#but still. he is unclothed in areas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roryacker · 4 months ago

Text

WereGhost Part 5

Surprise, part 5 :D

I will note Simon's unclothed for a while but there's little to no detail given and it's just for a perfectly SFW bath scene, he puts some clothes on eventually

I forgot to add this at first and considered if I even needed it but figured just to clarify, it couldn't hurt. I'm 16, this lil series thing or whatever is 100% sfw

Imagine Simon's surprise, of course, when the very next morning he was awoken from his uneasy sleep hearing a familiar voice. That accent he'd grown far too used to, calling out the silly name he gave Simon on a whim, uttering something about him looking like a ghost story. It got him to wake up, at least, shuffling around to be able to poke his head out of the crevice he'd made a cold rock den out of, eyes wide. Sure enough, on the very edge of the small territory, the edge Simon made sure to rest close to in order for an easy escape, wandered Johnny, calling like he'd lost the family mutt and not what he thought was a wolf.

Except Simon isn't even a wolf, really, he never was. Hell, he only first started learning to shift when he was seven or so. Even now his body isn't lupine in appearance. Staying in that form for months on end while staying with Johnny meant that his body was tired and sore from it. And of course, the only way to offset that was to avoid shifting for a while, enough to remind the body that it's two creatures and not one. He can't help the discomfort that wells in his chest at that fact, glancing down at himself with furrowed brows and tugging an old deer pelt further over his body. It's rare he keeps the pelts, especially with wolfhunts, but they're really all he can get for warmth outside of his canine form.

Still, a greedy, hungry part of his mind all but howls at the thought that the (frankly stupid) human came to look for him. The dog got out somehow, and Johnny's gone out of his way to get him.

Simon bares his teeth in a grimacing snarl at the thought, nose scrunching as if he can scare it away the same way he might a competitor, if there were still any in the area. The wolfhunts have killed most of his kind nearby off, if they didn't simply decide to leave before. Simon's only company outside of Johnny, as of late, have been the hares, rabbits, and occasional deer he makes a meal out of. Sometimes even a pheasant or the like if he can catch it, though he finds the taste less than pleasant.

Maybe that's why he clung to the human like that. Maybe some part of Simon is lonely.

Maybe that's why he reluctantly decides to slip out of his sad excuse for a den.

Not to follow the call; he never did respond to Ghost, fitting as it may have been. He didn't want to seem like a loyal hound.

It's mostly to watch Johnny; sit crouched in the grass, covered only in the deer's pelt- watching intently as the human wanders about. It's bitter for a moment, a sour feeling that only deepens the frown etched on Simon's face.

But of course, if life were ever in his favor, Simon wouldn't have townsfolk deciding which lucky man will be able to hang his head on a wall, make his pelt into a rug maybe. He would have never waltzed into that bear trap, maybe going by the humans' idea of good luck he would have never been a beast at all, but as fate so has it, he's Simon goddamn Riley, the town's very own fowl-eating ghost story-

-and Johnny meets his gaze, even through the grass. He falls silent, dumbfounded, and it takes Simon a second too long to realize that fact and shift back in a hurry, scrambling backwards with his ears flat and a genuine snarl in his chest, loud as he can manage, hoping that the sound of it might finally force the human's defunct survival instincts to kick into overdrive and not question it, but of course, he steps forward once, and then again, and then before Simon knows it the man's crouched down in front of the opening of his sad little cavern, staring at a familiar monster with raised hackles and bared teeth, tail tucked between his legs in a gesture Simon hasn't made (hasn't needed to make, truly) in years. There's recognition in Johnny's eyes, and he looks tired, like he hasn't slept for a while.

They're both silent, Simon shifting anxiously and trying to back himself further into his hole, hoping that Johnny might get the hint, but no. The idiot, the absolute numbskull he is, reaches his hand forward, knuckles up, to offer it for Simon to sniff. His expression looks so soft that he can't even bring himself to pretend to be aggressive. If Simon were an ignorant man he might just assume it to be acceptance, but he reasons with himself that even if he knows otherwise he can afford a risk, being close to Johnny's size even in this form. So, he hides his teeth once more, fur smoothing down, and leans forward to sniff as expected, grunting softly at the familiar scent.

It's the one he's used to, the disturbance that chased him off- not flowery and sweet, but warm, given the wild of the forest around him to further add to it. It smells right. He huffs and shakes off, backing off like he might just be stung if he lingers longer, but Johnny isn't having it and reaches over to scratch behind his ear, much to Simon's surprise.

"Dunno what you are..." he murmurs, voice so quiet compared to the desperate, nervous tone it had before.

"I mean- I know you're no good. Townsfolk've done wonders spelling that one out." Simon bristles at the words, then, narrowing his eyes and growling lowly, but is quickly shut up by another hand settling on the ruff of his neck, that one joining in on the soothing scratching that he's only slightly offended by.

"But you could've eaten me, aye? Could've mauled me in my sleep. And you didn't." He finishes, a bit more firmly, gripping Simon's muzzle in both hands and shaking slightly as if to try and emphasize his point. It's enough to get Simon to keep quiet for good, meeting Johnny's gaze for a fleeting moment before he huffs, nudging his snout into the touch for just a split second, and pulls away.

He's been caught, but at the same time, this is the same man that went so far out of his way to make sure he'd heal up. The man who let him sleep in his bed, let him be a nuisance lounging about the house, who came looking for him when he disappeared without a word.

He shakes off, grumbling quietly as he shifts back, clumsy hands going to cover himself with his pelt-blanket once more instead of simply being draped over himself, and turns his gaze down not in a sign of nervousness or fear, but submission. It's been ages since Simon had to submit, the last time being his father before, when he was still a young adolescent, he realized that his pack's hierarchy meant nothing, that he could challenge it and win if he used his claws and teeth cleverly enough.

To do it willingly and not by force? That's new.

Even if Johnny doesn't understand the gesture, the changing is clear enough. Simon is weak in this form- weaker, anyways. His teeth are still sharp, but they don't pack quite the bite, and his claws are thinner and less of an aid. Simon tries not to let his expression shift hearing the hitch in his breath, but tugs the pelt tighter around his body anyways, muttering something more for his own ears than anything.

Eventually Johnny pulls away, and for a moment Simon's mind scrambles to try and figure out what the hell he does from there "this is it, it was a trick, run off before he calls the hounds" but again, the man simply stands, and reaches a hand out to try and help Simon up as well. He stares blankly, confused by the gesture, but snorts, shaking his head off, and begrudgingly takes it- stumbling and shaking on two unsteady legs, but eventually settled.

"Do they know your face?" Johnny questions, letting one of his hands drift to rest on Simon's back- to keep him up, no doubt, though he still bares his teeth on instinct, growling at him and lurching slightly. Shockingly, Johnny doesn't budge, only shifting his hand to rest against his shoulder, instead. At that realization, he relaxes just a bit, if only not to waste energy on useless threats, huffing instead.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Careful it is. Not very chatty, eh?" He laughs, and for a moment Simon falters, glancing up at his face as his own relaxes just the tiniest bit, before his brows furrow again and his gaze drops, grunting quietly in reply as his nose scrunches. Johnny, ever the patient bastard, simply chuckles and rubs at Simon's shoulder, and he can't help the way he leans into the touch, really, it's not his fault.

"Don't even know your name... hope you don't mind if I stick with Ghost." He doesn't. It's familiar, by now- it's been years since he's heard "Simon" from someone else, even from himself, outside of the rare times he mutters it to try and remind himself of what his voice sounds like- of what a voice sounds like, when it's not yelling and whistling and shouting commands. He shakes off the bitter thought, growling softly and leaning up against Johnny. The human is surprised, he can smell it, but doesn't shove him off.

They walk for a while, and Johnny manages to smuggle him into the house without being caught, all while he talks Simon's ear off about the ruckus he caused and what's happened since he left. He doesn't mention the woman- the house doesn't smell like her, but stress and sorrow, instead. Something about the lingering scent, now fading out with the eagerness and happiness sticking to the man, makes Simon feel oddly comfortable. No, not just that- it's pride. The same feeling he gets after a hunt, the one he used to get after establishing his territory as his, after winning a fight. He's won, here, even if he didn't intend for there to be a fight in the first place.

Johnny tries, for a bit, to find him fitting clothes, but Simon is huge, for lack of a better word, and none of them would really fit. So, he's allowed to linger in all his glory, only decent because of a pelt- not that Simon cares any. Wolves don't wear clothes, they rip and tear and become useless scraps once they shift. He's sure after all this time they'd feel about as comfortable as that trap.

Speaking of which... Johnny reaches for the leg, moving slowly and carefully in what Simon assumes is an attempt to not scare him or trigger his aggression. Reluctantly, he lets him, and the human takes the chance with a pleased little smile, rubbing his fingertips gently along what's now just a scar.

"Healed well, I see. Did you even need me? Never seen a wound that bad scar this fast... now I wonder if I've been tricked by a wolf."

"Would've taken another month without the help." Simon replies, his voice low, more of a growl. It's far from pleasant on the ears, especially for a man like Johnny, so used to townsfolk, and he can see the pure shock that crosses his human's face when he hears it. But he doesn't recoil in discomfort or disgust- just laughs and nudges at his knee.

"Well, good to know I wasn't just being used by you... hell, even if I was, I think you do deserve a bit of a chance to be lazy after all these folks have put you through, mm?" Yes, yes that sounds nice. Simon is uneasy for a moment, staring at Johnny's face, before he realizes the man's being genuine, and he allows a soft little snort to leave him.

"You do stink, though. Like mud and old blood..." He murmurs before Simon can give any response. He should probably feel bad or maybe insulted, but he can't muster up anything negative, really.

"Probably last kill. Got a fat rabbit." Simon hums, licking his lips at the memory, suddenly hungry once more, but the thought quickly leaves when he sees Johnny moving again, and he's quick to follow. He doesn't miss the little laugh or the shake of his head, but it seems the topic is done for now as they both set off towards another room in the house.

Johnny decides to set up a bath for him, still complaining about the smell, and Simon has the decency to pretend to be apologetic about it as he fills the tub, readying some soap that smells a bit too pleasant for Simon's tastes. For a moment he wonders if he should shift back, perhaps, if Johnny plans on scrubbing him down, figuring it would be less awkward if he took on his wolf form again, but Johnny simply guides him towards the tools he needs, offers some loose instructions, and says he'll be back with clothes for Simon- either through raiding the older man's closet (John, he learns his name is, though he decides that he doesn't like how close their names are and that he'll stick to referring to him however he'd like) or through buying new ones. Simon doesn't like the idea of him leaving, but hums in response, hesitantly dropping the pelt and leaving it folded on a countertop before lowering himself into the bath.

The water is comfortable, he finds- not the warmest, per se, but far warmer than the river water he sometimes treks through if he's especially dirty- and it's still, meaning it doesn't tangle his fur... or hair, in this case. It's calming, really, enough that he decides to lean back and shut his eyes for a bit. It feels much safer in there than a little cave, after all, and his rest the night prior had been uneasy at best. It's only when the water's grown cold and he hears familiar footsteps approaching that he realizes he'd fallen asleep there, though for how long he isn't sure- perking up and lazily resting his jaw along the side of the bath as Johnny enters the room, fresh clothes in hand. They look new.

"Didn't even wash up."

"Got tired. Besides, not used to having hands..." Simon mutters, stretching out with all the comfort of the lazy housecats he used to chase around as a pup, rolling over so his weight's on his knees and he can rest his body up against the side of the tub. He's just giving Johnny a hard time, really, but finds himself tensing slightly when the man sighs, leaving the clothes on the counter atop Simon's pelt, and approaches, crouching beside the tub and reaching for a rag.

"I think you just like being a nuisance."

From another man, or maybe in another case, the words might sting slightly, cause some anxiety- but the amusement in Johnny's eyes and the pleasant feeling of the fabric scrubbing along his back simply has Simon sighing in something akin to relief, shutting his eyes once more and allowing his body to all but melt into the surface under him. The smell of the soap is diluted by the water, and really isn't all that bad, a pleasant herbal scent that isn't too harsh on the nose. Part of Simon is tempted to sneak outside and roll around in the mud or something when Johnny's asleep, just to feel it again, but that'd just be stupid. Instead, he savors it while it happens, his eyes only opening when the human finally pulls away.

"Alright, you mutt. Up you go. Towels are in the cabinet, and I'll assume you know how to dress yourself..." he isn't given the time to make any smart remark or anything before Johnny's leaving the room, and he mourns the loss only for a moment before he begrudgingly moves to stand, shaking excess water off while he's still in the bath before moving to step out. His skin is clean, he finds, lacking possibly years worth of dirt and grime that had been there before. Scars remain and become slightly more prominent without the earthy coating over them, but he doesn't mind the look. Really, it's not that bad.

He almost looks normal.

It takes a while to dry off, but he finds it's much quicker than trying to get his fur to dry in the wind as he has in the past. From there, his last task is putting on the clothes Johnny had gotten him. They smell of another human, but only faintly, fresh enough- and lacking the scent of the older John- that he's sure they're new.

Simon doesn't like clothes one bit, it turns out. They're confining and uncomfortable and he doesn't like the feeling of the fabric on his body. It feels like a snake wrapped around his limbs, only with threads and seams and lord knows what else that just makes him want to scratch it all off like it's a colony of fleas.

Still, he can tell Johnny had been just slightly uncomfortable with a naked man in his home, so he deals with them even despite the urge to bite and gnaw until nothing itches anymore... he wanders around the house in search of the man, sniffing the air in an effort to find him, and finally stalks into the bedroom, head lowered in an unconscious show of dislike for his threaded prison, but content with the smile that meets Johnny's face at the sight, anyways.

"There we go... could almost mistake you for a person, if I didn't know any better." He laughs at his own joke, while Simon only grunts in response. He stands there for a minute or so, before opting to move towards him and start crawling onto the bed. Johnny sighs, but makes no move to shove him off or anything of the sort, and from there it's just a matter of making himself comfortable. He finally ends up on his back, limbs stretched out lazily and one leg hanging off the bed, but cozy enough, anyways.

