#bolo is alive

[eyeshadowandcaffeine]

Brennan said that Bolo was a polymorphed dragon and that’s why we have Dragonborns in Exandria, pass it on, it’s canon now.

[agnesandhilda]

so funny to think that isagi has no idea he's already living in kaiser's head rent-free and has been since they met. buddy not only are you in there you've got an apartment a penthouse a mansion

[artemis-pendragon]

Bolo from my shows

[au-sonic-smackdown]

AU Sonic Smackdown - Round 1, Right Side

Click to see full size image

Infested AU belongs to @hejjhug

Sonic Thunderstorm AU belongs to @delightrolls

Read more about them under the cut!

Infested AU-

Sonic, under the influence of a mysterious alien brain parasite, has become unpredictable and very, very dangerous. While all his powers remain the same, he now uses his speed to maim and kill anyone who moves. Sonic’s mental state has devolved to basic instinct, and, thanks to the parasite, he is in a near-constant state of feeling like a wild animal trapped in a corner. As a result, he will call upon impossible strength, reserved only for life-or-death scenarios. Pray you don’t catch his attention. You can’t outrun the fastest thing alive.

Sonic Thunderstorm AU-

Sonic the Hedgehog is an Egyptian Long-Eared Hedgehog. Sonic has major Electrokinesis and major Aerokinesis and major Cháokinesis. Sonic is an aromantic quoiromantic asexual aegosexual intersex pangender bordergender narkissigender genderspeed hedgehog with ADHD, BPD, and NPD who uses any pronouns, including storm/storms, ⛈️/⛈️s, thunder/thunders, 🌩️/🌩️s, gale/gales, 🌀/🌀s, bree/breeze, and 🍃/🍃s pronouns. Sonic is a result of the Ultimate Lifeform Project specifically Project Kinesis, a search to cure aging, discover the genes responsible for Kinetic Abilities, and grant Mobian Kinetic Abilities to humans. Many Mobians with Kinetic Abilities were kidnapped and bred to have their abilities studied resulting in the birth of Sonic, their pink and green siblings, and many others. Around the age of 3 - 5 Sonic and well as their mother and two siblings escaped the lab only to drown in the ocean during their get away leaving Sonic as the sole survivor and with an intense fear of water. After being saved from drowning they were put the foster system where they were they were often bullied or excluded by the other children and past around from home to home sometimes being treated well but other times being abused their adoptive families and that combined with never having a stable home leads to them developing BPD. Around the age of 12 - 13 Sonic gets tired of feeling unloved by both the foster homes they lived at and by the people who adopted them only to later throw them away so Sonic decides to run away in the hopes of finding someone who will genuinely care about them. While struggling to survive on their own the hedgehog starts to encounter Eggman and quickly becomes a thorn in his side. Also while searching for a home they encounter Tails, a DID system who is being abused by their family and bullied due to being Autistic. Sonic, sympathetic to their new friend's suffering, encourages them to run away with them to find somewhere better to live. While on their quest for a happy home the two become known for stopping Eggman's evil deeds resulting a couple named Darron Bolos Segaleh and Ilaiya Gotzone Nailah coming to adopting the two. The relationship starts of sweet but in reality Darron really only cares about using to two as mascots for his company and isn't above mistreating and abusing his children when they do something that makes his company loses money or negatively impacts their image. Being treated like a prince when succeeding and as worthless after every mistake leads to Sonic developing NPD. After growing up Sonic eventually goes on to live in a house with a number of their friends including Tails and Sonic is able to finally start recovering from everything that happened to them although they find recovery incredibly difficult. Sonic is a sweet person but is very emotional unstable which can lead to them make mistakes or hurting themself.

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hello! I have a request. It's a reader X Ace from One Piece story. It shows the aftermath of Ace defeating Blackbeard and the reader caring for him as he recovers from his injuries. Ace didn't fight alone. The reader was at his side, and it changed history. The reader has the Crew Crew fruit, which has similarities with Bolo Betty's Kobu Kobu no Mi. They're empowered by, and empower others, by the depth and quality of their bonds. The connection they had with Ace pushed them both through to victory. The reader truly believes Ace can become pirate king, and is thankful to have the opportunity to save him, as he saved them in the past. Here's the song.

