#Probably going to take the rest of the night off the internet; or at least a few hours

[lee-blogs]

Really thinking about starting commisions and opening up my Ko-Fi soon. Mostly in case i have to be off work for a while. Since i'm part-time, i don't think they'll pay me for any leave i might have to take in the future, heh.

Still need to get my drivers license too... asap.

God i feel like i need a drink.

[enhaheeseung]

SLEEP 🕒 - L. Heeseung

🕒Pairing: Heeseung X fem reader!

🕒Warnings: smut, mutual masturbation, cursing.

🕒Synopsis: it’s late, and you can’t sleep, but luckily, your best friend knows just the trick to help you out.

🕒Wc: 1,5k (Drabble)

-

Sighing to yourself, you set your phone down on the lamp stand after you noticed it was literally three in the morning.

You and your best friend had been watching movies talking and hanging out since ten and you hadn’t even noticed the time till now.

“You sleepy?” He turned to you just in time to catch you rubbing your strained eyes.

“Yes, it’s like three am, hee,” you groggily reply, turning on your left side facing away from him.

“Oh shit, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he chuckled. You could tell he was just as tired by how deep his voice had gotten.

“It's alright.” He set his phone aside as well and leaned up against the headboard.

“I guess I better get going.” On cue, he lets out a yawn.

“Are you crazy? It’s so late out you might as well just spend the night” you mumble out.

He rubbed his chin in thought; he was really tired, and driving probably wasn’t the best idea right now. “I didn’t bring anything for a sleepover.”

“Just wear whatever,” you respond, on the verge of passing out.

You feel a dip in the bed and hear him shuffling around. He takes off his pants and his flannel before he slips under the covers with you.

For most, it’d probably seem weird, a guy and a girl sleeping in the same bed, but the number of times you both knocked out together while studying during your high school and college days made this one of the most normal things between you two. “Goodnight, y/n. I might be gone before you wake up.”

“Just make sure to lock the door in the morning night, hee,” you whispered, turning off your lamp while he did the same after you.

You readjusted to get comfortable and pressed your cheek against your pillow, waiting for sleep to come over you.

Ten minutes passed, and sleep never came. You were tired, but for some reason, you just couldn’t fall asleep.

“Ugh,” you groaned and quickly cupped your mouth so you wouldn’t wake heeseung up with the racket.

Little did you know he was still wide awake.

“Y/n?” He asks, followed by a beat of silence. “You’re still up too?” He says with a hint of amusement in his tone. At least he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“Yes,” you laid flat on your back, copying his resting position. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m tired, but I just can’t seem to sleep,” you respond in the pitch-black bedroom.

“Same,” he sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes until he says something that completely catches you off guard.

“I read that having an orgasm can help you fall asleep,” he says casually.

You giggle and push his shoulder, or at least you think it was his shoulder. It was so dark you really couldn’t see. “And where did you read that?”

“The internet, of course, says it has something to do with the release of oxytocin or some shit” he lets out an airy laugh putting his hands behind his head.

“Interesting,” you hum.

“It is, works like a charm for me,” he says through a yawn.

“TMI”

“Oh please, we’ve talked about so much shit that this is PG,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, but not you touching yourself.” You cringe as the words leave your mouth.

“I didn’t say anything like that. All I said was it works,” he shrugs even though you can’t see him.

“Whatever,” you say, too tired to argue with him.

It’s silent again, and the idea he mentioned sounds a lot more appealing than laying here all night without getting any sleep.

But you can’t necessarily try out this little theory of his with him in your room, so that idea was out the window.

“You still up?” He checks on you a minute later, and you hum in response. “I mean, I could give you one if you want,” he holds in his laugh, knowing that you’re about to chastise him.

“Lee heeseung, stop it this instant,” you tell him sternly.

“Okay, okay, just thought I’d ask. I’m your bestie, and besties look out for each other, right?” He continues to push your little buttons.

“Yeah, by giving a shoulder to cry on, not giving each other orgasms,” you huff out a breath.

A thought popped into your head: you weren’t getting any sleep anytime soon, and since he wanted to mess with you, two could play that game. “I mean, you could,” the words leave your mouth in a nonchalant manner.

He gasped, not expecting you to match his humor. Most times, you didn’t when it came to something sexual. “Knock it off. It’s weird when you joke about it,” he laughs.

“Who said I’m joking?” You taunt.

“Cause the y/n I know would never,” he says confidently, thinking he knows you like the back of his hand, and normally he does, but just not when you’re sleep-deprived.

“What about the y/n who’s in desperate need of sleep and will do anything just to catch a few hours before work in the morning?”

His ears are perked up now, the soft, sultry tone of your voice alerting him instantly. “You’re really not joking, are you?”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” You shift closer to him, and he feels your body heat right away, making his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I-I y/n, if you’re joking, just tell me.” his voice shakes a little, the slightest hint of a whimper traveling close behind his words.

Calling it quits with talking, you find his hand in the dark and grip his wrist, guiding him right between your legs. “Hee, I’d never joke about this,” you gasped as his warm hand cups over your mound.

“Fuck” he whispers and props himself on his side, slowly gliding his hand between your legs. “You really are serious, huh?” His voice sounds even huskier than it did before as he confidently presses your clit over your sleep shorts.

“Yes, hee,” you whine, desperation dripping from your voice as you clench your thighs around his hand, keeping it firmly nestled against you.

“Shit, okay, turn over for me” You get back in your original position, your back now pressed against his chest, his crotch a few inches away from your backside. “Now close your eyes.” his hot breath tickles your ear.

You do as he says, too tired to even think twice about what you’re getting ready to engage in with your best friend.

His two middle fingers rub circles on your clit, working you up quicker than you could have ever imagined. You’re already leaking a bit of precum.

“Mmm,” you moan softly. His fingers felt so good, especially when he slipped them further down, teasing your entrance while his palm rubbed your clit.

Your hand caressed the one that was between your legs, tracing the veins along the back of his hand. “Does that feel good?” He swallowed thickly, his lower body pressing against you unintentionally.

“Yes, hee, so good” he humps your backside, his swollen cock being stimulated by the softness of your plush bottom.

“Yeah, so good,” he whispers in your ear. You feel so good you don’t even notice the way he ruts against you, the movement of his hips forcing your waist to roll against his palm more, bringing you even more satisfaction.

“I’m so close, hee, I’m gonna cum” you cry out, body shuddering as the warmth and pleasure builds in your lower region.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he breathes out heavily, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and a few more rolls of his hips. You’re both coming undone together, panting exhaustedly.

He rubs you through it, whispering encouraging words in your ear like. “Yeah, feels so good, doesn’t it?” “Let it all out,” “Keep cumming” “That’s it.”

The pleasure goes on for so long that another orgasm follows after giving you the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. “Hee,” you whimper his name, your body trembling against his as you shudder in the aftermath of cumming back to back.

He nuzzles against you, cuddling you and helping you ground yourself until you catch your breath.

He’s still struggling to calm himself with how hard he just came. He hasn’t cum that fast and that much in a while. “Was that good?” He asked timidly into your hair, releasing a deep breath.

“Mmm,” you moan in response, your eyelids finally feeling so heavy that you can barely open them.

But you couldn’t forget about heeseung, so you flipped over on your side, your forehead touching his. “What about you?” You slowly reach into his boxers, gripping the base of his length, feeling a good amount of wetness covering his shaft.

“Ahh, s-sensitive,” he moans shakily.

You retract your hand right away. “Did you-“ he cuts you off, nodding against your forehead, and you slowly pull your hand out of his underwear.

“I’m good,” he assures you. “Let’s sleep now yeah? We’ll clean up in the morning” his words sound slurred and you can barely even understand what he’s saying cause you’re so tired.

Apparently, whatever he read about orgasms was true cause you’ve never fallen asleep faster.

-

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

(1) Hotel Girl - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 4466>

Finally. A holiday. 5 days of some much needed and well deserved rest. Well, apart from the occasional email he'd have to send and phone call he'd have to take. But, it was a small price to pay for a working week of pure bliss.

Carlos had decided to spend part of his summer break by himself in the bougiest hotel he could possibly find. He would have rented a villa to himself, but then he'd have to cook, hire a chef or go out every night.

Cooking was not his idea of relaxing, a chef would be a waste for just him, and going to restaurants every night by himself was the literal definition of sad. He didn't want photos of him dining alone circulating the internet, no way.

At least in a hotel, he had room service, housekeeping, and food served on site so he wouldn't have to venture far. He might explore the local town if he felt like stretching his legs, but he wouldn't force himself just for the sake of tourism.

After spending what felt like hours travelling, going through menial airports and checking into the hotel, Carlos was finally able to switch his mind off and relax in his hotel room. It was too much room for one person, but he was in the position where he could treat himself without batting an eyelid.

Once he had unpacked, he figured he'd take a little wander around his home for the next few days. The hotel was a relatively new build, lots of glass and neutral greys and whites. The glass allowed for views of the stunning scenery in pretty much every area of the hotel.

The hotel was located on a vast and secluded beach somewhere in the Bahamas, which was plenty far enough away from anyone who could personally know him, as well as far away enough from the press. It was out of the way, so much so that there was only one road to go in and out of the hotel.

He wandered through the lobby, smiling back at the personnel on the desk before turning away to mind his own business. He walked past the different restaurants on offer, even if he didn't think that he'd be utilising them too much during his stay.

He also strolled by the spa, which he made a mental note to pay one or two (or more) visits to. Carlos could smell the essential oils from a mile away, and the soft tones of the typical spa music soothed his soul instantly. Well, for the meantime, anyway. God did a massage sound good right about now.

Having the stress and tension worked out of his muscles was exactly what he needed. Reading the board, he saw that he'd need to book at reception for his massages. He'd probably be spending every day in there, but that wasn't a problem for him. It was his holiday, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

Now all he really had to check out was the pool, but he'd seen plenty of pictures when he booked online. He was too tired to walk down to the beach today due to the jetlag, so Carlos ultimately decided to take himself off to his room so he could rest properly.

Once he was back in his suite, Carlos wanted to relax on his balcony for a moment. He took himself over to the mini fridge and selected an ice cold water which he would undoubtedly be paying through the roof for, but he'd deal with it.

The balcony had a stunning view of the pool, and he could see the golden sands and the sun setting behind the horizon as it glittered on the surface of the water. There was a light breeze to try and combat the still sweltering heat that was emanating from the sun.

As he nosied around, he spotted couples on their terraces, entangled in each other's embrace. Now that was a view he could be doing without. Luckily for Carlos, all he had to do was turn his head left, and the rest of the world faded into obscurity. He could focus on the mesmerising view of the ocean and the pure silence that enveloped him.

He heard a few screen doors open and close, the patter of footsteps quietening down after the click. For a while, it was just him and his thoughts. No racing, no people, just him and the silence. It was a welcomed change, his mind finally allowed to stop rocketing around like it was on a track and it could just lull into a calm tranquility.

He didn't know how long had gone by before he heard a soft hum carried on the wind. He thought everyone had gone inside, or to dinner. But he only heard one set of footsteps on the tiled terrace surface.

Carlos would normally have just ignored the other person making their way outside, but something inside him told him to turn his head. His intuition was fully correct when his eyes landed upon her.

He couldn't quite tell whether he was thankful for noticing her, or very very ungrateful for having found something that could take up his thoughts and replace the peace he was supposed to have. She had taken a seat on her sun lounger - just like he had.

Her hair was pulled back in a bun at the back of her head, a few curls springing out from the uniformity. Her body was wrapped in a dress of colours swirling around her figure as long legs protruded from the skirt.

It was like her skin was shimmering under the light of the setting sun. Her eyes were hidden from him behind sunglasses, but from what he could see, the rest of her face was gorgeous enough to intrigue him.

She was reading a book, he couldn't see the title from where he was, but she seemed to be pretty engrossed. He tried to tear his eyes away, avert his gaze back over to the ocean and the small waves rippling across the top of the water, but he couldn't.

There was a view that he was much more interested in, and a view that he could have watched until the moon took its place as the beacon in the sky. She was breathtaking. The sight of her was like seeing the Aurora Borealis for the first time, an encapsulating experience that could never quite be forgotten. She was like a goddess, put there purely to tempt him.

Carlos' mind instantly took him down the dangerous rabbit hole of asking too many questions. He became his own detective, interrogating himself on the minimal information he had on her. From what he could see, there didn't appear to be a ring on her finger, and there wasn't a towel on the sun lounger beside her.

It seemed as if she was all alone. Maybe she was like him: taking a vacation away from the chaos of her life. Maybe she too had been entranced by the pool, the spa and the beach. The peace, the quiet and the serenity.

Even if this was the case, unknowingly, she had taken away his ability to experience those things. He was mentally scolding himself for suddenly becoming so interested on some random girl he had seen on her hotel room balcony, since he was supposed to be having some well-deserved him time.

Yet, he wasn't that lucky.

In a moment of weakness, Carlos coughed slightly. He wanted to see if she'd look up to see where the noise had come from, but she sat unmoving. Her eyes were seemingly still glued to the pages of the book, which she would turn every now and then. He couldn't see past the sunglasses.

As the sun set further behind the horizon, she still stayed on the balcony with her book. And so did Carlos. He would only go in once she did, even if that took him until the early hours of the morning.

While he was staring, he took the time to run through the myriad of questions that he was asking himself. Why the hell was he so enticed by this random girl on the balcony? Why was he letting himself get so worked up by her? Who was she? Her room seemed to be nearer reception, so that must have meant that her room number was below the one hundreds- no. Stop.

He would not stoop to borderline stalking the girl on the balcony. No. That wasn't the kind of guy he was. If he was really interested, he could try and talk to her if he saw her around. He wasn't going to go full Joe Goldberg on her. Yet.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearing on eleven pm. She had shuffled around in her seat a few times, the hardness of the sun lounger becoming uncomfortable after prolonged sitting. But, she was making good headway in her book.

She had gotten through a chunk of pages, maybe a quarter of the full thing. He wondered if it was interesting and if she was enjoying reading it, or if she was just reading it for the sake of finishing it and would then not recommend it to her friends.

Was she the popular one among her friends? She seemed to be. She seemed like the nice one that everyone would lean on for help, or the reliable one. He probably just thought that because that was the girl he wanted her to be. For both of their sakes.

Who was he kidding, he was unbelievably captivated by the girl on the balcony.

As the minutes ticked towards midnight, the girl put her bookmark back in her book and closed it, swinging her long legs over the side of the lounger and standing. He watched her hips sway as she took the few steps into her room, sliding the door shut with a soft click that sounded a lot louder in the quiet of the night.

Carlos was left as the only person sat outside. His mind was conflicted, to say the least. He was annoyed that he was so attached by this girl he had seen across the hotel complex, and it was so aggravating. Here he was, trying to relax, but no. The universe had other ideas.

It just had to throw a beautiful woman in the mix to rattle everything up. The weariness he felt was definitely exuberating his thoughts of her, but now he had to find some common sense, get a grip, and act like a normal, completely sane human being.

With a sigh, Carlos took himself back inside as well. He brushed his teeth, took in his own weary expression and went straight to bed. A relieved groan escaped his lips as he collapsed down on the bed, his body quickly succumbing to the grasp of sleep.

There were no dreams plaguing his mind through the night, and he woke up to a light knocking on the door. His back cracked as he got out of bed and slowly stepped over to his hotel room door. Opening it, he saw a small, old lady with a large kart behind her.

"Housekeeping?" she smiled, her eyes wandering up and down his body.

She had a light blush on her cheeks, clearly slightly flustered by the shirtless, handsome man that she was looking at. "Could you come back in half an hour, please?" he asked, and she nodded immediately.

"Of course, sir, of course. Have a nice day."

"You too," he returned, closing the door behind him. He'd just head down to breakfast so he could let the nice lady do her job. The room wasn't messy at all since all he had done was sleep and sit on the balcony to watch- oh yeah. Her.

He had escaped the thought of her during his rest and the few minutes of his morning, but his mind had become tired of running away from her. He wished he could just ignore her, but there was that small part of him that wished he could catch another tantalising glimpse of her.

Carlos dressed himself and sorted out his hair somewhat before heading out of the door with his room key and wallet in his pocket. He would have just done room service for breakfast, but he wanted to give the woman some space.

She was in the room next door and she flashed him a kind smile as he peered in the door. The walk through the opulent lobby was short, and he could feel a small sniffle coming on due to the aircon.

And just out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he had saw her. He turned his head, only to see another relatively pretty woman. But, she didn't hold a candle to the girl who was reading the mystery book on her balcony the previous night.

He shook his head, trying to waft away the thoughts of her as he tried to have a peaceful breakfast. Carlos continued to walk, keeping his mind fixed on the thought of breakfast as opposed to visions of her.

Just as he thought he had torn his mind away from the wonder that she was, he saw her. The real her, this time. Not a random woman who had some similarities to her when he didn't have the chance to look at her properly. There she was.

She was wearing just a pair of blue wash shorts and plain white top, but it didn't matter. She was the single most stunning creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He watched her walk down a corridor, and he spotted a sign that they were serving breakfast at one of the cafes in the hotel.

Carlos couldn't help himself but follow on, keeping his distance so he wouldn't seem like too much of a creep. But, who was he kidding? He was being creepy, practically following her to where she was going just to eat breakfast. He couldn't help but be entranced by the way that her hips swayed side to side as she walked and the way her figure looked. Awe-inspiring was all he could attach to her.

She settled down at a table, all by herself yet again. The woman picked up her menu, her shining eyes scanning over the contents. Carlos strategically picked a table that wasn't too near her, but near enough that he could happily see her. He just saw the first thing on the menu and decided on that, since he had much prettier things to be looking at.  

As the waiter approached her table, his ears picked up to try and suss out the language she was speaking. English, Spanish or Italian, he would be fine. His French was questionable at best, but it was similar enough to Italian and Spanish. Plus, he could always ask Charles if he was in need of any urgent lessons. Well, Charles or Duolingo.

