the flip and out of her range. “That was my favourite pair of handcuffs you broke!”

 She raises an eyebrow at him and slips into a defensive stance. “You have a favourite pair of handcuffs?”

 Mimicking the action by getting into his own fighting stance, he starts to edge towards her, causing her to edge away from him—forcing them both to circle each other.

 “They were a good pair of handcuffs okay!” Nightwing defends, as he scrutinises her form—Clearly self-trained, considering this stance and her earlier moves. It's similar to Jason and Steph's styles, in the 'learnt to fight to avoid getting hurt worse' kinda way.

 “Emphasis on the were.” Is her dry response.

 He dive forward rolls towards her and jumps up, and using the momentum gained from the roll, throws an uppercut at her. “How about you give me the jewellery as compensation?”

 The copycat burglar narrows her eyes at him and blocks the uppercut with her elbow. “The jewellery is worth way more than your flimsy handcuffs.” She retaliates with a roundhouse kick to Nightwing's chest.

 Dodging with a back handspring, he pulls out his escrima sticks. “No?” He shrugs, “well it was worth a try.”

 She eyes his escrima sticks and gives him a tight-lipped smile. “It really wasn't but go off I guess.”

 That was definitely a twinkle of amusement in her eyes there! Nightwing grins then falters. “Y'know, if you're in trouble, you don't have to do this. I can help you.”

 The copycat burglar scoffs and throws a punch, which he easily blocks with one of his escrima sticks.

 “You don't understand.” She scowls, retracts her punch and spins before trying to jab him in the ribs with her baton.

 He blocks with one escrima stick and strikes back at her with the other. “I don't, but if you explain then I could.”

 Hissing through her teeth in pain, she glares at him, tail whipping viciously back and forth and cat ears laying flat against her head. She counters his block and strike, by swiping at his escrima sticks with her baton, knocking them from his grip.

 “Shit!” Nightwing back handsprings again, to get enough distance between them as to give him enough time to retrieve the sticks.

 She thwacks him in the neck with her expanding baton, throwing him off balance and leaving him breathless.

 With his moment of weakness, the copycat burglar grabs him and throws him at the nearest rooftop wall.

 “Fuck! Me!” He yelps between breaths, temporarily stunned, body aching from the impact.

 “No thanks, I'd prefer to take you out to dinner first.” She mutters, probably not intending for him to hear, as she pins him against the wall before he can recover.

 Blinking and wide-eyed, Nightwing stares at her for a solid three seconds then waggles his eyebrows. “I'd be up for dinner with you, just gotta let me help you with whatever's forcing you to steal the jewellery.”

 She sighs and glances away for a split second, then leans in really close and whispers in his ear. “There's nothing you can do to help me.”

 Leaning back, the copycat burglar places a finger over his lips—silencing him before he can speak.

 Nightwing flushes bright red and his heartbeat spikes.

 “My name is Minou Purrdu, and I'm sorry.” She purrs, pulling something odd out of her baton, a black and yellow spinning top.

 With her finger still over his lips, he's unable to ask what she's apologising for.

 She whispers under her breath, “Venom,” and stabs the spinning top into the side of his neck.

 Gasping, Nightwing is left completely paralysed by whatever the spinning top actually is because it's clearly not your standard spinning top. Unable to move—he can only watch as Minou Purrdu cups his cheek, frowns, pulls away, and begins pole-vaulting her way across the roof and out of sight.

»‹•›«

 Nightwing's not sure how long the paralysis lasted but as soon as it ends, he slumps back against the wall and melts, tipping his head back against the brick. His mind stuck on repeating the encounter as he processes what happened. Shit, he thinks while grinning dopily—face flushing bright red again (not that it faded much whilst he was paralysed), I thought I had a thing for redheads but obviously, I've got a thing for badass ladies instead.

 He's about to get up when Catwoman, original cat burglar extraordinaire, jumps down onto the roof he's on and gives him a very judgemental look. “I'm guessing the kitten got away with the jewellery, hmm? A shame, I quite fancied the look of it.” She stops, tipping her head to the side and raising a hand to one ear. She shakes her head but continues. “Oracle has some things she wants to say to you, I'd recommend turning on your comm unless you want her send Batman, Robin, or Red Hood here to see you like this.”

 Huffing, he rolls his eyes, “thanks,” then taps his comms back on. “Hey.”

 Catwoman nods to him and then takes her leave across the rooftops—Probably to go tease Batman or something.

  The comm buzzes and an unimpressed sounding Oracle greets him. “Clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” She pauses then adds, “I recorded your entire "fight".”

 Nightwing splutters in response. “What.”

 “Awww, did you get your feathers ruffled by the kitty cat, Big Wing?” Red Hood cuts in with a teasing sing-song tone of voice.

 “I hate you both,” Nightwing grumbles, pushing himself up off the ground and wall.

 “Sorry to interrupt, but I was looking through the museum's private notes on the jewellery collection, apparently some of the pieces are thought to be magical artefacts,” Robin interjects, sounding somewhat strained.

 Red Hood scoffs, “so you're saying our copycat burglar's—”

 “Minou Purrdu she called herself.” Nightwing chimes in.

 Red Hood clears his throat. “—Got her hands on multiple magical artefacts and we got no idea why she's doing it or if she's working with anyone.”

 “We might get another chance to catch her, the museum has a few other jewellery pieces from the collection, in the back,” Robin informs them, a familiar thwip of a grapple line in the background.

 “So we'll monitor the museum for any suspicious activity.” Oracle sighs. “Also Nightwing, Agent A's currently dealing with B but he wants to know the extent of your injuries from the fight.”

“Gotcha.” He swipes on his gauntlet computer and sends a quick analysis of his injuries—mostly minor bruising—and sends it to the Batcomputer for Agent A to see. “Done.”

 “B's being grumpy over the stunt you pulled, so I suggest doing a final loop once you finish patrol before heading back.” There's a clacking of keys as Oracle types away at something, most likely checking the security cams nearby.

 Nightwing readies his grapple. “You're a lifesaver O.” Then swings himself off the building to double back to his patrol route.

The clacking pauses and she laughs. “I know.”

»‹•›«

 The next morning, as she's sprinting down the pavement, Marinette's phone starts ringing. She stumbles to a stop, barely managing to dodge the other civilians walking down the path and fumbles to get her phone out her pocket. She curses and glances around her then steps off to the side to take the call. She catches a glimpse of the caller's ID before she answers, “Adrien? What is it?”