The Great War x Portgas D. Ace ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

First of all, I just want to thank you for requesting this and trusting me with this beautiful idea. I apologise if it took a while - I literally got so lost in it. This was such a wonderful idea, so kudos to you! I hope this meets your expectations - I loved writing it and I love the idea of Ace being alive and well, loved and surrounded by people who cherish him. This felt like therapy, this boy deserves the world and I love him so very dearly. Enjoy!

1.6k words | gender neutral | usual one piece violence | mention of IVs and hospital stuff.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

Running your fingers through his raven locks, you watched as Ace rested by your side. If it wasn't for all the patches and bandages covering his body, it almost seemed like one of his usual peaceful naps. Yet, in the cold of Marco's hospital room, Ace continued his battle and this time, the only help you could give him was sleeping next to him in an uncomfortable chair waiting for him to wake up.

The battle with Blackbeard was one of the most atrocious battles the world had ever witnessed: for Ace, it meant everything. He would have either avenged his dear Pops or died trying - and no one could convince him otherwise. Blackbeard was the living representation of his failures - if only he had been a better son, a better commander, a stronger pirate.. things would have been different. Defeating him meant more than simple revenge: it was Ace's way to honour Whitebeard's legacy, it was Ace's way to remember all the friends and comrades who lost their lives to protect his. For this exact reason, Ace wanted to it alone; he didn't want to lose anyone else - not Marco, not you.

"This is not your fight."

He muttered in response when you and Marco explained your plan to him - you had meticulously studied Blackbeard's devil's fruit and history, you had traced his past routes and the most likely route his ship would have taken to reach the next poneglyph. But Ace didn't want to listen, he didn't want to put your lives at risk - he couldn't tolerate the mere idea of losing you, he didn't want you anywhere near the battlefield regardless of how strong you were.

The months that preceded the battle were intense. Ace trained relentlessly under Rayleigh's careful supervision, pushing his body to its limits and doing his best to awaken his devil fruit's power. When he wasn't training and his body ached from the strain it had to endure, Ace wanted nothing else that spending time with you. His rest days were his excuse to kidnap you from the rest of the crew - he wanted you all for himself, savouring every second he got to spend with you. Despite his confidence and training, he knew his enemy wouldn't be an easy one to face - Blackbeard had the blood of many on his hands, and Ace feared his could only add up to the list. When he wasn't training, blinded by rage and determination, a small part of Ace couldn't help but be afraid.

What if this fight was the big fiasco of his life? What if he wasn't able to defeat Blackbeard, wasting the life his loved ones have protected and traded with theirs? These questions pounded Ace's head constantly, they haunted his sleep and hammered his mind during the day. Ace could only feel peace when he was around you. With you around, Ace felt as if he could conquer the world. The first time he felt like this, you were drunkenly opening your hearts to one another.

"You'll be the king of pirates one day, Fire Fist. And I'll be there, first row."

You slurred, raising your beer to cheer it against his hat, as if it was his crown. That night, the blood in your veins was probably being replaced by the booze you and Ace had chucked down - yet, he knew your words were sincere. He knew you meant every word because as you pronounced them, it felt as if they were being directly engraved onto his heart. This was partly the reason why he decided to get Blackbeard's head - seeing the way you believed in him, the rush of adrenaline he felt every time you reminded him of the immense potential he had.

Drunken talks became slow afternoons in which you just enjoyed each others' company, casually lying in each other's arms and falling asleep in a bed that was way too small to hold two people. Waking up to you peacefully resting on his chest, sharing kisses behind the closed door of his room - these were all things Ace wasn't willing to risk.

"If I make it out alive, I swear I'll marry you."

He whispered in your ear as you softly snored the morning away, lying against his warm body.

Despite Ace's reprimands, you and Marco trained just as much as he did. Your help could have been decisive in battle, and regardless of Ace's approval, you would have done everything in your power to fight by his side - after all, your help could have been decisive. Up until then, you always believed that your devil fruit was useless - it didn't give you any special powers nor any type of supernatural strength. It was hard to really grasp the utility of a devil fruit that strengthened others and not its main user. Your devil fruit wasn't one you could really rely on - you had noticed how its effects were not linear or equal, the boost you were able to give was always spread unevenly among your fellow comrades.