He's not asleep when he feels Johnny reach over to bury a hand in his hair and rub lightly at his scalp, but he does a damn good job at playing dead, anyways, not moving an inch and letting his breathing stay settled. It's good enough to lull him to sleep, anyways, a warm, nice feeling in his chest that he doesn't really want to shake.

24 notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 1 year ago

Text

While opposition to men in women’s prisons should focus on the safety of incarcerated women don't forget the impact dealing with these perverts have on female guards.

By CAROLINE DOWNEY May 28, 2024 6:30 AM

Female prison guards in California have been traumatized after being forced to perform naked strip searches on male felons under the state department of corrections’ gender-inclusion rules.

For decades, the department prohibited female officers from conducting unclothed strip searches on male inmates except in emergency circumstances, such as when a same-sex officer is not available or if the male inmate is at risk of harming themselves or others.

Now, “Incarcerated individuals who are transgender, non-binary, or intersex must be searched according to the gender designation of the institution where they are housed or based on the individual’s search preference,” according to official prison policy obtained by National Review.

This sudden shift in policy, officially implemented in 2021, has shaken female staff at the California Institution for Men, colloquially known as Chino. Some male inmates who identify as women, or have even undergone transition surgeries and hormone therapy, choose to stay at Chino rather than request a housing transfer to a women’s facility, such as the California Institution for Women.

While there, trans-identifying male inmates are entitled to request that they only be searched by female guards. The female guards are required to perform the searches or face penalties or termination, former and current female Chino officers told National Review.

Recently retired after 22 years as a corrections officer at Chino, Paula James experienced firsthand how the decision to accommodate trans-identifying inmates has made the state prison a scary and unfair place to work.

“As a corrections officer myself, I wasn’t supposed to be stripping male inmates down,” James told National Review. “You’re not supposed to unless it’s an emergency situation. You can get in trouble, it’s considered rape. . . . I’ve been taught that my whole career. Then all of a sudden, now some of these men are saying they are women, but they still have all the parts.”

Two years ago, at the facility, James was told she had to strip-search a trans-identifying male inmate on suicide watch who was checking in to the mental-health department for a 72-hour hold. There was no other female officer around that day to do it, she said.

“I told myself, ‘I’m getting ready to retire, I don’t want to have to do this,’” she said. “But that day I felt pressured into doing it. My sergeant told me I had to do it.”

Another female officer came into the bathroom to cover her as she frisked the inmate.

“The whole time, this inmate is making me feel like I’m doing something wrong,” James said.

Acting embarrassed, he covered his chest area and male genitals. James had to ask him to move his hand to make sure he wasn’t concealing a weapon or drugs to self-harm. The inmate requested on paper that a female rather than male officer check him.

“I didn’t feel comfortable about it, but I had to do my job,” she said.

James started to cry on the phone as she recounted the day. With a background in nursing, James said she didn’t expect to be so shaken from the incident. It felt degrading for both her and the inmate, she said.

“I didn’t realize how disgusted I felt after that until I walked out,” she said. James said she broke down in front of her friend as she explained what had happened.

“It was just not right,” she said. “Because I had been taught all that time that I wasn’t supposed to do that. It was really hard on me, even thinking about it today.”

While they’re now required to search male inmates, not so long ago, female officers could be punished for searching inmates of the opposite sex, even if they felt the search was justified due to an emergency situation.

A corrections officer of 19 years, who chose to remain anonymous out of fear of professional retribution, was transferred to Chino from a maximum-security facility in 2017, before the current gender-inclusion policy was implemented. Soon after arriving at the prison, the guard was disciplined for searching a male inmate who a colleague believed was hiding potentially dangerous contraband.

The search was conducted after a fellow female officer asked the guard for assistance because she witnessed what she believed was an exchange of contraband between two inmates who were prohibited from interacting.

“Just as I’m approaching him, the toilet flushes, which is a sign that he probably got rid of the contraband,” the guard said. “So, I conducted a clothed body search on him, and she was right there next to me. I ended up doing an unclothed body search, which our policy states that a female can under emergency circumstances.”

The guard said she deemed it an emergency because her friend was sure she saw a weapon or drugs in the man’s possession.

“I was completely professional about it and that was it,” she said.

Months later, she received the highest possible level of disciplinary action from her superiors. She appealed the decision on the grounds that the policy is ambiguous about what circumstances qualify as an “emergency.” She lost the case. An official in Chino’s employment office told her confidentially that the department wanted to fire her over the incident.

“Back in 2017, it was two male inmates, but now here we are seven years later, and they want me, if I’m given a direct order, I must strip out that trans inmate,” she said. “What’s the difference from when I stripped out that male inmate to now? It’s still a man.”

Prison officers are told in training that they could be fired for refusing to do a search on the opposite sex because “it’s refusing a direct order from your sergeant,” said James, the recently retired corrections officer.

While some younger female officers are more willing to comply with the new gender-inclusion policy because they’ve never experienced anything different, others expressed concern to James before she retired.

“I had younger officers coming to me saying, ‘Ms. James, what am I going to do?,” she recalled. “They want us to do this with these inmates now.’

Other female guards have reported to James that they think male inmates have requested to be searched by women “just to make the officer see them.”

Asked for comment, the California Department of Corrections reiterated that SB 132, The Transgender Respect, Agency and Dignity Act, allows incarcerated transgender, non-binary and intersex people to request to be housed and searched in a manner consistent with their gender identity.

“Ongoing training for staff and incarcerated people is paramount when handling the unique challenges facing this population,” the department said. “CDCR has developed and provided specialized training to staff to ensure they are aware of laws and departmental policies and to give them the knowledge and tools they need when interacting with the incarcerated transgender and non-binary communities.”

Paula confirmed that California, like Washington State, subsidizes transition procedures for male felons on taxpayer dime.

“We had a guy that was doing 60 years, he was a rapist,” James said. “He became a female, and he was going to go to the female facility, but they paroled him instead. I couldn’t believe it. . . . This guy got released to the streets.”

Once that inmate underwent the intervention, many other trans inmates started seeking out the procedures, she said.

“A lot of sexual predators, I hate to say it, are getting the surgery,” she said. “Even child molesters. It’s not good.”

One male inmate at Chino, after getting a phalloplasty, was brought back to the facility with durable medical equipment. One tool he was given was a dildo, to prevent the incision from closing, the anonymous female officer said.

“The state pays for them to have hair removal,” she added. “The state pays for them to have breast implants. The state pays for them to go to vocal classes.”

James, who worked in the medical area of Chino, often heard the crimes of the male patients.

One such patient was found guilty of consuming child pornography and sexually abusing his girlfriend’s daughter, she said. He too received the surgery from the state, she said.

“I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, why are they able to change to a female, then they can be, if they ever get out, they can prey on their victims even more?’” she said.

#usa #california #KeepPrisonsSingleSex #Perverted men requesting to be searched by women

17 notes · View notes

norahastuff · 2 months ago

Note

Ahh I want to hear more about Layman's Paradise and your post-canon fic, too, please.

Ask and ye shall receive.

This is way too long and extremely unedited, so be careful what you ask for.

Layman's paradise

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached the lake. Cas stood there staring at the water. Dean took in the slope of his shoulders, the long tan coat swirling around his legs. The wind ruffled his hair into an even more unruly state than usual.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you were coming down here,” Dean said when he finally reached him. There was no one else around. It was a little colder than it should be around this time of year, though. Dean figured it was probably the wind that deterred anyone from spending a nice leisurely day by the lake.

Dean pulled his jacket tighter around himself to counter the chill. Cas didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. He kept his gaze focused on the glittering blue surface of the lake – the same shade as his eyes, Dean noticed with idle interest – his coat flapping against his sides.

“Hello, Dean. I spoke with Ian Lane’s fiancée.”

‘The second victim?”

Cas nodded, still staring at the lake. “Yes. She said he’d gone swimming.”

“Uh, okay? It’s not exactly ideal swimming weather, right now, but –”

“Not now. Last year. When they went on vacation.”

Dean tried and failed to follow the logic. “Cas, buddy, I’m tryin’ to go with you on this one, but I’m going to need a little more than that.”

Cas finally turned to face him. “They went to Europe. More specifically, Scotland.”

“Ah, the land our mystical My Little Pony hails from. You think there’s a connection.”

“Yes. Gina did tell me he seemed quite fond of a small lake near where they were staying. She said he spent a great deal of time there. She found it somewhat unremarkable, but he was apparently quite taken with it. One night she woke up to find him writhing in ecstasy on the floor of their room, babbling nonsensically about the beauty and allure of the lake. He was drenched and unclothed. She insisted they cut their trip short and return home immediately.”

“Yeah, girlfriend thinks her man’s cheating on her with a body of water. I’d get the hell out of dodge too. I mean there’s kinky and then there’s just plain disturbing. So, what? You think the kelpie followed him here?

“Yes. I did some research. It seems kelpies can be rather territorial. If you happen to encroach upon an area they consider their home, they believe it is their right to claim dominion over your soul. I haven’t heard of any instances of them travelling such great distances to claim what is theirs, but” – he shrugged – “it’s not impossible. And all the evidence indicates that is what is happening here.”

“Okay, so, we find it and put a silver bullet in its head. That’ll work, right?”

“I believe so.”

“Great, and then we celebrate at that all-you-can-eat buffet we passed on our way into town.”

“That was a strip club, Dean.”

“Hey, it’s all-you-can-eat. The venue’s just a bonus.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be quite that easy.”

Dean sighed. “Of course not.”

“The kelpie only appears to those it means to seduce. Lake Superior is vast. I don’t know how we would begin to even locate it.” Castiel turned back to the llake. His eyes widened. “Unless…”

Before Dean knew what was happening, Cas made his way to the lake, kicking off his shoes and socks as he walked. Dean realised what he was doing.

“Cas, what the fuck? Don’t –”

He cut off as Cas sat down and dunked his feet into the water.

“You fucking idiot.”

Cas shrugged, rolling up his trousers as the water climbed up his legs. “Do you have a better idea about how to find her? Look at the previous three victims. I believe I could be classified as ‘its type.’”

Its type being, young(ish), attractive men, stupid enough to go swimming in Minnesota in November. He couldn’t exactly fault Cas’ logic. He probably would have done the same thing too if he’d figured it out first. Cas was just faster at connecting the dots than he was.

“Okay, so now what? We sit here while you contract hypothermia as we wait for horse girl to make an appearance?”

“No, none of the victims were taken on their initial contact with the water. She called out to them later.”

“Oh yeah, the three-day rule.” Cas looked up and squinted at Dean. “You know, how after a date, you’re supposed to wait – never mind,” Dean said, biting back a grin at Cas’ look of utter confusion. Yeah, of course he wouldn’t know. Even if he did give the traditional dating thing a shot, he’d no doubt tackle it with the same directness he handled everything he dealt with.

“Okay, you think she got your scent by now?”

“Yes, I believe this should suffice.”

They go back to Donna’s. She’s out, working late. Look at the sigils. Cas doesn’t recognise them. Dean sat up to watch Cas, but found himself drifting.

Dean woke, feeling disorientated. It took him a moment to register the hand on his face. It was too dark to really see that piercing blue stare, but Dean could feel it on him nonetheless.

“Cas?” he said. “Wh–”

“She’s calling me, Dean,” Cas whispered, his hand stroking the side of Dean’s face before he pulled away. “I have to go.”

Dean flipped on the bedside lamp. “Cas,” Dean said, hoping his tone was casual enough not to spook the guy. “We knew this was going to happen, remember. It’s part of the plan.”

“Plan?” Cas looked like he was about to drift off into a haze.

Dean gripped his wrist, squeezing tighter than he normally would. “Hey! You with me?”

Cas looked down at their joined hands before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Yes,” he said finally, sounding more like himself. Dean exhaled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“But we should probably go now,” Cas said. “Everything in me wants to submit to her. I don’t know how much longer I can resist.”

Dean nodded. He reluctantly released Cas’ wrist to make the fastest bathroom trip of all time. When he returned, Cas was sitting on the couch, hands balled up into fists on his lap. The blank expression on his face flickered – Dean caught a flash of relief pass over it – before he rearranged his features back to placidity.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Dean said, checking the rounds in his gun and shoving it into the holster on his thigh. (He’d been a little reluctant when Cas had first pushed the holster at him, but Cas had insisted. It was pretty convenient, and Dean was starting to kind of like how badass it looked. It wasn’t exactly suitable for concealed carry, but Dean wasn’t particularly worried about civilians by the lake at this time of night. It’d be too dark for them to notice his choice in accessories, at any rate. “I can handle this by myself.”

“Dean, your presence is the only thing keeping me from falling under her thrall. The second you leave, I’m going to race right to her.”

“I can tie you up,” Dean said, surveying the silver blades he’d pulled out of his bag.

“I suspect I would be able to get out of any of your attempts to bind me.”

Dean looked up, eyebrows raised. “Do you now?”

“Yes. I have received extensive training in how to extricate myself from a wide array of restraints.”

Dean was intrigued, but he figured now wasn’t the time to test that theory. If Cas did manage to get loose and find his way to the kelpie before Dean did, he would be defenceless against her. And Dean was a good swimmer, but he didn’t think he’d be much use in rescuing Cas from the bottom of a lake bed.

He supposed he could wake Donna and ask her to watch him, but as good as Donna was, Cas was a 180-pound ex-soldier with more muscles than seemed necessary, even in their line of work. And Dean may not have seen him in action, but from his observations of Cas, as well as Kelvin’s testimony, Dean figured he was a pretty skilled hunter. Leaving Cas alone with Donna wasn’t a risk he felt comfortable taking.

He sighed, holding out one of the blades to Cas. “Well, all right then. Let’s go kill an evil sea horse.”

Dean could feel Cas getting more and more agitated as they approached the area of the lake they’d been at earlier. He’d barely stopped the car before Cas had wrenched open the door and sprinted across to edge of the lake.

Dean followed, muttering curses under his breath as he pushed his muscles to their limit. He had definitely gotten a little soft. He needed to work out more.