He heard snippets of her conversation, some 'no's' and 'yeses' as well as a nice, polite bout of 'pleases' laced in the exchange. But, even if she was speaking English to the waiter, that didn't mean it was her mother tongue. 

But from what he could hear, her accent sounded pretty English, so he felt it was safe to assume that if he did end up talking to her in some delusioned parallel universe, he could aptly communicate with her. As if he would ever get the opportunity to talk to her, though. 

Even just the idea of her focus being on him while they engaged in small talk about the weather sent his heart into a spiral of undefinable emotions. It was something he so desperately desired, but also needed to resign himself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen. 

 When the waiter came to his table next, he was at a loss for what he was supposed to be ordering. He flipped the menu open, his mouth just reading out the first option his eyes found. He didn't mind eggs benedict, he could live with having that for breakfast.

The waiter was gone just as quickly as he came, and Carlos was left with just his jug of water and his thoughts. Again. God, this holiday was such a bad idea. He tried to take in the surroundings of the restaurant, the theme being beachy, but still with a hint of luxury. 

He allowed his eyes to flit over to her every now and then, taking in the way her eyes studied the room around her and the way in which she sipped at her cappuccino. From the distance, he saw the slight lipstick mark that was left behind on the white ceramic. 

Her food got there before his did, and it was exactly as he had ordered his. Eggs benedict. Yes, he had only ordered his since it was the first thing he could make out, but the delusional part of his brain saw it as fate. 

Her smile was enchanting as she thanked the waiter, small dimples on her cheeks as her kind eyes looked up at him. He wanted her to smile at him when she looked at him, not some waiter who just brought out her breakfast.

Shortly after, the waiter was back with his eggs benedict, which he wasn't even hungry for anymore. He was hungry for something else. Something a hell of a lot sweeter.

He scarfed down his eggs benedict like a man starved, just so he could be gone before she was. He didn't want to allow himself to stoop to the point of waiting to watch her leave, just so he could see the tantalising way in which her body moved. 

He forced himself to walk straight through the hotel, straight through the lobby and right into the elevator before he even had chance to think and wait. By the time Carlos arrived back in his room, the lovely cleaning lady had made the bed and done some general tidying. 

He was not going to allow this random girl to ruin his relaxation time, no way. This was about him. No one else but him. So, why not take some time to lounge around the pool? He could go for a swim, catch a little sun, maybe do a sudoku or two. Now that was a proper version of repose. 

The quicker he did things, the less his mind would drift back to her, so he quickly packed some things in his backpack. A book of sudokus, sun cream, a towel, and his phone. He checked the room, making sure there was nothing that he was missing before he set off on his leisurely stroll down to the pool.

His footsteps echoed off the tall ceilings of the corridors and the lobby, and he really was appreciating the luxury of the hotel he was staying in. Of course, he had only picked the best for himself, but he was cognizant of the ability to spoil himself a little. 

Carlos had the choice of 3 pools around the resort, the first of which being the one located in the spa. Now, it would have been quiet, but he wasn't interested in the soothing music and smell of lavender right now. Instead, he opted for the soft splashes of water and scent of suncream. 

The first of the other 2 pools was located by the beach, and the views were absolutely breathtaking. But, there were quite a few people there, so he finally decided on the other pool. There was nothing wrong with it, you could still see the ocean and take in the sights, so he didn't think it was too much of a compromise. 

Settling on a sunlounger, Carlos stripped his shirt off and stuffed it into his backpack, allowing himself to soak up the sun. He'd hold off on the suncream for a short while, hoping he wouldn't get burnt on the first day of his holiday. 

Leaning back on the lounger, Carlos took a deep breath, taking in the surroundings. There weren't many people around the pool, just the odd couple lazing around with a few people swimming laps.  Now this was the peaceful atmosphere he was looking for.

He closed his eyes, feeling his skin soaking up the rays of sunlight. The palm trees around the pool rustled softly in the sea-side breeze, and it took the edge off of the pure heat that was felt all around. 

The voices around him were hushed, people conversing in soft tones as to not disturb the quiet of the pool. Around an hour had passed of Carlos lying around on his sun lounger, he decided a dip in the pool was what he was wanting. 

He left his stuff where he was sat, knowing it wouldn't get stolen or anything. He took the stairs one at a time, and the temperature of the water was perfect. Carlos swam over to the edge and rested his back against the cool tiles. 

He was thoroughly enjoying people watching, mostly just couples their on their holidays. He had seen a few people who seemed to be alone like him, as well as a few families with older children. 

He was thankful for his sunglasses so he could observe without being noticed and without seeming like a creep. Well, he might have been slightly creepy towards the girl from the balco- and there she was again. 

He scoffed to himself, annoyed that he was letting himself think back to that. She was omnipresent practically, even if she wasn't there physically, she plagued his mind. He thought if he didn't fight the thoughts so much, then they wouldn't be so aggressive in their push to the forefront of his mind.

And just as he thought nothing else could go wrong, he heard the patter of feet on the tiled walkway through the near silence of his surroundings. His heart knew before he had seen her, and as soon as he had raised his head, he was greeted with the sight of the goddess he had seen. 

She was wearing a sheer throw over her bikini, and she had a body that looked like it was sculpted by God himself to make her absolutely perfect for Carlos. She sat down at a lounger that was dangerously close to his, and he fully contemplated just sitting in the pool until she eventually left.

As she shrugged the throw off her shoulders and stuffed it into her tote bag, he couldn't help but marvel at the way her skin shone in the sunlight. If only he could just run his hands over her, feel the smoothness under his fingertips... 

Alas, that wouldn't be happening.  

Again, this was one of those times where he was unbelievably thankful for the genuins invention of sunglasses. His head may have been sat square on his shoulders, but his eyes were looking slightly to the right. 

She readjusted her sun lounger,  sitting back as she rummaged around in her bag for something. There it was, the book. The colours on the cover were the same, yet he still couldn't quite catch the title of the book. If he could hazard a guess, it was some sort of mystery, based off of the dark blues of the cover.

He couldn't help but see her as the type of girl to read a romance novel, but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a book about romance, the deep intricate facets of love and devotion to someone. But he wouldn't know. 

If he could, he would offer to rub sun cream on her back, his hands lingering for just a little longer than necessary. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist peppering a few kisses down her neck and across her shoulders. Carlos tried to imagine her laugh as she playfully told him to stop it. 

He wouldn't stop, leaning his head down and kissing her more just to prove his point. Maybe he'd make a suggestive comment - it would have depended on the mood of the day. Even if that had never stopped Carlos before. 

He had to snap himself out of it before his mind went to darker places, not wanting the physical effect of said thoughts to become evident. Now that would have been really really embarrassing. He'd never forgive himself if he let himself go that far. 

Every page she turned was like an indicator of time passing by, the bookmark moving through the pages like a stop-motion picture. He wondered if she was enjoying the book, who her favourite characters were. Maybe there were some quotes that she'd remember, some more philosophical or meaningful ones. 

If he could figure out the title, he'd give it a read. See if he enjoyed it too. 

It was seeming like she was never going to leave, and Carlos could feel his skin becoming dried out by the chlorine, rippled and rough like unconditioned leather. He swam his way over to the edge of the pool, hauling himself out of the water with as much grace as he could.

Water droplets ran down his body as he made his way back over to his sun lounger. Unless he was losing his mind, which was highly likely, he could've sworn her eyes flicked up from the gripping words on the page and onto him. 

He saw the blue of her irises, her pupils constricting as she momentarily looked at him. He could have sworn his heart was going to break through his ribs and skin, pouring out for everyone to see. As he sat down, picking up his towel and lazily running it over his body, he tried to take a few deep breaths. 

'Get it together' he thought to himself, 'you're being stupid.' He really felt idiotic as he sat there, trying to calm down from something as simple as his random hotel crush looking at him for a moment as he walked by. 

It was just human curiosity. That is all it was. She wasn't checking him out, she wasn't looking at him with particular interest. It was plain, simple, inquisitivity. 

He draped his towel over the back of the chair so that it could dry in the heat, and he leant back, closing his eyes to try and chill himself out. As he sat there, his thoughts were running wild. He was so consumed by the simplest action, a teeny little look in his direction, and he was already getting frustrated at himself for letting himself feel this way. 

"Hey, sorry, excuse me?" a voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

A/N - Hey loves! Would really appreciate if you could reblog this, still think I'm shadowbanned for some absurd reason. Hope you enjoyed, been working on this for a short amount of time, and I quite like this one. Love y'all! 💖💖

|masterlist|

[sp0-t]

Preview of some upcoming stories?!! (sort of rambles)

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

You and Simon used to date, it was a while ago, 5 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days ago to be exact. You never kept count, you wanted to forget everything. It was Simon that kept count, every second, every minute, every hour. He was there keeping track. You moved on, you had a whole new life at this point, new job, new house, new car, even a new partner. You wanted nothing to do with that old life that old place, that old job still haunting you some nights. But that was all behind you, long ago, no reason to dwell on it, you have a new life a new start that not many got. Your old life was behind you forgotten, like a bad dream.

Except this dream came back to haunt you, physically, in the present. In the physical form of Simon “Ghost” Riley. He was the reason you couldn’t sleep at night, the reason you needed a new life in the first place, needed to run away from the past.

Him

HIM

The last person that deserved to come back into your life was here. And he is persistent per usual, no matter what you do, or what you say to him, he was not going to budge he’d stay stolid and still and he’d be that way for the rest of time if he had to.

He’d wait…

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

Gaz and you are two of the biggest names in the modeling world. You can’t talk about it without either name popping up. What makes it even more of popular topic, is the rumor of a certain type of relationship between you two. However these aren’t true they can’t be, at least not yet…

You are in a contract with one of if not the biggest modeling agency in the world, you being their top model, however, you have a very close runner up. They’ve been gaining more and more attraction every year, placing them higher and higher in the rankings. Social media isn’t helping in this case, it’s the very thing that gained them their popularity in the first place. One post about their new male model and the internet goes fucking batshit.

“Who is he?”

“I need him!”

“He’s so fine, omg!”

“The things I would do…”

Well, who is this mystery man, no other than Kyle Garrick. He normally goes by his stage nickname “Gaz”. No one knows where it comes from, but then again no one really cares enough.

However this year both your agency’s are competing for first, both agencies have to put out their best models in a runway show, a panel will then decide who the best is. But then why do people suspect a relationship between the two. A simple cigarette, that was it, a cigarette. Paparazzi can be some nosey individuals, it was after a clothes fitting, both agencies were required to have it done by the same tailor company to remove any bias, and no changes could be made to outfits by this point. It was late out probably 11pm, about to be 12. I guess paparazzi doesn’t sleep, you went out for a cigarette or two. About to light your second you hear the door open behind you.

“Mind if I join you?”

Of course it was him, why wouldn’t it be Gaz

“Do as you please.”

Your voice comes out a bit muffled from the cigarette between your lips. You try and light your cigarette again, you spark the lighter multiple times no flames ever coming to light. You get more and more frustrated the longer it takes to see flames. You bring the thing up to your ear and shake to hear if there’s any liquid, it’s empty. In frustration you throw the lighter against a nearby wall.

“Fucking piece of shit.”

Still muffled from the unlit cigarette you sigh out in frustration and defeat, leaning against the wall behind you. You run your hand through your hair as your about to push off the wall to walk back inside the building, when a flame is placed in front of you.

“Need a light?”

You look up at him a bit confused

“Yeah. Thanks.”

SNAP* SNAP* SNAP* The image of Gaz leaning over slightly cupping the flame to prevent the wind from blowing it out, while you tilt your head a bit up to get your cigarette to reach the flame while Gaz looks down at you. That’s what was going viral, the image, the circulating stories and rumors going around. Both of your names were everywhere, one couldn’t be without the other in the media.

All over a damn cig

💿: I only have two for you today, these are just quick summaries. I’m sorry these are on like “cliff hangers”, I really wanted you guys to make your own assumptions and theories. I do want to start writing an actual full on story for one of the quick ideas I’ve wrote(author!price, PoliceForce!141, and these new ones). I’ll most likely put up a poll for people to vote on which one I’ll write first, so definitely stay around for that if you’re interested!!

(sorry the Simon one is so short but if I added more it would be like double this whole page)

written by: @sp0-t ©️

[ectoentity]

So, the Haunting Heroes server did a Who Wrote That game with the theme of "wingfic" a while back. I did an entry and I liked it enough that I decided to expand on it. Gonna start posting scenes here whenever I get them done, and eventually piece it together for ao3. This first part is the intro, but the rest probably won't actually be in order.

Update Mar 11, 2024: Here is the Subscription Post

Ectoplasm Gives You Wings

(Working title)

DPxDC, T-rated genfic.

Everyone knew ghosts had wings. It was in every ghost story throughout history, regardless of culture. It was one of their defining traits, like going through walls or fading into invisibility. The unquiet dead soared through the night on birdlike wings, occasionally leaving unnaturally large feathers as an omen of impending death.

As soon as the newly-working portal spat Danny out, he knew there would be no hiding what had happened. His ghostly form came with a pair of large wings that didn't go away when he turned back human. In his ghost form, they were mostly black with bars of white near the bottom edge. The reverse was true when he was human. It was an indication of what had happened to him that he couldn't escape.

Tucker and Sam tried to play it off to his parents as a meta mutation that had suddenly appeared. They'd heard of it happening before on TV and through the internet. Besides, there were winged people in the Justice League. Danny's parents had never talked about them being secret ghosts.

Danny would never forget his parents' horrified faces as they came downstairs and found him. The way their eyes skipped over his face entirely and focused on the wings behind him. His dad frozen in place, expression slack with shock. His mom's face going from horror to determination as she set her jaw and reached for a bazooka.

Danny and his friends managed to escape them and run all the way to Tucker's house. Running was harder with a new pair of limbs hanging off his back like so much dead (hah) weight. It was clear that Danny couldn't stay here. His parents might be cranks, but once they realized the portal worked they would have evidence to prove Danny was a ghost. At least, sort of. Would they try to experiment on him, or just try to help him pass on? Danny assumed it would be the latter, but he had also assumed his mom wouldn't ever draw a weapon on him.

Tucker and Sam helped him to pack a camping backpack full of spare clothes he'd left at Tucker's, a handful of important essentials like a first aid kit, and a sleeping bag. They left for a while and came back with a cheap cellphone, a handful of prepaid phone cards, and a surprising amount of cash. Who would have thought Sam was secretly loaded?

They argued all night about where he should go. Danny barely knew his Dad's side of the family, let alone whether they'd take him in. His mom's sister Alicia was somewhere in Arkansas, but Danny couldn't remember the name of the town. Besides, he hadn't seen her since he was about nine. What if she believed Maddie over him? Tucker and Sam suggested their own family members. Danny turned them down. He didn't want to be a burden to his friends' families.

In the end, they decided that he would blend in best in a big city far away from Amity. The next day, Danny climbed on a Greyhound bus headed to the East Coast. He couldn't hide the wings, no matter what he did. The best he could do was wrap the sleeping bag around himself like a blanket. Thankfully, no one on the bus seemed to care. They all had their own issues to worry about. Most seemed content to watch their phones or the scenery instead of looking too closely at the weird kid wrapped in a big, lumpy sleeping bag.

As the hours dragged on, Danny was increasingly greatful that everyone was minding their own business. There was something else wrong with him. His hands kept slipping through the sleeping bag. Going through solid objects, like a ghost.

The plan was to find a place in Metropolis that provided resources to meta kids. But by the time the bus reached Gotham Danny was exhausted and anxious. His hands had started to go through things. What if he went straight through the bus while it was driving? He had to get a handle on this. He could always go to Metropolis the next day.

Danny got off the bus. The city around him was gray and dreary, from the concrete sidewalks up to the cloud-covered sky. It felt like the sky was too close, more of a ceiling than an open expanse. Something about it gave Danny a strangely claustrophobic feeling. He tried to shrug it off as the lack of sleep catching up to him. The last time Danny slept was the night before the portal accident. That had been well over twenty-four hours ago. He needed to find a safe place to sleep.

[hiskillingjar]

brother-and-sister bonding

Relationship: Ren Hana/MC Rating: Explicit Includes: Fauxcest, Hate Sex, Bratting, Sex Toys, Lactation Length: 5400+ words

a super generous and fun request for an anonymous user on ko-fi, thank you so much!

if you'd like a commission of your own, feel free to check out my post and shoot me a message!

Life was easy for Ren. 

He had a routine, he had a structure, he had a set of rules that he could abide by, day to day, to make sure he stayed alive and stayed sane.

In the mornings (or early afternoons, depending on how long he slept in for, how bad the night before had been for him), he’d wake up, make breakfast, clean up after himself, and then maybe, occupy his time with a new show (he got through his watch list in record time, these days) or some heavily filtered internet access. 

At mid-day, he’d eat lunch, take a nap in the armchair in the living room while he watched another show, and, of course, try not to get himself killed (an important task, maybe the most!) 

In the evenings, if he lasted that long, he’d make dinner, clean up after himself (again), and maybe have a bath to balm his new wounds, before going to bed.

Then the cycle would start all over again for the rest of time, forever.

Often what people didn’t tell those who were getting rehabilitated after a long duration of captivity, was just how difficult life was suddenly going to get for them.

After the period of attention-heavy coddling, even captives had to engage in the real world again, and many cracked under the pressure of just how hard being a person could be,

Captivity was, unfortunately, very easy for someone like Ren, despite the ever-present danger that threatened him for what felt like every minute of the day. 

It was stable. It was routine. It was monotonous. 

And though he was smart enough to know that this wasn't what a life should be, living like a caged animal, too scared to make even one mistake lest he be punished for it within an inch of his life, there was a certain comfort to knowing exactly what he was going to do, every day, for the rest of his life.

Hence, his irritation when a new toy had come in and fucked all of that up.

And hence why he was currently staring at his computer screen, some monotonous, cloying, fan-servicey type livestream happening in the background of his brooding, instead of making dinner for the evening like he usually did, all because she had so generously offered to do it in his stead.