 “Ah, you're awake already, mornin' Mari!” He greets cheerfully, sounding far too awake for eight am on a Tuesday morning. Although then again, he wasn't the one who spent last night (morning?) hopping across rooftops at godforsaken hours and getting chased by the local spandex-wearing vigilantes. 

 There's a clatter behind Adrien followed by the whir of an appliance, he pauses, probably distracted by whatever made the noise. There's a faint rustle-woosh as he shakes his head. “I'm just calling to check up on you after your late night last night, after all, today's your first shift at the coffee shop.”

 Marinette huffs good-naturedly, “I woke up extra early so I wouldn't be late,” Translation: I did not get a wink of sleep last night. “I'm less than a minutes walk away right now.”

 Adrien sighs. “Mari, you really need to get better sleeping habits.”

 “Mhmm. Alright, I'm nearly there” She responds, busy checking her surroundings once more.

 “M'kay, chat to you inside?” And she can just hear the feral grin in his voice as he makes the pun.

 Marinette groans at the awful pun. “Really? Whatever, see ya!” And quickly ends the call, before setting off at a brisk pace to get to the coffee shop.

»‹•›«

 Once she reaches the coffee shop, Marinette's just barely on time for her shift. She darts into the back room and throws on the nearest apron of her size and slaps her name tag onto the apron.

 With the apron and name tag on, she stumbles out the back room and scurries behind the counter to join Adrien, who's chatting to a customer; a superhero fan, if I were to guess, from all the superhero badges and patches on their jacket. As she passes by him to get to her station, he raises a hand without glancing back at her. On instinct, she high fives his raised hand.

 Marinette reaches the empty till and waves over the next customer. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Adrien starting on his customer's order. She smiles as the customer she waved over, approaches.

 The customer that approaches, is a pale thin-faced man, with balding grey hair and wearing a shirt and jacket from the latest Gabriel Agreste fashion line. “I need a triple shot, venti, half sweet, caramel macchiato, with three pumps of vanilla and extra whip. And I need it pronto, girly.”

 “Of course.” Marinette's smile turns paper-thin as a wave of fury washed over her. This is not my morning, she internally laments. But at least Adrien doesn't have to deal with this bastard. He doesn't need a reminder of the fact that his sperm donor managed to escape his crimes thanks to being an old, white, corrupt businessman.

 He glares at her, then sniffs pointedly and pulls out his phone.

 Marinette scurries away from the till to go and get started on the order. It's not enough to stop her from wanting to break the customer's nose but it keeps her occupied for the moment being.

 As she passes Adrien, he gives her a concerned glance. She responds with a shrug and the shake of her head, she flicks her gaze back to her customer and then to Adrien; silently conveying it's fine, don't worry. I can deal with it.

 He frowns but doesn't press, instead continuing as he was doing, in taking his customer's order to said customer.

 Sighing, Marinette then gets started on her customer's hell order, carefully making the coffee step by step, to ensure its right. Because as much as I'd love to tamper with his drink, I'd rather not lose my job not even five minutes into my first shift.

 Thankfully it doesn't take too long to make the order but as the equipment isn't that far from the counter, she could hear all the impatient huffs and scoffs from the customer throughout the duration of making the coffee. After she adds the final touches, Marinette carefully carries the order over to the customer and goes through the payment process with him.

 The customer leaves with a scowl. Good riddance, she scoffs internally. She surveys the coffee shop and surprisingly there's no one else in the queue. She shuffles towards Adrien, looking quite pale, as he hands over the change to a customer who then puts the change in the tip jar and leaves.

 Eyeing him carefully, Marinette gently nudges him in the side and softly questions. “Hey, you feeling okay? You're looking kinda pale.”

 Adrien glances back to her and nods. “Yeah, I just…” He takes a second to breathe, “that customer you were serving, he was wearing his brand.”

She makes a pained face. Shit, I was hoping he wouldn't notice.

 He huffs and grins fragilely. “You're doing your 'Heck I had hoped you hadn't realised that' face.”

  Marinette rolls her eyes. “Close, it was a 'Shit, I was hoping you hadn't realised' face but technicalities, technicalities.”

 Just as he's about to respond, three giggling people stumble into the coffee shop, a man and a boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

 Adrien stiffens as they approach, so Marinette does what any good friend would do and grabs him by the arm to tug him a step behind her.

 “Nuh-uh!” She wags a finger at him, “I'll deal with the next customers, you go take a five-minute breather in the backroom.”

 He wavers and glances between her and the approaching group. He shakes his head and grimaces. “Alright,” then scampers off to the backroom in a very cat-like way.

 Some things just don't change, she muses to herself, and tenses, throwing on a quick but genuine-looking smile to greet the new customers.

 As the three reach the counter, the tallest of the three (the black-haired blue-eyed man), leans on the counter and smirks in a way that can only be described as flirtatiously. The other man groans and the woman bursts into giggles.

 Marinette refrains from mentally calling the flirtatiously smirking one 'The Chat Noir of the three'. “Hi, how may I help you?”

 The blonde girl shoves the men and boy out of the way and flashes Marinette a dazzling grin. “Hey, can I get a grande Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate and a warmed coffee waffle please!”

 Marinette nods, quickly racking her brain for the recipe to the Gotham Special, and adds it to the till. “Anything else?”

 The black-haired blue-eyed boy—Who I really need a better internal nickname for him because he's starting to sound like the blue-eyes white dragon with how much I'm repeating that, Marinette thinks absently—half-heartedly glares at the blonde girl before turning his gaze to Marinette and asks, “could I have a quadruple shot Venti espresso with sixteen addition shots of espresso and one of the add energy packets.”

 “Timmy, no!” Gasps the man.

 “Tim, yes.” 'Tim' responds, grinning mischievously.

 The blonde girl barely holds back her laughter, doubling over from the effort.

 Marinette stares at him in concern but as soon as she spots the very prominent bags beneath his eyes, she nods—in solidarity and adds the coffee order to the till. “Okay, anything else?”

 The blonde girl and Tim share a look before darting off to grab a free table booth, leaving the man at the counter with her.

 The man stares after the two before turning his attention to Marinette. “Can I get a grande White Chocolate Mocha, please.” He pauses, “And I'll pay you triple the price of the entire order in tips if you make Tim's drink entirely decaf. Please, he's had three black coffees already today.”

 Marinette nods her head slowly. “I–uh, sure, okay. And is that all?”

 He nods, “Yep, that's all.”

 She adds the final drink to the order and puts it through the till. “That'll be twenty dollars…”

 The man hums thoughtfully and hands over a twenty-dollar bill, “Cool, so I'll pay you sixty bucks in tips if you make my little brother's drink decaf.” He then adds, “I'm Dick by the way.”