As with any other devil fruit, you had to learn by doing - uncovering any underlying functionality of your peculiar power and eventually awaken the devil fruit. So when the day of the battle finally arrived, you weren't exactly ready - of course, your skills on the battle ground were impeccable, but you weren't sure that would be enough.

"We'll have your back, whether you like it or not." Marco said to Ace, shrugging his shoulders. Before Ace could argue against it, you and Marco had already jumped off the ship, making your way into the island.

The horrors witnessed during the battle between Ace and Blackbeard were for the history books - their fight was intense, infinite, and had immense repercussion on everything and everyone around them. No type of training could have prepared Ace's body to the pain and strain he had to endure, punch after punch, every low sweep and unfair move after the other. The fate of the battle seemed to be decided when Ace's fire became weaker and weaker, the powers of his dear devil fruit slipping out of his control and not responding to him anymore - allowing every blow to land exactly where it was meant to, slowing his movements and nullifying his attacks.

Something shifted inside him when he finally heard your voice, screaming his name at the top of your lungs. Ace's back was now against the floor, his throat giving up under Blackbeard's heavy boot pressing against his neck.

"ACE! PLEASE!" You screamed again, your voice breaking as you watched him helplessly laying on the floor, air leaving his lungs as Blackbeard pressed his whole weight against his airways. A shiver run down your spine as your felt your devil fruit powers rushing through you - a shot of adrenaline running all over your body. Marco quickly glared at you in amusement, immediately regaining his strengths and jumping into the battle once again - even his phoenix looked brighter.

What happened afterwards felt like a blur - Ace's flames responding to him once again, flickering and roaring against Blackbeard. In moments that felt like an eternity, a new age of piracy began.

Winning didn't come without a price, and after the sudden rush of adrenaline and strength that allowed Ace to defeat Blackbeard, he fell to his knees, letting his body crash against the cold soil underneath him. The state of his wounds was more critical than imagined, so when you and Marco finally reached him, you feared there wouldn't be nothing you could do to save him. Despite the temporary recovery of powers, even Marco was now feeling dreaded, exhausted from the battle - and his healing abilities were simply not enough.

"That was you." Marco finally spoke, lifting Ace's body and carrying it on his shoulders.

"Don't tell Ace, but this is your win."

Marco giggled, making his way towards the ship.

"That sudden rush of energy.. I've never seen Ace fight like that - a man in his state could never bounce back the way he did. Even I regained a lot of energy, and that scream wasn't definitely for me.. sounds like something your devil fruit could do."

Marco continued, noticing the confused look on his face.

Ace's recovery was slow - he had been asleep for more than a week now, always under the careful eyes of his trusted doctor and friend. His entire body was wrapped in bandages, IVs and all sorts of tubes coming out of his arms to keep him stable - and he was. Marco kept repeating that his vitals looked fine, but Ace just didn't wake up. So you stayed by his side, spending each day next to his hospital bed, waiting for him to come back to you.

"Hey.." Ace whispered, his words quickly being interrupted by a cough. Hearing Ace's voice almost made you jump from your seat, the biggest smile forming on your lips as your eyes quickly scanned over his face.

"Hi."

Was all you managed to say, trying to fight back the tears that were already clouding your vision. Taking his hands into yours, you left a soft kiss on his knuckles.

"How's my pirate king doing?"

You teased, causing Ace to giggle in response. Freeing his hand from yours, he quickly reached for your face, leaving a gentle caress on your cheek. A shiver ran down your spine as you leaned into Ace's touch, melting against the palm of his hand.

"I gotta ask you something." Ace smirked, the slyest of smiles painted on his lips as flashback of that morning ran just before his eyes. Proposing on an hospital bed wasn't ideal nor romantic, but to Ace, it felt right. He vowed he would always be yours if he survived the war against Blackbeard - and now that he did, there was only one thing left to do.