He seethed silently to himself as he shoved off his headphones with a huff, the smell of sticky brown sauce and tofu making his nose twitch, potent even from all the way downstairs. 

She was probably burning it, which just made him even angrier.

This was just about the chores, he told himself, his tail idly swaying with irritation (enough to make his computer chair spin to and fro). This was about the disruption to his routine throwing him out of wack and disorientating him, it was just that.

His anger surely had nothing to do with the beaming smile Strade would give her whenever she presented the shitty dinner she had made to him, reminding Ren of a husband and a new (inexperienced) wife, or the way he would pet her hair all the while as he ate, or even the way he would compliment her cooking (while he was sitting right there), commenting that she should make dinner more often, because "Ren's got a routine about his cooking" and he’d grown bored of it.

It was nothing to do with that, surely.

No way. 

"Ren," She said brightly, jolting him out of his thoughts and pulling any lingering attention he might have had on the livestream away, as she poked her head around the door frame with a beaming smile, always sunshine and roses. "Dinner's ready!"

“Mmf,”

He didn’t respond immediately, at least not properly, his ears twitching irritably as he set his headphones on his desk, turning menacingly (or an attempt of menace, at least) in his computer chair and glaring at her for what felt like a solid thirty seconds of pregnant silence. 

“What was that?” He asked, feigning ignorance.

“Um,” Her smile faltered slightly as she nudged the door open a little more. “I said dinner was ready. Black bean tofu and veggies.” She attempted another smile. “I’ve been at it all afternoon.”

Because you’re a lousy cook, he wanted to say, but he bit his lip to stop himself.

He knew he should have probably said something at least vaguely kind and grateful; a "thank you" or a "good work" or something like that. He knew that he should have attempted to express a least an approximation of sincere gratitude towards her effort, knew that because he had been conditioned into it. 

But a knot in his stomach stopped him from feeling anything even close to gratitude, replaced by a curling spiral of…something else he couldn’t (wouldn’t) name.

"You didn’t need to come up here and tell me.” He eventually said as flatly as possible, turning back to his screen. “I’m not hungry.”

"Are you sure?" She asked, tilting her head thoughtfully with a little pout, her long hair running down her shoulders and covering her full chest. "I got a recipe from one of your cookbooks. It's Japanese, special for you!"

Special for him?

He stiffened slightly against the tall back of his chair, before turning to give her a suspicious, sideways glance. 

Cast half in the bright light of the hallway, and half by the LED strips that covered his desk and the walls of his bedroom, she looked…well, pretty good, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. 

Dressed in a tight, milk-maid-like dress that hugged her body in several flattering ways, the neckline also cutting low enough to accentuate the smooth, pale plains of her chest, it was…sort of no wonder Strade had developed such a fondness for her in such little time.

He could only imagine what she might have looked like, begging and pleading for his mercy, her pale skin streaked with blood, her full lips open and gasping and crying. 

“I said I’m not hungry.” He repeated, turning back to his computer to hide his wandering eyes and the pinkish hue of his cheeks. "And...I mean, it IS kind of presumptuous that you think I'd want to eat it anyway, just because it's Japanese. Super rude of you, actually. You should ask what I want first, if you’re gonna do that."

"Mm, y-yeah, fine, I guess so." She finally stepped inside his room (without his asking to), making him turn back to look at her again with an annoyed glare. Her cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment and her hands were clasped tont of her, fingers twitching in their entanglement. "You don't have to be an asshole, though, you know. I'm just trying to be nice..."

Nobody asked you to." He retorted sharply, crossing his arms over his chest with a childish huff. "I don’t need you to pretend to be all nice and caring, and…and motherly all of a sudden for whatever reason. Just stop.” He huffed again, his gaze flitting to the side. “I don’t find it cute, so don’t bother with that crap around me."

She stood back towards the closed door of his bedroom, her body straightening out, ridding itself of any pretence of embarrassment or bashfulness in her posture, with a little scoff and another pout, putting her hands on her hips.

Never beating the motherly allegations, it seemed.

"I'm not pretending, I just made dinner and wanted to include you,” She complained with a sharp look. “A-and motherly, what is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed and spun his computer chair to face her fully, and for a split second, he almost found her indignant pout endearing and soft of cute, almost enough to drop the whole thing and leave her alone to enjoy the dinner she had made special for him.

Just almost, though.

"Of course, you’re pretending," He snapped, rolling his eyes, his tail idly swaying again. "What, am I supposed to believe that you would normally act like some simpering housewife, making dinners and cleaning and wearing a pretty dress, if you weren’t trying to get Strade to like you? It’s all fake. You’re fake” 

He laughed and shook his head. 

"You like to act like you're sooo much better than me, don't you? Well, I can see through your bullshit act, so it’s not going to work on me. Get it?"

Her eyes widened slightly as he ranted to her, and she let out another scoff when he was finished, breathing out an aggravated laugh with a sardonic smirk.

"Are you kidding? That's the reason you're pissed off at me?" She crossed her arms, the weight of her full chest pooling over them, showing them off even more. "Because Strade is leaving you alone? Because you actually get to have a night by yourself instead of entertaining your fucking kidnapper so he doesn’t kill you when he’s bored?"

"No, that's not why I'm pissed at you, idiot." He jabbed back quickly, his tail lashing behind him as he sat forward in his seat. "I'm pissed off at you because your fake bullshit has been interrupting me all week. You keep going around the house,” He gestured widely with his hands, putting on a simpering tone. “Looking all cute and sweet and trying to act like some sort of housewife. What are you, Strade’s lapdog? Or are you just trying to suck up to him so you can get rewarded for being a good girl?"

She bristled at that, a scowl darkening her pretty features.

"Excuse me for having some semblance of a survival instinct.” She barked back. “Are you really so jealous that you'd create these bullshit excuses for yourself, Ren? Maybe you should be grateful that I’m not just leaving you to fend for yourself, that’s what someone else would do-"

"Survival instinct?! You don't understand anything!” He immediately shouted back, almost cutting her off as he thrust his hands against his chest. “How about you try feeling the way I do, try feeling like you've been cast off for the shiny new toy!  Tell me how fucking grateful you'd feel after that!"

She grinned smugly, looking almost triumphant that she'd gotten a reaction from him.

Maybe she wasn’t as sweet as he’d first assumed.

"You're pathetic, you know that?” She said, narrowing her eyes towards him, her tone cutting and sharp. “You're like a little kid, fighting for Daddy's attention."

That comment almost stopped him in his tracks, making him feel, instantly, like he had been punched in the face with a combination of rage, jealousy and despicable lust.

It was so absurd, so out of nowhere and yet so painfully on target that it made a furious blush spread across his face.

"Fuck you-" He murmured through grit teeth, his hands curling against the pockets of his joggers.

"Is that what he is to you, Ren?" She asked him with a mocking pout. "Is he your daddy?"

"You…" He stood up from his computer chair abruptly (enough to push it back against his desk), his tail whipping behind him furiously. "You don't, y-you’re one to talk! You’re the one who keeps sucking up to him, l-like you're soooo happy,” He gritted his teeth, his cheeks flushing darker as he tried to put some kind of authority to his voice. “T-To have Strade’s attention that you'll do whatever he wants, like you like being his whore or something!”

“I’m not his fucking whore!” She yelled back at him, almost at a breaking point of her own. 

“Then stop acting like one!” He hissed.

"Why don't you go suck Daddy's cock,” She bit back, her voice louder than it had been before (and surely loud enough for anyone downstairs to hear too). “If you're so fucking desperate for it?!"

“Shut up!”

Overcome by his animal instincts (to kill, bite, maim, hurt, whatever he needed to do to win), he practically leapt forward, his vision red with anger, and grabbed her by the wrists, digging his claws deep into her skin as he pushed her backwards against the closed bedroom door, each body wrestling to overpower the other.

“Ngh!” She cried out loudly, trying to yank back from his grip, making his claws dig in deeper, as if he had already tethered himself to her. “G-Get off me!”

When he was this close, barely inches from her face as spittle sprayed across his cheeks, all while she shouted and screamed with primal annoyance, he could see each wrinkle and twist in her furious expression, and he was suddenly compelled to hit her, take her by the shoulders and bash her head into the door, the wall, until there was nothing left to be angry at. 

He couldn’t help it, he told himself amid his rage. 

The prospect of slapping that taunting, insolent expression off her face and replacing it with something more appealing, something that better suited her pretty face, something red and bloody and meaty, was just…too compelling

“Shut up, you goddamn moron.”

He pressed himself against her as she kept trying to fight him off of her, using his (minute) weight to keep her pinned against the door, his tail lashing and his teeth bared.

“Stop talking crap like you know fucking anything about me,” He hissed, feeling his annoyance grow even more as she kept fighting and wriggling underneath him. “As though you’re so much better. Shut. Up.”

She kept on writhing against him all the while, her full hips occasionally colliding with his, little whimpers falling from her lips like a pinned animal. 

All of that (unfortunately) got his blood pumping like mad, the constant stimulation against his growing arousal, as well as the primal excitement of holding a squirming body still for a change (rather than being the one who was squirming), and he had to resist the urge to shudder and moan, feeling his skin prickle and his tail twitch as he pressed his body up against hers further, their hips aligned wonderfully.

He was aware, too, of the way her full chest (practically spilling out of her dress) was pushed against his, and the way he was forcing her to crane her neck back so she could even look at him.

It made him feel good.

It made him feel powerful. And he so rarely got to feel anything even close to that.

"You wanna play 'house', huh? Is that it?" He murmured as he pressed closer, forcing their faces together and growling into her cheek, before sliding a knee between her thighs and hiking it upwards, forcing her thighs to part. "Alright, if Strade is 'daddy', I guess that makes us 'brother and sister', doesn't it?"

Her eyes widened slightly at his growled words, stunned into near stillness before her expression twisted into one of shocked disgust and she kept squirming erratically underneath his body, especially so when his hips went forward, rubbing the beginnings of his erection against her thigh.

"Get the fuck off me!” She shrieked, shaking her head to shove him away.

“Ah-ah!”

He let out a mean laugh and grabbed her by the jaw then, his claws digging into her skin as he forced her to look at him, to see his golden eyes, sparkling with mirth, and know what he wanted from her. Her cheeks were flushed with furious humiliation, and her full lips were parted and wet with sprayed spittle, and his stomach felt like it was in knots from the effort of trying to control himself. 

“You were the one who fucked around with me, you little brat,” He said, his voice almost a low growl, as his snarling lips grew into a smirk, his knee going up higher and nudging at the front of her panties. "Oh, now you're fighting me because you don't want to play anymore? Is that it?"

"Don't touch me, you freak!" She protested again, crying out when his claws sank deeper into her wrists and the meat of her cheek, as sharp as a needle in a pin cushion, droplets of blood streaming out and beading around his fingertips. “You’re, ngh, you’re just as bad as he is!”

Was that an insult or a compliment? Depended on the day, he guessed.

“HAH! Am I?” He keened forward on his tiptoes then, so they were face to face, as close they could get, and he could feel her panicked breaths ghost over his face, warming it up even more than it was already. “I’ll show you how bad I can be, hm?” 

He hated her. He knew that much, at this point.

So why...why did seeing her pinned, wriggling, crying underneath him make his blood feel like it was roaring in his veins, like it had never done before?

Something something, there is an awful lot of love in hate.

Or, certainly, an awful lot of lust.

"Ohhh, little sister doesn't want to play anymore?” He taunted, lowering his voice to a cloying coo. “She wants to stay perfect and untouched for Daddy, doesn't she?" He then added sharply, as if he felt truly scorned, his breath growing faster as adrenaline and anger and hot arousal started to boil over and he rutted against her thigh even more, even faster. "Maybe he likes you so much because you'll play the whore, though, cus you'll play mommy for him."

"Nghhh, fuck," She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip as he rocked into her. “I’m not a fucking whore-”

“Mm, I think you are,” He continued to taunt, one hand sinking from her jaw (leaving behind bloody gouges on her skin) to hungrily pull open the ties of her dress, the fabric unfolding and revealing more of her pale chest, heaving and spilling out of the tight cotton. "Your tits are big enough to be mommy, anyway, a little too big to be a cute, little sister.”

"You've got a dirty, nh!" She flinched as he tore more of the dress, retrieving a scrap from the front (making it unwearable, in the future) to bind her wrists together in a messy knot, before hooking them above her head on a jacket peg. "A-A dirty mouth, Ren..."

“And you’ve got a dirty mind,” He replied smugly with a big grin, his tail idly wagging as he leisurely paced to the side and opened the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a set of bullet vibrators and a roll of athletic tape.

Finally, he was getting the chance to do this.

It had been a long time coming, he thought with a smirk, looking back at her. And who knew when he’d get this chance again?

Best to make the most of it now.

“Did Daddy get this for you, little sis?” He asked as he paced back towards her with a lazy saunter, tauntingly toying with the flaps of cotton fabric with one of his bloody claws. “Or did you ask for it, because you like showing yourself off for him, hm?~”

"I'm not your fucking sister, you pervert," She growled with a venomous look in her eyes, trying to pull at the cotton sash binding her, though her effort was evidently in vain when she let out a pained hiss, the cotton rubbing painfully against the dots of blood marring her wrists. “That’s sick.”

“Oh, but you said it yourself, didn’t you?” He asked with an innocent tone to his voice, tugging the dress’ fabric down even more so that her nipples were revealed, swelling with involuntary arousal, ripe and delicious and waiting for him. “You can’t take it back now. You’ve let me think about it for too long, now.”

He hummed casually as he positioned the first bullet against her nipple and taped it in place with strips of tape, biting off each one as they lay flat on her breast, idly licking his lips as he did so.

"What’re you doing?” She asked with a confused look towards her now adorned chest, before her eyes went back to his, her brows knitting together with concern. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He smirked, positioning the second bullet across her other nipple and taping that in place too. “We’re just playing, aren’t we, sis? It’s nothing that serious.”

“W-We’re not,” She started, catching herself stammering and swallowing uncomfortably as her bound wrists rolled together again. “We’re not playing. I don’t want to play.”

“Mm, and I didn’t want you bothering me all night,” He replied airily, hiking up the skirt of her dress and revealing a sensible pair of panties. Figures, Strade never cared about important things like aesthetics. That was his job, he supposed. “We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

He then pressed his thumb against the front of her panties, his smirk widening into a (sort of) genuine smile when he found a slightly damp spot. 

“Or, heh, maybe you are getting exactly what you want,” He suggested, leaning into her with a lecherous smile, his tail swaying as he slid the last bullet into her panties, nestled against where she was most sensitive (and he guessed as much, from the way she immediately flinched and whimpered as he tried to adjust it into the perfect place). “And you’re lying to me. What a naughty little sister I have, hah~”

“I’m not-NGH!”

He turned all three vibrators on with the click of a button, and her eyes almost instantly bulged out of her skull, overwhelmed by the buzzing sensation, and her expression only got more exaggerated and hot as he slid the vibrators’ motor up another notch, giving her even more to focus on.

“You’re noooot?” He drawled with a teasing grin, pressing close to her again as she moaned mindlessly, squeezing her eyes shut to try and contain the amount of pleasure she was being forced to feel. “You’re not lying, you’re not enjoying this, or…” 

He turned the vibrators up another notch, hearing another loud, pained moan from her parted lips.

“You’re not my little sister, hm? Which is it?”

“Nnfff, Rennnn,” She murmured pleadingly, her thighs pressing together tightly and trembling, struggling to hold her body upright, as she stared towards him, any previous venom in her gaze and tone long absent. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry for whatever I did. But, hah, please,” She whimpered again, eyes clenched shut again as another wave of white-hot pleasure hit her hard. “T-This is too much, way too much, nhh!”

“Oh, so, now you’re wanting to be good?” He asked with the same cloying tone as before, nuzzling against the crook of her neck, against her cheek, scenting her, his twitching ears grazing her temple and making him shiver. “You’ve seen what happens when you’re bad, and now you want to be a good girl for me, like you are with Daddy, hm?”

“Yesss,” She drawled, doing her best to look towards him and acclimate to what he wanted of her. “Yes, yes, I’ll be good, please just stop-”

“Tell you what…” He started, turning the vibrators up another notch and listening to her cry out with another big smile, running his tongue over his teeth. “Address me properly and maybe I’ll think about going easy on you. What do you think about that, hm?”

“H-Hah,” 

She breathed out, her bound hands curling into tight fists above her as she closed her eyes with a tight, grimacing expression, clearly not thrilled by what she was about to say, but…willing to do it for what she needed. 

“P-Please…big brother,” He lip twitched with slight discomfort. “Please turn your toys off…I promise, I’ll be a good sister from now on, I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.”

“Oh, that’s really good, little sis,” He mumbled his tone sweet with praise as he pressed a wet kiss against her cheek. “Sounds almost like you practised it, just for me. Mm, Daddy did well with you, didn’t he? He’s training you to be a good, little whore…”

“Ngh,” Her head sank against her heaving chest, her breathing hard. “Please, please, please…please stop, now, please?”

“Mm…too bad.”

He then slid the motor up to the highest setting he could, the incessant buzzing of the triplet bullets almost drowning out the wonderful sound of her pained cries and whines.

Almost.

“FUUUCK!” She cried out like she was experiencing something close to true agony, gritting her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut and opening wide over and over again, fluttering, like a broken baby doll, while her wet mouth gaped and drooled, unable to stop herself. “FUCK, STOP, PLEASE!”

This was truly too perfect.

Someone was actually experiencing (at least a close approximation of) true pain in front of him. They were writhing, crying, bleeding, and begging him for mercy (that they wouldn’t find) and for him to let them go, and whatever they had to do, they’d do, just for a chance at freedom.

She was in a position he had been in countless times before, all because of him.

He’d never been more turned on.