 “Marinette,” she points to the little name tag attached to her apron before getting started on the worst of the drinks, the (now decaf) twenty shot venti espresso. “And that's way too much for a tip, I can't accept that much.”

 “Hey, no, you deserve it for making that abomination of a drink that my little brother ordered and anyway it's not like I can't afford to tip you that much.” Dick divulges.

“Oh.” She responds noncommittally, unsure how to respond and so continues to pour the shots of decaf espresso into the venti cup.

 Just as she finishes pouring the final shots into the cup, a customer switches the café TV to a news channel. “Late last night, there was a break-in at the Gotham History Museum. The only item stolen was an artefact from the new Ancient Tibetan display. Fortunately, the thief was caught on the security camera. From what can be seen in the footage, the thief appears to be a Catwoman copycat.” A news anchor reports before cutting to the footage of the break-in.

 Marinette puts the twenty shot venti espresso on a tray and places the tray and drink on the counter between her and Dick.

 “What's your opinion on Minou Purrdu?” He inquires, with a curious look on his face, head cocked to one side.

 Thanks to anxiety, Marinette's immediate response is to laugh awkwardly as she internally panics—Oh fuck, he must be Nightwing. Don't be here to arrest me, don't be here to arrest, please—turning away from the counter, she gets started on the white chocolate mocha. “Uh, who?”

 Dick rubs at the back of neck somewhat sheepishly, “it's that new copycat thief's name apparently.”

 “Huh. I guess the thief must be a fan of puns then.” She comments, avoiding answering his question as she mixes the relevant ingredients into the cup to produce the drink.

 “Oh? What makes you say that?” He asks, body language showing him to be genuinely curious—probably not here to arrest me then, hopefully.

 Marinette finishes making the white chocolate mocha and carries the cup over to the tray, explaining her reasoning as she did so. “Well, Minou Purrdu is a pun. Minou perdu is french for lost kitty, and so by adding a purr to perdu, the thief made it a pun.”

 Dick makes a noise of contemplation, he then spies his drink and grins in a way that's flirtatiously feral enough to rival Chat Noir (she was definitely spot on when she nearly mentally referred to him as the Chat Noir of the three), then points to the mocha, “hey, you mocha me crazy.”

 Marinette sighs in poorly concealed amusement and it's at that moment, Adrien walks out the employee room and joins her behind the counter.

 He glances around and spots no queue, “need any help with the order?”

 She nods and turns to him. “If you could grab one of the coffee waffles and warm it please.”

 “No problem!” Adrien nods and heads over to the glass food display to get a coffee waffle.

 Dick pokes at up his mocha cup and whistles through at the heat. “This coffee's really hot but not as hot as you.”

 Marinette, midway through turning away from the counter to go grab the ingredients needed for the Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate, chokes and flushes bright red. Nope-nope-nope-nope-no! I am not doing this! Absolutely no way am I getting a crush on Nightwing who's currently a civilian and probably is maybe hunting down my secret identity to arrest me!

 Adrien, the traitor, puts the now warmed up coffee waffle on the tray and grabs a napkin. He quickly scrawls down a string of numbers that look suspiciously like her personal phone number. He waggles his eyebrows at her, winks, then hands the napkin to Dick. “She's too shy to do it herself, so here's her number!”

 She squeaks in surprise—ironic considering the drink she's currently making—and covers her face with her hands, thankfully having not been holding the cup of half-made Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate. Otherwise, she definitely would've spilt it.

 Quickly, she finishes the hot chocolate and puts it on the tray. “Here you go.”

“Thanks! and here's your tip.” He places down three twenty-dollar bills on the counter and winks, before picking the tray up and bringing it over to Tim and the blonde girl.

 Marinette spins around to face Adrien. “Oh my god, why would you do that?”

 He smirks, “because we're in a new city, why not have some fun and follow through with your new crush?”

 She groans. “We need to talk in private as soon as our shifts end.”

 Adrien's smile falters. “Alright.”

»‹•›«

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

[this-is-spn20]

Supernatural Preferences #11

A/N: This is the second part to preference 10. This preference will be nothing but SMUT! This is my first time writing smut. Please don’t be harsh. If there is any advice you may have to writing smut PLEASE DM ME! 

Other than that, please enjoy!

---------

Dean: You shoot out of the car at lightning speed waiting for Dean to get out. He finally gets out and locks the car doors and you grab his hand and drag him the games. Dean all the while is smiling down at you adoringly and fiddles with the box in his jacket pocket thinking of when are the right moment to get down on his knee and present you with the diamond ring he bought a week before. 

‘God I hope she says yes.’

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

You and Dean were having the time of your lives. You’ve been on the huge swing twice, you went on all of the rollercoasters three times and both of you got fat on carnival food. Dean surprised you and won the ring toss on his first try and won you a giant stuffed dolphin! He won the shooting game again for the first time and got you a giant stuffed panda. You were both carrying so many prizes you had to stop by Baby and put everything in the back seat. 

You were so happy, Dean could swear the sun was jealous of your vibrant smile. You felt like a kid again. You and Dean forgot about your lifestyle, that two are hunters. But Dean couldn’t stop fiddling with that box in his pocket. You made him think about possibly getting out of life. Starting fresh. A life where he didn’t have to worry about you or him getting killed. A life where he got to have a family with you. A real life. A normal life. He knew it was unlikely, but that wouldn’t stop him. Plus, he had faith. 

A gruff and deep voice came over the park’s intercom saying that the carnival would be shutting down in about 10 minutes. As everyone began to leave the park, you begged Dean to go on the Ferris Wheel one more time. He was reluctant but followed you anyway. The ride tendent made sure the two of you were strapped in before starting the ride. 

By this time, the sun had already gone down and the stars came out. As you were approaching the top you kept bouncing up and down in anticipation. You didn’t see Dean admiring you. You were paying attention to the stars, admiring their shine. You didn’t know that Dean saw The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, and The Sky. All in you, that's when he decided this was the right time to do it. It was now or never, he thought. 

He pulled the box out of his pocket. He tapped you on the shoulder and as you turned to him and your mouth popped open as you saw the ring. He was smiling at you with all the love he had for you. He turned himself towards you a little bit more and said, “Y/N, you are the most wonderful, funny, carefree, beautiful person I’ve ever met. I could never imagine my life without you in it. You make me believe that it is still good in this world. Would you do me the extraordinary honor of being my wife?”

You spaced out, you couldn’t believe it! He loved you so much that he wants you to be his forever! You continue to space out as your heart rate and breathing speed up. Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face until you came to. 