[kathanglangit]

The Second Blade: Diplata - Extinct Bolo

Continuing the countdown to the launch of the Gubat Banwa Kickstarter coming up on the 10th of October- 6 days to go! Gubat Banwa is a tactical war-drama TTRPG set in the Sword Isles, a fantasy setting inspired by Southeast Asian cultures and folklore.

To promote its launch, I'll be posting some of the weapons I've been drawing for the game every day until the campaign kicks off in earnest. These were meant to be Swordtember entries, pardon the lateness I suppose. 2/7 blades so far, let me introduce you to the DIPLATA.

The diplata is a short-to-mid-length blade with a distinct handle, with most specimens sporting a horn-like protrusion facing the same side as the edge.

The blade shape itself I feel is something common across most toolblades in the Philippines, not much longer than one's forearm with a more-or-less rounded out tip- though the diplata seems a bit wider than most. I would say the most unique features definitely lie in the shape of the hilt, and the circular guard. Most Philippine blades don't have anything in the form of hand protection, so a wide guard like this stands out.

This one was a little difficult to find photo references for, as apparently they're quite rare. Some blade scholars call it an "extinct" blade, meaning those who traditionally forge authentic ones supposedly aren't around anymore.

(Photo from Victor Balaguer's museum near Barcelona; Diplata on the blades hanging on the wall, the two next to the rightmost blade) "Traditional" blades refer to those made by the same people to whose culture a blade belongs. To illustrate in the simplest terms, a katana made by a traditional Japanese swordsmith would count as a traditional blade. A messer made by a traditional German blacksmith would count as a traditional blade. I'm sure there's more internal nuance there, but that's the quickest reference point I could come up with. Take note however that the Philippines is composed of many, many different cultures who all happen to exist in the same archipelago with varying levels of overlap- there is no singular, unifying blade culture, so categorizations like "Traditional" and "Modern" (often referring to modern reproductions) aren't always as exact as convenience may demand. In particular, material exchange between cultures makes a mess of this categorization, not just because the blades themselves could get traded (or stolen or lost) and physically make their way to other places beyond the imaginary borders of their "homelands", but because the smiths themselves (or their knowledge and techniques) may travel around. Smiths in different places may also see blades from different cultures that they might feel like imitating or emulating in some way- that's how certain Philippine blades obtained D-guards- but that's a story for another time. The diplata is oft-attributed to the Aeta peoples, specifically those who come from Mt. Pinatubo in Zambales. Not much confusion as to whose culture these blades belong.

It is a little disheartening that most of the refs I could find were photos from foreign museums and loose images in books and blade forums. I will not speculate here as to how these blades ended up in these places, but it isn't hard to guess.

(Image from a Spanish museum)

(Image from Philippines, Early Collections, Museum of Ethnologie Vienna)

(Image from The Philippine Journal of Science Volume 81) I'm not a hardcore blade scholar, but even I recognize how inseparable blades are from the myriad cultures of the Philippines. I'm forever thankful to the random communities of blade enthusiasts who dedicate a not-insignificant portion of their time (and wallets) to supporting local artisan blacksmiths to grow their collections, and keeping track and tracing which blades came from which places and peoples. Our blade cultures are alive and still developing, but they could still use a little help sometimes, just so we don't lose them.

(Photo from the collection of Zel Umali) In any case- while it's not exactly a scholarly work in the academic sense- part of Gubat Banwa's violence is pushing a fantasy setting of our own making, as seen by our own eyes, as told on our own terms. This is no foreign museum; This time, SEAsian cultures take center stage.

The Gubat Banwa Kickstarter launches in 6 days! Check it out here:

It would be a huge help to this very small team from the global south if you could help us get the word out! We straight up can't afford to advertise on the same scale as bigger players in the field, so we're relying heavily on word of mouth. You can find out more about the game on its itch page.

[bumble-b1]

"Sam should play Scanlan."

"Sam should play Luc."

No my friends. Sam should play Bolo. How is she still alive? I don't know, but Sam should play her.

[wild-karrde]

Part 1: The Antagonist

Series Master List | Next Part

A/N: ALRIGHT. SO. I REWROTE THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. As always, THANK YOU TO THE OUTSTANDING @teletraan-meets-jarvis FOR BETA READING THIS FOR ME!