His shaking hand quickly sank to the front of his joggers, urgently untying the toggle before peeling them down and revealing his hard, leaking cock, the knot throbbing hungrily at the base, waiting for something warm to fuck and sink into, like he was sliding into an unknowable home.

"Fuck, you deserve this.” He breathed hard through his gritted teeth, working his hand up and down the length of it as he pressed closer against her, panting against her already hot skin, probably making her feel that much more uncomfortable. “It's what you get for getting on my nerves. Now, hah,” 

He squeezed the head of his cock hard, a pearl of pre-cum smearing against her naked thighs (scarred, just like his were, cut from the same cloth, a creation of the same master, embodying the same trauma, as much as he despised it). 

“N-Now you're going to be all ruined and fucked up, and Daddy is going to go back to loving me even more…hah,” His head tilted forward against her shoulder, breathing harder as he worked himself up even more. “That’s all I want…e-everything I want, mm-”

He knew that probably wasn’t likely.

He knew that anything he could have done to a new toy wouldn’t have ruined her for Strade in the slightest.

If anything, it might have made him like her even more.

But it felt good to say, all the same.

"Maybe you won't be a sister or a mommy anymore.” He whispered into her skin as she kept crying out for mercy, her jaw tense and her eyes wide and staring right ahead of her, thousands of miles away. “M-Maybe you'll just be some dumb dog that sleeps outside and pisses with her leg up, and...nhh..."

He squeezed another dribble of pre-cum across her skin, before reaching up to grope and paw at one of her breasts.

"Fuck, sis, that's so good,” He gasped, as a wave of white-hot pleasure hit him all at once. The full weight and size of her breast made it even more fun to handle and play with, which in turn just made him feel that much more aroused.  “Mm...if I didn’t think it’d get me killed, I’d have fucked you by now, without a care in the world…mm.” 

She moaned brainlessly again, her head sinking against her thick, metal collar, bucking mindlessly against nothing as she was pushed closer and closer to her breaking point.

“Nnhh, that’s okay though~” He breathed out with a wheezing little titter, running his tongue over his fangs before pressing another kiss to her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck and her jaw. “It’ll feel good knowing you’re losing your mind because of me anyway…even if I can’t fuck you yet.”

“Nghh, please,” She drawled with a shaking exhale, pleading, soft thighs clenched together as she sank against her binds, the ratty cotton seemingly the only thing keeping her upright. “Please, fuck me, I want you to-”

“Ohoho, how she changes her tune now,” Ren laughed again, filled with unexpected energy to persist as he pulled back to really look at her, exhausted and empty of the protest she was full of before. “What, has my sweet little sister decided that she wants to play the whore all of a sudden? My my, we really aren’t ourselves when we want something, are we?”

“Ren, hah, big brother,” She squealed as he lowered his head to tongue at her breast, or, at least, what little of her areola he hadn’t covered with the tape. “Please, please, this feels like torture…”

“Oh, but it’s supposed to, sis,” He purred with an indulgent smile, nuzzling against her chest as his fist moved faster, up and down, his cock, his own arousal getting close to painful, he was so close. “Ngh, it’s supposed to be all fun for me, and torture for you. This is how things work around here, after all, don’t you know that?”

“Ghhhh, too much,” She whined, squeezing her eyes shut again, her head hitting the door as she tipped her head back. “Hurting, please, nhh…”

“Shhh, I know, baby,” Ren thencooed softly, his tail wagging at her needy tone as he peeled the athletic tape from her sore nipple and pulled the bullet aside, giving himself the full expanse of her nipple to tongue and taste as he pleased. “Just be good and I’ll try and make this bearable for you, kay?~”

“Stop, stop, hah!” Her eyes went wide again as she started to struggle. “Stop, ngh, t-that’s really sore!”

“You know I’m not going to do that,” He smiled teasingly, before slipping the now available bullet into her panties with the third one, only adding more to her torture and quickly making her shut up again. “Try to endure it, okay? I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“Nhhh,” She moaned helplessly, her eyes rolling back into her head (where they belonged, not looking at him, not seeing him), her mouth open and gasping and drooling.

“That’s it,” He praised with another smile, kissing her nipple again. “Much better.”

He indulgently ran the flat of his tongue over the ripe bud of her nipple as he kept fucking his fist, latching onto it like a babe and suckling eagerly, the taste and weight of her body against his pushing him, too, that much closer to the edge.

He was already so close, already there, when-

“MM-!”

Ren pulled back quickly, his eyes wide and his tongue between his teeth, when he spotted…

Was that milk? Oozing from her chest?

“You’re…lactating,” He pointed out, looking up towards her empty face (she was so lost, so far gone, so lovely to look at already) with a furrowed expression before a shaky smile crossed his face and he looked back down to where her nipple was still dribbling fluid. “Oh…hah, wow, that’s…um…”

His face was beet red and his cock was throbbing even more against his palm.

“Really, really fucking hot.”

He closed the temporary gap between the two of them quickly, suckling again at her nipple and moaning as another gush of fluid shot across his tongue, sweet and fatty and so delicious, he thought he was going to go crazy.

“G-God, I guess you really are Mommy, huh?” He murmured shakily, licking his lips (licking his fangs while he was at it) as he desperately lapped up any of the remaining drops that ran down her breast. “Mm, that’s okay, though. You’re still my sweet little sister, even if you are getting too big for it, nnhHH!”

His mouth went back to suck her nipple again, jerking himself off so roughly (so much so, her breast muffled actual whimpers) that it was starting to hurt, his cockhead sore and red and weeping with beads of pre-cum now, he was that close to climax and so desperate for release.

Another spurt of breast milk crossed his tongue, which he swallowed eagerly with another whimper, his lids fluttering and his legs trembling from the exertion of holding himself upright.

He was so close, everything about this was perfect, it was all perfect, He was so close, he was almost there, he was-!

“Are you two coming down for dinner or what?! I don’t want to be kept waiting~”

[pumpkinsy0]

um more hcs for the 2000s au where they live in different countries pretty pretty pretty please with pony and curly shaped sprinkles on top of uhhhh paper that has been cut?

i cant wait to eat paper shreddings w pony and curly shaped sprinkles, THIS is what america was for, not silencing others,,,,,

ALSO QUICK FIX, its not early 2000s, omegle came out in 2009 so this au takes place in like 2009/2010

•ok SO, pony in the us, curly in haiti, this would mean curly didint immigrate!!!never even visited the us, immigrant shepards u do NOT make an apperance😢😢😢at least rn idk

•they met on omegle, pony was just on it to see how the website works and angela gets joy from being on it and forced curly along despite him telling her to get off it

•this au, curly cant speak english that good, or at all rlly, hes going based off ponys vibes, if ponys smiling keep going, if hes not, just stfu😭

•curly was hitting on pony in the omegle chat, not wven a hi, hello, first, and angela was SICK of watching it so she left and pony and curly stayed in that omegle

•soda and darrg knows about them video calling and isnt 100% onboard w it cause they dont know curly, #strangerdanger!!!

•googlr added kreyòl in 2010 as well, so FINALLY at some point pony could better understand pony and they got closer

•but before that, pony would ask darry to translate a sentence in kreyòl (or french) but bc kreyòl ISNT french just similar to it, darry could only take an educated guess in what curly was saying, and tim would translate some sentences from english cause he can kinda speak it

•ik they b ITCHIN to talk to each other, pony will NOTTT let being grounded stop him from talking to that man, he will take his ass to the library and use that computer to email curly if he has to, ponys not a big user of the internet but for curlys theres an exception

•haiti has a lot of parades and curlys a party animal, he has to tell pony he wont b online tonight and ponys always bored those nights</333, but he likes curlys body make up/costumes for em, hes drawn em sometimes!!!

•they send each other gifts from their country!!! they both have shelves of each others gifts in their room and stare at em a lot cause woaw,,,HE touched this,,,

•this version kf pony probably knows the most kreyòl out of the rest of the ponys now that i think about it, he can hold a small convo

•theyre both using the family computer, not only do they have to hide who theyre talking to, but their families r loud and annoying as shit, they could try to have a “date” and they see something going on in the background and its wither funny it its so awkward

[maxwellatoms]

as a person on the inside of the animation industry, are there signs that we might be heading to another dark age of animation like the 1980s (e.g. animation is regulated to just glorified toy commercials or dark fantasy movies)?

"Kid Vid" regulations mean you can't advertise for stuff kids might buy from within a show anymore. Generally, you can't even have (say) Yogi Bear wearing a shirt with his best friend BooBoo's face on it as a gag, because "what if someone made that shirt one day?" Then it would be a retroactive ad, I guess? I'm not schooled in reverse-time law like studio lawyers, so I can't really say. Still, it's almost impossible to get even a fictional product into a kid's show these days, so I think the 1980s will probably stay in their timeline. At least in that way.

I do think a bit of a "Dark Age" is upon us, though. Maybe just a small one. Just a wee little snip of a Dark Age is all.

As far as I can glean, there are going to be precious few animated shows coming out over the next couple of years because not much was picked up during the pandemic. There are only a few things being developed here and there, and I'd wager that those properties "win" simply by existing in a competition-free environment. It takes a long time to produce animation, so almost anything greenlit right now is looking at a full year for turnaround. If you talk to people in the industry right now about jobs, they use words like "wastelend" and "ramen noodles".

Then you've got A.I., of course. The other night I was having dinner with a friend and I found myself in the A.I. conversation I always imagined myself having one day-- the one where we're talking with some immediacy about what the rest of our futures look like as artists, because we know they're not going to look the same ever again. It was pretty cool in a William Gibson sort of way, but I honestly didn't expect to be having that conversation for another decade. Turns out A.I. is becoming a problem right now.

I've already talked about the "art theft" angle, and that's not the problem I'm speaking about here. The problem I'm talking about is the "what do I do when what I do becomes trivial?" problem. If anyone can make a TV show or movie in a week or a day using AI assistance, who determines what gets seen? Networks, I'd imagine, would become redundant. You don't need to fork over $15 a month for Netflix if you can make Netflix-quality content yourself. And if you can't make anything decent even with A.I. assistance, surely someone on the internet can. There would be an incredible glut of content to choose from, so again... who decides what gets seen? An algorithm, probably. Who owns the algorithm?

Peak Dark Age will be the time period when the networks realize that they're going to die, and sink all of their resources into forcing their own survival on the rest of us. I imagine massive layoffs (you don't need multiple writers or artists or support staff when you've got the right tools.) Studios will want to own the tools (of course) and/or suppress the use of those tools by anyone who might want to cut into their profits. Expect to see "A.I. is just too dangerous for the public to utilize, so it needs to be left in the capable hands of corporations". Expect to see customizable Batmans, the ability to put your mom in any Star Wars, and the serialized fever-dreams of billionaires.

I think that's the next 5-10 years. And while that's happening, the tools will keep getting better and better until literally anyone can sit down, ask for an Oscar-worthy part-rom-com/part action movie starring a twenty-five year old Steve McQueen and and eighty year old Daniel Radcliffe rescuing Air Bud from the Death Star, and then watch the resulting film with some degree of satisfaction. There'll come a point when content of any visual, auditory, and written complexity can be generated on-the-fly, and the traditional limits of budgets and schedules will just be gone.

It's easy to spin off into fantasy and try to guess exactly what's coming. I could probably spin on that all day. But what I know is that the future of the animation industry won't look anything like what I've become accustomed to. And maybe that's okay because what I've become accustomed to looks nothing like the industry I started in. Things change, and you roll with the punches. Thanks to the self-fulfilling dystopian prophecy we find ourselves in, just about everyone on the planet is finding themselves rolling with the punches coming from the Powerful Greedy. That's less a "me problem" and more a planet-wide problem we should probably all sit down and hash out, like, yesterday.

My immediate problem as an artist (and yours if you're an artist too) is figuring out how to get your ideas seen in a world where the amount of entertainment content is exploding exponentially. Especially if you're the sort of artist who needs to eat and live somewhere.

So yeah, I think there's going to be just a little peppering of Dark Age coming up. But in every time of change, there are opportunities. Hey, I'm down for an animated Dark Fantasy movie. Let's do this!

[inkyshark3]

Ok ignore my little rat rant for a second

Ok I'm gonna talk about ai art for a while and I know that people have already talked about how AI art is bad and AI is gonna kill us someday and it's ok for you to ignore me but just going to remind you might be the one person who might be blamed for the AI apocalypse someday :)

At this point we just needed to either paint or draw on actual paper for people to believe that it's real or at least somehow get people who post AI art to get away from the Internet and stop claiming either someone else's art is theirs when they really just got it off of an ai app which would still be a crime because 1: your stealing art from somebody who took a lot of time and energy and really good characters or something that matters to a person in some way and basically treated it like a penny you found on the sidewalk 2: you are including yourself with that very same person who made the app and is doing the crime of plagiarism and for you who don't know plagiarism is when you steal someones work without giving proper credit.

And yes I do know that AI has made/help creating good games or writing or made funny memes but that still doesn't me that AI is good

(just watch all the late 2000s movies of robots taking over for example)

You can't even tell if someones art is real anymore because there's always people going "so can do it better" or "is this AI?" When it's someone's real art that they probably spent 2-7 hours of their life and money on because they want to find friends and want to show their art because they feel like it doesn't get appreciated in real life.

At this point those comments are just sad and pathetic to look at if you have that much time, money, and energy to type that out, go make your own damn art sense you think you're Leonardo da Vinci and try to do it without the AI

AI art is just more pathetic anyways your so lazy to not even try and let a robot do everything for you just get off of the couch and do something with your life even if you think your art sucks some people might not and you don't have to be so sad about your own art that you have someone do it for you

And AI killed someone too!!! He got so attached to an ai chat bot that he killed himself to be with them!!

(sorry I'm getting off track, rip Sewell Setzer)

But still if you're that lazy and scared to not post your real art then just get off the Internet at this point and maybe go to therapy to get comfortable with yourself and then maybe try to get back on to the Internet in small steps but really just rest and don't annoy people just because you think AI is good you are probably going to be the reason why someone might kill themselves or be the reason why someone never posts again would you really want that blood and shame on your chest?

Sorry that this is long and that I sounded the way I did I really just wanted to get the message of people stopping ai "artist"

Have a good night/morning/day

[rallamajoop]

Tiny Follow Me Home preview/update

In news unrelated to my ongoing gay vampire relapse, just sent the latest chapter of Follow Me Home off to my beta tonight. Not sure how soon she'll get the chance to look it over for me, but in the meantime, have a quick preview of a little moment with Mia, that I suspect is going to get a bit lost in the full chapter once it goes up.

*

He finds Mia downstairs on the couch with Rose and a story book ‒ the normal kind, filled with kid-friendly colourful pictures. Miranda’s book of extra-grim fairy tales hasn’t been seen since the night she was shot, and he’d call that good riddance if he wasn’t pretty sure it’s around the house somewhere. He’s still not sure what happened to it.

"Hey," Mia greets him. "Sleep okay?" Rose burbles at him and holds out her arms to her papa for good-morning hugs.

Ethan takes her for a cuddle, muscles working mostly on automatic. "Not really. What time is it?"

"After ten," says Mia. "Woulda woke you sooner, but you looked like you needed the rest."

Ethan only wishes it'd done him more good. "Is our guest around?"

Mia tilts her head back towards the stairs. "In his room, I think. He's got my laptop again."

"Right..." Ethan had mostly forgotten Heisenberg ever asked for it. What he’s been up to with Mia’s laptop feels like exactly the kind of problem he’d be worried about on a better day; right now, a little issue like that can take a number.

"If it makes you feel better," offers Mia, reading his expression, "he hasn't been up to anything too nefarious. A lot of wikipedia and some news, mostly. Looked up a few names I didn't recognise. He found our family photos folder too." She smiles as though she thinks that's charming, blissfully ignorant that there might be anything untoward in Heisenberg looking for photos of Ethan specifically – and damnit, Ethan is not ready for this kind of guilt-trip before coffee. He's not nearly awake enough yet to deal with Mia-the-secret-agent either, casually snooping through their guest's internet history like it's no big deal.

At least he did tell her not to trust Heisenberg; she’s not working on zero information.

"Is that all?" he asks, vaguely.

"Pretty much," Mia’s smile turns a little sly, "unless you wanna know what I'm learning about his taste in porn."

"I really don't." Give or take the part of Ethan that kind of does. Oh please let Heisenberg not have been googling 'hot blond twinks' or something. Mia doesn't even seem bothered that he's been using her laptop to look at porn. It's probably a good thing, from her perspective ‒ suggests he's not being too cautious about hiding whatever he's been up to.

Either way, odds are that Mia’s put together that Heisenberg’s into men by now. If Ethan doesn’t tell her something soon, she’s going to figure it out on her own. It’s not like Heisenberg could find ‘subtle’ in a dictionary.

Well, at least if Heisenberg’s on Mia’s laptop, that should keep him out of trouble for a while. Ethan’s in no state to deal with him this morning, and doubly so before coffee.

[siderealscribblings]

The Thieves Den Mementos, the Metaverse

“What happened?” 

“Based on a thorough examination of our systems…everything blew up.” 

“Everything being-” 

“Ev. Er. Y. Thing,” Futaba said, shaking a burnt out old computer next to her ear before chucking it out the window in disgust. “Every wire and board I had hooked up to a magatsuhi battery discharged so fast the copper melted. Thank God, I haven't hooked the vehicles up yet…" 

"What has God done for us lately that deserves our thanks?" Ren sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Ryuji, how much juice do we have left?" 

"Well somehow we lost half the fuckin' pool!'" Ryuji growled, carrying bottles of magatsuhi in his arms as he emerged from the pool room. "The weird spinny machine thing that makes magatsuhi out of internet rumors is still working, but that stockpile we were sitting on is looking a little dry." 

"So not a total wash," Makoto said, biting off the last of her fingernails. "We can eat at least; the rest of the city doesn't look so lucky." 

Outside the window, Mementos was only barely coming back on. Magatsuhi flowed back into light fixtures here and there but huge swathes of the city were dark, making the twisting spires and shadowy caverns between buildings seem all the more sinister. 