“Uhh, I’m sorry. My bad babe.”

“It’s okay, so are you gonna answer my question?” He smirked.

“Yes! Of course, I will.

“He laughed and your hand trembled as he grabbed it to put on your ring.

You shared a hot and passionate kiss as you arrived at the bottom once more and left the carnival feeling like you were still on top of the world. 

Dean opened up the passenger side door for you to hop in. Once you were in the car he closed the door behind you, he jogged to his side of the car with a smile on his face. You guys flew out of the parking lot and started the journey home. 

About halfway through the drive you decided to tease Dean a bit and ran your hands up and down his thigh. Dean looked over at you and saw a hint of a smirk on your face. You heard him chuckle lowly and then growl. You ran your hand closer to his growing length and stopped just before you touched it. You could feel yourself getting wet already and you haven't even done anything yet. You heard Dean let out a small desperate moan when you stopped. You smiled evilly and kept your hand where it was. So close yet so far away. You could hear Dean getting closer to breaking when you decided to be nice and unzip his pants and stroke his dick and you let out a moan of anticipation. You could feel Dean start to get close and stopped your movement and put his hands in your lap and kept them there until you got back to the bunker.

Dean put the car in park and turned off the engine. You were already out of the car and in the bunker while Dean was hot on your tail. You knew Sam wasn’t home, he was out at the movies by himself. Dean brushed past you and opened the door to the bedroom. You were practically running into the room and Dean hurried to close and lock the door. He took off his shoes while you did the same and he walked over to you. He slowly cupped your face and kissed you with a burning hot passion. The kiss turned messy and sloppy. His tongue was in your mouth, exploring and tasting. Taking everything he could, and you let him.

You pull away from the kiss to pull off his shirt and you start to kiss down his neck and chest. Dean’s knees almost gave out on him when he saw you down on your knees. You kissed down his lower stomach before you ended at his pants. You teased Dean non-stop. You innocently bat your eyes at him while licking your lips and unbuckling his pants. As you pulled down his pants and boxers his length almost hit you and bounced off his stomach. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, his size always intimidated you a little, not that you’d tell Dean that. 

You stroked him a few times before taking him in your mouth. Dean let out a low moan as his head fell back. You bob your head back and forth as you caress his balls and lick his shaft up and down. You stroke him once more as you lick and suck his balls. Dean could barely keep himself standing straight as you take him in your mouth once again and you take him as far as you could. Your panties were practically soaked as he hit the back of your throat over and over. Your pussy was throbbing with need. Dean decided he had enough as he helped you off the ground and kissed you once more before he guided you over to the bed. He copies you and he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and body before stopping at your soaked pussy, whining as he blows on your clit and kissing it. You let out a loud moan as you felt yourself getting wetter by the second, your skin a flushed, hot mess. 

Dean finally showed mercy and put his mouth to work. His tongue was something you could never get over. He started slow and pressed his tongue hard against your clit and twirled his tongue over you again and again before unexpectedly switching his pace deadly fast. Thrusting his tongue in and out of your entrance. You were close, but you didn’t want to cum this way. You wanted to feel him inside of you. You pushed him away and he gave you a confused look.

“Dean, please.” You whined as you squirm underneath him,

“Please what princess. Tell me what you want.” He smirked as he dipped his head back down and the kitten licked your pussy. 

“I- Oh God. I-I want you inside me, please Dean!” You pleaded with him, now desperate to feel him inside you.

Dean kissed up your body and kissed your neck before making out with you while he grabbed a condom out of the drawer, you were on the pill but still, you weren’t taking those chances. He stopped kissing you for a moment to make sure the condom was secure. You grabbed his shoulders as he lined himself up at your entrance. You were barely able to keep still as he slid himself in your hole. You and Dean let out a moan as you kissed each other until he fully sheathed himself inside you. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size. You nodded your head and he kissed your forehead as he slid himself almost fully out of you and he slammed himself back in hitting your g-spot on the first try. 

The next hour and a half or so were filled with the desperate need to pull yourself closer to him than physically possible. The air was filled with the slapping of skin and sparse ‘I love you’s’ between the two of you, your hands were linked together when the both of you announced you were close to the edge. Your foreheads were against each other as you let out your release and Dean kissed you to swallow your moans as pleasure washed over you in waves. Every touch made to your skin made those waves even stronger as Dean held you closer to him as he washed over him as well until he finally fell limp. You and Dean laid there for a few minutes until he finally rolled off of you and pulled the blankets over your bodies. He pulled you into his chest and kissed your cheek as your eyes started to close for the night.

“I love you, so much baby girl. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too Dean, more than words can describe.”

You both were clinging to each other as you closed your eyes, and sleep finally came with being overcome with joy, as you would soon be the newest Winchester.

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

Sam: So Sam drove to a clearing with a beautiful view and two got out of the car and hopped on the hood to watch the rest of the sunlight fade into the black and starry night. You both stayed there on the hood for hours, not saying a word. It was peaceful. You loved it, but there was one more thing that would make this night complete.

“Hey, Sammy?” You asked with your eyes still closed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Sam answered softly.

“You know the night doesn’t need to end here right?”

You didn’t get a response, as you were about to open your eyes to look at Sam, you were being lifted up by him. He opened the door to the backseat and layed you gently on the leather seat. 

“Then let’s make the night last.”

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

Sam made quick movements and took off his shirt and leaned down and kissed you so intensely you could practically feel the fire burning off each other. Sam slowly kissed your neck as you made quick work with your hands and unbuckled his pants. Sam pulled his pants and boxers down just enough for you to see what you had in store for the rest of the night. You moaned slightly and reached down and started stroking his length as you kissed the most sensitive part of his neck.

As if it were possible, you felt him grow more as the pre-cum spilled into your hands. Sam was going crazy, but his last straw was when you pulled your hand back and looked into his eyes as you lapped up all the pre-cum he released into your hands. Sam growled loudly as you started fingering yourself. He smacked your hand away and whined as you clenched around nothing. You made out with Sam when you felt him rub your pussy with his thumb as he stuck his finger in you to the knuckle. 

You moaned loudly as you were getting closer to the edge when Sam suddenly stopped and smirked at you as you groaned and glared at him. You were getting ready to complain when you felt his huge length line up with your entrance. You and Sam both shared a moan as he sank deeper and deeper into your warmth. Once he was all the way in he wasted no time as he slid himself almost out and slammed into you again and again. It was a night of pure pleasure as you both pushed and pulled and explored each other’s limits, and broke them. And when it was all said and done, you and Sam were cuddled in the back seat of the Impala and you looked into each other’s eyes whispering sweet nothings into the air between you two until you fell asleep. Content with life, and all it had to offer with each other. 