Pairing: Gregor x f!Reader (nicknamed Bolts)

Rating: E 18+ MINORS BEGONE

Warnings: language, fingering, voyeurism, PiV sex, oral sex, impact play/spanking, Fives cameo

Word Count: 6.5k words

The bass of the music in 79s is damn near deafening as you step inside the bar, almost immediately spotting the magenta and grey paint of the 28th Combat Wing’s armor in their favored booth against the wall. What stands out more was the yellow hatch-marked commando armor sitting amongst them. Your teeth immediately find the inside of your cheek, gnawing away to ease your annoyance.

Fucking Gregor. Dammit. 

You’ve been looking forward to this all week, but of course that fucking commando is here. Maker alive, he’s infuriating, but you aren’t about to let him ruin your night out. You have to cash out on all of the booze Chuckles owes you at some point, and he’s so rarely planetside, your opportunities are limited. 

But why did it have to be the night that asshole is also around? 

You’re not sure what exactly about Gregor gets under your skin. Maybe it’s his cocky smirk or his stupid hair or that ridiculous giggle that sounds like an inebriated fathier whinnying. Or maybe it’s the way he seems entirely unbothered by you. No matter what it is, Gregor’s got you figured and loves to dig his finger into that sore spot whenever he gets the chance. He’s already spotted you from across the room, raising an eyebrow as you start heading in his direction. 

Not tonight, asshole. 

You square your shoulders, swaying your hips a bit more than necessary. None of them have ever seen you out of your mechanic’s jumpsuit, and you’d picked your favorite (and only) dress for the occasion. It’s a simple, strappy black number, short, but not too short, shimmery, and easy enough to get into and out of should the need arise. After all, you deserve a little bit of attention. And maybe a good lay. If you can find one.

Gregor says nothing as he sips his beer, but his eyes never leave you, raking from your toes to your eyebrows as you nudge Chuckles and slide into the booth next to him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m saving this seat for some greasy mechanic I owe a few drinks to,” Chuckles teases, slipping his arm over the back of the booth behind you. 

“Oh, my apologies. Mind if I keep it warm until she gets here?” you joke back, playfully ruffling his mohawk, which is currently a deep purple color. 

Crater rolls his eyes while Stones leans over, whispering that you look very nice, making you duck your head bashfully. Chuck flags down a waiter droid. 

“What’ll it be, Bolts?” he asks, invoking the nickname he’d given you.”Just don’t break my non-existent bank account.” 

“I’ll have a whiskey, please,” you request. Gregor raises an eyebrow again. 

You feel annoyance tighten your chest. “What?” you ask sharply. 

“Here we go,” mumbles Guin under his breath.

Gregor shrugs. “Just didn’t peg you for the whiskey type.” 

“Oh, do enlighten me as to what type you thought I’d be, Captain.”

“Alright, alright, your seat’s not even warm yet,” Chuck mutters. He leans closer, speaking directly into your ear. “What is your damage with him?” 

You sniff delicately, as if Chuckles has somehow misread the constant bickering between Gregor and you. “Nothin’. I just asked a question.” 

Chuck rolls his eyes before sliding the whiskey in front of you. “Just drink this so you’ve got less of a stick up your ass.” 

You glare at him, but accept the drink anyway, enjoying the slight burn in your throat and the warmth that settles into your belly. 

It doesn’t take too many whiskeys before you feel yourself start to relax, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. You laugh at Chuckles’s terrible jokes, chat with Crater about the last bolo ball game, and even get Sticks to come out of his shell a bit, convincing him to regale you with the stories behind Chuckles’s most ridiculous injuries. The entire time, you notice Gregor’s stealing glances at you, and your confidence grows. 

Let the bastard look.

You lean forward to take another sip of whatever drink Chuckles has ordered for you now. You let your cleavage rest on the table as your tongue wraps around the straw, pulling it between your lips. You glance up in time to see Gregor watching you over the rim of his glass. His eyes are on your breasts, but they quickly flick up to meet your gaze. You roll your eyes at his obvious leering, leaning back into the crook of Chuckles’s shoulder. The pilot seems somewhat surprised, but doesn’t move to pull away. Gregor says nothing, but something in his eyes seems to flare for a moment. 