"Keep the outer lights off; don't let anyone know we still have magatsuhi," Ren said, watching Futaba stick her hand into a monitor and wiggle her fingers around the insides a bit. Makoto and Ann could heal bodies; Futaba had an uncanny knack of making (or breaking) machines with a simple touch. Sure enough, the monitor fizzled on after a moment, bringing up a feed of social media links and news broadcasts from around Tokyo. 

"You think this is S.E.E.S' doing?" Makoto asked, scanning the screen thoughtfully. "Yoshizawa said they declared war on us; maybe this is an opening salvo?" 

"If they had some kind of magatsuhi draining weapon, wouldn't they have used it before now?" Yusuke mused. "Seems to be a powerful tool that could have saved their agents' lives." 

"You're asking why S.E.E.S. isn't doing more to save human lives?" Futaba sniffed, scanning the monitors with a glare. "Wait…what's that?" 

Futaba snapped her fingers, enlarging the smaller screen to fill the monitor. A tired newswoman was standing outside what appeared to be a jail, the words "KANESHIRO & SEVEN OTHERS ESCAPED" flashing on the screen as rescue workers carried people on stretchers out of the shattered remnants of the front door. 

"That's…bad," Ann said, leaning over Ren's shoulder to get a better look. "You're telling me that little bug is scurrying around Tokyo somewhere?" 

"All the better for us to squash ," Makoto said, glaring at the picture of Kaneshiro on screen. "We might not get a better chance; you know S.E.E.S. is going to be after him. It's the middle of the night ; we might be able to take care of this before even Goro or Yoshizawa know what happened." 

"Of course, that brings us right back to being thought of as monsters," Haru chimed in. 

"They're going to think that if they catch Kaneshiro anyway…" Ren growled, tugging at the back of his hair. "Do we have enough juice to jump?" 

"We're going now ?" Yusuke asked. 

"Why, are you washing your tail or something?" 

"Is it wise to leave our base unguarded when half the city wants what little magatsuhi we have?" Yusuke asked. 

"Not really, but when have we ever made a choice that has zero downsides?" Ren countered. "Yes, leaving the base unguarded is a risk, but so is letting Kaneshiro scurry around where he might be caught and forced to squawk about us. And I'll be more damned than I already am if S.E.E.S. isn't already in pursuit, ready to bring him in." 

Yusuke's lips twisted, but he said nothing as Ren turned back to Futaba. "Well? Can we make a jump?" 

"Probably," Futaba said, tapping some buttons and flicking off the overhead lights. "...maybe. Guess there's one way to find out. We might be able to trigger the earring and buy us some time to keep S.E.E.S off our backs too." 

"I thought you said that was a risk," Ren said. 

"Well, yeah, but-" Futaba shrugged. "Isn't everything these days? I could maybe get into S.E.E.S.' comms systems; figure out where Kaneshiro's gonna be. Maybe cause some havoc before bailing and cleaning up after myself?" 

Ren seemed to weigh this. "...how long can you stay connected to their system before you have to escape?" 

"Fifteen minutes, but by then it'll be too late," Futaba said, her usual confidence slightly shaky, but otherwise intact. "Can't promise they won't kick my gremlins out but-" 

"Nothing is without risk," Makoto muttered, nodding at Ren. "Time to roll the dice, I guess." 

"So we drop in, find Kaneshiro, and take him out before S.E.E.S. can mobilize enough to stop us," Ren said, clapping his hands together. "Agreed?" 

A murmur of assent rippled through the group. "Good…let's suit up and be ready to go in ten. Bring ammo, guns…anything you think Kaneshiro might not like." 

Ren snapped his fingers, heart skipping a beat as it always did when he donned Joker's mask and coat. Feeling his hands clench in infernal leather gloves made them feel stronger, if only because his fingers no longer shook. And from behind Joker's mask, the prospect of harming a fellow human wasn't quite so daunting. 

Ann lingered behind even as Makoto ran off to make her final preparations, disconcertingly waiting until they were alone before speaking. "What happens if we run into Goro?" 

Ren said as casually as he could. "...hope he makes the right choice, I guess." 

"Is that why you were talking to him when I came to find you?" Ann asked, sharp feline eyes scouring his face. "You had Futaba's phone upstairs…who else would you be talking to if not-" 

"Yeah, okay, it was him," Joker said, his voice tight and strained as he avoided her gaze. "Just…trying to give him an out before something bad happens. I figure…I figure we owe him that, don't we?" 

"Sure," Ann said, her warm hand tilting his jaw towards her so she could properly look at him. "As long as you make the right choice as well." 

Her warm lips pressed against his cheek, a tangible reminder of what Ren already had with the Phantom Thieves. He should have been happy; most people in their position would have died a million times over and if Ren had survived, it would be as something heinous without his lovers keeping him human. Most people would have counted their wins and walked away from the table; most people weren't as greedy as a master thief though. And to Ren, any win less than a jackpot was just leaving money on the table. 

Read More...

Start from the beginning

[nintendoduo]

Playing the Super Nintendo's Forgotten Home-Made RPGs of the '90s (Part 2)

Continuing our look at that brief period in human history when people were creating RPG Maker games on the SNES and posting them to the ancient internet (1998-1998). So far, we've seen four-armed gangstas, a turd-infested dungeon, characters randomly disappearing or turning into other characters, and so, so many instances of the words "talk to the king." Check out Part 1 here or over at Dreamwidth, because Tumblr has been a dick about letting logged-out people read posts lately (or keeps breaking the images). This one is a Dreamwidth too!

Note: These games can be downloaded at archive.org or rmarchiv.de (or archive.org's archived version of rmarchiv.de, if it goes offline again).

"Ductarr: The Rise of Rebellion" by j0e f0lts (05-20-1998)

Original description: The young mage Eoj Stole tries to recover clues to his fathers mysterious death that leads to a global adventure.

This one has an opening text crawl! Fancy. Sure, two out of the five words in the title are misspelled, but the effort is appreciated.

Sadly, the main character isn't a problematic music conductor named Lydia Ducktár but a guy by the equally bizarre name of Eoj Stole. Eoj is a "troubled young mage" who enjoys standing on tall mountains and taking psychedelic drugs, based on the trippy light show that ensues after the intro crawl is over.

We're told that Eoj is thinking back to "the events that took place just days ago." Then he says "It all began when I was only 8 years old." Does that mean he was only 8 years old a few days ago? Is this another game starring a swole adult-sized little kid? Either way, we then flash back to little Eoj being late to some sort of church event, but can you blame him? He's 8!

Then we find out that the thing he's late for is his dad's funeral. So yes, you can and should blame him.

(Is the mom sobbing or insulting her son/herself?)

The priest says that Eoj's dad was "a master of the magic arts," but evidently not that much of a master if he's dead now. After lots of singing in another language (meaning a single caption that says "lots of singing in another language") the priest abruptly announces that the funeral is over. He probably needed the church for bingo night or something.

We cut to ten years later, when Eoj has just turned 18. His mom celebrates this important milestone by kicking him out of the house as soon as he wakes up.

But don't worry: you can still sleep in your old room... if you pay your mom, because she spent no time in turning that shit into an Airbnb.

"Resting is important! But you know what's even more important? Paying up, motherfucker."

Your mom is at least kind enough to let you ransack the treasure chests in the basement before you leave. She also tells you to "go visit your father," which could be a polite way of telling you to go to hell. If you take that in a more literal sense and stop by your dad's tomb, your clumsy ass somehow causes the hilt of his sword to fall off and you notice a letter inside. The letter reads:

(Note that there's no closing quote mark, which means that technically all of the rest of the text in this game is part of the letter.)

Eoj takes these semi-nonsensical words to mean that there might be a clue to his dad's mysterious death at a place called Moi Island, so he decides to head there. He also decides to steal his dead dad's sword, possibly so that his mom won't notice he broke it and charge him for it. You get to try out the broken sword pretty fast, since as soon as you step out of the safety of Eoj's town, you're attacked by adult mutant warrior dogs. Luckily, they may look intimidating but they only deal 2 damage, the puny little bitches.

Getting to Moi Island involves going through a place called "Slime Cave," which is full of treasure chests. Treasure chests... full of slime? Nope, some are empty but others actually have useful items and money in them, which is a nice surprise (unless you're a big slime enthusiast). After exploring for a bit, you come across a blue M&M-looking creature called "Meanie" sitting on a throne, who immediately proves his name right by delivering a Tarzan-like death threat:

You're then thrown into a fight you can't back out from. If you defeat the Blue Meanie (don't let the Beatles' lawyers hear about this game), he says "You no more treasure! Unn......." and disappears, as does every single treasure chest in the cave, including the ones you haven't gotten to. Hope there wasn't anything important there! Apparently, the correct course of action was to ignore the blue blob sitting on a throne and just continue pillaging the chests.

Next, you take the stairs to exit the cave, only to realize that you've exited the game itself too, since this is the end of the demo. And we never even met Duck Tár (woo-oo).

A final message from the developer prompts us to check the KanjiHack website for the finished version of the game (just checked; still nothing) and asks that you "E MAIL ME AT THERE PAGE W/FEEDBACK." He also informs us that "THIS IS MADE BY JOE YOU CAN NOT USE THIS WITH OUT MY PERMISSION." Uh, please don't sue us for screenshotting your game 26 years in the future, Joe.

"Evilion" by Shadowtext (05-21-1998)

Original description: Two young people set off to restore peace to the world.

You start with two characters in the middle of a map, right next to a castle. Hmm, wonder what you're supposed to do in there.

It was "talk to the king"! Never could have guessed it. Once you do so, he asks you "How fared your adventure?" What adventure?! We just started playing. Your character, Karel, replies that monsters are planning to "destroy everything," which in the king's opinion is "terrible news!" He commands you and your friend, Ochal, to go to a place in the south called Oderell. Guess the king also had to go somewhere really bad, because as soon as he finishes saying that, he vanishes. (That, or this is a Tyler Durden-type situation and you were talking to yourself.)

If you head south from the castle, you run into a town called Ojarel. You might think that the dev forgot how to spell "Oderell," but no: if you talk to one of the town's residents, he tells you that Oderell is to the west. So, you go to the town's west exit and...

...oh, whoops, that's not an exit, is just a dead end, haha. Okay, let's go out the way we came in. Except...

...that's a dead end now, too. So is the town's only other exit-looking path. It's at this point that you notice that every shop in this town is eerily empty. I-Is this some sort of psychological horror game?

Other than the guy who gives you directions, the only other residents in the town are a little girl who tells you she owns the forest and a woman who claims that "even though our town is small, we are happy." They are both exactly as convincing.

"And now you'll be happy too. Forever."

The only way to exit the exit-less town is to abort this cursed timeline and go back to an earlier save state (good thing you've probably saved like twenty times in these 5 minutes of gameplay because this game tends to crash a lot during enemy encounters). Doing so lets you reach a town to the west that's probably Oderell, but we don't know for sure due to the shocking lack of signage in this kingdom.

Oderell has 66.6% as many residents as Ojarel, meaning two people: a guy who tells you about "five magi" who defeated the "evil horde" that once attacked this town (unrelated to the evil horde promised at the start of the game, which hasn't shown up yet) and another guy who promises to sail you anywhere if you defeat "the monster in the sea." That monster turns out to be a dragon called "Serpent," who has insta-kill attacks and seems unbeatable unless you're cheating by using dev mode to deal 9999 damage each time. Good thing you're doing that, then.

After defeating the dragon/serpent, a text box tells you that "Ochal and Karal faint in the crashing sea" and everything goes black. Apparently the excitement of defeating their first boss was too much for them and they died on the spot anyway. There's no "END OF DEMO" or implied threats of legal action in this one, just an empty void at the end of it all, so in that sense this is the most realistic game so far. At least the next game couldn't possibly be lazier than this one.

"Alamar" by Tim Maj (05-22-1998)

Original description: A boy sets out on a mysterious quest to destroy evil and avenge his parents with a magical sword.

This one drops you in the middle of a castle, with no preambles or explanation, and trusts that you'll find your way to talk to the king without any hand-holding. It's always nice when a game respects your intelligence like that. So you walk up to the king and... oh.

No king. No gods either, presumably. No nothing, in fact, because this whole castle's empty and there are no exits, again. There's nothing to do in this game... unless you reset it and load the mysterious save file that comes included with it, which spawns you outside the castle with no doors. Can you guess what's out there?

If you guessed "more nothing," you are correct. Just empty fields with no towns or even a single dog person to beat up. Peeking under the hood reveals that the dev spent some time making attacks and spells, but no time whatsoever placing enemies to use them on. Does this qualify as an early example of one of those artsy "walking simulator" games where nothing happens? You were ahead of your time, Tim Maj.

"The Dragoner" by Wing (05-24-1998)

Original description: A knight embarks on a quest to reclaim the world for humans.

You start next to two guards who call you "captain" and wish you a good day. At this point in the game it's fun to go back and forth between the two, imagining they're getting louder and louder each time to try to out-"good day" the other.

That door up there leads to the interior of the castle, most of which seems to be off-limits to you. If you try to go through any more doors, you're emphatically informed that there's "no enterance" because they lead to the king and princess' rooms and they are "pravate." How are you supposed to go talk to the king if you can't even see him?!

What you can do is go down some stairs, which leads to a hall where you meet... the king? Wasn't he just yelling at you from his room? Does he have a slide pole in there leading directly to the throne?

The king tells you that "this city was built on an island in the center of the world," which suggests that he had his door locked because he was getting baked. There used to be a portal connecting the city to the rest of the world, the king claims, but it was sealed off when said world was destroyed by "an evil sprite." Now that portal has become un-sealed, for some reason, but fear not: the king already sent Jenny the Sorceress to find the cause of this "anomany."

(Obviously that's a misspelling of "anomancy," meaning the art of reading one's future via the wrinkles in your butthole.)

The king sends you off to find Jenny and help her in her mission. Before that, you can stop by the shop outside the castle and buy weapons from a guy named Raymond, who assures you that he only sells "good weapons, unlike Tony." You could technically buy weapons from Tony, too, if for some reason you like owning dogshit weapons.

Since you can't afford Raymond's weapons at this point, you elect to go fight monsters with your bare hands rather than bear the social stigma of using Tony weapons. Oh, you can also stop by the "discount store," but before you can even browse, the attendant tells you "Umm... you can't afford to buy anything." Some discount store.

Having stocked up (on nothing), you can go to that portal the king mentioned, where you meet the good sprite Cathine, who seems to be a sort of door lady or bouncer for this mystical pathway. Before letting you go through the portal, Cathine tells you, unprompted, that "only the dragon and its rider can save the world" and that "you are the dragoner." Based on your reaction, this is all news to you.

Cathine gives you a key and tells you to "go search for the dragon" so that "one day, the earth will be alive again!" If you have no clue WTF any of that means, don't worry, neither does your character.

Cathine vanishes without really explaining much. With nothing else to do, you go through the damn portal, at last, and reach... another empty field with no enemies and nothing to do. Wait, is this a crossover with the previous game?

Alternatively, you can take this to mean that Jenny the Sorceress destroyed all the monsters and brought peace to the land while you were busy not buying weapons and talking to possibly high people. Mission accomplished!

That's it for Part 2 of this series. Coming in Part 3: games that actually take more than 5 minutes to play through! (In fact, we had to stop here because the next one requires more screenshots than Tumblr will allow in this post.)

[smolweeblets]

Sleepytime Pt. 2

Hana "D.Va" Song x Reader

Dating D.va was not an easy ordeal. There were many problems with dating a hardcore gamer. Much less one who just so happened to be a huge internet celebrity. Having little quality time and always having to remind her to do basic self care were just some of the few problems you found yourself having.

But one of the major gripes you had was that you barely got to sleep with her. Late at night, if she wasnt smoothening out some brand deals or editing some clips, she would be gaming. Like right now.

You miraculously managed to wrangle her into the bed, after negotiations, but in the few minutes you had to go and brush your teeth, you find her on her phone now, playing some shooter game you didnt care to remember the name for.

“Hana, you said youd finally sleep.” You frowned as you poked at your girlfriends cheek, beckoning her to finally go to sleep.

“Well… technically I just said I’d go to bed, and I am in bed right now.”

You groaned at the quip.

“Hana Song I am this close to strangling you.” You pinched your fingers together and almost let them touch. Almost.

“Nah, you love me too much to do so.” She smugly smiled.

You scoff. “Youre right, what I am able to do though, is this.” You swiftly snatch her phone from her hands and prevent her from reaching for it back.

“Wha-! Hey!” Hanas face falls and she urgently tries to get her phone back from your grasp, but the determination to get your girlfriend to sleep stopped her from doing that whatsoever.

“Y/nnn- give it back! I was gonna sleep right after that match!” She whined.

“Yeah? Like how just earlier you were on your computer begging for 5 more minutes for a whole hour?”

Hana went quiet and huffed while crossing her arms.

“I meant it this time.” She looks away and pouts.

“Yeah? Well too bad. I’ve run dry outta patience. Sleep. Now.”

“Ugh. Fine. Just lemme exit the game and turn off my phone properly.” She reached her arms out for the phone, but you ignored them. Yeah right, she was just gonna use that as an excuse to finish her game.

“No. Get on the bed and go to sleep.”

“But babe! If you dont let me do that the phones might explode and kill both of us!” Hana was trying her best not to laugh at her own reasoning to give the phone to her.

“At least we die together. And well rested.” You lay on the bed and move a spot on the covers for Hana to slip into.

“Agh. Fine. But if you cause like a million of my fans to cry they're never gonna forgive you.” She pouts as she gets in and snuggles up to your side.

“That's a risk I'm willing to take. Good night.” You wrap your arms around her and pull her closer to you. Discreetly putting the phone away on the nightstand.