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

Castiel: You and Cas’s relationship is still fairly new. You’ve only been dating for about 5 months but you guys were comfortable with each other. You’ve had pretty heated make-out sessions but nothing ever got further than taking off each other’s shirts. Now don’t get confused, you weren’t shy, you certainly weren’t a virgin, neither was Cas. You guys just insisted on taking things slowly. However, you noticed the little things in your relationship change. Even before you broke your leg. It was a small thing, but it made you wonder if Cas was trying to throw hints at you.

It started about two weeks before your last hunt. You were cleaning the bunker while your brothers were on a Skinwalker hunt in California. They didn’t need Cas since it was a relatively easy hunt. Milk run if you will. You were moping in the library while you had on some headphones. Your hips were swaying to ‘Roxanne’ When you felt a pair of hands on your hips. You let out a tiny yelp and looked behind you to see Cas chuckling and looking down at you.

“Y/N, your dancing is very attractive to me. Maybe you should do it more often.”

He left you there to go to the kitchen. It was very rare but you were a flustered mess. 

Now, he didn’t show it much, but Cas could be very explicit when he wanted. He could also be very subtle, it just depends on how risky he’s feeling. He’s not the innocent angel everyone takes him for. 

Today while you were baking cakes and cookies, simply because you were bored while the boys were out on a ghoul hunt, Castiel walked into the kitchen and kissed your neck. You smiled and turned around to greet him. 

“Hey babe, how you doin’?”

“I’m very well. I actually came to talk to you about something.”

“Well go ahead Cas.” You say as you put down the cookie dough batter on the counter.

“Well, I know we’ve only been dating for a few months, and you can say no if you’d like, but I was wondering if you….”

You had a feeling of what he wanted to ask you. You just wanted him to say it himself.

“Cas, what is it, sweetie? You can tell me anything, you know this.” You said as you gave him an innocent smile. 

“I was i-if you'd like to…. Have sex with me..?”

Okay so that was a little awkward but at least he got it out. Right now you thought it was time to have a little fun.

You giggled and nodded your head to say yes. Cas blushed a bit and then did something you weren’t expecting, he made you jump on his waist as he kissed you, hard. He pushed his tongue in your mouth, not asking any permission. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth he could. His hands were all over you as you held on to his shoulders tightly. His hands went to your waist, one sunk down to your ass making you moan in his mouth. One hand snuck up into your hair and he pulled, making your head fall back. He took the opportunity to kiss down your neck and he walked to your room. He closed the door behind it and locked it. He gave you a soft kiss and sat you gently on the ground. He placed a finger under your chin and made you look up at him while he held you by your waist seeing as how you were dizzy from the kiss. 

“Tell me what you want Y/N.”

You know what he meant and you didn’t care. He could take you as much as he wanted. You just wanted him.

“Everything Cas, give it all to me.”

Cas kissed your forehead before you knew, you were both naked. You weren’t insecure but you wanted this to be special, and seeing how girthy and long Cas was wasn’t helping. Cas sensed your discomfort and took slow, calculated steps towards you. You tried to withdraw only for Cas to appear behind you and kiss your neck and shoulders, he then spins around so that you’re facing him. 

“Don’t shy away from the baby. Let me see all of you.”

You suddenly felt a soft wrap around you and you looked behind you, surprised to see two black wings wrapped around you. 

“You can touch them if you’d like princesses.”

You reached for his wings and when you touched them, they were the softest thing you’d ever touch. They felt so soft that you thought they weren’t there. 

Cas moaned as he slowly entered you, letting you adjust to his size. After a few minutes, he slowly pulled himself out and slammed into you, resulting in you releasing a loud moan. He moved in and out of you at such a tortuously slow pace that you decided to take control as you kissed him hard and flipped you two over so that you were on top. 

You teased him for a bit before speeding up and riding him like there was no tomorrow. Your legs were burning but the pleasure was coursing through you. You couldn’t stop. Cas gripped at your hips so hard that you knew you’d have bruises to look forward to in the morning. Cas thrust up into you as you bounced down on him. You were close, you could feel it. You knew Cas was close too. So you reach down into your legs and start rubbing your pussy. Cas let out a loud growl as he started to thrust harder. 

You weren’t sure how much longer you could last, and that's when your orgasm hit you unexpectedly hard. You felt Cas release his load inside of you. You both stopped moving and you slowly lifted yourself and flopped bonelessly on the bed next to Cas. He pulled you closer and snuggled into you as you got comfortable. You felt him slow, and relaxed. Angels don’t sleep, so instead, he kissed you along your face and neck while stroking your hair. 

Your last thought that night was, “How did I get so goddamn lucky?”

You jumped a little when you heard a voice in your head say, “Y/N, you shouldn’t use my father’s name in vain.”

[bluejaytaco]

DND with Jay (A season finale of sorts)

(Like I said, a lot of shit happened. Here’s some more!)

DM: After the sandstorm dissipates, you are all left in the presence of Bahamut’s head as Shmoogy leaves. Anyone want to say anything? Possibly to Theodora, who just watched another god behead her god?

Theodora: (Still kneeling in the sand near her god’s head)........

Koejin: (Walks up and just stands next to her)

Alabaster’s bag starts to yell out a muffled “what the fuck was that?!” And Alabaster pulls out Haida’s severed head. (Context: Haida is another Acentria’s Thia (our leader.) She is a necromancer who works under Ticket Master in that world (or at least she claims. Art’s not too sure.) The big thing that sets her apart from Thia is that Haida has no problem killing people while Thia is a pure pacifist. Haida tells us that Thia has to kill Mrs. Red. Once again, Art is skeptical.

(More Context: Art and Thia once had an argument after they killed General Blue. I don’t think Thia has really forgiven him for it, but she’s slowly working on trusting him again.))

Alabaster: Oh! Hello there!

Haida: Ahhh! God you’re haunting! What was that noise?!

Alabaster: (turns and faces her to Bahamut)

Haida:....Oh... shit.... wait.... this is ...good... yeah, this is good!

Art:...Is it?

Haida: Yeah, I mean. We were fighting him and now he’d dead, right? Good work, team!

(Alabaster returns Haida to his bag.)

Wreybar: I wanna attempt to play field hockey with Bahamut’s head! (Runs up and smacks the massive dragon head with her axe only to fall down)

Art: (sighs and walks over to Wreybar, leans over to look down at her) You good there, buddy?