There was a pile of clothes on the grass when Dean reached the edge of the lake. Dean saw a dark figure walking into the water. Suddenly, the entire lake lit up, a pale blue glow stretching as far the eye could see. Dean could make out Cas now, submerged to the waist, the incandescent light illuminating his tan skin. As he got closer, he saw the relaxed smile on Cas’ face. His eyes were shut, his fingers trailing through the water. His dark hair glittered from the droplets of water running through it.

“Wow.” A hushed voice broke the strange silence hanging over the scene. It should have been too quiet for Dean to hear it, but somehow it echoed over the water.

A woman was standing in the water in front of Cas. The light from the water painted her bare skin in luminous shades of blue. Her long red hair was pulled over one shoulder, draped over her breast. Dean noticed the water weeds tangled in her hair and clinging to the skin of her midriff.

“I haven’t come across a man as exquisite as you in quite some time.” She moved closer to him, her hand moving over his chest. “You are a warrior, yes? But of a different ilk. I can’t quite make it out…”

Dean fired a shot, more to get her attention than to actually hit her. She was standing too close to Cas for him to get a clean shot. She turned to face him.

Dean waggled his fingers at her. “He’s the kind of warrior that kills things like you. So am I, if that wasn’t clear.”

She regarded Dean for a moment. “I have no interest in you. Now him on the other hand –”

Dean fired again. He walked into the lake, feeling the cold water soak through his boots and his jeans. “Don’t touch him.”

She turned to regard him, her expression betraying slightly more interest. “He is mine.”

“Yeah, not if I have something to say about it.”

Dean swore he could sense the ripple of something much larger underneath her, just below the surface of the water. “Are you trying to tell me he belongs to you? I saw no evidence of any such claim on him.”

“Uh, what?” That was definitely a tail that flicked out of the water a moment ago. He chanced a look at Cas who was standing in the same position staring rapturously at the kelpie.

“I understand, humans these days offer items of jewellery to those they claim as their own. I would not take one who was already promised to another.”

“Oh, yeah, what about Ian? He was sneaking out on his fiancée to come see you.”

The thing’s eyes flashed bright green, anger contorting its features. “He was mine first. He came to me, swam in my waters, laid with me.” Dean tried not to react as the implications of that registered. Especially because the shadows he could now see moving underneath the water were not suggestive of human anatomy.

“And then he promised himself to another.”

Dean firmly put the idea of water horse/human sex out of his mind. “Well, seems to me like you already got your revenge.”

“I have been alone for so long. I miss having a mate. But those other men were so disappointing. But him.” She turned her attention back to Cas, her expression melting into something hungry. “He’s exquisite. I want to keep him.”

“Well, sorry, sister, no can do.” Dean suddenly remembered something, and cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. “He’s taken.” Dean rolled up his sleeve, revealing the silver bracelet Cas had tricked him into accepting the other day.

“He claimed you?” In a flash, she was beside him, hands running over the bracelet. Dean tried to fire, but he found he couldn’t move, held in place by a force he couldn’t budge against. “It is from him, doused in solemnity and intention.” She regarded Dean.

“I see. He is yours, and you would like him to be returned to you.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then, I accept your terms. I will engage you in combat for his soul.”

“Run that one by me again?”

“I was unaware of his betrothal when he offered himself to me. Under most circumstances I would return him to you with my apologies, but he is… I do not wish to relinquish him. But if you defeat me, he is yours to take.”

Dean weighed his options. Fighting an evil half hot-chick half horse monster for his fake fiance's soul may have been one of the dumber decisions he’d made in his life, but it definitely didn’t rank at the top of that list. Besides, he didn’t particularly have any other way out of this.

“Sure, why the fuck not?” He still had the gun.

The force freezing him in place lifted and without warning the kelpie launched herself at him. The gun went flying out of his hand and Dean saw it sink into the water.

“Well fuck,” he said.

The image before him shifted and suddenly a grotesque skeletal horse was standing before him. It grinned revealing a horrifyingly large set of sharp teeth. Dean ducked under the water just as it snapped at him.

Fight.

It’s teeth were inches away from his throat when suddenly it howled and thrashed. Dean heaved himself away to avoid its hooves.

Cas was sitting atop the creature’s back, its bridle clutched in his grasp. Dean’s silver blade was embedded through the horse’s mouth.

After a moment, he climbed down. He wound an arm around Dean’s waist and dragged him to the edge of the lake. They pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed on the bank, breathing heavily.

Dean looked over after a moment. Cas was lying beside him. He was still naked. “Cas,” Dean said slowly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Where were you keeping that blade?”

Cas turned his head to look at him. “I retrieved it from my clothes while you were fighting it.”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Thank you for fighting for my honour.”

“Any time.”

They left early the next morning after Donna extracted a promise from them both to keep in touch. She hugged them both tightly before they left.

“Next time bring me along for the ride. I missed out on all the fun.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he told her sincerely. He liked Donna a great deal.

Donna shook her head. “How is he so dang adorable?”

Dean grinned. “Even the monsters can’t resist his charms.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Donna hit Dean on the arm, and Castiel (not without some satisfaction) saw him wince at the blow.

“Too soon, Dean. Are you sure you’re okay, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt.”

Donna laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

“Somehow I doubt that. But I appreciate the attempt to assuage my ego.”

“So,” Castiel said as they drove back. “Your first hunt in three years, and you emerged victorious. How do you feel?”

Dean lifted a hand in a see-saw motion. “So-so. You’re the one who killed it. I would have been monster chow if you hadn’t saved my ass.”

“And I would have been forced to live the remainder of my life as the kelpie’s consort if you hadn’t saved my ass.”

Dean looked over at him, a speculative look on his face. “So, what, you’re saying we’re even?”

“Yes. I believe we make a good team.”

Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s eyes behind the aviator sunglasses he wore, but thought he saw his shoulders relax incrementally.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess we do. So, does this mean you wanna do this again sometime?”

“Of course, Dean. Anytime.”

He didn’t need to see Dean’s eyes to interpret the smile he shot him in response.

“Hey, you got somewhere to be tonight?”

“No, not that I’m aware of.”

“You feel like grabbing a drink? Celebrate our mutual badassery?”

“I’d love to.”

Bela was standing outside his apartment when Dean pulled up in front of it. She was leaning against his motorbike clad in black leather.

“Oh, great,” Dean muttered, bringing the engine to a stop.

Castiel rolled down the window. “Hello.”

Bela nodded, her eyes flicking over Dean’s car before focusing on the man himself. “Brought your bike back. Was waiting for you to let me in.”

“How did you know I was on my way home?”

Bela just smirked, and Castiel didn’t miss how Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“Well, come on. Chop, chop. I don’t have all day.”

Bela followed them down to the parking garage. “You know she hacked the GPS on your phone, right?”

“Yes, I gathered.”

Dean took a breath. He looked at Castiel before turning back to the road. Castiel waited for him to speak. “Look, Cas, I may be out of line here, but do you trust her?”

“No.”

Dean’s head snapped up, shock painting his features. “Uh, wait, really? I thought I’d have to fight you on that one.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, I may have sex with her on occasion, but I’m still fully in possession of my faculties. I’m under no illusions about who Bela is. She helps me when it suits her, but she would sell me out without hesitation if she had to.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“She’s a survivalist.”

“Doesn’t look like any doomsday prep nut I’ve ever seen. None of them ever wore Gucci.”

“There are many forms of survivalism. She has her reasons.”

“Which are?”

Castiel looked at Bela as she disembarked from the bike. “They aren’t mine to divulge.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re really fine with that. With her using you because she finds you useful?”

Castiel shrugged. “I believe she also finds me amusing.”

Dean cracked a smile at that. “We all do, buddy.”

They got out of the car. Bela was standing beside the bike. She tossed the keys to Castiel who caught them one-handed without fumbling, thankfully. That had the potential to be embarrassing.

“So,” Bela said, eyes flicking between Dean and Castiel. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Dean and I were going to go out for a drink.”

“No need,” she said, flipping open the trunk box to reveal three bottles of Macallan 18. “We could stay in, get to know each other?”

Castiel could see Dean’s reluctance to spend time in Bela’s company, warring with his taste for good whiskey.

“Fine,” Dean said after a moment. “But only because you brought the good stuff.”

“It’s Cas’ favourite,” she said, shooting Dean a wide smile. “He has rather refined tastes. Usually.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Castiel said before Dean could respond. If he didn’t stop them they could probably stand here all night trading snipes. “I’m hungry.”

“How are you still not drunk,” Dean said two hours later, squinting down at Castiel from his position on the couch. “You drank almost an entire bottle by yourself.

Castiel poked at the remains of his pad thai. All that was left were the bamboo shoots. He drained what was left of his glass before looking up at Dean. “I think I’m starting to feel something.”

“The eleventh drink is where it starts kicking in,” Bela said. She was curled up on the other end of the couch.

Dean looked at her in interest. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “I’ve only seen him get this far once before, but I made note of it.”

Castiel watched them. They still didn’t particularly seem to like each other, but they were certainly less hostile than they’d been before they’d started drinking.

“Alcohol is good,” Castiel told them. He received twin nods in response.

He took in Bela and Dean sitting on opposite ends of the couch. They were both rather similar, he suddenly realised. Both were charming, and used sarcasm to hide their true vulnerability. Were forced to grow up too soon due to their traumatic childhoods, and their terrible fathers. And of course both were inordinately beautiful.

“You have the same colour hair,” Castiel said, tilting his head to regard them. “And your eyes are a very similar shade of green.”

Dean and Bela exchanged a look that Castiel couldn’t quite interpret.

“Guess, Cas has a type,” Bela said after a moment.

Dean scoffed. “I’m not fucking him.”

Bela narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re just saving the world with him. I’ll let you in on a little secret: it can’t be done. In the end, we’re all gonna burn.”

“You don’t think I know that already, sweetheart?”

Bela did look a little surprised by that. “Then what does it matter? Might as well enjoy the ride while we’re still on it.”

“Fuck you. It matters.”

“Why?”

“Because if it’s not going to all add up to something at the end, if you’re right Bela and we’re all ultimately doomed, then this world right here, the people on it, they’re the only thing we know for sure does matter. The only thing we know is real. So, we fight. Because we can. So we do.”

Dean and Bela were staring at him.

“What?” Castiel said, unscrewing the bottle and pouring some whiskey into Dean’s glass as he looked up at him. “Was that not what you were going to say? I apologise, those are my sentiments. I shouldn’t speak on your behalf.”

“Uh, no, that’s…” Dean trailed off, staring down at Castiel. His eyes were very green. “That’s pretty much it.”

Bela was quiet for a moment before she reached over to snatch the bottle from Castiel and take a swig directly from it. “Let’s not get maudlin,” she said.

“So, you’re the man who took Castiel’s innocence,” she said.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Uh, no, I wouldn’t – we just. It was just a kiss.”

Bela’s entire face lit up. “Oh, really, now?”

“I told her you were the one who introduced me to hunting,” Castiel told Dean, watching in amusement as his eyes fell shut.

“Yes, he insisted it was more of a spiritually affecting encounter than a physical one. You’ve been holding out on me, Cas.”

“I had gone out to try and have a sexual encounter before I joined the military and yet was unsuccessful in all my attempts. Dean simply took pity on me in my sorry state and gave me my first kiss. Nothing more salacious to report, Bela.”

Bela did look a little unsatisfied by how chaste the whole encounter sounded. Castiel remembered it somewhat differently, but he supposed his ineptitude and youthful fascination with the confident and exceedingly attractive stranger may have coloured his memory of the incident. The version he told Bela was probably closer to the objective truth of the encounter.

“Still, you two make quite a picture.” She was lying on the couch now, her leather jacket thrown on the floor beside Cas. She propped her head on her hand, the strap of her black silk top sliding down her shoulder.

Castiel saw the interest in Dean’s gaze as he looked her over. From Bela’s smirk, she noticed it too. “My imagination’s running wild here. Care to re-enact it? To satisfy my curiosity?”

“Bela,” Castiel said, the warning evident in his tone.

“What, I’m just curious.” She dropped lithely to the floor, crawling over to where Castiel was stretched out. She sat next to him, draping her legs over his lap, one arm resting on the couch beside Dean.

She brought her hand up to rest on Castiel’s shoulder, and before Castiel realised what was happening, she gripped his hair and yanked his head back till it was resting on the couch, staring up at Dean’s startled expression.

In one fluid motion she shifted to straddle Castiel’s lap and brought her face inches from his. She looked up at Dean. “Was it like this?”

“I, uh – “

Castiel’s view of Dean’s expression was suddenly obscured as Bela leaned down to kiss him. His eyes briefly fell shut, and when he opened them, she was still looking at Dean. She moved back after a moment. “Would you like a turn?”

“With which one of you?” Dean’s tone was light, but his rapid blinking revealed he was far from relaxed.

“Dealer’s choice. Though, no one but you is saying it’s an either/or kinda deal.”

“Oh.”

Bela raised an eyebrow. “Never done the group thing before, huh?”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean smiled at her. “Wrong on that front, sweetheart.”

“But never with another guy in the mix?”

Dean whistled under his breath. “You’re 0 for 2, tonight. Might wanna quit while you’re head.”

“Interesting,” Bela said, her hand sliding down to the collar of Castiel’s shirt.

Castiel looked up at Dean who was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret. Bela’s hand was warm against his neck.

Castiel gripped Bela’s hand. She met his eyes and he shook his head minutely.

She moved off him so swiftly, and almost before he realised it, returned to her original perch on the couch. Dean took a moment to adjust to the sudden change in mood, blinking rapidly down at where she had been a moment ago. Their eyes met again, and Castiel could read the ‘what the fuck just happened?’ in them, clear as day.

He shrugged and lifted his head off the cushion. Bela was watching them curiously.

“Was that necessary?” Castiel asked.

“Can’t blame a girl for being curious.”

“Try me,” Dean muttered, apparently having recovered from his confusion.

“I thought you’d be into it,” she said, grinning at Castiel. She turned to Dean. “Did he tell you we met at an orgy?”

“What?”

Castiel sighed. Bela looked delighted by Dean’s slack jawed expression.“I was investigating a commune in South Dakota,” Castiel said. “There had been some reports of a charismatic leader who seemed to be a little too charming. I wondered if he might be employing supernatural means to achieve such a level of devotion.”