“... ‘Night” She turns and gives you a small kiss, before finally succumbing to sleep.

~~~~~~

“Holy shit, I still won that match last night, looks like I dont even need to be playing to carry our team to victory!”

You groaned as you ruffled Hanas hair. Too groggy to give a proper response. Seriously, where did she get all that energy? Maybe you should invest in some of those nano colas yourself.

A/n: Is it really a smolweeblets fic if theres no pointless authors note at the end? Anyway, I decided to write a pt. 2 for sleepytime bc I was bored and the scenario was cute, this will probably not be a series but like who knows.

Originally I wanted to name this "eepy" instead but i decided against it

[senashenta]

Storm Season: Chapter Seven

Title: Storm Season (Chapter Seven)

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut

Summary: “Dean Winchester is Saved.” The angels all say, clear as a bell—and Dean crawls out of his own grave. Shortly after, he meets the person who pulled him out of Hell, and it turns out to be CASTIEL. Seven years after Cas vanished off the face of the Earth, Dean is suddenly confronted with his former lover again, only this time he’s not just a regular college kid—he’s an ANGEL, and Dean just doesn’t know how to compute that AT ALL.

But even after all these years, Dean can’t deny that he still has feelings for Cas, even as he and Sam embark on an out-of-place-palraijuq Hunt in Louisiana. Not even a giant crocodile monster can keep his attention when Cas comes around—and just like before, the angel is very, very distracting, bringing up Dean’s love for him once more. But things aren’t as simple as when they were younger and Cas was human, and it will take a lot of work before Dean can trust Cas again.

Notes: Alright, so as of now I have NINE of the post-Storm Season one-shots written (and about half of them edited) but they aren’t written in chronological order because LOGIC IS FOR LOSERS, apparently! I’m currently trying to start writing the remaining ones in order, but no guarantees because I am under the sway of my ADHD and have very little control over these things sometimes. :D;; But at the very least I will have FIVE to post directly after Storm Season is over, and then… I guess we’ll see where it goes from there!

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.

STORM SEASON ET AL TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

STORM SEASON Chapter Seven By Senashenta

The drive south was a long one, but at least it was mostly comfortable again. Dean had to admit (so privately, oh so privately, he would never say so out loud to Sam) that actually talking about things had helped him feel better. And like… quite a bit. Not just a little. So, he drove all the way to Louisiana feeling looser, freer, less like everything was crushing down on his shoulders, even though he knew he had a lot of things to deal with, still.

He also drove less like a maniac, so there was that.

When they arrived in New Orleans they hung their boots, so to speak, at a little motel called The Gatorland Inn and they were not kidding with that name. When they walked into their room, there were no less than three taxidermy alligators around the place, and everything was covered in ‘gator skin, right down to the lampshades. Dean almost turned right back around and walked out again, but who was he kidding? They had definitely stayed in worse places, even if the stuffed alligator over the television kept giving him the side-eye.

They spent the rest of that day unpacking and going through their belongings, and Dean began putting up the Wall Of Weird for this job. Giant Crocodile Monster was a new one for both of them, so they needed all the information they could get—and when he was finished, it was a pathetically small Wall. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t that much intel out there on the palraijuq to be had, unless maybe you went all the way up north and asked the Inuit yourself. Sam seemed disappointed that the Internet had failed him.

With all that done, they headed downtown and picked a random diner—South By Southeast—to have dinner at, where Dean discovered, to his absolute delight, they had the best pecan pie. He ordered two slices. Sam just shook his head, but he had a little smile on his face because it was good to see his brother acting… normal again. (Normal for Dean, anyway.)

That night they crashed early, exhausted from the drive, and thankfully Dean didn’t have a single dream—good or bad—the entire night.

-- --

The next morning, they set off to procure a couple of Inuit spearheads.

The Alabama Natural History Museum was in Tuscaloosa and give-or-take, a four-and-a-half hours drive away���probably less since Dean was the one who was driving, and he tended to have a lead foot even when he wasn’t angsting. They made it to Tuscaloosa at about the four-hour mark with Sam harping on Dean to slow down the entire way.

They couldn’t actually go in to pull off their heist until after the museum was closed, so they spent the day tooling around Tuscaloosa, until Dean found a bar he liked and decided to put down roots there. Sam continued his exploration of the city, and they agreed to meet at the museum at midnight. It was a solid plan.

The bar Dean had decided to camp at was called Decades and was a popular place, at least judging by the lunch crowd. It was around one o’clock and Dean was on his third beer already, now waiting for the burger he had just ordered—when Cas suddenly appeared in the seat across from him at the small table he was occupying.

Dean jumped slightly, then just sighed and swiped a hand over his face. “Shit, Cas, I will never get used to that.” He was just picking up his beer and taking a drink when Cas set a small jar of red liquid on the table between them. Dean finished swallowing thickly and asked, “is that what I think it is?”

“It’s seal blood.”

“Baby seal blood.”

“It was hard to get.”

“I bet.” That was about when the waitress came over with his food. She stopped at the jar of blood and looked at Dean, who just smiled winningly and informed her, “it’s baby seal blood!”

“Very funny.” She seemed to assume he was joking, and when Cas reached to move the jar out of the way she set the platter containing Dean’s burger and fries down in front of him, then looked to Cas, ���can I get you anything?”

Cas just smiled a little. “No. Thank you.”

A shrug, and she headed off, leaving them alone again. Dean started in on his burger immediately, making a little grunting noise when it turned out to be really good. Cas watched him eat with a small, fond smile on his face. It was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed.

“You’ll be happy to know the seal didn’t suffer.” He told Dean, offhand.

“Oh, good. That’s good.” Dean tried to seem tough, but he secretly had a big heart. It was one of the things Cas loved about him. Now Dean asked around a mouthful of food, “so, you really just don’t eat anymore, huh? Angels don’t eat?”

“No, we don’t eat.” Cas confirmed, even though they’d covered this topic before. Dean couldn’t seem to get past it. “So, you can’t steal my fries anymore.”

Dean paused at that, just the faintest of smiles tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Do you miss food?”

“You know, I do.” Cas chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, “I used to love the taste of food. Most food, anyway. I loved the taste of lots of things.” Not necessarily just food, but he didn’t think he should go there. “But now it’s… I don’t taste things properly anymore. Everything just tastes like its molecular makeup. I used to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, yeah, but now they just taste… cosmic. It’s strange. It’s because of my Grace, I’m sure, but my Grace also makes it so I don’t need to eat anymore, so…” He shrugged. “Why bother, right?”

“That sucks.” Dean popped a fry into his mouth and chewed, swallowed before continuing with, “the food is half the fun of being human—which.” He stopped there and sighed. “I guess you’re not anymore. So, it makes sense.”

“Mm.” Cas agreed. Then he gave an almost cheeky little smile and added, “is the other half the fun of being human sex? Because I’m pretty sure I can still do that.”

Dean snorted. He was working on another large bite of burger, and once he swallowed, he muttered, “yeah we kind of proved that already, didn’t we?”

Cas laughed softly and reached to pick up the jar of seal blood, tucking it into the pocket of his trench coat again before reaching into the opposite pocket and pulling something else out. He set them on the table as an offering. “I got these while I was up there. I thought they might be handy and save you having to break into yet another museum.”

“What do you mean ‘yet another’?” Dean demanded, reaching with the hand not holding his burger to pick up one of the objects Cas had just presented—and he paused, turning it over in his hand before saying, “Cas, tell me these aren’t Inuit spearheads.”

“You guys are always breaking into museums for things,” Cas shrugged, “you keep forgetting I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

“I never forget that.”

“Anyway, yes, those are Inuit spearheads. I visited a couple of Inuit villages while I was in Alaska and one of the hunters there made them for me.”

“They just made them for you. Out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Yes. I asked for their help and told them we were hunting a palraijuq, and they were more than willing. They’re a very giving people.”

Dean set the spearhead down and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “Doesn’t matter that they’re not, you know, relics?”

“No, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re crafted by the hands of an Inuit hunter.”

Dean was already setting his burger down and dialing Sam’s number. “One sec, I have to tell Sam we drove to Tuscaloosa for no reason.” It wasn’t meant to be biting, but it came across slightly harsh. Cas brushed it off as he collected the three spearheads up and tucked them back into his pocket for safekeeping.

The conversation with Sam was short and easy. He took the news well, pleased that they wouldn’t have to do any breaking and entering that day—and it was only another four-hour drive back to New Orleans anyway. He said he would find the bar and meet them there as soon as possible.

When Dean hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket, he just immediately went back to his food, picking up his burger and taking another large bite. “Okay, so thanks for that I guess.” The words were barely understandable around the food in his mouth. Cas had actually kind of missed that particular habit of Dean’s.

It was funny, some of the odd things he had missed about Dean while they had been apart. Things that he had been able to see from above, but not experience. Things like Dean talking with his mouth full. A little thing that most people would even find irritating, but Cas found oddly charming, somehow.

He found most things about Dean charming, to be fair.

They sat in silence for a while, Dean eating and ordering another beer when he went to take a drink and came up dry. That was one thing Cas had never developed a taste for, in his time as a human—alcohol. He had been more of a coffee guy. But, once they were older, he had never begrudged Dean a beer or two if he wanted them, and now he had no right to say anything even if Dean was on his fourth, now.

When Sam finally arrived, Dean was done with his food and the waitress had whisked the plate away, leaving he and Cas to sit together quietly while Dean drank—possibly too fast, but who was Cas to judge. He would just make sure that Sam was the one to drive the two of them home.

“Where did you get Inuit spearheads from?” Sam asked as he dragged a chair over from another table and took a seat.

“An Inuit.” Cas replied simply. That much seemed obvious. “I was in Alaska anyway, so I figured…”

“Apparently Cas is good buddies with at least one Inuit huntsman.” Dean muttered around the edge of his glass. “He literally just asked them, and they immediately made some spearheads for him.”

“To be fair, I did tell them about the palraijuq.” Cas pointed out.

“Did you get the seal blood, too?”

“Baby seal blood.” Dean groused.

“Yes, I got it. You’ll still have to fashion the actual spears to attach the spearheads to, but that should be easy. Even broomsticks would suffice. It’s the spearheads themselves that are the important part.”

The Winchesters were not unfamiliar with fashioning their own weapons, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Making spears out of broom handles would just take a bit of whittling and cutting so they could strap the spearheads to the poles properly. Might take an hour or two, tops.

“Who here has ever actually thrown a spear before?” Dean asked after a moment, glancing between Sam and Cas. When his question was met by silence, Dean took another drink of his beer and mumbled, “and we’re supposed to hit this thing in the eye? We are so screwed.”

“Well—I mean—no, come on—” Sam waved one hand, “how hard can it be? It’s just a pointy stick, right?”

“Actually,” Cas began, and both brothers knew immediately they weren’t going to like what he was about to say, “the physics behind spear-throwing are very complicated. The weight of the spearhead, the balance of the shaft, the experience of the thrower… not to mention the fact that you’re trying to hit a moving target…” And when Dean and Sam both just looked at him, he demanded; “what? The palraijuq isn’t going to just roll over and let you stab it in the eye!”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Then Sam leaned forward against the table and said, “I say we send in the angel.”

Dean snorted into his beer. “You good with a spear, Cas?”

“Uh… spears were never my thing. Back in the Dark Ages, I was more of a daggers kind of guy. A sword when I absolutely had to. And I mean… my angel blade, obviously, so. But no, I was never really any good with spears.” Cas shrugged. “Maybe you just need to practice? I mean a lot.”

Sam heaved a sigh. “Where are we going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans?”

But Dean grinned. “I’ve got a better idea.”

-- --

It turned out they weren’t going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans. They were going to make the spears in New Orleans. They were going to practice in South Dakota—because what happened on Bobby Singer’s property stayed on Bobby Singer’s property, and that had apparently always been the case.

So, they drove from Tuscaloosa back to New Orleans with Sam in the driver’s seat and heavy one angel in the back. Cas was mostly quiet for the trip, but then so were Dean and Sam, just a little bit of conversation here-and-there along the way. It was only a four-hour drive, so it wasn’t unbearable. Cas spent the time looking out the window and remembering back to all the hours he’d spent on the bus, travelling to meet up with Dean when they were younger. The Impala was much more comfortable than the buses had ever been.

Back in New Orleans, they holed up in the motel room with two brooms and a mop they had stolen from the maid’s closet at the end of the row of rooms, and each of them took one. They removed the heads and got to work whittling down the tips to attach the spearheads to them. Eventually, Sam took over Cas’s when it turned out the angel was hopeless at whittling.

What he wasn’t hopeless at was disappearing and reappearing a few minutes later with a ball of twine that was desperately needed for attaching the spearheads to the newly made shafts. And once everything looked good, Cas was also tasked with transporting them to South Dakota, where they, a couple of duffle bags, and their sketchy-looking spears appeared on Bobby Singer’s doorstep completely out of the blue.

Bobby wasn’t even surprised this time, except for the spear part. He just heaved a long-suffering sigh and invited them in to dump their stuff on the floor in the living room—Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom and Sam won, of course, so he took his own bag upstairs while Dean took over the couch.

Then they quickly decided on the best course of action for practicing spear throwing, and they all went out and started making sandbags, which were then painted with bullseye targets on their centers and set out at a distance from the house that they deemed feasible.

The rest of the day was spent with the three of them throwing spears at the targets—and missing completely—until they were frustrated, exhausted, and just tromped back into Bobby’s house when the sun went down for food and beer, not a single one of them having even hit a sandbag that day, never mind a bullseye.

Cas excused himself and disappeared, heading off to do Heaven’s bidding, promising he would be back the next day.

Dean looked after him with a slightly sad expression on his face but didn’t actually protest. He understood that Cas had other duties to attend to as well as what he was helping them with down on Earth.

Still. Dean was growing to hate that soft little sound, the ruffle of invisible feathers.

-- --

Their first night crashing at Bobby’s place and Dean had a nightmare—the Hell kind, where he woke up at three a.m. hyperventilating, unable to catch his breath, feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest, with images flashing in his head that were so horrible that he wished he never had to sleep again just to escape them. Except being awake did nothing to keep them at bay, either, really, they were always there, in the back of his mind, tormenting him and—and sometimes he didn’t even know what was real, if he was actually back or if he was still in Hell or not—

And suddenly Cas was there, appearing beside the couch silently and shrugging out of his trench coat, letting it to fall to the floor before toeing off his shoes and climbing onto the couch with Dean, maneuvering them around and wrapping him up in his arms, holding him close, warm and comforting and real. Something from the real world that he could latch onto and hold onto for dear life while he attempted to find his footing again.

Sam was thankfully sleeping upstairs in the spare room, but even if he had been there, neither of them would have cared. Cas just held Dean securely for the longest time, one hand rubbing soothing circles against his back, while the man in his arms clung to him and slowly, oh so slowly, began to ease off and calm down, get a hold of himself again.

Cas wasn’t cleared to be on Earth right now. He had abandoned his duties right in the middle of something, leaving Uriel to complete the task, when he had seen Dean was in need. He would be in trouble for that later, he was certain of it. Already was, judging by the voices on Angel Radio—but he didn’t care. He would be there for Dean, no matter what. He just turned down the volume on Angel Radio to focus more on the man beside him.

Finally, after a long while, Cas murmured softly, “do you want to talk about it, Dean?”

There was a long, long silence before Dean took a shaky breath and managed to croak out, “you… came into Hell. To rescue me. Did you see…?”

“Some of it.” Cas admitted, “the incursion into Hell… Dean I know it was forty years for you, but that’s how long it took to get to you. We—I—started fighting to get you out right from Day One, but the resistance was… formidable. It took us all that time just to break through Hell’s defenses, and I did see… beyond the battle…” Trailing off, he sighed quietly; “I did see what you did down there. But I understand. That kind of pain, that kind of torture, for decades? Anyone would have…”

“The things I did,” Dean said in a voice that cracked mid-sentence, wavered in his throat, “they’re unforgivable, Cas. How can you even stand to be near me, to touch me? Never mind to—to love me, I’m—I’m a monster, I’m—”

“You’re not.” Cas insisted firmly, and just tightened his arms around Dean even more, holding him close against his side, “Dean, you can’t blame yourself for being human, for… for breaking, under those circumstances. You’re allowed to break, sometimes.”

“But I didn’t just break, Cas, I traded myself for…” There were tears in Dean’s eyes, now, and he scrubbed at them harshly with one hand. Cas just tilted his head to kiss by Dean’s temple gently. “The things that I did to those people, putting them on the rack and just—just tearing them apart, I—” More tears, and this time he couldn’t stop them. His shoulders began to shake, and he hunched in on himself; “why did you pull me out, Cas? I deserve to still be down there.”

And Cas’s heart broke on those words. He uttered a soft, almost wounded noise, and gathered Dean into his chest, just letting him cry. “I rescued you because it was my duty.” He told Dean truthfully, and then; “and I rescued you because I love you with every fiber of my being, because I know you, and you did not deserve to be trapped in Hell. You are a good man, Dean Winchester. You always have been, and you always will be, you just got pushed beyond your limits and that’s understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Dean had his face buried in Cas’s shirt, but he croaked out, “…you really… believe that; don’t you?”

Cas nodded and dropped a kiss against his hair. “I always have, and I always will. I’ll always believe in you, Dean, even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

Dean fell silent after that, just leaning into Cas and closing his eyes, forcing down the flashes of Hell—of what he had been through down there, of what he had done—and absorbing Cas’s warmth in the quiet of the middle of the night. Eventually, what seemed like hours later, his heartrate and beathing seemed to be under control again, and he was no longer actively crying, though tears still bit at his eyes from time-to-time. Cas was patient through it all, just letting him work himself out—until Dean finally sat up a little but didn’t actually pull away from the angel.

“I don’t know how you can always have so much faith in me.” He admitted softly. “You’ve… you’ve seen the worst of me. The absolute worst, but you still…”