Wreybar: (thumbs up)

Hennessy:(Walks up and hands Theodora her sword) I believe this belongs to you?

Theodora: ........... (takes it super reluctantly)

Now that the sandstorm has dissipated, we can see across the desert to another city where Mrs. Red is landing. Those who rolled high on investigation can see that Rieta is on her back. (Art was one of the high rollers.)

But, before we can react, fifty soldiers come marching out of the city and surround us, swords and shields at the ready. The head guard walks up to us with a scroll.

Head Guard: Under direct order from Mrs. Red, the City of Clearly Snowball hereby puts all of you under arrest (points to Hennessy) you, for being worshipped as a false god up in the Samhain islands. (points to Alabaster) you, for worshipping a false god and spreading his word. (Points to Art) you, for having lain with evil itself. (points to Theodora) you, for abandoning your post and the worship of a false god. (points to Koejin) you, for a long list of crimes, including the murder of General Blue. (points to Wreybar) and you, for being just... a tiny abomination.

Wreybar: try me, bitch. (for context, Wreybar is a gnome with a high pitch helium baby voice)

Head Guard: It’s up to you whether you want to go peacefully or not. We could make this get ugly.

Art:... you know who we are. ‘Peaceful’ isn’t exactly our style.

Head Guard: That’s why there’s fifty of us. (They brace themselves)

(The party tenses up. We were kinda preparing for a fight.)

Theodora: Stop! .... We’ll go. (turns back to us) We’ll go...

(All of us kinda had different ideas as to what we were going to do. Some wanted to fight. Others wanted to just go quietly.)

DM: We’ll go one by one and you all can choose how to react to your guard.

Alabaster’s guard: (looks at him and sighs) Look, this will all be easier if you come quietly and.... maybe consider changing your worship practice.

Alabaster: Yes... I’ll keep that in mind.

Hennesy’s guard: (just goes to work on handcuffing Hennessy)

Hennessy:... please don’t make them too tight now.... (high roll on persuasion)

Hennessy’s guard:.... (keeps cuffs pretty loose)

Art’s Guard: (walks up like he’s all tough) hands behind your head.

(Me: Can I roll to see if this is all an act?

DM: Sure. (High roll) Alright, so you see it isn’t; he means business. But Art’s seen this before. The man’s overcompensating for something.

Hennessy’s player: He got a tiny dick!)

((If I was even remotely close to Art’s charisma, I probably would’ve been able to find out something to do with that...))

Art: Look, you don’t have to do this. If you let us go, we can pretend this never happened; we leave this city and we never come back. (Low persuasion roll)

Art’s Guard: For someone who laid with evil, you’d think your tongue would be a little more silver.

Art:.... ( puts his hands behind his head and casts Mislead. Invisible Art walks away)

Head Guard: (sighs) stay where you are, tiefling. (breaks through Art’s spell. Hennessy now sees that the armor grants the soldiers Truesight.)

Art: (suddenly appearing mid escape) ....shit.... (seeing Hennessy and Alabaster pretty much already cuffed makes him yield)

DM: Art, I’m gonna need you to roll a wisdom saving throw.... if you don’t pass it, shit’s gonna go down.

Me: (rolls a 19).... ugh.... I really wanted to see shit go down....

DM: Art, you know Ticket Master pretty well now. So, you close your fist before he can say anything as the guard cuffs you.

Koejin’s player: Okay, so I’ve been thinking up quips and stuff while this is happening and so I call out (I forget what she said...) and punch my guard in the gut, then follow that up with “Quit slut-shaming the bard!”

(Funny OOC moment: Hennessy’s player misheard Koejin’s and thought she said “punch in the butt.” This turned into ten minutes of everyone inventing a rom com where it’s basically just an hour of... certain butt stuff that ends in “I’m sorry, what was your name?”... we’re all pretty fucked up people. I love this group.)

DM: do you wanna see your guard before you do this?

Koejin: ...fuck it, yeah. I’m still gonna do it.

DM: You’re gonna feel a little silly. Because when you turn to punch, you don’t have a man standing in front of you. You have a kid. And you just decked him right in the face. He falls flat on his ass and his lip starts quivering.

Koejin:.... uhhh, hey.... Why do I get the child?

Art’s Guard: (as he’s handcuffing Art) I’m not gonna be the one to deal with you.

Art: (shrugs) you are the most dangerous out of all of us.

Koejin: (touched) Thank you, Art! 

Art: That being said... why the fuck did you bring a child here?!

(We start shaming the soldiers for bringing a little kid to capture some highly dangerous criminals. Koejin tries to convince the kid to help us out and we can help him find his parents. Then, the head guard walks up and guides the kid back over to Koejin. Koejin goes to punch the guard, hits his armor, and shatters the bones in her hand.)

Koejin: FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

Head Guard: not so smart for a ranger to lose her firing hand. (guides the kid back to her) put the cuffs on.

Child Guard: (still sniveling.. up until he locks the cuffs. Then the water works stop.) Dumb bitch....

Koejin: (mouth agape) (goes to kick the kid)

(Me: Can we all try and trip the little shit as he walks passed?

DM: no.)

Koejin: (As she’s being arrested, turns to shout at Theodora) You don’t get to leave and then expect us to go quietly!

Theodora’s Guard: (possibly the calmest and most quiet)

Theodora: (Recognizes him but can’t quite put her finger on as to why) ....how do we know each other?

Theodora’s Guard: I don’t believe we’ve met. Please just come quietly.

Theodora: (Nods)

Wreybar’s guard: Now, are you gonna put up a fight?

Wreybar: Come at me, motherfucker! What you gonna do, put a cuff over my stump?! Do it! See what happens!

Wreybar’s guard: (Stabs a large spike into her stump where, at the top, is the sigil of Mrs. Red on a piece about the size of a fist. He then cauterizes the wound and glares at her) there. Now I have a place for the cuffs.

The rest of the party: ....(in shock)

Art, cuz he can’t ever keep his mouth shut:.... holy fuck...

DM: You’re all loaded into the caravan one by one, and your guards are following closely behind. Theodora, Hennessy, as it drives away, you see Green appear in front of the head of Bahamut. He puts his hands on his head in shock.

Hennessy: (Distracts his guard just enough to then shoot out magic missile like a flare)

Green: (sees it but doesn’t come after the caravan)

DM: Theodora, you notice your guard is staring Art down. Like, intensely staring at him.

Me: Do I notice? 

DM: Roll perception (high roll) yes, but when you look to meet his eye, he looks away.