“And was he?”

“No. He was simply creating a community of like-minded people who enjoyed the pleasures of mind-altering substances and group sex. They didn’t feel their own society had a place for them, and so were loyal to the man who put such efforts into accommodating them.”

“Plus, he was a magnetic speaker and unspeakably hot.”

Castiel nodded. “He was. And very nice.”

“He liked Cas so much, he asked him to lead his own group. Should have heard the crap he was coming out with. Something about orgies being the gateway to the collective tapestry of the human mind?”

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t remember. It was mostly nonsense.” Though, he does remember being rather impressed by his own ability to improvise. He wasn’t usually that good at it.

“The hippie chicks loved him.” Bela ran a hand through her hair as she regarded him. “You’d make an excellent cult leader, you know.”

“Thank you.”

“And what were you doing there?” Dean asked Bela.

“Same thing he was. I thought the yogi master was using a mystical object to create his own Jonestown. Thought such an artefact could be of some value. I left disappointed.”

“What, didn’t trip the light fantastic and fuck your way over the rainbow?”

“Hippies aren’t exactly my thing.” She smiled. “Can’t say the same for our friend over there, though.”

Dean’s head snapped up so quick, Castiel could almost hear a crack. “Really?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Huh,” Dean said, leaning back with a contemplative look on his face.

Castiel wasn’t sure how, but Bela’s recollection of “The Orgy Case” as she liked to call it, seemed to have dissipated the strange tension that had built up around them. The rest of the night passed without incident. They finished the whiskey. Bela and Dean sniped at each other, but without any real heat behind their barbs.

Eventually, Bela stood up and picked up her jacket from the floor. “Well, it’s been fun, boys, but I have things to do, places to be.”

“Wait, you’re, uh, not staying?” Dean said, his words slightly slurred.

Bela shook her head. “Three’s a crowd, apparently,” shooting Castiel a quick, almost imperceptible look. “Have a good night. I know the morning’s going to be tortuous. Well, for you, at least, Dean. Don’t think Cas can even get a hangover.”

Dean groaned, pulling the cushion over his face. “Fuck,” he said, his voice muffled.

Bela laughed and waggled her fingers in their direction before closing the door behind her.

Castiel offered to make up the guest room bed for Dean but he declined.

“Don’t think I could move right now if I tried, Cas.”

Castiel went to grab a blanket and spare pillow for Dean, along with a bottle of water. He sat on the coffee table until Dean finished the water. Dean dropped his head back onto the pillow. Castiel watched him for a moment before turning out the light. He had just started to walk to his bedroom when he heard Dean call out to him quietly.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I’m, uh, sorry.”

Castiel paused. The sliver of light from the crack in his bedroom door fell directly on Dean’s face. Castiel still couldn’t read his expression. “For what?”

“Bela, she came here to fuck you, right?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Dean shifted his face against the pillow. “I made it weird.”

Castiel tried and failed to follow Dean’s drunken logic. “I can assure you, you didn’t.”

“You like her.”

Castiel had no idea how to interpret that. “I don’t object to her company,” he said after a moment’s deliberation.

“But you don’t want to date her?”

“No.”

“And you don’t trust her?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Castiel stared at Dean quietly for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, his breathing getting deeper as he succumbed to his exhaustion. “Get some rest, Dean. I’ll see you in the morning.”

If you're still here, here's an excerpt from the post-canon one.

Look you kids with your vintage music

"Dude, that's a bear. A demonic bear. "

"I can see it Dean. "

"What the actual fuck?" Dean says while Cas is inching backwards to retrieve his fallen blade.

It’s almost on Dean now but it abruptly turns to Cas and stills, black eyes (are bears eyes usually black anyway?) narrowing. Dean watches on in confusion as the black smoke pours out of the bear’s mouth…

Only to look on in horror as it envelops Cas, forcing its way into his mouth and nose. He barely has time to take in the shocked expression on Cas’ face before the demon has schooled his features into something barely recognisable.

“Ooh wasn’t sure if that would work,” it says laughing, the sound making Dean’s insides twist painfully. That’s not Cas’ laugh. “Jeez, feathers, there’s barely any angel left in you is there?”

“Get the fuck out of him!” Dean yells, hoping it doesn’t notice how his voice shakes on that last word. Seeing Cas with black eyes is not something he’d been prepared to deal with. It wasn’t even on the long list of possible worries he had about Cas. (Numbers 1-8 were all the ways he had already managed to get himself dead.)

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” and fuck this thing is actually enjoying this. “Please as if you’d even lay a hand on me when I’m in this body. I know all about you, Dean. You know you’re quite the topic of conversation in hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dean Winchester: the man, the myth, the legend. You’ve read all about me on those demon bathroom walls I’m sure.” He’s stalling now. This demon must be strong if it’s managed to possess Cas, and Dean’s trying to figure out how he’s going to get through an exorcism without it stopping him.

“Yes,” it says thoughtfully, tilting it’s head in a twisted mockery of Cas’ usual movements “Though I have to say, having access to a first person account of the story truly is fascinating. Oh, Castiel…the martyrdom, the self flagellation - you don’t even realise everything you could be if you didn’t insist on prostrating yourself before the Altar of Dean Winchester. I mean, look where it’s gotten you.”

Fighting to ignore its words, Dean uses its monologuing at Cas as an opportunity to start muttering an exorcism under his breath, but he only gets half way through before those nauseatingly black eyes flick back on him.

“Oh I don’t think so sweetheart.”

With a flick of its wrist Dean finds himself pinned to the ground, throat constricting. The demon ambles over slowly, dropping down to straddle him, pressing Cas' angel blade to his throat.

“Now as much as I think we could have some fun you and I,” it says dragging its eyes over his body appreciatively and Dean has to look away, the movement making the blade dig into his skin and drawing out a thin line of blood on his neck. “It would be stupid of me to waste time. I’m assuming that brother of yours is around here somewhere, so sorry, I'm going to have to skip to the end. Spoiler alert: it’s me returning to hell as the demon who killed Dean Winchester.”

Dean would come up with a smart ass response to that but unfortunately, the demon’s literally on top with him with a blade partly in his throat, its mojo is still constricting Dean's vocal chords.

He forces himself to look up into Cas’ eyes and project ‘It wasn’t you - it’s not your fault’ as loudly as he can. When Cas is back in the driver’s seat he needs to know that. He needs to know that Dean knew that. Of course he’ll still blame himself, this is Cas, and he’s a dumbass like that, but it’s all Dean’s got.

He’s still looking intently into Cas’ eyes, silently doing his best Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting impression, when he sees the black fall away and suddenly he’s looking into that impossible blue again. He feels his throat relax and he starts gasping, the movement causing the blade to nick at the skin again.

Cas looks down and quickly tosses the blade away. He has quite the arm; that’s going to be a bitch to find again in the dark.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean feels a surge of relief that the voice is nothing like the twisted impression he’d been hearing from the demon. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” he says, voice still a little hoarse. He reaches up a hand to Cas jaw, gripping tightly to bring his face to his. It’s him. Eyes blue. “What - Cas- how?“

“I’m sorry it seems my powers are weak enough for a demon to be able to momentarily take control. I didn’t realise…”

“How did you snap out of it?”

Cas’ expression abruptly changes from shame and concern to “Seriously? I am so done with this shit” that Dean feels another surge of warmth. Yep definitely all Cas.

“I said it could momentarily take control. I’m still an angel, even if just as a technicality,” he says dismissively. “A demon can’t hold me for long.”

“Yeah yeah I get it you eat your wheaties.”

“It was also rather stupid,” Cas says looking intently down at Dean, eyes still clear and blue. “In threatening you I mean. That’s certainly the most sure fire way of jolting me back into the driver’s seat, as you would say.”

Dean’s suddenly very aware that Cas is essentially sitting in his lap and that Dean is still gripping his jaw tightly. His face is inches away and Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’ breath on his cheek.

“Dean,” Cas says, jolting him from wherever his thoughts were wandering, “I may have gotten back control but it would still be better to do this sooner rather than later.”

“Do what?” He says says struggling to focus on what the point was.

Cas is looking at him (from very close by) like he’s an idiot.

“The exorcism, Dean.”

Oh right. Because there’s still a demon in Cas. And they’ve just been sitting around shooting the breeze.

Dean hurriedly starts the exorcism, belatedly realising it might have been smarter for both of them to stand up before starting this, but then Cas is shaking and all thoughts leave Dean’s head. He lifts a hand to grip Cas’ arm, but Cas shakes it off, bracing his hands on the ground either side of Dean’s shoulders. Dean finishes the exorcism, the smoke bursts out of Cas’ body and is forced into the ground on the midnight train direct to Hell.

Cas is leaning over him struggling to catch his breath, but otherwise he looks okay. Once again Dean reaches over to cup his face a silent question in his eyes and he only relaxes when Cas looks back and nods.

Dropping his head back to the ground and closing his eyes he’s jolted back by the sound of foosteps and looks up to see Sam and Jack running only to stop abruptly. What makes them pause who knows? There’s an unconscious bear not ten feet away. There’s Cas - pale, exhausted and out of breath. Oh, and there’s also the fact that he’s essentially still straddling Dean who can’t quite bring himself to move. It’s all a rich tableau.

“What the fuck happened here?” Sam asks as Jack rushes over to help Cas.

“Well, Sammy,” he says, allowing Jack to pull him up too after he’s checked that Cas is okay. “Highlights: demon bear, I’m still famous as ever in Hell, and Cas is gonna need some new ink. After I’ve eaten my weight in red meat. It’s been a fucking day.”

“Where the hell is he?’ Dean demands pacing the floor of the motel room.

Sam looks on bemused. “Dean, he’s a grown man - angel, whatever. He can take care of himself.”

“Dude just got possessed by a demon, Sam and then just decided to go off on his own. He’s not even answering his phone.”

Sam shrugs. “He seemed fine after. A little annoyed, but that’s pretty much business as usual for Cas. He probably just needed some air - to clear his head.”

Dean knows Sam’s probably right but he’s not really in the mood to be placated. “He could at least answer his phone.”

“Loosen the leash a little, Dean. Does Cas know he has a curfew?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Look, if you’re going to be like this for the rest of the night, I’m just gonna go bunk with Jack. It’s been a long day.”

“Fine, but -”

“I’m right next door," Sam interrupts, raising a hand behind him as he leaves.

Dean fully intends to have chilled out a little by the time Cas comes back.

“Where the fuck were you?”

Yeah, well, everyone knows what the road to hell is paved with, and Dean's practically got an express ticket by this point.

Cas looks at him evenly. “Out.”

“Oh real cute, Punky Brewster. Something wrong with your phone?”

Cas pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it at Dean. Dean instinctively catches it and looks down at the cracked screen.

“It must have gotten broken during the encounter with the demon earlier,” Cas says, shrugging out of his coat and draping it on the back of the chair.

“Fine, whatever. Where were you?”

“Getting a tattoo.”

“Getting a...oh.”

Cas looks away. “Earlier, that shouldn’t have... I didn’t think a demon would be able to do that. I should have considered it, though. I should have been prepared.” His eyes drift to Dean's neck.

Cas walks over to where Dean is sitting on the bed.

Dean inhales sharply as Cas runs his fingers over the scabbed over cut on his throat.

“Cas it’s -” He clears his throat, surprised by the husky quality of his voice. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse getting out of bed.

“I think you’ve been getting out of bed wrong.”

“Cas” - he tugs at his wrist to get him to sit down - “look at me.”

Cas resists for a moment before he sighs and takes a seat, the cheap motel mattress sinking under his weight.

“It’s not your fault. This shit happens.”

“Not to me. At least it shouldn’t.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, wondering how he should say this. “But Crowley was able to possess you that time.”

Cas scoffs, which is not the reaction Dean had expected but in retrospect maybe he should have. The most sure fire way to get Cas to show contempt and condescension is to mention Crowley’s name. Especially since Rowena had figured out a way to bring him back. Maybe Dean should do it more often: it’s good for Cas’ self-esteem to feel righteously superior every once in a while.

“He didn’t possess me, Dean. He was able to enter my body because I wasn’t in control of it at the time, but even in that state he wouldn’t have been able to force me to do so much as put on a bracelet.”

“That’s weirdly specific.”

Cas stares into the distance with the air of someone haunted by some long suppressed memory. “When we were working together to try to find Lucifer, he bought me three different friendship bracelets. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Don’t laugh, Dean tells himself. Crowley might be a genius. Oh to be a fly on the wall for that glorious gift exchange.

“So, yes, I never thought a demon would be able to possess me and wrest control of my body from me. I won’t let it happen again, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, I swear to God…” Dean mutters. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, fine, whatever. So it worked?”

Cas looks at him curiously.

“Well, when we tried to get Jack inked up, the tat dissolved off him before the guy had even put the gun down. You didn’t have the same issue or anything?”

Cas shrugs and starts to unbutton his jeans.

“Woah, wait what are you –”

“Checking my tattoo? Like you just suggested?” Cas says looking at Dean like he’s an idiot. He might be; his brain seems to be sending out an error 404 signal right now.

“I thought... We usually go for –” Dean pulls at the collar of his shirt to gesture at the anti-possession symbol below his collar bone.

Cas shrugs as he pulls down the waistband. “I didn’t give it much thought. I have the anti-angel one there,” Dean follows his fingers as they trace over the Enochian lettering on his lower ribs. “It just made sense to get this one below it.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.”

Cas raises a brow at him before looking down to examine his new tattoo. “As you can see, still there.”

Dean looks at the bold black markings for longer than a simple appraisal would warrant, but Cas doesn’t call him on it. “Uh yeah,” he coughs, finally looking away. ‘Looks good.”

Cas nods and buttons up his jeans and Dean feels a strange mix of relief and disappointment that he has no intention of examining too closely. He leans back against the headboard. “Sorry if I came on a little strong. I was just... Well uh, you know.” He sighs. “I was just worried.”

Cas settles himself more comfortably back on the bed. “I know, Dean. I learned to differentiate the nuances in your various angry reactions a long time ago.”