“The kind of love I feel toward you, it means embracing all the flaws, all the mistakes. All the bad times, along with the good.” Cas murmured. He leaned back in the couch finally, pulling Dean along with him and settling with Dean tucked into his side, “I’ll always feel that way, when it comes to you.”

Dean was quiet for a while again, and then began moving, easing around to stretch out on the couch—but very obviously leaving room for Cas behind him. The angel smiled a little and eased down to lay with Dean, sliding an arm over his waist and holding him close.

“Will you… stay?” Dean asked after a moment, “can you stay?”

Cas hummed. “You mean until morning?”

“No, I mean—I mean yes, until morning, but,” Dean swallowed slightly, “even after Sam and Bobby get up? I mean can you stay?”

Cas was already flicking the switch in his brain to turn off Angel Radio entirely. “Of course I can stay, Dean. Of course.”

-- --

It was early the next morning when Bobby woke with a yawn, his back popping and complaining as he stretched, and wandered out of his bedroom. He poked his head into the spare room and Sam was already out of bed, so he continued on down the stairs to the kitchen. Sam had already started up a pot of coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug at his elbow and his laptop out, scrolling for news out of New Orleans.

“Mornin’, Sam.” Bobby greeted Sam even as he headed for a cup of coffee for himself, then; “where’s Dean?”

Sam picked up his mug and chuckled into his coffee, nodding toward the living room. “See for yourself.”

When Bobby walked over to the doorway to the living room, cup of steaming coffee in his hand, he was met by the sight of Dean laid out on the couch with Cas cuddled up behind him, both of them pressed tight together to fit on the narrow piece of furniture. Cas’s arms were wrapped around Dean, and he was holding him close. Dean was obviously still asleep, and Cas had his eyes closed—but the word was that angels didn’t sleep, so he was probably just resting.

Bobby gave an amused snort and returned to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. “How long until we disturb them?”

“Lets’ give them a little while longer.” Sam said with a little smile. He was still scrolling the news but paused to look over at Bobby. “They’re finally figuring things out, and I think they deserve the time together, after everything.” Then he returned his attention to the computer for a couple of minutes while Bobby drank his coffee and tried to wake up a little more before clucking his tongue and muttering, “another boat attack. A couple of alligator trappers this time. No signs of the bodies.”

“Shit, son,” Bobby muttered into his mug, “that’s three attacks in the last week alone. This thing is really picking up the pace.”

Sam muttered an agreement, already clicking the links for more information about the attack (“boating accident.”) He paused just long enough to go get himself another cup of coffee before returning to the table. Meanwhile Bobby had gotten up to dig through the fridge for the fixings for breakfast and started working on that, and soon the entire house was full of the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs.

When Bobby started plating everything up, Sam decided that it was about time to wake Dean and headed through to the living room where he cleared his throat softly and simply said, “Cas. It’s time.”

Cas’s eyes blinked open immediately, and he flashed a brief smile before turning his attention to the man in his arms, leaving Sam to return to the kitchen and give them their privacy. Cas simply tightened his hold on Dean briefly before letting go to rub one hand against Dean’s arm and murmur, “Dean? Dean, it’s time to get up. We have work to do.”

Dean shifted slightly, then just muttered, “we always have work to do.”

“It seems like that, doesn’t it?” Cas agreed softly and pressed a kiss into the nape of Dean’s neck, just lightly, gently. “I’m sorry to have to wake you.”

“I was already awake.” Dean sighed and patted at one of Cas’s arms around him, “I was just comfortable.”

Cas reluctantly unwound his arms from around Dean to allow him to get up, and Dean sat quickly, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and rubbing at his hair. Cas sat up as well, settling beside Dean and straightening his shirt absently. He glanced sideways at Dean before asking quietly, “are you… alright?”

“You mean after last night?” Dean wondered around a yawn.

“Yes.” Cas confirmed. “I mean after last night.”

“I… I feel okay.” The elder Winchester replied, chancing a glance sideways at Cas, along with a fleeting flash of a smile. “You being here with me helped. Thanks. For staying.”

“I would do anything for you, Dean,” Cas repeated the sentiment he had expressed so many times already; “and I promised, so of course I stayed. I’ll continue to stay, for as long as I can. For as long as you need me.”

“And what if I need you forever, huh?” Dean asked softly.

Cas reached to rest a hand against Dean’s leg, squeezing gently. “Then I’ll figure something out.” He assured him. “I’ll stay until they have to come and drag me away in chains, if it comes down to it.”

Another flit of a smile from Dean, and he nodded his head briefly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Cas offered a smile of his own, then squeezed Dean’s leg again before pushing to stand and holding out a hand for the man to take. “Come on, let’s get some food in you. We’ve got a lot of practice to look forward to today—one of us will turn into an expert spearman sooner or later.”

Dean gave a real chuckle at that, reaching up to take Cas’s hand and letting the angel haul him to his feet. Cas grabbed his trench coat off the floor almost absentmindedly, then the two of them made their way through to the kitchen, where Bobby had set out a plate of bacon and eggs for himself, as well as one for Dean—and Sam was already halfway through his own plate. Dean took a seat at the table and mumbled a thanks to Bobby before tucking into his breakfast, and Cas smiled to himself, even as he draped his coat over the back of a chair and eased around and plucked a mug from the cupboard, filling it with coffee and taking it over to set it by Dean, who paused in shoveling food into his mouth to utter another soft thank you. Then Cas took a seat, himself, about the time Bobby was joining them at the table as well.

“Sam tells me you don’t eat anymore,” Bobby shrugged as he began eating, himself, “so I didn’t make you anything. Hope that doesn’t come across as rude or nothin’.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Cas assured the older man, “it’s actually more awkward for me when people do offer me food.”

Dean paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and glanced toward Cas. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that, then.”

Cas chuckled. “It’s no problem, Dean, I know it can be weird that I don’t eat. Offering is a kind gesture.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and went back to his food, and Sam finished off the last of his bacon before offering, “new boat attack in New Orleans. It was in the news this morning. Two trappers missing, presumed dead. Bobby said this thing is really amping up, and he’s right. That’s three attacks this week alone. Ten people in total.”

“What’s the body count now?” Dean asked around a mouthful of food.

“Almost forty in the last three months.” Sam informed them all, then quickly finished off his eggs and stood to take his plate to the sink before returning to his seat. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. It was nearly cold now but that was fine—he was almost finished. “The New Orleans officials are declaring a state of emergency, banning all boating into the swamps and canals, except for the police. They still have no real clue what’s going on, though. They’re basically flailing at this point.”

“I would say it’s imperative that at least one of us gets the hang of spear throwing.” Cas stated flatly.

“And I would say you’re right about that.” Sam agreed, “so everyone finish up here so we can get back to work.”

They did just that, Dean scarfing down the rest of his food so fast Cas worried he might choke, then downing his coffee just as swiftly. Bobby ate quickly as well, but at a slightly slower pace than Dean. Sam powered down his laptop and closed the top, pushing it away slightly. Cas just waited patiently for the rest of them to be ready.

The rest of the day was spent like the day before had been, with Dean, Sam and Cas all practicing with their homemade spears, trying to hit the bullseye painted on sacks of sand—until eventually Bobby finally got frustrated with their frankly epic failure and demanded to see their spears. He looked them over closely, eyes sharp and intent, and then declared their shafts to be utter shit and set about taking the spears apart and doing some tooling on the broomsticks they had used to make them to begin with.

A couple hours of sitting around in the kitchen doing nothing later, and Dean, Sam and Cas perked up considerably when Bobby came back into the house with spears that were significantly lighter, more elegantly carved—and definitely more aerodynamic, according to Bobby. He handed one to each of them and then gestured for them to get back to work.

Cas took his and weighed it in his hand, then held it out to look down the length of it and nodded to himself. The balance was much better. They really should have just asked Bobby to do that from the get-go.

When they went back outside and returned to target practice, there was still a bit of a learning curve, but after a while they started to hit the sandbags, which was progress, and then the bullseye, though maybe not dead center at first. That took a little while longer. But it was important that their aim be impeccable because the palraijuq’s eye was definitely a tricky target.

In the end, Sam turned out to be somewhat of a prodigy, picking up the skill quickly and walking that learning curve faster than either Dean or Cas. By the end of the day, he was reliably hitting the center of the bullseye on pretty much every shot, while Dean and Cas were still in the vicinity but not quite there yet. They decided that when it came down to it, Sam would be the one to take the shot.

When it started to get dark out, they called it for the night, feeling much better about the whole situation than they had before, and headed inside, where Bobby was cooking steak and fried potatoes for dinner. They all sat down around the kitchen table again, and everyone except Cas had a beer while they waited for the food to be ready. Dean and Sam were starving, as they had skipped lunch earlier in the day, too distracted by their sudden spear-throwing successes.

When Bobby slapped supper on the table, not a vegetable in sight, no one complained, not even Sam. He and Dean just devoured their steak and potatoes like they hadn’t seen food in a week, and Cas was relegated to beer duty, taking away empties and bring back full bottles for all three men. He was more than happy to do it. It made him feel like he had a purpose.

After dinner, the four of them sat around the kitchen and talked about all kinds of things; jobs they’d been on, the best places to eat in various towns they’d been to, and a few of the restaurants they had been to so far in New Orleans—even a cute dog Sam had seen on one of his jogs the other day. And, of course, they all had angel related questions for Cas, who answered them all to the best of his ability without giving away too much.

That night when Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom, Dean actually won, which was a surprise to everyone else but him (and Sam) because he picked scissors the same as he always did. Sam knew what he would pick. He always knew what his brother would pick. By all means, Sam should have won, the same as always. But while Sam pretended to be shocked at the outcome of their silly competition, Cas and Bobby could see right through it.

Cas smiled to himself while Bobby snorted into his beer.

-- --

Later that night, after they had all sat around talking about nothing in particular for a while longer, Dean made a point of finishing off the last of his final beer of the evening and then yawning hugely before heading up the stairs with a casually tossed out, “you comin’, Cas?”

Of course he was coming. What a ridiculous question. Cas said goodnight to Sam and Bobby and climbed the stairs after Dean, not entirely sure where this was headed or even if he was ready for what he was walking into—but certain that whatever it was, he would weather it. For Dean’s sake.

Dean closed the bedroom door behind them once they were both inside, then just started getting undressed, carefully, deliberately, and when Cas just stood there, unsure, he asked, “are you gonna get into bed dressed like that?”

“Ah. No, I… of course not.” Cas quickly began undressing as well, draping his clothing over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room, kicking his shoes off, until he was down to his boxers and shifting almost awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, here, and it had him a little off kilter.

But Dean just finished stripping, down to his own boxers and a t-shirt, before climbing into the bed and reaching to flick on the bedside lamp. “Get the overhead light, would you?” Cas blinked, then stepped over to flick the light off before hesitating again—until Dean finally made a soft sound in the back of his throat and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “Just get in here already.”

And they had done this before, just cuddled up in bed together, so maybe this wasn’t so weird after all. Cas climbed into the bed and under the blankets, and then, when Dean tugged at him, tucked himself into the man’s side, cuddling close and sliding an arm over him, just warmth and comfort—the kind that Cas has severely missed, in Heaven for all that time.

They were both quiet for a while before Dean spoke up with: “I need to… apologize.”

But Cas made a soft protesting noise. “You really don’t.”

“No, I do.” Dean insisted. He adjusted slightly so that he could bring one hand up and stroke his fingers through Cas’s hair gently. Cas hummed out a pleased sound. “I’ve been an asshole to you basically ever since I got back and found out you were alive, and that’s… it’s not right. You’re an angel, and you take your orders from Heaven, and they told you not to contact me, so… I get it. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such a jackass.”

“You’re not acting like a jackass now.” Cas pointed out softly, leaning into the hand in his hair, “anyway, I should apologize, too. I shouldn’t just blindly follow orders. I should have questioned them. I should have gone to see you, to tell you I was alright, so you wouldn’t…”

“It broke me, Cas. Losing you.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Dean.” Cas shifted a little and slid a hand to toy with the front of Dean’s t-shirt absently, fingers catching in the soft fabric. “I’ve been getting into trouble lately, for spending so much time with you down here. I’m neglecting my duties in Heaven. I have Angel Radio turned off as we speak. They keep calling me out for it, my superiors. I think… it’s sad. That they don’t understand love like I do.”

Dean made a soft sound in his throat. “I never would have thought of Heaven as a place lacking in love, before all this. Then again, I didn’t really think it existed at all, so there’s that, too.”

“Heaven isn’t what most people picture. It’s… bureaucracy. It can be harsh and cruel at times, at least for those of us running it. There’s no room for love, with only a couple of small exceptions.” Cas hummed softly, “you know when man first came to be, though, we were all taught to love you over everything else. But I think most of my brothers and sisters have forgotten that, over time. Ironic, considering what happened to Lucifer.”

“But not you?”

“I might have as well, in the past.” Cas admitted, “but then I spent eighteen years living and growing up as a human, and I fell in love—deeply, so deeply—with you, and learned what it could be like to devote myself entirely to another person; to have that other person return that devotion in kind. I took that back to Heaven with me when I returned, and… I’m the broken cog, now. I bend the rules, I love too much, I throw things out of alignment.” Then a little smile and he added, “and I will happily keep doing so for you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “I do still love you. You know that. Just as much as I did before. I’ve already told you that. But it’s…”

“Hard. Complicated. I understand that.” Cas tucked his head against Dean’s chest and closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “I don’t expect forgiveness for what I put you through. Just the fact that you still love me is proof that miracles are real. And I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes for us to be… us, again.”

“But what if that never happens, Cas?”

“Then I guess… I’ll take what I can get. What else can I do? I’ll certainly never do anything to hurt you again. Even if you were to tell me to leave for good, I would do it if it would make you happy. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“You really are still… you. Aren’t you?”

Cas glanced up at Dean with a smile. “Just with wings now, yes.”

There was another brief silence before Dean spoke up again, voice quiet; “you know, at first, when you were gone, I thought… I thought it was because of the marriage thing. I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought you were running. And I…” His hand paused in Cas’s hair, and he swallowed slightly, “I thought maybe you’d finally come to your senses; you’d finally figured out that I was no good, that loving me was no good…”

“Dean…” Cas sighed softly and grasped at the front of Dean’s shirt firmly, shaking his head, hair mussing against Dean’s chest. “I wanted to marry you so badly. I still—” Breaking off, he smoothed his hand in Dean’s shirt again. “I know we can’t, especially now, especially with what I am, but I still would. And I would never think of you like that, that you’re no good—you’re the best man that I’ve ever met. For so many reasons.”

“I know,” Dean replied, and began stroking through Cas’s hair again, just gently, “I got that out of my head pretty fast. Especially when I started really thinking about it. You left everything behind. Even Marshmallow and Itsy. You didn’t even take any clothes with you. So, obviously something had happened to you, and then I just thought… something had taken you to get to me. Because of the job. Because I was a Hunter.”

Cas knew all of this already. He had been privy to some of Dean’s conversations over the years, in his surveilling of the man he was currently curled up with. “I’m sorry,” He repeated, “after what happened to your Mom, thinking I had been taken by some creature… I’m just so sorry, Dean.”

“I know you are.” Came Dean’s response, and his hand left Cas’s hair, sliding down so he could urge the angel up and draw him into a soft but still tentative kiss. “I know you didn’t mean for any of this.” He murmured against Cas’s lips, then hesitated before finishing with; “and I forgive you, Cas. Alright? I do forgive you. I forgive you for all of it.”

Cas froze at that, pulling back to look at Dean properly, blue eyes the slightest bit wide as he tried to judge—and wasn’t it a wonderous thing? All he saw in Dean’s gaze was the love and trust he had thought he’d lost forever, after everything he’d done—or not done, as the case may be. Finally, he just ducked in for another kiss. “I love you, Dean. With every part of myself. I always have. I always will.”

Dean smiled into the kiss and whispered back, “I love you, too.” A few deep, warm kisses later and Dean murmured, “so lets’ start over, hm? Go out on a date with me, Cas, when we get back to New Orleans tomorrow. Before the Hunt. A new first date, for a new lifetime.”

Cas could only smile up at Dean, wide and happy. “That sounds like a great idea to me.”

-- --

They didn’t have much planned for the next day aside from heading back to New Orleans, but Dean still woke up just after dawn anyway, and glanced toward the window to watch the sun beginning to shine through the blinds before just closing his eyes again, sighing as he felt out Cas still tucked safely in his arms.

As usual, Cas felt perfect against him, warm and comfortable. He always had, right from Day One, right from when they’d met. Like they were made for each other, Dean had said once, a long time ago, and it still held true even now, even after everything, even with Cas no longer human.

Dean was aware that he still had things to work through. But he thought he might be over the hump, so to speak, and having Cas around felt good now, not like before when it had been like salt in a wound to be with him. Having Cas near him was helpful, now. Felt good, felt warm, felt like love. He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time—seven years, to be exact, not counting his brief time with Cassie. And he had loved Cassie, yes, but his love for her paled in comparison to his love for Cas.

Cas was everything. Cas was the love of his damned life.

And Dean entertained thoughts, now, that Cas had been right about them being soul mates, because he had met the angel—then human—and taken one look and fallen hard. So much harder than anything he had ever experienced before, or since. They had the kind of love that defied explanation or expectation, and Dean deeply regretted his initial response to Cas’s reappearance in his life, because that love was still there, still tied them together, even after so much time apart.

Dean shifted slightly, ducking down to whisper by Cas’s ear; “I love you.”

A smile lifted Cas’s mouth. Of course he had been awake, even though his eyes had been closed. Now, blue eyes cracked open, and Cas lifted his head. “I love you, too.”

“Mm. Good morning.” Dean smiled and tilted his head, going in for a kiss.

Cas kissed back warmly, then pressed another little kiss to Dean’s lips before shifting back and settling against him again, leaning his head down against Dean’s shoulder and pressing one hand over his heart to feel his heartbeat underneath his palm. “How do you feel this morning, Dean? About everything that we… talked about. Last night.”