Me: I’m gonna roll to see if I know him. (another high roll; this was a pretty good night for Art)

DM: So, you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’ve slept with him. (Koejin’s player: of course he did!) There is no question in your mind. But you don’t ever remember sleeping with an elf. (Me: Weird thing for Art to not have done...)

Art: (now staring at Theodora’s guard, trying really really hard to remember when and how.)

Kid guard: (still being all smug)

Theodora:.... I’m sorry they got to you so young...

Kid guard: You really don’t get it, do you? (points to the head guard) That’s my dad.

Koejin: Oh, so you’re the worst kind of little shit. A ‘ do you know who my father is’ little shit.

Kid guard: Shut up. You’re going back to jail. I know your type, I can smell the alcohol on you from here.

Art: (while still staring) being an alcoholic isn’t a crime.

The kid ignored Art and continued to talk about them being criminals and how Koejin was going to spent the rest of her life behind bars. You know, because daddy said it was gonna be like that. The fighting does eventually dwindle.

Koejin: Hey, can someone heal my hand please? It really hurts...

Art: (pulling his attention away from the guard to glare at Koejin) 

Wreybar: (also glaring at Koejin) Ohhhh, does your hand hurt?! Wouldn’t know what that’s like!

Art: It must be soooooo painful!! I feel soooo bad for you!

Koejin: Okay look, both of you can go an- (can barely be heard over Wreybar and Art talking about how much they care about Koejin’s hand pain.)

((Context: Art’s hand was sliced off by Koejin quite a few sessions ago; it was reattached by Ticket Master and is now the main source of speaking for the god. Also, Wreybar has a stump where her hand used to be because Koejin convinced her to remove the bracelet which led to a lost hand.))

Head Guard: Listen... stop your fucking bickering or this is going to be a painful time for all of you. 

We pull up to the jail and are ushered out of the caravan. Art goes to take this opportunity to try and send a message to Theodora’s guard to, once more, try and figure out how he knows him. All he gets back is ear piecing feedback.

Art, a dumbass who assumes this has something to do with magic: (leans closer to Hennessy) might wanna try not to use magic...

Hennessy: So we’ll have to get through this with our wits and wiles. Luckily (shows Art his loosened cuffs) we have those in spades.

We all get thrown into our cells, all separate cells but still within reach and the ability to talk to one another. There’s an empty, broken down cell next to Art and a cell with an elf boy next to Alabaster. Once the guards are gone, we all work to slip out of our cuffs. Well, all but Theodora.

As we’re all arguing (as we often do; it’s amazing we can get anything done) the boy in the cell wakes up and tells us all to shut the fuck up. His name is Vance; he’s got one eye sewn shut and was thrown in jail for literally telling Clearly (The city-dictator and Alabaster’s sister) that he’ll kill her. Coolest homeless kid.

Koejin finds this suspicious and shames Alabaster for revealing his name to the child.

Vance: You know, you look a lot like Clearly Snowball...

Alabaster:....er...well, you see....

Art, knowing Alabaster can’t lie: He gets that a lot. Like, all the time.

Alabaster: Yes! Quite!

Vance: Look, I don’t give a shit. Just saying it’s not common to see such an elf monstrosity and yet.... here we have two of them.

((Meanwhile))

Koejin: (sticks her hand through the bar to Theodora’s cell) Hey, could you help me out with this?

Theodora:....not anymore.

Hennessy: (easily misty steps right out of his cell) I was actually curious, Theodora. Now that Bahamut is... well... does that make you an Oathbreaker?

Theodora: I don’t know.... God has never died in front of me before.

Alabaster: Well.... in my studies, I learned that when a god is slain by another, that god then gains their realm as well...

(A moment of tense silence as everything settles into what that might mean.)

Art: (Sees Hennessy Misty step and uses dimension door to do the same)... huh... (picks the lock to his cell so he can go in and out if someone comes in. He then turns and looks over at the broken down cell.)

Vance: You know, guys, they’re gonna be back to give us food in a bit. And the guard who feeds us isn’t one you wanna mess with.

Hennessy: (goes to use magic to free Koejin.)

Koejin: Whoa whoa, hey! Why are you doing that when Art can pick locks?!

Hennessy: Huh? Oh! Art, would you mind freeing our compatriots?

Art: (actually remembers he’s kinda the Rouge stand-in) Right, yeah. (Works to pick every lock the same way he did for his own cell; so that, if someone comes in, we can all get back in the cell, no problem. He’s able to do it to every cell but Wreybar’s.)

Alabaster: (heals Koejin’s hand once both of them are free)

Art:(stops at Vance’s cell) Hm...

Vance: So, tiefling? Gunna let me out too?

Art: (pauses at Vance’s cell)...We all good to let the kid free? Koejin?

Koejin: Ugh, yeah I guess.

Theodora: Art.... please... free him.

Art: Yeah, okay.... (unlocks Vance’s cell)

Vance: Great. Now, like I said, they’re gonna be coming into feed us soon, so... 

We all end up flooding back into our cells for a few minutes when a familiar face enters the room. 

((Really long bit of context here: First general we took down was General Green who was then replaced with Thia’s guy; an Aarakocroa named Zerg. Zerg had a wife that we forgot to search for in the library (Green’s battleground, basically) which lead to her being horribly injured. Red found her and brought her to Vincent (Hennessy’s fiancé and possibly the only sane tiefling in this entire world) where he was able to make her some new body parts. Pretty much all technological advancements in this world are the work of Vincent in some way. Anyway, we went back to the first city and found her fighting with her husband. There, she swore to kill us all and was pretty much put in place to be one of the new Generals.

She has no name as far as I remember. Also, she’s batshit. So, for now, imma call her General Batshit.))

General Batshit: (walks in and looks at all of us with a growl) ugh... (Tosses Vance’s food into his cell before addressing all of us) Mrs. Red wants all of you alive so she can deal with you herself. But... I guess it can’t be helped if you all starve to death. (throws down the food in the middle of the room and laughs as she walks out.)

Art:...This is poor planning on her part... Red’s gonna see that we were never fed and who’s that gonna link back to?

Alabaster: Not to mention how unsanitary it is to simply throw the food in the middle of the room.

(Everyone walks back out of their cells.)

Art, to Vance: How much time does that give us?

Vance: They usually check like every half hour. But that could be changed considering there’s more people.

Koejin: Right, so we figure out a way quickly. Does a certain talking hand have anything to say?

Art:....He hasn’t said anything in a while. (looks at his hand. The Ticket Master hand still has the cuff on it.)

Koejin: (helps remove the cuff and looks down at the hand again, getting real close.) Hey, buddy. You there?