Dean should probably be offended by that, but he can’t quite muster up the energy to care. Besides, Cas is right: he does tend to hide a great deal of his vulnerabilities behind a veil of anger. It’s as valid a coping mechanism as any.

“Aww, Cas, it’s like you like me or something.”

“Or something.” Cas looks at him intently.

“What?”

“I was just thinking...” He pauses. “I don’t think you’d like to hear this.”

Dean snorts. “Now you have to tell me.”

“I was thinking about you and Lisa.”

Dean stares at him. Cas was right. He definitely didn’t want to hear that. He never thought he’d have to. Sam knew better than to ever mention her again, but Cas…

Dean didn’t have the right to ask Cas to stay quiet on this particular subject, but he had always just assumed they had a tacit agreement to keep this particular skeleton buried. He didn’t think Cas would want to rehash it anymore than he did.

“Dean, we don’t have to.”

“No, no, it’s not...I –I just ” –Dean bangs his head back against the wall, ignoring the resulting twinge – “ I don’t know where to even start. What I did to her –”

“What we did, Dean.”

Dean sits up so quickly he has to brace himself on the edge of the mattress to keep from tipping over. “No, Cas. No. That one’s not on you. I asked you to do it. Things were so damn broken between us and I knew how guilty you felt. I knew…”

“You knew I’d give you whatever you asked without hesitation,” Cas finishes staring at Dean. “And I did. But that was my choice.”

“Your choice?” Dean laughs bitterly. “Yeah, like I gave you much of a choice. Come on, Cas, you were full wattage halo back then. Glory be to our Castiel in the Highest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know you’ve never been like the other self-righteous asshats up there, but let’s not pretend you fully understood human feelings back then. Or that you fully got what I was asking you to do.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I understood what losing you meant. It was happening to me. I was losing you and knew that there was nothing I could do to stop it. The one…” he trails off and Dean feels an intense urge to reach out to him. He closes his fingers around Cas’ wrist and Cas looks up at him, blue eyes filled with something bigger than Dean has the ability to contextualise.

Cas takes a deep breath, not looking away from Dean. “You were the one being in all of existence that I felt any sense of connection to. My only real tether to anything outside of myself. Being without you...I didn’t know how I was going to survive it.” He smiles, the crooked, broken smile that Dean hates more than almost anything. “I guess I didn’t.

“So, yeah, Dean, I knew what I was doing. You...I don’t think you’ll ever realise just how remarkable you are. How indelibly your presence becomes etched in the lives of anyone who comes to know you. I experienced every single one of her memories of you before I erased them, but even if I hadn’t, I’d still have known what I was taking from her, and I did it anyway.”

Dean has no idea how to respond to any of that. What the hell does he say? ‘Hey, buddy, I think you’re swell too?’ Or ‘I’m sorry you have such terrible taste in the humans you form bonds with?’ Or ‘if you’re so intent on fraternising with the dregs of humanity, maybe give tinder a try? Even that’s gotta be an improvement with what you’re dealing with here.’

“I’m sorry I asked you to do it,” Dean says instead.

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry about a lot of things, Dean.”

Dean nods. “Ok, so is that what you were thinking about? What we did to her and Ben? Taking their memories?” Dean knows it was a shitty shitty thing to do. He’ll always feel guilty about it, but he can’t quite bring himself to regret it. Without him in their lives, they were safe. He’d forced himself into their world. A world he didn’t belong in. A world he didn’t want to belong in. He’d be damned if he let Lisa and Ben pay the price for his failed experimentation with white bread normalcy.

Cas shakes his head. “Not quite. I just...you never tried it again, and I didn't understand. Why you never tried to find another partner. I always wondered why.”

Dean looks at him incredulously. He’s beginning to question Cas’ sanity again. “Cas, uh not to be a dick or anything, but did that thing with the demon knock a few screws loose? What were we just talking about? Like literally just talking about.”

“That’s not what I mean, Dean," and fuck if looks could burn, Dean would be a pile of ashes on the cheap motel carpet.

#my stuff #destiel #spn fic #asks

3 notes · View notes

beansprean · 2 years ago

Text

Queening the Pawn Act 3 Part 10

REUPLOAD due to the original getting flagged. Unfortunately have to slap a community label on this one just in case, but it is also still public on Patreon!

Acts 1-2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Close up on the Guide as she moves into the blank gray room, eyes focused intensely on its contents. Naked oily dream Guillermo stays behind her, arms crossed at attention behind his back, and cranes his neck out to one side to see. He asks, "Is this the memory you were looking for?" The Guide responds, "Yes...This is it. This is him."

2a. Close up on the red file box that reads '1758-1759 Willem Van Helsing' as the Guide kneels on the floor in front of it and strokes the lid, her arm and knee the only visible parts of her onscreen. She reads aloud, "...Willem Van Helsing..." 2b. Reverse shot of the Guide looking down at the box with some confusion and a dazed kind of nostalgia. She murmurs to herself, "I think I must have called him something else..." 2c. Extreme close up as Guide curls her fingers under the lid of the file box and lifts it.

3a. Shot of the Guide from the front as beams of multicolored lights burst out of the open box, blowing her hair back and casting strange shadows up and down her face. Wide eyed, she leans toward the opening as flashes of memory begin to beam themselves out and pile up behind her. 3c. A series of flashes within the light streaming from the open box: A man with dark hair and sideburns in a fancy gold 1750s suit dancing closely with a blonde woman in a pink dress from the same period, their faces turned toward each other and unseen by the viewer. Action shot of that same man in a plainer brown coat slashing across the screen with a bloodied wooden stake, eyes wild behind his arm. A man's hand outstretched, asking for a dance. That man standing in a gold suit, holding a delicate glass of champagne in his large hands and glancing over toward the viewer to offer a smirk. Close up of the man laughing, naked, leaning his head on one hand as if laying in bed with someone. Close up of the man in profile, looking back with a secret smile as he turns away. Close up of the man, naked, flushed, sweating, hair bouncing in motion, as he grins at whomever is under him. Shot of the man's naked back as he sits up and rolls away from a bed; a pale arm from the viewer's POV is following him, tracing the long pair of scratches that have been dragged down his back.

4a. A scene in sepia, on a mottled pinkish-gray background printed on a cracking pane of glass. Willem, unclothed, has his back to the viewer and a set of visible puncture wounds on his neck, bleeding sluggishly. In his lap is the Guide, or whoever she was before she was the Guide, hair wild and bouncing around her shoulders and over her face. She has one hand braced on Willem's shoulder and the other clutching at his back. She pants, blood smearing at the corner of her mouth, and tips her head back with a blissful smile as Willem's hand squeezes around her throat. He asks, "How do I taste?" She replies, "Hhaaa...filthy." 4b. Close up in profile. Willem laughs in response and begins to mouth his way down the Guide's chest, the hand at her neck loosening but keeping up a firm squeeze with the thumb and forefinger. The Guide tips her head back even further, smiling open-mouthed with his blood tricking down her cheek. 4c. Shot from above as Willem, hand having abandoned its choking in favor of squeezing the Guide's right breast, suddenly bites into her left. The Guide's eyes fly open, shocked, staring past the viewer at the ceiling above. The background fills with a blood splatter pattern. 4d. Full body from the side as the Guide leans back from her seat straddling Willem's lap, right hand flying up to cup the area and inspect the large bloody bite mark that is now present. Willem sits back as well, hands cupping the Guide's hips as he snickers, blood smeared across his teeth and face. The Guide scolds, "Wim!! Why-why would you do that?! You drank my blood! You will turn into a vampire now! Willem replies, chuckling, "No, I won't."

5a. Close up in profile, the background turned dark red with DNA swirls. Willem leans close and pinches the Guide's chin with his thumb and forefinger to pull her in as well, her blood dripping down his chin and his own blood now smeared on his hand as well as her cheek. He grins cockily and continues, "We never do. Bite away, baby. You'll only make me stronger." The Guide's eyes hood over in pleasure and submission, a small smile curling her lips. 5b. Repeat. They both lean in further for a kiss, to mingle their blood even further. Willem, lips still curled up in a grin, drags his hand back down to rest against the Guide's throat. The edge of the glass panel begins to crack and break off into pieces, revealing the black void beneath.

6. A series of broken glass shards falling down the screen on a black background, each containing fragments of another memory. The Guide in a nice pink dress, blood smeared all across her mouth and chin as she hunches over something, eyes looking up through her hair like a cornered animal. Wim in a gold suit standing to watch, looking unsure, the glass panel breaking over the arm he had been holding a stake in so that it drops. A pale hand with pink nails placing itself into a much larger one, accepting the dance. Broken into three pieces, a shot from behind Willem, shirt shrugged off his shoulders but still hanging to his belt, holding the Guide to him, bared of her dress to the waist, knees hooked around his hips and one arm looped around his neck as the other cups his face to pull it into a kiss. A sliver of a dark alley, two forms pressed close in the foreground as another wafts cigarette smoke from around the corner in the background. A close up of Willem's hand, dressed in a sleeve, pinning the Guide's down by the wrist. A close up of a human man, older and sporting a heavy mustache, peering around a wall with a cigarette in his mouth, looking very displeased. Willem laying on the ground, gagged, and dead or close to it, blood pouring from his neck to pool on the floor. The Guide in a mulberry dress, struggling as clawed vampire hands grip at her arms and wrists to drag her forward. The glass breaks above her nose, but a shard of one wide, terrified eye remains nearby. The Guide in profile in her mulberry dress, held by the arms by unknown hands, tips her head back and screams as hundreds more hands thrust out at her from the darkness like a rushing wave, the background pulsing with unnatural green light. A shard of the Guide's eye, rage and terror fading as green reflections flash past. A shard of smoke wafting upward. A shard showing blood dripping onto the floor. A shard showing a silver crucifix laying alone, broken in half and smeared with blood. A shard of the Guide pulling on a familiar pair of leather gloves. Each shard gets smaller and smaller until they fade into the darkness. /end ID

#wwdits #queening the pawn #wwdits the guide #willem van helsing #blood tw #death dw #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

134 notes · View notes

astercontrol · 2 months ago

Text

The assertion that "sex is like any other action and only societally constructed hangups make it so different, and there's no good reason to treat it so differently"

and the assertion that "sex is a uniquely intimate and vulnerable type of action that has higher potential to hurt people than other actions do, and that's why theres a good reason for the taboos that society has about it, especially regarding consent"

...Are both true in ways, but both also missing the point in ways.

Because neither of them tries to define what sex is.

And you can't. Not really. You can just outline a vague sort of spectrum of things that tend to be considered sexual acts between people.

And it's not even necessarily a spectrum in any exact order.

I mean, you can try and arrange it-- for example, in order of more contact to less contact. But at some point it starts to break down even there:

- penis in vagina or anus

- intracrural, frottage (...does clothed or unclothed affect this placement in the list?)

- mouth stuff (blow jobs, cunnilingus)

- hand stuff (handjobs, fingering... fisting?)

(Okay it feels like that last one doesn't go with the rest of the hand stuff. Does it go higher up? Below or above putting a penis in there? Is the number of fingers what makes the meaningful difference between fingering and fisting? Is there an exact number that's the threshold?)

- Stuff that doesn't involve touching the genitals, but still involves touching someplace else (like if you can get to orgasm just by having an erogenous zone touched)

- Stuff that doesn't actually involve contact with someone else at all (like masturbating in each other's presence)

(does using a toy on someone go in this category, if only the toy actually touches them? Does it depend what kind of toy? Where do remote control toys go? ....On the list, I mean.)

- Stuff that doesn't actually require being in each other's presence (phone sex, sexting, masturbating together over a video call)

- Stuff that doesn't even require communication during the act (masturbating to a naked picture that your partner gave you a while ago)

....where on this scale do the taboos change?

...if sexual taboos aren't societal constructs... if sex really is an innately intimate and vulnerable act with unique potential to harm a person regardless of what culture it's in... is that because of the risk of pregnancy? or the risk of disease? or because the genitals are just a uniquely bad place to get hurt? or because there's an inherent, universal risk of mental and emotional trauma that's part of the very nature of sex, unrelated to cultural influences?

Each of those assumptions would put the acts on this list in a different order. But we probably still couldn't agree on what order.

And somewhere around the end of that list the way I arranged it... it starts to shade into "these are no longer two-person sex acts at all," and the usual rules about consent kinda stop applying.

Like, a while back there WAS a little flare-up of people arguing that it was a violation to masturbate while thinking about someone without their permission. But after giving it some very basic thought, most people came to the agreement that it makes no damn difference as long as you don't tell them you're doing it (and that "asking for permission" would be the obvious act of sexual harassment here).

...And in the previous area-- communication but no contact-- the usual rules about consent are still THERE but they no longer seem to carry the same weight. Like, if I'm on a phone call with a friend and he starts masturbating during the call without my permission, that's creepy and uncomfortable, but it's not the same thing as if he touched me. Also, does it ethically make a difference whether he does it completely without me noticing? And does it make a difference whether he's jerking it to me specifically or just to something else he's looking at or thinking about while talking to me?

And what about the presence-but-no-contact acts? I mean, watching each other masturbate is definitely a two-person sex act when it's between two consenting partners. But if a guy masturbates in front of me without my permission?... well, that's bad, but on a sexual-harassment level, not a sexual-abuse level.

And there's.... probably situations where it isn't even that, legally speaking? Like..... what if I'm married to him, and we're home alone, and I haven't given consent to do any sex stuff right now, and we aren't in some backward society where marriage legally counts as unconditional blanket permission for sex at any time forever, so he's still doing this without my consent... but also? he's in his own house.

...and people do have the right to get off in their own houses, and if I don't feel like being a part of it then I can just go into another room. (Does it matter what room he's in when he starts? Does it matter why I was in the room in the first place? Would it matter if I was the one who started masturbating, and he was the one who had to leave the room? Argh. My brain hurts.)