You’re imagining things. 

As the evening progresses, Crater graciously excuses himself to head back to the barracks and catch up on some reports. As soon as their commanding officer disappears towards the bar to settle his tab, tongues loosen, and suddenly the conversation turns to romantic encounters. Unfortunately, the boys haven’t spent enough time planetside to rack up anything too salacious, so it isn’t long before you become the target of the conversation. 

“C’mon, Bolts. What’s been your wildest night?” 

“A lady never kisses and tells.”

“Who said anything about kissing?” 

“And since when are you a lady?” You elbow Chuck for that comment, shooting him a glare with no real heat behind it.

“Oh, come on. There has to have been something that you’d consider memorable.” 

You shrug. “Not lately.” 

“No game or nothing worth writing home about?”

“You guys sure are nosey.” 

“We’ve got to live vicariously through you, Bolts.”

You laugh, growing bolder as the liquor in your stomach warms you. “There was a guy a few weeks back. He did his best, and it was probably better sex than I’d had in a while, but that’s not saying much with the losing streak I’ve had going. Thinking of giving up and just going with the battery-powered lovers from here on out. At least then I get to finish.” 

Stones groans in despair for your lackluster love life and Chuckles cackles loudly. “You sure do know how to pick ‘em, Bolts.” 

You shrug. “It’s been a struggle.”

“Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.” 

Gregor had been quiet for the last little while, but that comment from him draws your attention. And your ire.

“And what would you know about making a woman cum, Captain?” you sneer. 

He grins cheekily. “Plenty.” 

“I bet you couldn’t make a woman orgasm if your life depended on it,” you bite back. 

Chuckles huffs in annoyance next to you. Gregor swirls the whiskey he’s switched to in the light, watching the legs of the liquid trail down the side of the glass. 

“I’ll take that bet.” 

It’s the first time he’s ever really openly antagonized you, and something about the way he’s looking at you sets your blood boiling and a very different sort of blaze licking up your spine. Your eyes lock onto one another, and for reasons you can’t explain, you feel heat pool between your legs. You adjust in the booth, and while the others are guffawing about something else Chuckles said to lighten the mood, Gregor notes the way your thighs rub together. He smirks, and you scowl back as your annoyance battles for control with the sudden tingle that ripples through your nerves. After another few minutes, you excuse yourself, unsure of where you’re heading.

Just need to get away from him for a minute. 

Your feet carry you towards the back of the bar where it’s darker. You pass plenty of bodies pressed together, panting, sweating, and moaning in the dim lighting. Suddenly, you feel a hand in the small of your back, pressing you towards one unoccupied corner that’s far from any prying eyes. You whirl to find Gregor smirking down at you. 

“I-I was looking for the ‘freshers,” you sputter. 

“Now love, I don’t think that’s true at all,” he responds. “I think you were looking for trouble.” 

You regain your bearings, scoffing at him as he backs you into the corner. You feel the heat grow between your legs, and you hate how your panties are sticking to you as he pins you against the wall, one arm braced next to your head as he leans closer, smirking. You can smell his sweat and his drink and his skin, and a sudden shiver rips through you. You jut your chin out defiantly.

“What do you want, Gregor?” you snap. 

“Same thing as you.”

“And what’s that?”

He chuckles before leaning even closer to you, his voice rasping in your ear. “To make you cum.” 

You snort indignantly, but your legs are trembling underneath you.

“The question is,” he continues. “How best to make that happen? Are you one of those lovers that wants to be taken roughly, with me buried deep in that sopping cunt of yours while I hold a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet? Or do you need me to build you up more slowly, take my time until you fall apart?” His fingers trail up your thigh, slipping under the fabric of your dress before digging into your skin slightly. He presses forward, slotting a knee between your legs, and your breathing quickens. His eyes are watching you as his fingers find the hem of your panties on your hip, and he twists the string of delicate lace around his knuckle. 

“Now this feels like something you were hoping someone would take off of you tonight. That the case, love?” 

You swallow hard. 

“You want me to take these off of you?” 

“No.” 