Art:.... (slaps her with that hand) Sorry, it has a mind of it’s own.

((DM: Roll deception

Me: Dude, I was kidding.

DM: okay, you roll deception and Koejin rolls insight. See if she falls for it.))

Koejin: (rolled low and gasps happily) he’s back!!

Art: (rolled high on deception and can’t believe Koejin fell for it)....(smacks her with his other hand)

Koejin: (finally gets it) See if I ever save your life again.

They all start looking around. Art goes and studies the broken down cell to figure out why it’s in the condition it’s in. When he does, a smilie face glows in the back of the cell.

Art:... guys! I found something! (A little excited because he knows who it is) Wreybaaaarrrr! I wanna get in here!

Hennessy: (Stepping over to see and recognizes the mark) Why, Art, I do believe that is Ticket Master-

Art: I dO BeliEve tHaT iT’s- yeah, no shit it’s Ticket Master!

Hennessy: (Deadpan stare) It’s his sigil. From his jacket.

There is no getting into the cell, the door is completely rusted shut. Art tries to get Wreybar to pry it open, but they don’t have the time.

There’s a sudden rumble outside the jail. Like a giant explosion that shakes everything. Because of the lack of windows, we can’t see what happened. As we’re all trying to figure it out, Hennessy sees the door starting to open. He then moves to hide behind the door, possibly to ambush the newcomer.

It’s Theodora’s guard.

Theodora’s Guard: Listen, we don’t have much time. I have to get you out of here.

Koejin: Was that explosion you?

Theodora: Why are you helping us?

Theodora’s guard: No, it wasn’t. I’m just using it’s timing. I don’t know why I’m helping you. I just! I just feel like... I need to.

Art: There’s gotta be a reason. You know, maybe some kind of...purely platonic feeling... Something other than just “I need to help these people.” 

Theodora’s Guard: (blushes the moment Art mentions “platonic feelings”) I don’t know... I just feel like you’re.... friends. (huge hint that I didn’t even realize was a fucking hint until typing this out!!)

Vance: Yeah, that’s cool and all. But.... am I free to go?

Theodora’s Guard: I don’t care what you do.

Theodora: What do we call you then, friend?

Theodora’s Guard: My name is Samhaiel.

Art: Samhaiel.... Right.

Koejin: We trust him, right?

Alabaster: Yes! Samhaiel is friend-shaped!

That’s all it took for everyone to approve of Samhaiel. We all end up running from the jail and see a giant black force working to destroy the building. And that’s when we run into another familiar face.

It’s Green. (To recap: Green is a lich who was our first general. He’s on our side now.)

Green, so done with our shit:....Looks like you guys got yourself in quite the shit show.

He leads us to an abandoned house where we can talk about all the events that took place. Meanwhile, we’re all trying to figure out what’s going on with Samhaiel, where it’s pretty obvious Art’s frustrated with the idea of knowing him but not knowing him.

There’s a moment where Samhaiel is ushered away to stand guard while we talk a little bit. (There’s a moment where it shows that the guard is pretty intimidated by Green.)

Art: Can’t we just have Green attach to him?!

Green: I could use a little energy since the travel here....

Theodora: No. No more brain sucking. 

Art: Oh, come on!

Koejin: Wait... how do you know him, Art?

Art: Errr.... well...

Green: Would someone mind filling me in on what the fuck is going on?!

Art pulls Green to the side, further away from Samhaiel (because we don’t know how much we can really trust him) and tells him everything they’ve done and what they know about the god war. They rejoin the group shortly after the convo.

Green: So.... I’m going to be needed. Understand that, by doing this, the gems will be destroyed. Meatball will always be Meatball. All hope for returning Eltbalm to his body will be lost.

Koejin: I think that’s something we’re willing to deal with....

Art:....what’ll happen to Rieta?

Green: If you can get the gem from her spine safely, nothing. But... That’s the problem. Getting her gem. For now... I would very much like to see what he knows (gestures to Samhaiel)

Theodora: .....

Art: It’s not permanent! Shit, I was only an idiot for a little bit.

Koejin: You’re still an idiot.

Art:... Hmph... Be that as it may... I volunteer for Samhaiel to get his knowledge seeped.

Green: I’ll only accept a unanimous decision. (turns to everyone else) 

Everyone: (reluctantly agrees to allow a knowledge seep from out new friend.)

Samhaiel is called back over to the group. The line pops out from Green and immediately sticks into Samhaiel’s forehead. There’s a moment of nothing, then Green collapses on the ground.

Samhaiel stands up straight and smiles wide: Hello, friends! (It’s Ticket Master)

((Koejin’s player: I fucking knew it!!!

Me: I had a feeling... I just wasn’t sure...) (Why that other part was a huge hint. Since the beginning, Ticket Master has always referred to our group as “friends.” It’s also always the giveaway when someone is being controlled by his powers.))

Samhaiel: Yes, this must be very confusing for all of you. You see, this is my mortal form.

Art: Does that mean Samhaiel is your name?! (realizes his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.) ((AKA: Jay forgot for a moment, Ticket Master doesn’t remember his original name))

Ticket Master: (staring at Art in annoyed silence) ....Moving on.

Art: Yeah, for the best....

Ticket Master: You have to bring this form to me, but first you’ll need to get to that other city across the desert, yes? Well, my friends, you let that boy go. 

Koejin: He was too cool to keep around.

Ticket Master: Yes, well, cool or not... He was your best hope for travel, especially now (he gestures to Green) That eye of his was a portal. And you just let him go. So now, it’s up to you to find a new way. 

(We all kinda pause as we let that sink in. A lot of shit’s been happening to us...)

Ticket Master: But, as of right now, I can’t stay in this body. And we should let him back up again.

Art: Yeah... maybe knowledge sucking was a bad idea...

Ticket Master: Indeed! Goodbye for now! (The thread detaches and Samhaiel is back to being confused) Wh-what just happened?!

Koejin: Do you not remember?

Samhaiel: No. That thing attached to me and then it was just...dark...

(Hennessy’s pager goes off. For a moment, we (as players) make a joke that it’s a dick pic from Vincent. It was a text from Vincent. But it was a picture of General Batshit, holding Vincent up by the head. It comes with text that reads “this is your fault.”

All our pagers go off.)

General Batshit: All of you have loved ones that can be taken away. Keep this in mind when making your next move.

(DM: And that’s where we end for now.

Hennessy’s Player: Way to follow with the ‘kill the gays’ trope, DM!

Me: That’s one hell of a cliffhanger to leave until possibly January!

Koejin’s Player: It’s the mid-season finale!)

(((I still hate it...)))