And yeah, in established relationships the general rule is just that partners should respect each other's stated boundaries, no matter what those are. But, society still agrees some boundaries are more reasonable than others. Like if a guy has an expectation from his wife of "no extramarital blowjobs," and she goes and gives her boss a blowjob, she's in the wrong for crossing that line. but if his expectation from her was "no extramarital being alone in the same room with another man for any reason ever," and she breaks that boundary and he gets mad at her for it, then he's just an abusive asshole.

Where would nonconsensual masturbating at home in front of your partner fall on that scale?

And what about the aforementioned erogenous-zone sex? Like, that's not even past the no-contact threshold.... but it has the potential to be less clearly sex than some of the stuff that is past that threshold. (I saw a fanfic about a guy whose hands were so sensitive that he could get to orgasm from shaking hands with someone. In the story he did this without the other guy even having any idea it was happening. And the fic was tagged as non-con, which was entirely fair. But from the other guy's perspective it wasn't even sexual.)

(And I mean, yeah, okay, in the story the main character was from the planet Vulcan, and so his freakishly sensitive hands and also his freakish level of control over his facial expressions while climaxing were in a realm that's probably not often reached by mere humans in the real world. But it's not impossible.)

Is orgasm even required in order for something to qualify as sex? I don't think so, because there are penis-in-vagina sex acts where no one gets all the way to climax, and that's still considered sex. Is arousal required? Is arousal by itself enough to make something a sex act? How is arousal defined?

There was that case of the guy in some fucked-up cult who forcibly impregnated his stepdaughter using a turkey baster or something. And if I remember correctly, it couldn't get prosecuted as sexual assault at the time because it didn't meet the criteria for being sexual -- since it was done for reproduction and not to get anybody off. Yeah it involved touching private parts without consent-- but, since it was non-sexual, and on an underage kid whose willingness or unwillingness wouldn't matter anyway-- there was no legal way to classify it as any different from, say, taking a baby's temperature rectally.

But then (and again I'm remembering this only vaguely, and might be wrong) they later fixed that loophole in the law, perhaps by changing the wording to something like"it's ONLY okay if it's done for necessary health reasons" instead of "it's okay as long as it ISN'T for sexual pleasure."

Which I guess raises the question of whether the risk of psychological harm from such an act depends on whether it's medically necessary? That seems... improbable? Especially since children who rely on their caregivers for information have zero way of knowing for sure whether something really is medically necessary, even assuming they did care.

And so on.

If I have any point in all this, it's that yeah, sex is different from other acts. But... the question of just HOW different, and whether it's different because of societally constructed hangups or because it's a uniquely intimate and vulnerable act by nature?

....That all depends on the specific act. And on where it falls on that disorganized scale that I just basically failed to make because there's no actual way to arrange it in an order that makes sense.

#nsft-ish #sa tw #heavy topics #anthropology #notron anyvirus #userworldproblems

3 notes · View notes

akittyboy · 9 months ago

Text

Another Life (part 1): Eunyu

Sweet Home FF | Hyunsu x Eunhyuk

Summary: After everything has been said and done, there are still things that Hyunsu doesn't seem to remember. Warning/tags: mild angst, partial memory loss, emotional constipation, slow burn, mxm, no smut, found family, getting together, mild gore. Word count: approx. 16k for the whole thing, but will be posted in parts.

A/N: This takes place sometime after the video montage at the end of season 3, and then jumps back a little to season 1. I hope the characters won't be too OOC but this show has me in a chokehold and I had to do SOMETHING. Just know that creative liberties were taken… and by that, I mean that I watched My Demon after binging all seasons of Sweet Home, so any sort of lines are blurred at this rate. Anyhow, imagine that the trio of Hyunsu, Eunhyuk and Eunyu eventually break off from the rest of the survival camp to do their own thing. This is a slow drip, mostly about feelings and an attempt at character study so don't expect any plot. The title of this fic was inspired by Tom Odell’s song Another Love, as in ...all my tears have been used up on another love. Also, I'm new to tumblr so be kind >_< thought I'd try this thing out. Cheers~

There's tentative relief on weary faces for the first time in many months when the monster pandemic hits a perplexing development; being devoured by one's inner demon isn't the end — it's the beginning of an evolutionary process only known to the elusive laws of the universe. Nonetheless, the primal fear of the unknown is still there, lurking in the recess of everyone's minds, even if it's not as paralyzing as it once were when the bizarre outbreaks first started.

Hyunsu stares somberly from the vantage point of a rooftop, or what's left of it really, at the demolished skyline that glitters in the far distance. The once tall, silvery sky-scrapers are now noting but crumbling blocks of pixels — admittedly, his whole damn life feels like a crumbling Tetris game at this rate.

With a heavy chest, Hyunsu closes his eyes on the absurd view. There's no use to mourn what once were. They're way past it, heading into a new era of humanity. And to think that it wasn't a world war nor an atomic nuke that had caused all of this mess, but a freaking curse. So before another peaceful moment gets cruelly taken away from him, Hyunsu leans against the railing, elbows perched atop it and tips his head up to face the delicate sun, enjoying its lukewarm rays caressing his skin.

It's an early spring. The morning chill still nips at bare cheeks and unclothed fingertips, but right around noon the bleak rays of the burning star, slowly but steadily, manage to warm whatever's left of their collapsing civilization. The natural order of things doesn't stop for anything. Like a sight for sore eyes the wild nature thrives now that there are no humans selfishly plundering its dwindling reserves or polluting its untouched terrains. But all the same, the bustling, green forests with rustling foliage and chirping birds are nothing but a mocking delusion of serenity, covertly hiding nightmare-inducing horrors within.

It's the silence, Hyunsu decides. It's so much worse than the screeches of bloodthirsty monsters and wails of humans on the brink of death, desperately begging for their lives. It's too quiet, too ghostly everywhere. If he ever believed in anything remotely religious, then he's quite sure, that this is how purgatory would look like — a damned place between heaven and hell, nor living or dead, an eternity of anxious uncertainty.

A flicker of motion, a shadow against a sliver of light, catches Hyunsu's attention even through his closed eyelids. Since he's aware that they're in a somewhat secure area, Hyunsu suppresses the sudden sense of urgency zapping through his body and instead opens his eyes slowly, almost lazily to the bleak light. It's Eunyu. He watches with vague interest as her slim silhouette drifts around the neighboring rooftop, a piece of ingenious engineering that hasn't yet crumbled during the ongoing war against humanity.

She has been doing this for a while now. Her human memories coming and going like a fickle tide and when something sticks long enough Eunyu ends up imitating it, steadily, with almost surgical precision going through the motions, cataloging every move and sensation inside her rewired mind.

Eunyu must have felt his stare, as she looks up, eyes grave and bottomless, lips faintly parted. She lowers her arms, letting them hang limply at her sides and gradually, limb by limb, turns her body around. The debris crunches lazily under her worn sneakers.

Eunyu looks detachedly at Hyunsu for a few seconds, face expressionless, and then tilts her head to the side in perfect imitation of curiosity.

She looks human, and yet—

Ignoring the pinch in his gut, Hyunsu smiles at her gently from afar. He's afraid to break the brittle illusion of normality and overwhelm her with everything he's feeling at the mere sight of her — everything she embodies; a wild force he once thought couldn't be crushed; a frail beginning that shouldn't be possible. And for a moment his mind gets caught between their strange existence, the long ago abandoned dreams that would make no sense in this fucked up world and the recurring everyday nightmares, a goading voice constantly whispering at the back of his mind.

What if?

What if they all had died?

What if Hyunsu had been the one to kill them?

What if everything is just an illusion inside his head?

Eunyu simply keeps staring at him, waiting, observing. She doesn't understand, can't read the emotions crashing across his face that's smeared with sweat and grime and dust. There are whole cities out there covered in dust — and blood. There's so much blood. Hyunsu can't get rid of it beneath his fingernails. No matter how much he scrubs and scratches at it in echoey bathrooms of abandoned buildings with hysterical sobs bubbling up inside his chest and manic laughter resounding in his ears, it's still there, deeply imbedded into his skin. Some nights he wakes up in cold sweat with a sour, metallic taste in his mouth from choking on gallons of lukewarm blood in his dreams, and needs to remind himself that he's no longer at the underground research facility, that all of it is over.

There is no government or politics, no military. No rules or even a society. All that's left is grueling survival for those who lived, huddling in the shadow of a new species.

Other nights he can't find his way out of his nightmares.

The forced smile slips slowly off Hyunsu's face. Perhaps it's better to be dead in this world, after all.

The monster inside of him doesn't disagree.

A chilly breeze chases through the hollow high-rise structure with a faint howl in the prolonged moment that unyieldingly stretches between them, cruelly trapping them in its deafening silence. The wind ruffles through Hyunsu's overgrown bangs, tugging on an edge of Eunyu's plaid skirt — god knows where she managed to scavenge it. With her hair loose and skin free of infected wounds and puckered up, unkind scars, Eunyu looks so much alike the first time he saw her on the roof of Green Home apartments, yet so very different. A bit older. Impersonal. Nothing but a perfect shell of her former self.

A nasty shiver rushes down Hyunsu's spine, prickling uncomfortably at his lower back and he averts his eyes before he crumbles under the weight of her placid gaze, under the painful twist of guilt in his gut.

No matter what, he should've done better. Should've fought harder to protect, to bring the people he cares about back from the brink of madness, before their personalities — their whole souls were sucked into the void.

But not everyone could be saved, and not everyone wanted to.

Hyunsu's shoulders hunch up as he casts his gaze down, blinking back the burn in his eyes, heart racing. He knows. He knows that Eunyu has a long way to go before she can even begin piecing together the broken shards of her lost humanity. She's not a completely lost cause. There are worse; people that can't sate their monstrous sized desire, forever lost in a fever dream; peaceful monsters that are killed ruthlessly before they even get a chance to return. It's just Hyunsu's own fault that he keeps foolishly forgetting about it. Each time their eyes lock he expects to find closely guarded fierceness and a smidge of familiar arrogance, perhaps sorrow imbedded deep within her brown gaze, a flicker of affection, a bit of teenage insecurity and rebelliousness.

However, there's nothing.

Just peace and serenity. No desire. No warmth.

Debris crunches under a pair of heavy booths and there's soon a familiar presence at his side, a cool hand on the curve of his tense shoulder. It's Eunhyuk.

next part >>

#sweet home #cha hyunsu #cha hyun-soo #lee eunyu #lee eunhyuk #fanfic #mxm #hyunsu x eunhyuk #sweet home season 3 #kdrama

4 notes · View notes

javertafterdark · 2 years ago

Text

Monster MC May: Jolene the Mermaid

AKA Jolene enters her misandry era.

Yeah I made this for @property-of-diavolo ‘s Monster May event. It kinda got away from me. Jolene is a singer, so my mind went to a mermaid. Totally inspired by the mermaids in pirates in the carribean.

Word count: 2,608. SFW - Mild violence, mentions of nudity, vague suggestive themes.

The heavy fog bounced the light of the two moons evenly across the beach, leaving the sand and sea in a hazy grey glow. The gloom matched Leviathan’s mood; Lucifer knew damn well that Levi had been chomping at the bit to play the new TSL mod for DemonSouls, yet he’d been called to deal with some eMeRgEnCy!!1 at the beach. It must have been a pathetic, useless emergency if they had to call in a pathetic, useless, gross-

“Leviathan! Over here!” Levi jumped at the booming voice. Lord Diavolo was here, too? Maybe there really was an emergency. Levi trudged through the sand to where he and Lucifer stood. Lord Diavolo smiled, still somehow unfairly handsome even as he held back worry. “I’m glad you could come so quickly.”

“What’s going on?” Levi asked, glancing between the two of them.

“It’s Jolene.” Diavolo’s smile faltered and he folded his arms. “She’s run off.”

Levi’s widened. “Fwarh?? What- what happened?”

“There was an… accident involving a bottle of monster essence.” The way Lucifer side-eyed Lord Diavolo explained all needed backstory. His brother sighed before continuing, “Anyway, when it hit Jolene, she seemed to have trouble breathing before teleporting away.”

“And we think she teleported to the sea because ocean water and a fish common to this area spilled into the classroom,” Lord Diavolo said before grinning at Levi again. “That’s why we’ve asked you here. No one else is better suited for the job.”

Levi felt his stomach swirl into a whirlpool. Of course the situation was urgent, 9but Lord Diavolo just said no one else was better suited for the job! What the fuck! “I- arghm- I mean yes sir! You can count on me!”

With a few more words of encouragement, Leviathan jumped into the water. His heavy tail propelled him through cold depths as he scanned the corals and seaweed for any sign of Jolene. Of course, there was every chance she wasn’t here, and he really was useless. Levi felt the urge to heavy sigh, but breathing underwater wasn’t the same as breathing on land. A voice pierced through the water, enveloping him like a silk cocoon. But that clear and mournful tone, he could have recognized it anywhere.

“Jolene?” Levi looked all around him, unable to tell where the haunting melody came from. Jolene swam up from below him and the demon felt his mouth run dry. Her black hair flowed around her like a cloud of ink, a sharp contrast to the white skin of her unclothed body - no, upper body. Beyond her waist, lavender scales knit into her skin until they completely overtook her and fused into a long tail adorned with translucent fins along the edges and the tip. As she sang, she gazed at him with more despair than anyone should ever go through. Levi felt her isolation freeze his bones solid, and he just wanted to help her, show her that someone could love her how she needed. He closed the distance between them and her song softened, just low enough for him to hear. She sang only for him, calling to her one true love. Within arm’s reach, Leviathan reached out and took hold of her shoulders. Jolene cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer, and his eyes shut in anticipation.

A sharp pain stabbing through his neck broke the spell. Levi yelped as her talons dug into his skin. His eyes snapped open, and the sight of her soft face twisted into a gnarled scowl greeted him. The sheer hate in her eyes stole the words from his throat as she dragged him down into the dark abyss below them. Levi only focused on unhooking her claws from his neck. They sank deeper into his flesh, and the scent of his blood began to saturate the water around them. He grabbed both of her wrists and yanked himself free, yelping again as bits of his skin tore away. Was Jolene trying to kill him? As if to answer his question, she wrung one of her hands free and swiped her talons across his face. Reacting on instinct, Leviathan summoned the power of the ocean’s current to sweep her away. Jolene screamed as it pulled her into the abyss. Levi only wanted to put more distance between them, and he shot up to the surface and jumped through the waves as he fled to dry land. In his panic, he only realized he reached the shore when he dive bombed into the sand. He lied there, mind racing from what happened. With sore muscles, Levi pulled himself up from the ground and spat the sand from his mouth.