He pulls his hand away immediately, clearly thinking he’s misread things, but you lock your fingers around his wrist. His eyes find yours in the darkness, the question in them apparent.

“I want you to make me cum with them on.” 

His trademark smirk reappears, his fingers slipping back under your dress, drifting between your legs to press your clit through the thin fabric. He’s more sure of himself now, more certain you want this, and as much as you hate it, you absolutely fucking do. 

“All worked up just from thinking about me? You’re practically soaked,” he murmurs. 

“You talk a lot,” you mutter. 

He chuckles against your ear. “I think you like when I talk.” His fingers find the hem of your panties between your legs, and you feel him push the lacy fabric aside, tracing through your dripping folds. “I think you like hearing all the ways that I think about fucking you, and trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot.” His first finger finds its way inside you, and you gasp, hitching one leg over his hip as your hands fly to his shoulders to find purchase. Gregor’s watching you as your lips part, your head thunking back against the wall as he slips a second finger inside you. 

“That’s it, love. Let go for me. Let me take care of you.” 

“I really don’t like you,” you try to snarl, but it comes out more of a whine. 

He chuckles. “I think you want to dislike me, but that’s becoming more difficult.” 

Your reply dies on your tongue, replaced by a gasp. His fingers are so thick and deliciously calloused. When they finally find that spongy place inside you, you dig your teeth into your lower lip to stifle a moan. He crowds you further against the wall, bearing down on that place inside you. “None of that now. Let me hear you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I might let you if you’re nicer,” he teases.

You dig your nails into the back of his neck, and he gasps lightly before he nudges the strap of your dress aside with his nose and bites down on the flesh of your shoulder. You groan out his name. 

“Gregor.” 

“That’s right. You like this, don’t you? Being back here where anyone could see you falling apart on my fingers.”

You suddenly become aware of just how exposed you are, and in spite of yourself, it thrills you. Glancing back over at the table, you see the boys are all still seated and chattering away, completely oblivious as to what’s going on. You’re mostly glad they’re not paying attention. 

Mostly. 

Gregor notes where your gaze has drifted. “You want them to watch, hm? I could call the others over. Have them see you finally get what you deserve.” You whimper, clenching around his fingers as he slips a third one in. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You’re filthy, love. Maybe another time. Right now, I want you all to myself.” 

You’re practically riding his palm right now, the man you’ve hated for months, but Maker above, you’re not about to stop. There’s something so deliciously obscene about how you never could have predicted this moment, and yet, here you were, fueled by need and anger and something else you can’t quite place. The music is faint enough back in this corner that you can hear the obscene wet noises coming from between your legs. You’re both sweating, foreheads pressed together, panting in each other’s faces. 

“Gregor, I’m close.” It might be the first time you’ve said his name without a snarl tacked onto the last syllable.

“I know you are, love. Be good for me and soak my hand, yeah?” 

You glare at him with heated eyes, mustering your last bit of defiance. “Make me.” 

He sucks at the place just below your ear. “With pleasure.” With that, he presses against your clit with his thumb, circling slowly with just the perfect amount of pressure. Your mind goes fuzzy, teetering on the brink as he buries his face in your neck, panting against your sweaty skin. Your eyes rove the bar around you once more as Gregor’s thumb presses more firmly against the bundle of nerves between your legs. No one near you is paying any attention to you, mostly focused on their own partners, but a pair of piercing brown eyes draw your attention, and you lock gazes with Crater from across the bar. 

He must have gotten sidetracked or decided to have one more drink away from his men as he closed out his tab, but either way, there he is, seemingly watching you ride Gregor’s fingers. His expression doesn’t change as your eyes find his. He brings his glass to his lips, his gaze unwavering as he surveys you. You’re not even absolutely certain he’s looking at you in this dimly lit mass of bodies, but you think he is, and that’s enough to send you flying towards the edge of your orgasm. You cum hard, your vision whiting out as you topple over the precipice. Gregor presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your scream, and you bite down on his bottom lip as you ride out your high. When the aftershocks have finally subsided, you slump against the wall as Gregor pulls his hand from between your legs. He holds you up, resting his chin on your shoulder as he pants against your skin. 