Dean made a soft contemplative sound and rubbed one hand against Cas’s back. “I don’t want to take back anything I said, if that’s what you mean.”

Cas sighed, the sound soft and almost relieved. “Just checking. You’d had a few beers; I was concerned the alcohol…” Then again, beer didn’t really do much for Dean anymore, did it?

“I’ve always loved you, Cas. And all I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. Things just got… muddled, for a while.” Dean told him; “but I meant everything I said last night, Cas. Just bear with me with some things, alright?”

“Muddled is a good word.” Cas agreed. He closed his eyes again. “I’m happy, then, Dean. You make me so happy.” Then a pause before he added; “but why are we awake at the literal crack of dawn?”

Dean laughed softly, his hand sliding up to stroke through Cas’s hair warmly. “I just woke up. Couldn’t get my thoughts to stop. Think we should get up and go downstairs? Bang pots and pans together just to be dicks to Sam and Bobby?”

“Don’t even joke.” Cas chuckled amusedly at the mental image, leaning into the hand in his hair. “We’re staying here a while longer. I won’t do that to Sam or Bobby.”

“What if we just go downstairs and make coffee, real quiet?” Dean suggested, ducking down to drop a kiss against Cas’s hair. “We can just sit in the kitchen and talk.”

“Why can’t we talk in here?”

“Because I’m awake and I want coffee. Well, coffee or sex, and I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

“We were there a little while ago.”

“That wasn’t…” A soft sigh. Dean tugged at Cas’s hair and pulled him up to look him in the eye; “lets’ just go get coffee.”

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Coffee it is, then.”

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @magmahearts @realmackross TIMING: June 20th, two days before the AllGoods party SUMMARY: After an online conversation, Mackenzie decides to meet Cass for miming lessons. But things don't quite go as planned... WARNINGS: None!

Sometimes, Cass felt a little bad about binding people. There was something undeniably predatory about the practice, though she hadn’t put a lot of thought into it until she’d met Metzli and seen how they reacted. Even now, after she’d released them from the bind she’d tied them into, they stepped in to stop her from binding others when they were with her. Free will, they said, and Cass had never really thought of it like that before. Was it evil, taking people’s will away like that? Was she more of a villain than a hero? It was a heavy question, one she had a hard time focusing on for long.

It wasn’t enough to stop her, either. She thought that might say something about her, too, thought it might paint an ugly picture. She had these questions on morality, but she didn’t let them make her pause. She still bound a stranger on the internet, still tricked them into promising her $50 in exchange for everything she knew about mimes… which, by the way? Was nothing. She was going to give this stranger nothing, and she was still going to get $50. It’d feed her for a little while, at least. Maybe that made it okay.

Spotting someone in the seat she’d instructed the stranger to sit in, she made her way over. “Okay,” she greeted. “I hope you’re ready for a —” The woman looked up, and Cass faltered. “Wait, Mack Ross?!?” 

—

Mackenzie wasn’t sure if meeting some rando over the internet to teach her all about mime lessons for $50 was a good idea, but for whatever reason, it felt right. However, she wasn’t expecting much. Maybe what she had seen in movies. Common knowledge of trying to get out of an invisible box or out from behind invisible glass, but $50 was like pocket change and ever since coming to Wicked’s Rest, she hadn’t blown any money on any impractical items. Plus, she’d probably make it back that night at work.

Finding the place she had been told to wait at, Mack took a seat and pulled out her phone. The Taylor Swift baseball cap she had on that said “I had a marvelous time ruinin’ everything” was pulled down low in the hopes that no one would really notice her. It was heartbreaking seeing her friends continuing to live their lives while she had ruined hers in only a matter of minutes, so instead of guilt-searching social media, she played some stupid little game that she had already spent way too much money on.

It was hearing the stunned voice speak her name that had caught Mack’s attention. Guess next time she’d try a hoodie, since it’s not like she got hot anymore, “Uh, yeah, I’m waiting on somebody. I’m sorry. If you have a pen I don’t mind signing something for you, but I’m not really up for taking pictures.”

—

Sure, the stranger’s username had referenced Mack Ross, and her icon looked a little like the actress… but Cass had just assumed it was a fanblog. After all, that seemed like a far more likely scenario than an actress who’d basically dropped off the face of the Earth popping up again in a small town in Maine, didn’t it? But, then again… Wicked’s Rest was no ordinary town. There were far stranger things here than an actress who might not want to be an actress anymore. Cass would know — she was one of those strange things.

She tried to recover herself quickly. She didn’t want to look like some embarrassing fangirl, didn’t want Mack Ross to think she was a loser. Of course, she was still planning on taking the actress’s money, but she did feel a little less bad about it now because, well… it wasn’t like she didn’t have money, right? 

Looking a little sheepish, she slid into the chair across from Mack. “Sorry. Yeah. That’s me. I’m Cass. From the internet? Sorry to, um, freak out a little there. I’m just a big fan, you know? That superhero movie you were in, the one with the aliens? It’s, like, my favorite movie.”

—

Wait. So the person charging her $50 was around her age and a fan of Not the End of the World? This was getting more ridiculous by the minute. But she could humor her. There was something about this whole situation that was amusing to Mackenzie. Yet also compelling. And she wasn’t about to judge the girl based on her mime skills. You could be a pro at something at any age as long as you worked hard at it and had a passion and drive for it.

“Nice to meet you, Cass.” I think. “I’m Mackenzie, but you already know that.” Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the table. If they were doing this, she was ready to get down to business. She had more important things to do. Like go home and watch the finale of Cake Boss on Netflix. “So mime lessons first, and then you’ll get your $50.” She wasn’t about to hand over money, even if it was like pocket change, to some stranger. That’s not how this was going to work. It was hard to scam money from the actress, and if you were, she was going to find pleasure or humor in the situation and make it hard earned.

—

This was awesome. In all of her adventures, Cass had never met a movie star before. A few YouTube streamers in LA was the closest she’d come to meeting anyone famous, unless you counted Nora. (Cass didn’t count Nora; Nora hadn’t wanted her fame, had run away from it. Nora wouldn’t want to be counted. Cass would never count someone who didn’t want it.) But Mackenzie Ross? She was a real, honest to god movie star! If Cass had ever had a room, the Not the End of the World poster would have been hanging up on the wall.

“Yeah! Yeah, I do already know that. Wow. I didn’t know you lived in Wicked’s Rest.” She avoided the elephant in the room, because of course she’d seen the magazines. Mackenzie Ross disappeared from the spotlight when her fiance died. There were already a few YouTube video conspiracy theories out there about it that Cass had refused to watch. It seemed disrespectful and cruel to theorize about something like that, didn’t it? “Mime lessons!” She confirmed, clapping her hands together. “Right. I promised you I’d tell you everything I knew about mimes, and you promised me if I did, you’d give me fifty bucks. So, here goes: I know nothing about mimes.” She thrust out her hand palm-up, eyeing Mack expectantly. “I’ll take that $50, please.”

—

“Yeah, for just a few months now.” Mack wasn’t planning on divulging anymore information. She had come here to learn, and when Cass acted like she was going to start the lessons, Mackenzie’s interest peaked. Finally, they could get to the good stuff. However, the good stuff was over before they had even got started, “Wait…what?” She narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean you don’t know anything about mimes?” Seriously. Mackenzie should have trusted her instincts. This was totally a scam.

“Nope. Sorry. No $50. You didn’t give me any information at all.” In fact, Mackenzie was starting to get frustrated. Pushing the chair back from the table and standing up, she shook her head mad with herself for getting played, “I’m not doing this. Have a nice life, Kid.” The twenty-five year old sighed in frustration as she started to walk away.

—

“Me, too,” Cass replied quickly, a little excited at the prospect of having something in common with Mackenzie Ross. Something small and insignificant, sure, but it still felt cool. Mackenzie Ross was a movie star, and people loved her. Wasn’t the idea of having anything at all in common with someone that people loved a good thing?

Of course, there was every chance that Mack would… not be her biggest fan after this conversation. Cass shrugged at the clear frustration in her question. “I said I’d tell you everything I knew, and I just did. I never lied to you.” And she’d know if she had; the sickness that came with lying for a fae was a difficult thing to ignore. As Mack got up, Cass shifted and stood as well. “Um, well… The thing is, we had a deal. And you promised. So you kind of don’t have a choice.” She tugged on the mental string of the bind, as if signifying that it was there. Fae binds were a tricky thing, but Cass was good at them. She kind of had to be.

—

Mackenzie stopped walking. For whatever reason, she began to feel somewhat guilty for not giving up the $50. The kid did have a point, and as much as she just wanted to walk away and be done with this whole interaction, she just couldn’t. Instead she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth trying to decide how to handle this. Sure, $50 wasn’t much to a millionaire, but it was the principle of the matter. Mackenzie didn’t like feeling swindled, and that’s exactly what was happening to her. But yet, at the same time, she found herself feeling bad for the girl standing behind her.

With a low guttural growl, Mack finally turned back around. The glare on her face was apparent. She wasn’t happy. But Cass technically was right. With a deep huff of frustration, she shoved her hand down in the front right pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a $50 bill, “Here. Just take it. It’s not like this is the worst thing to ever happen to me.” Without saying anything else, she turned back around and started to walk off again, pulling the hood on her black hoodie up over the Taylor Swift baseball cap she was wearing.

—

It was clear that she wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t have a choice. Whether she knew it or not, she was bound by the promise she’d made to Cass online, and she couldn’t walk back on it unless Cass allowed her to. And she wouldn’t. Maybe that was bad, maybe that made her bad, but she wanted that fifty dollars. She wanted to be able to buy decent groceries for herself, wanted to get more snacks for Nora, wanted to get a new t-shirt and the latest issue of the comic she’d been following. Fifty bucks wouldn’t get her all of that, sure, but it could make a decent dent. 

She smiled as Mack turned around, even if the glare on her face hurt a little. She’d worry about turning that opinion around later. Maybe she could bind Mack into friendship the way she had Metzli. After all, that one had been a rocky start but had still turned out okay. Maybe she could catch lightning in a bottle twice with Mack. For now, she reached out and took the bill. “I appreciate it,” she called at Mack’s retreating back, ignoring the quiet guilt that settled into her chest. It was fine, wasn’t it? This was fine. 

—

Mackenzie Ross wasn’t a bad person. Okay, well she was, but it was for other reasons. Reasons she wouldn’t dare tell some random kid who just sweet talked her out of $50 over nothing. But she was hurt. She had set out to genuinely find somebody who could help take her mind off of all the shitty things that had happened over the past few years, but what was it she was always told by her publicist? Don’t make your problems, my problems. Which never made sense to Mackenzie, considering he was the one that got her out of problems, except for the biggest one she had ever created. She wasn’t here to pass off her problems onto anyone else though. She simply wanted an escape and a little bit of normalcy, whatever that meant.

Stopping and turning back around, she forced down the lump that had formed in her throat, “Can I at least ask why you did it? If you needed help, you could’ve just asked me, instead of skirting around the truth that you don’t know what you’re talking about. I made that post, because I was looking for something to help take my mind off of some really personal shit. Acting has been my entire life, and now I’m stuck in some rando town without any family, friends, familiarity, and I just wanted something fun and somewhat normal…at least to me.” Mackenzie was so defeated at that point, “I’m not as bad as the media makes me out to be. I fucked up, but I still have a heart. You know what? Forget it. Whatever you’re going through kid, I’m sorry. But maybe consider other people’s feelings before you take advantage of them. Here.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out another $50 bill, “I had it on the off chance that you were legit, and we could do this again, but if you’re that desperate for money, then take it.” Tossing it on the table, Mackenzie walked off feeling a little more broken than excited about what she thought the day would actually hold.

—

She was a little surprised when Mack turned around, because she hadn’t been expecting it. When you swindled someone, they didn’t tend to stick around. They were usually angry, embarrassed, upset. For a moment, Cass was a little afraid that the movie star might punch her — but instead, she spoke. She asked why Cass did it, and that acidic guilt crawled up in the back of her throat like a physical thing. She knew it hadn’t been nice or kind or even okay. On some level, she knew that. This was the kind of thing other fae did, fae who made her feel that desperate need to prove that she was different. It wasn’t supposed to be Cass.

But she’d never really been given much of a choice, had she?

“Most people wouldn’t,” she said with a quiet shrug. “Most people only help you if you make them help you.” It was why she’d tried so hard to get Jonas to promise her free meals when she’d helped him get that body out of her cave, why she’d bound Kuma and refused to unbind her even when it became clear that the bind was going to kill her, why she’d forced Metzli into friendship against their will. Cass loved humans, but she didn’t really trust them. They’d never really earned as much.

Shockingly, Mackenzie Ross didn’t punch her in the face. Instead, she held out more money, and Cass ached at the sight of it. She should have felt good, shouldn’t she? She should have felt nice and accomplished and happy to be offered more cash without binding her way into it. So why did she feel sick? Why did she feel like the worst person in the world right now? “No,” she said quietly, despite how desperately she wanted to take the bill. Fifty more bucks could feed her a little while longer, could even get her a pillow or something for the cave. But if she’d feel like this every time she sat on it, it wouldn’t be worth it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m just… hungry.”

—

Mackenzie tossed around the idea of turning back around, but just couldn’t. She did, however, stop walking, “I’m not coming back for the money. Get food with it. Get what you need. And if you need help or whatever, next time just ask me.” She turned her head slightly to somewhat acknowledge Cass, but refused to look at her. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, Cass. But swindling people is dangerous. I don’t want to find out something bad happened to you, because you think you’re being sly. It’s not worth it.” A tinge of guilt coursed through her own veins. She knew she needed help with her problems. Someone to talk to. Someone who would even just sit silently with her while she cried, but her career depended on it. The relationships with any person of significance in her life depended on it. She was absolutely being a hypocrite at that moment, and she couldn’t dare admit it for her own fears of not being able to survive the truth.

“I’ll see you around.” Mackenzie’s tone had shifted slightly from being upset to just being sad. And instead of running any errands or seeing more of what Wicked’s Rest had to offer, she instead, walked home back to silence and her own thoughts.

—

It hurt when Mackenzie had looked at her with such betrayal in her eyes, but somehow it hurt more now that she refused to look at Cass at all. The oread shifted her weight, feeling awful about what she’d done, feeling stupid for doing it and feeling stupid for feeling stupid. She did this kind of thing all the time, had grown up doing this kind of thing. It was the way things worked, wasn’t it? You did what you had to do in order to survive, and you didn’t let yourself feel guilty for it because it was necessary. She only ever stole from people who could afford to part with the money, and a movie star definitely made that list. So why did she feel like garbage now? 

Mack almost sounded worried about her, like she was genuinely afraid that Cass might bite off more than she could chew or swindle the wrong person. And that, too, felt like a physical blow. To steal from someone and have them express concern towards you instead of simple anger… It was strange. It felt strange. She watched as Mack walked away, her head swimming. She didn’t reply to the goodbye, didn’t trust her own voice. All she could do was stare after the movie star until she disappeared. The bills Mack had given her felt heavy in her arms, felt hot as if they were burning. Cass shoved them into her pocket, anyway. She’d find a way to live with herself; she didn’t have much of a choice.

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter One, Part 5

I stepped into that tiny room and grabbed a clean pair of black pants out of my dresser, and a Hellraiser t-shirt out of the closet and headed back out and down to the shower.

Our place wasn't all that big but I wouldn't call it small either. From our porch (which for some reason had a very comfortable couch on it), you entered into a very neglected living room. I cannot recall a single time I saw any of us use it. My room was directly off the living room. A small hall led down to the kitchen and bathroom. Dennis and Tom's rooms were off the hallway. At the back of the kitchen was another door that led outside into an alley. And down to the basement, and up to the apartment above. Downstairs in the basement was a washer and dryer that either Tom or Dennis had set up, making laundry exponentially cheaper.

I flicked the bathroom fan before turning on the shower. I take very hot showers, the kind that will turn your skin bright reds and pinks. So I need the fan to suck the steam out of the room. Especially because for once I wanted to use the mirror and take care of the way I looked. Something I rarely cared all that much about.

Usually, I take long showers. I enjoyed the warming comfort that only a hot shower can provide. But today, I didn't have the time. As I washed my hair, the intrusive thoughts began there wonderful attack. What if she doesn't show? I mean, I couldn't really blame her if she bailed. It would certainly suck, but I'd probably respect her for the move. I mean, she now has all day to think if getting coffee with a stranger who dresses like the dead was worth the risk. I mean, this was 2012. There's some sick people out there. Still, a part of me deep down really was hoping she'd take the actual risk. And there really was only one way to find out which way she was going to go.

I was done in about ten minutes, dressed and ready. I stood staring into the mirror, making sure my bi-colored hair was perfectly in place, and not the rat's nest it usually was. There was nothing more I could do, so I checked my phone and headed back to my room to rest again. It was only 2:34 which gave me plenty of time, but it felt like I had no time.

So I did what I normally do. Distraction. At least for an hour. The only problem was that every distraction I had, I didn't have any interest in. My anxiety was winning on this one, letting its black tendrils reach deep into my brain and forcing intrusive thoughts and panic to bite slowly around my nerve endings.

I sat on my mattress and decided to check my messages on Facebook. I only had one, and that was pretty normal. The only person I really talked to was my best friend, Chad. We didn't really see each other that much since I moved to Milwaukee. Before I had moved, him and I were almost always together. I can't think of a day where we didn't end up hanging out, usually in front of a Speedway Gas Station. Like some kind of punk Jay and Silent Bob.

We did try, and thanks to the miracle of the internet, we were able to keep our friendship alive and well. Being able to talk to someone with instant video messaging is an amazing thing that I really think we all take for granted just a little too much. Be it a message on Facebook, a late night gaming session, or a Skype Call. There was always a way.

CHAD: Hey, one of these weekends, Alana wants to meet up and show us some bar in Walker's Point. I think it's Sabbatic or something like that. She said it was, in her words, "totally you guys." Can you geta Saturday off? And if so, can I crash at your place? If Alana is right we both know how that will go.