“Leviathan!” He heard Lucifer call out as he and Lord Diavolo ran his way. When Levi turned to them, they both froze with wide eyes. “What happened?”

“I… I found Jolene…” he said, voice shaking. “She, uh, wasn’t happy to see me. N-not like anyone is ever happy to see me-”

“What was she like?” Lord Diavolo cut him off. “Did he look human?”

Levi shook his head. “No, no she was definitely a mermaid. She sang and…” The memory of her song and the way it drew him in brought chills to his spine. As if to make up for his lack of words, Jolene’s voice rang out all around them. The three demons froze. Levi realized he had overreacted. It was just a scratch, nothing to get his panties in a bunch about! He should apologize for reacting violently and make sure she wasn’t injured. “I’M COMING, JOLENE!”

“No!” Before he could take off running, Lucifer grabbed him by the roots of his hair. Despite Levi’s protests, Lucifer and Diavolo dragged him away from his one true love.

Solomon scowled to himself as he steered the small motorboat out over the ocean. He kept reminding himself that despite the risk of being drowned, he was doing this to help Jolene. That didn’t mean he had to like it. He argued that Barbatos could do the job just as well, but they needed the angel’s blessing to protect them from Jolene’s song. Obviously, that left only Solomon.

Once he got far enough out into the ocean, he killed the engine and looked around. Without the roaring, the sound of the waves slapping against the side of the boat filled the air as he waited. Diavolo issued a temporary ban on going to the beach or in this part of the sea, ensuring that Solomon would be the only one around for miles. He let out a heavy sigh. All Solomon had to do was teleport Jolene to one of the oubliettes in the demon lord’s castle. Leviathan flooded the cell with seawater and Lucifer sealed the only trap door entrance. It was enough to keep everyone safe from Jolene as they figured out how to break her curse. Of course, none of that will work unless Solomon could lure her out to him. He knew of one way to get a mermaid’s attention.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold, there is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

His song vanished into the air, smothered by the saturation of sea water. The smell of salt filled his lungs. His boat rocked with the waves. He waited.

”His hair as white as cotton, his eyes as grey as stone, my happiness attend him wherever he may roam.”

Solomon froze. Unable to find a hold on his mind, her voice clawed at him, a vicious predator trying to break down a door. The personalized lyrics only amplified his dread. Slowly, he turned around and looked down to the water. Jolene treaded the water, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Solomon took a deep breath; he needed to cast the spell before she decided to capsize his small boat. He muttered the words quickly to open a portal behind her. Upon feeling the pull of the water as it flowed through the portal, Jolene hissed and lunged at Solomon, catching the edge of the boat in one hand. The violent rocking sent Solomon tumbling into the water. Freezing water paralyzed him until he felt the stabbing of talons into his neck. Solomon shrieked out his held breath. Without thinking, the sorcerer summoned every last bit of power within him and focused the raw, unrefined magic to his attacker. Jolene’s hold on his neck broke with a scream that only stopped when the portal consumed her and closed.

With frantic movements, Solomon clawed his way to the surface and gasped in desperate breaths once he emerged. He took a few moments to soothe his burning lungs before swimming back to the boat, thankfully still upright. Once in, he turned on the engine, thankful for the noise drowning out the waves as he returned to shore. If further help was required to rectify the situation, Solomon would gladly help from a distance.

Jolene’s song echoed from her makeshift prison through the dungeons and seeped into the lower levels of the castle. Lucifer - being strong enough to resist her call - sealed the trapdoor to the oubliette with a curse that no demon could open. Even with that protection, Diavolo forbade his staff from going anywhere near the dungeons. While the young lord had other matters to attend to, the seven brothers searched for the remedy to the situation. As it turned out, it wasn’t finding the solution that proved troublesome.

“See, it’s right here!” Mammon held up a book and pointed aggressively to one line. “‘A kiss from a loved one reverses the effects of the monster essence!’”

“Stop holding the book like that,” Satan scolded from the other side of the table. “You’re going to break the spine.”

“Yer just jealous that the Great Mammon found the answer first!” he said with a grin. “And since I’m Jolene’s first, it should be me-”

Lucifer snatched the book from Mammon’s hand. “Jolene’s first what, exactly?” With the unspoken implication shutting the second-born up, he looked over the book. “It does appear that we’ve found our solution. It should be simple from-”

“WAYAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAAAAH!” Leviathan’s wail bounced off the walls as he slammed his head into the table. “I knew it! I knew she could never love a gross otaku like me!” he whined. “I was right there, I was about to kiss her, but she just stabbed me in the neeeeeeeeck!”

“Levi, calm down,” Satan spoke up again. “That might not actually be the case.”

“MIGHT?!” he repeated with even further indignation.

“Listen!” Satan snapped at his brother’s interruption. “I’ve been reading up on mermaids. Some believe they’re the spirits of the women who were thrown into the sea because it was considered bad luck to have a woman on a ship. Now the mermaids take revenge by using their song to lure men in and drown them.” He shut his book and looked up at the others. “And I think it’s safe to assume as far as she’s concerned, we’re all men to be drowned.”

“So Jolene is not likely to let any of us kiss her,” Lucifer added, folding his arms. “Well, does anyone have any other ideas?”

After a few moments of silence, Satan spoke up again. “I think I do.”

“Thanks for being able to come so quickly,” Satan said as he drove to the demon lord’s castle.

“Mmm, I’m more curious about why you need my help.” Thirteen sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the air conditioning just to fiddle with it. “Still haven’t said I would help.

Satan let out a slow, deep breath from his nose. “Well, it’s about Jolene. She needs some help getting back to normal.” After a brief explanation, the reaper burst out laughing.

“Oh man, that’s hilarious!” She wiped an exaggerated tear from her eyes. “You guys are really shit out of luck on this one, right?”

“Well, you know the situation now. Are you going to help?” he asked, briefly looking her way.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Even as Satan looked away, Thirteen focused on keeping herself nonchalant. She’d cleaned up her fair share of shipwrecks, and the few mermaids she saw never paid her any mind, the mermaid thing wasn’t the problem. Breaking the curse involved a kiss from a loved one, but what if it didn’t work? What if this was how Thirteen found out that she cared for Jolene more than Jolene cared for her? The thought sickened her. To soothe herself, Thirteen turned to the window controls and rolled the window down and up and down and up and down, wondering how long it would take until Satan snapped at her.

Thirteen stood at the edge of the trapdoor. The seal only affected demons, she wouldn’t have a problem opening it. She almost didn’t want to try and instead run off back to her old ways where she wasn’t bound to anyone. The only thing keeping Thirteen in place was the sound of Jolene’s voice coming from below. The mermaid’s song had no magical effect on the reaper, but Jolene’s certainly did. That stupid, squishy squishy human had an iron grip on Thirteen’s stone heart. The only thing worse than learning Jolene really didn’t care for her was the thought of her being stuck in that dark cell forever. Thirteen lifted the trap door and let it fall open with a loud thud on the stone floor. Jolene’s singing stopped, filling the dungeon with an eerie silence.

“Hey, Jo, you in there?” Thirteen peered into the oubliette. What little light reached the water bounced off and reflected against the stone walls. After a moment, Jolene emerged from the water and looked up at her. Thirteen couldn’t help but smile. “There you are. What are you doing in a place like this?”

Jolene only stared up at her, not saying anything. Thirteen didn’t expect a response, and since the oubliette was so deep, there wouldn’t be any kissing unless she went in. After taking off her boots and untying the jacket around her hips, she used the rope ladder to climb down. The light from the dungeon seemed brighter as she descended further into the stone abyss. Maybe she should trap that sham of a sorcerer in here with Sherry the Blue Shark. Once her foot hit the top of the water, Thirteen let go and jumped in.

“Oh this is disgusting!” she yelled. The water was murky from the dirt and grime of the prison. “I can’t believe they’re making you live like this!”

Jolene giggled, a small sound that barely sounded over the lapping water. Thirteen found herself grinning back. How was that smile so damn infectious, even more than that one plague she had to clean up? Slowly, Thirteen swam closer, closing the distance between them.

“C’mon, you want to get out of here, right?” she said, keeping her voice soft. “The two of us can go get some sweets from Madame Scream’s and go to that spot by the lake? I got a better picnic blanket so the rocks won’t dig into your back.” They inched closer. The water swirled around her legs as Jolene’s powerful tail kept her afloat. Gently, Thirteen cupped her cheek and when Jolene didn’t pull away, she leaned in for a kiss. Their lips met. Just like every time before, the world felt a bit warmer, a bit brighter. The push of the water weakened, only stirred by Jolene’s legs. When they pulled apart, Jolene blinked and looked around.

“What… what the fuck…”

Thirteen couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll fill you in later. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

#my writings #mcs

11 notes · View notes

leeragnvindr · 1 year ago

Text

—

Ticking wall clock. Footsteps were heard down the corridor, the door creaked and the silence was interrupted by a low voice of a man. A strict suit, shoes and a leather bag on his shoulder. Looking at the incoming manager, the guy put down the phone nervously rubbing the pen in different directions.

- Hanma, are you finished?, — the man went to the desk and took a couple of papers from it. He added, — I hope you've done the right thing and I don't have to redo your work for you. That would be a shame, there's enough to do.

- Good evening, Mr Haitani, yes, that's right. Just as you ordered, without a single slip. I've spent hours on them and it would be a shame if I had to redo them. It's well past eight o'clock in the evening and I want to go home.

Hanma's voice was a little higher, for the man himself was only twenty-five years old. A brief conversation and there was silence again. A click of the pen cap and the younger man rose from his chair. Going to the panoramic windows he carefully made sure that the manager's car had left and taking the spare keys to Rana's office he went there. Calmly walking through the corridors, Hanma met a few maids and wished them a good rest. A dark oak door, a click and here the brunet was already inside. Smelling the expensive cologne, he immediately threw off his jacket and went to the wardrobe where the manager's things were. Even though this man is over forty years old, he still looks twenty-five, leads an active lifestyle, eats right, goes to the gym and loves to cook. All these qualities and marks swirled around in Hanma's mind without giving her peace of mind. Her clothes became tight, her body sweated and became a little clammy. Removing his jacket, which he threw on the sofa, he took off his trousers, shirt and socks. The window was ajar and the cold air was blowing over his body, giving him thousands of goosebumps. Diving into the wardrobe again, the guy lowered himself down and, like a junkie, inhaled the odour of the groin area. Clutching his leg a little and mooing quietly, the man stopped thinking at all. After a little while he was already standing completely naked, panting in the odours, but the whole high was interrupted by the click of the keyhole. Finishing his dirty business, Hanma quickly grabbed his things and closed the wardrobe standing in it. The boy decided to buryhimself in some of Rana's things so that he wouldn't be immediately noticed. The door clicked again and heavy footsteps sounded. Holding his breath, he prayed that he wouldn't be found or suspected. The desk lamp switched on in the office, and then the man began rustling papers in the drawer.

- God..., — Shuji whispered quietly, biting his trousers with his teeth. It was getting hot and stuffy in the wardrobe, and he wanted to get out of it so he wouldn't suffocate. The rustling continued. Sometimes Haitani walked past the wardrobe as if looking for something. The footsteps made the boy tense, and he closed his eyes and kept reciting all the prayers he had learnt over the years in the village. After some more time the light went out and the cupboard door opened.

- Fucking hell..., — came the sound in Hanma's head and he closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. Abruptly, he felt cold and scared. What if he got fired? It was an offence. He'd snuck into someone else's office, gone through God knows what he'd been doing, and now he was completely unclothed.

- and I was wondering what that strange smell was, the smell of cheap perfume. It's interesting to see you here, Shuji, — he said, still standing, hoping that he would just leave and say something tomorrow, but no, — Come on, get out. You're obviously hot in there, — The guy shook his head in denial and then he was thrown out of the wardrobe with his clothes. The brunet fell to the floor completely naked, — how interesting it is when I leave.

- Don't swear, I'll be right out, — he whispered quietly and got up with his back slightly covered.

- You've decided to satisfy yourself with perfume, haven't you? What a total pervert.

- I'm sorry, Mr Haitani.

- What a load of rubbish. Don't you have anything else to do? Although you're naked in my wardrobe right now. You waited for me to leave on purpose,— the older man sat down at the table and said,— keep masturbating.

- What?

- Masturbate, I said. Here and now, since you've already started.

The man grinned and stood up from the table, walking towards the boy with heavy steps. He slapped his cheek, leaving a red palm print. Hanma rested his hands on the floor with his head down and his clothes exposed his boner.

- What wasn't clear in what I said?

- It was clear.

- I can see it.

The toe of Haitani's shoe travelled the length of his cock and pressed the flesh against his stomach. The man hissed softly, but didn't look up. Snorting unhappily, Ran moved away from him and sat down at the table again.

- It's disgusting, it's disgusting, come on, masturbate faster,— he said, touching other people's flesh, even in shoes, was disgusting.

Hanma bit his lip and ran his hand over his swollen cock. The hairs on his intimate area tingled slightly, but it was pleasant in its own way. The boy was very embarrassed. Not only had he been caught doing something dirty, but he'd been forced to do it in front of a man Hanma would later hate.

- Well done, bitch. Keep it up.

- I'm not a bitch.

- What are you? Tell me, what are you?

- I'm a man.

- A man, bitch. Go on.

- Fuck you.

Shuji stood up and hurried towards the exit. Suddenly he was tugged by his wrist. With a quiet hiss, he spun around and was thrown back against the wall, then pinned against it. A low voice said something, then whispered, and another slap sounded. The brunet's eyes read a lot of swear words, but he kept them to himself. A smirk appeared on the man's face, the corners of his lips lifted, and Ran whispered again. A couple of seconds, and then rough fingers were around a nipple, squeezing it. A soft cry rippled through the office, and Hanma hurried to shield himself from the stranger's hand. It was painful and uncomfortable, and therefore an enemy to the body.

- Let me go.

- Oh no, the creature must stand still. And if it doesn't, I'll have to punish it.

- What are you, - he was slapped in the face again before he could finish, - enough!

- Oh, how we talk, what an insolent beast.

- I'm not a beast!

- You're lying.

- No, I'm not.

- I'll cut your tongue out.

- What a bastard you are. I'm already regretting coming here.

- Nobody told you to run in here and jerk off. You wanted to, you came here and sniffed your clothes like a fucking junkie.

- shut your mouth and let me go.

- No, bitch, I'm not gonna let you just walk away. You're a toy that was brought here for me. I have to figure out what to do with you or I'll get bored.

- Mr Haitani, let's forget all this and go around each other like ships at sea.

- In that case, I want to become an iceberg to sink you and kill your life. You will lie at the bottom like a pathetic and helpless piece of shit in this world.

- I hate you.

- believe me, it's only temporary. Then you'll lose your head and you won't be able to live a day without me. You'll suffer because I'm not around. Hanma, honey, you'll go crazy.

- What nonsense, Mr Haitani, do you know what you're talking about?

- Of course, you'll realise it later, too.

#tokyo revengers #ran haitani #hanma shuji #yaoi #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

the-waves-of-you · 2 months ago

Text

I did a sketch of myself in my new form as best I could. I actually sketched it out to better visualize where to place different organs and bones. Once again I gave myself a mixed lung system, it's really convenient! I took a lot of inspiration from different creatures. I liked the feeling of the fan tail, it was just the weird urchin-like throat that made breathing and talking feel painful.

Honestly considering I could actually stretch my tendrils in this form it felt pretty comfortable. My usual form I tend to hide my tendrils under my clothes. I know people are usually more accepting these days, but I still get flashbacks from living in more rural areas.

Marius seems to be okay with me having tendrils, in which case it makes me wonder if ever he could see my true form? A lot of land dwelling humanoids I've met in my travels have been shattered mentally when they see me in my true form. Sea dwelling creatures tend to look similar in eldrich horror to myself so I wonder if he'd just see me as another sea dwelling beast. I don't want to risk it because I care about his well being too much. I mean obviously I care about him, but in a normal way. I care that he gets better! And he seems to be stable so far so it seems like a fast track to him being released! Though as time nears closer to him being potentially released I worry about it more. Is it the right thing to do? I'll ask him eventually when the day comes and we'll decide when we're ready.

Anyways back to my earlier point, I shifted forms on the ledge area I usually sit on and well disrobing felt a little odd since I'm more humanoid this time. It's not like I need to be shy around him or anything, but I still felt a little hesitation because humans and humanoids tend to be more withdrawn about their anatomy culturally. I know some other humanoids walk around naked as the day they were born and see nothing of it, but I wasn't raised in one of those cultures so I still have a little shame here and there about my form. Though it is no longer technically my true form, I still feel a little shy about just prancing around unclothed in my human form. Given it was only for a few moments as my tendrils took their place and my body rearranged, I could still feel him curiously watching from behind me.

Once I got into the tank he seemed to flare more than usual around me, even swimming behind me and circling me a few times before apologizing and backing away. Maybe it's curiosity?

"I'm sorry researcher, your fins they are... Very big and full of detail! It is very sought after in the minds of other leviathan! Many leviathan speak of big tails as a high beauty! So it is hard for me to contain my thoughts of you right now..."

"I hope it isn't an upsetting form! I can change if you'd-"

"No! It is not upsetting! Something very different then that! You look of many pretty creatures down below! Hard to look away!"

I took it as just another compliment seeing as he's a bit more blunt than most humans, but I couldn't help finding myself thinking back to him saying how pretty I looked...

"Do you need anything once I get out? Do you need me to replant anything while I'm here?"

"Just you is all I need. No need for cleaning. You make me forget things of what I wanted to talk with you for.

After chatting for a while, I realized I was a bit tired from another late night so I almost fell asleep in his tank with him. He didn't seem to mind, once more just watching on curiously.

I feel like there isn't much to say for this log. Things seem stable today. I guess it's okay if nothing of note happens? Still thinking about asking him if it's alright if I bring a mattress to the ledge, still worried about crowding him. He seems to like my company so it'll probably be fine... I mean I'd like to keep a close eye on him, so it'd only make sense that I can just be on call if he needs me.

I'll see if I can stay on top of my journalling, but lately I'm still on a bit of a backlog with having active situations happening.

0 notes

bluepenguinstories · 5 months ago

Text

Happiness - Redux 13. Memory Leak

He returned to his meager room. It was true, just as Sapphire’s manual said. And he was sure he already knew, or heard before. But to see it with his own eyes, that was another story.

When he entered his room, he was surprised to see the light on in the bathroom and the sound of water running. His first thought was, “did I leave the sink running by mistake this morning?”

The sound of running water ceased. It only took a minute for the bathroom door to open and steam filled the room as the culprit was revealed: Tempy.

She was unclothed. Her damp hair looking like a mop head covered in mud. Little droplets of water ran down her face, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs. Of course, it being unavoidable, he stared down at her sagging, large breasts and her bushy, curly pubic hair next. She smelled in equal measure of rain against pavement as well as fresh strawberries. At least one of those fragrances came from a shampoo or soap.

And, of course, she had a towel wrapped around her...neck. Exposing all the rest of her while leaving her neck as the sole warm and dry area. So, of course, he had one thing to say:

“You take showers?” He gasped.

Her expression, previously blank, turned to a smug one.

“That surprises you?” She asked.

“Well, I figured since Selkies are machines, water damage might be a concern.”

She raised an index finger.

“Partially machines. We still have skin. We still get dirty.”

“But, what about your internal processor?”

She inched closer to Turtle Dove. Up close, her intoxicating scent was stronger, and he found himself close to fainting, weak to such floral scents.

“Let me put it this way,” she grabbed him by the wrist and brought his hand up to his face. He tried to struggle free, but she overpowered him. Just as she always did. She brought his index finger up to his forehead. “If I sliced open your head, say a surgical cut, and exposed your brain, how well do you think you would do with streams of water rushing down upon it?”

He gulped. Both at the gruesome thought she sprung into his mind as well as at her swaying, heavy breasts which conjured up imagery of a swinging, bladed pendulum.

She leaned in close to his ear, her thick breath tickling his lobe.

“If water were to flood the inside of my skull, that would be trouble. But that’s why we have skulls, isn’t it? To protect what commands us.”

He shuddered. His legs quivered. She knew what she was doing, and he knew it as well.

“So,” she pulled back, “I can still get wet and be just fine. In fact,” she took his hand once again and pressed it between her thighs and just against her crotch. Her warm, wet pussy was all too apparent and it seemed like at any moment, his fingers would be sucked in. Worse, that might have been her goal all along. “I can get wet in all sorts of ways.”

“I can tell,” he said through quivering lips.

“Self-lubricating,” she whispered.

He tried to pull away, but her grip was firm. With no other option, he slipped two fingers in and felt her slick, soft insides.

“There we go,” she stroked his hair. “Good girl. Now, imagine you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean and a shark is fast approaching. You start flailing your legs, but your body won’t move. You call out for help, and the movement of your legs only serves to attract the shark your way.”

“What?!” He mouthed out. If that was supposed to be sexy, he missed the point, and with a swift motion, he pulled away. “OK. That was nice. But there’s more important things.”

She pursed her lips. Either a pout or an imitation of one. Turtle Dove ignored it, walked past her, and toward the bathroom.

“Did you enjoy it?” She asked.

“I did,” he admitted.

“Good job on being honest,” her smile widened.

Half an hour later, he too had showered and washed up, and by the time he emerged to get dressed, Tempy was nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder if I should be concerned with how much of a free spirit she is,” he remarked while getting dressed. Like it or not, he had begun to get used to her coming and going as she pleased. Once all dressed, his stomach growled. It was about supper time, but at the risk of missing out on a meal, he headed over to the secret lab where Sapphire and Scisso resided.

The two were painting each other’s nails, synchronized in their movements and seated across from each other on the balcony.

“Sorry to interrupt. I have a question to ask,” Turtle Dove called up.

“Is it about the manual?” Sapphire asked. Zero hesitation. And zero pause in her polishing Scisso’s nails.

“Yes. In a sense. I was wondering what it was like to...I hope this isn’t too invasive...have the memories of someone else in you.”

“Talking about me or Scisso?” She asked. Again, no pause. Didn’t even turn her head.

“Given our situation, he could easily be talking about both of us. You’ve seen them as well as I have, dearest,” Scisso cooed.

“Oh, right. Those memories. It’s shocking at first, but you get used to it. It’s just something Selkies deal with, and sometimes when you’re jacked on, you experience it, too.”

“So have you seen the memories of the person Scisso Ring was based on?” Turtle Dove cut to the chase. That finally caused Sapphire to turn around, her eyebrow raised.

“I have. Not by choice, but circumstance. As for whether you want to know, that’s a private matter,” she answered.

“I don’t mind,” Scisso flashed a smile, “it’s a life separate from mine, but I enjoy seeing how her life...as well as her death...turned out. For most Selkies, the moments our models were dying are our freshest memories.”

He remembered Willie and Pecker.

“So that’s what you meant back then,” he muttered.

She nodded.

“I don’t have to jack on to know what you’re referring to. They say the intention with transferring these memories to us were to give us personalities that matched our models. Resurrection, of sorts. What many of us Selkies believe, however, is that we were given such memories to make us seem more ‘human’. What actually happens is that we have two sets of memories: the ones of the deceased and the ones we form for ourselves.”

“Isn’t that traumatizing?”

Scisso shrugged.

“Everyone reacts differently. Some go so far as to believe they are this person. I just find the whole thing amusing. I, for one, like the goth aesthetic.”

“Statistically speaking, goth women tend to date average looking men with inflated egos and the personality of drywall,” a husky voice emerged from the shadow of the balcony. Who emerged was Tempy, who didn’t even bother to look Turtle Dove’s way. Sapphire flinched and almost fell back in her seat. Scisso held her shoulder to keep her from falling.

“You have to stop sneaking up on us like that!” Sapphire shouted.

“Also, what you just said was a terrible stereotype,” Scisso added in a surprising display of offense.

“Even more so than other demographics, goth women are less likely to date other women. For those who have, their relationships rarely last more than 6 months,” Tempy added.

“Are you saying I’m one of a kind?” Scisso flashed a grin.

“I’m just sexually frustrated,” Tempy admitted. “Pay it no mind. So, how about a threesome?”

“No,” Sapphire and Scisso said in unison.

Turtle Dove walked away, and while he wished for more detail as to Scisso’s ‘past life’, he was satisfied to hear her perspective. Of course, Turtle Dove could tell Tempy wasn’t ‘satisfied’ and refused to look him in the eye.

Fine, he thought. Maybe she’ll start telling me what she wants rather than forcing me into things.

He missed supper. Eating habits were never very consistent, but even so, the timing couldn’t have been any worse. Defeated, he made it back to his room. He already knew how he would feel when he rested his head and would have rather endured one of those group showers he had been avoiding.

On cue, when he entered his room, he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom: someone showering.

“Tempy? How did she get back here so fast?” He asked.

But a few minutes later, the one who emerged from the bathroom was the chiseled body of Dickens, his rugged and scarred abs in plain view. He was wearing camo pants, but his towel was still wrapped around his waist.

“It’s...you?” Turtle Dove blinked.

“Hey,” he raised his hand up and on one shoulder was a black shirt. He slipped into it and then wrapped the towel around his hair. “I’ve been worried about you and I happened to run into your Selkie. She said you’d have no problem with me using your shower and let me in.”

Such a warm, radiant face of his, covered in hot shower droplets. It should have been an amazing sight, but instead, all he felt was confusion. Questions blended together:

When did she let him in? How did she appear in the secret lab without me noticing? Why did she let him in?

“Yeah. I guess it’s okay,” Turtle Dove said.

Dickens sat upon the bottom bunk of the bed and spread his legs out. It left plenty of room for Turtle Dove to get in between and lean in, unzipping his pants and…

Is that why men spread their legs when they sit? He wondered.

Rather than act on impulse, he sat next to Dickens.

“I hope you weren’t avoiding me,” Dickens chuckled.

“Not at all,” Turtle Dove shook his head, “I was avoiding all those other guys.”

“Understandable. I wish I could have done more, but being one guy in a sea of guys and all…”

“Don’t worry about it. I like showering in private more, anyway.”

“Good,” Dickens said with a grin, “how are you adjusting?”

“It’s still so strange, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of things. Thank you,” Turtle Dove replied.

“Seems I didn’t have as much to worry about as I thought. So...have you had sex with any of your Selkies yet?” Dickens’s question turned Turtle Dove’s already dark room into a sick, green glow.

“What?”

“Tell me, why did you want to be a commander?” Dickens pivoted to a different question.

“My sister was slaughtered by Correctors.”

“I can relate,” Dickens hung his head low. “I joined after my girlfriend was killed by a Corrector. Her name was Citrine. My name was Topaz. I went by Dickens after she died to separate myself from my past. Even then, I couldn’t imagine anyone, or anything, ever replacing my girlfriend. Now, however, it’s more like a civic duty.”

“Civic duty?”

“Yeah. Our Selkies are made to have sex with.”

“But I thought you disagreed with guys like Corvette.”

“I do,” Dickens shook his head, “he takes his Selkies by force. He’s within his right, but there’s no need to go that far. If you show them respect and treat them well, they’ll want to have sex with you anyway. In fact, they see it as a sign of respect to have sex with them when they want to.”

“So...as a sign of respect...would you have sex with me?” The words escaped Turtle Dove’s lips and his vision turned bright blue and he froze in place. Dickens stared in shock.

“I’m flattered, but I couldn’t do that to you. There’s a hierarchy. Selkies are commanders' subordinates. If we were to have sex, one of us would have to be in a greater position of power and I wouldn’t want to do that to you.”

"I understand," he lied.

#happiness redux #writing #stories #military fiction #scifi #selkies #weird fiction

1 note · View note