Glancing back at the bar, you note Crater’s gone. If he was even actually there in the first place. 

“I… still don’t like you,” you mutter between gulps of air.  

He chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that, love.”

When your breathing finally steadies and your legs become usable again, he stands back, watching you as you straighten your clothes. You try to recompose yourself, smoothing your hair, and he grins. You roll your eyes at him, and he chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Looks like I won that bet.” He kisses you on the cheek, which infuriatingly makes your face flush with heat. You glare at him as he turns to leave, but you grab his arm again. In spite of months of derision and grumbled comments, you want more. 

And you want it now.

His expression is puzzled, and you relish in it as you step closer to grip his rock-hard length on the outside of his pants, making him gasp. You whisper directly into his ear, ensuring only he’ll hear. 

“Wait five minutes and then follow me outside. I’ll have a cab waiting.” 

“What for?” 

You kiss him, running your tongue over the inside of his lip before patting his cheek, enjoying the way he groans and the surprised look on his face. 

“Double or nothing. But this time you can't use your hands.”

With that, you turn on your heel, heading back towards the table. Your fingers wander nervously over the fabric of your dress, ensuring there’s no wrinkle or strap out of place that would give away what happened in that dark corner. You pull your hair over one shoulder, hoping it covers the stinging mark where Gregor’s teeth found purchase against your skin. Chuckles glances up as you get closer, his eyes seemingly taking in everything you’d hoped to hide, but his expression doesn’t change. Heat rises in your cheeks, and you try to meet his gaze with a level stare of your own. 

“Everything alright, Bolts?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking I’ll head out. Got a long one tomorrow.” 

“Want me to walk you home?”

“No. I mean, I’m good. But thank you. Don’t want to be a bother.” 

Chuck nods. 

“We all good here then? Don’t need me to settle up anything?” you ask.

Chuckles grins. “All good, but we’re even now, right?”

You smirk. “You wish, bud. You owe me at least two more nights like this before I’d call us even.” 

The pilot rolls his eyes, but you wink before making your way back through the crowd and out the front door of the bar. 

The night air is chilly, or at least it makes you shiver as the breeze hits your sweaty skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, eyeing the area where taxis usually could be flagged down. There’s a large crowd gathered, and apparently, it’s a slow night with the cabs. You shift your weight on your feet nervously, weighing your options. You’d rather not stand in a crowd with Gregor. Your cunt throbs between your legs, still slick from the orgasm the commando wrenched from you, and still craving more. There’s a moment of sharp clarity where you realize what just occurred, what you’ve propositioned. You pause to consider it. 

Yes, you’ve always disliked Gregor for whatever imagined slights you’ve clung to, but you’ve just allowed him to pleasure you better than any lovers in recent memory, perhaps ever. And he followed through on his promise, and has seemingly agreed to do it again, wrenching another orgasm from you. If he was actually a sleamo, you’d have never let him touch you, and now, your mind really tries to pinpoint what it is about him that’s always pissed you off. He’s good looking, and he knows it, and he’s always been able to read you, seemingly finding the most annoying places to press into. Well, until he found a very different sort of place to press against tonight, one that made your legs tremble and your nerves flare with electricity. You still can’t quite put your finger on what it is about him that makes you angry, but you’re definitely certain about the reasons you want him to fuck you now.

It was unexpected, impulsive, almost taboo, and that made it more thrilling. And him being so eager to pull another orgasm from you? Well, that’s new. Even with your shared history, you’ve never met a man so focused on you, and deep down, you like the attention. Even if it is Gregor.

You turn back towards the club, and see the lanky commando just exiting. As much as you’d love to take him back to your apartment and fuck in a real bed, something about it seems too intimate, even with your revelations. In your mind, it’s almost some sort of concession, admitting that you’ve enjoyed him enough to be vulnerable, to allow him into your space. And that’s not something you’re ready for, at least not yet. You just want a release. Well, more than the one he’s already given you, and you’re not feeling patient enough to wait for a cab. You lock eyes with him, jerking your head towards one of the alleys. 

He seems to take your cue, following behind you as you stride in between the two buildings, picking your way around a few couples that seemed to have the same idea. You’re pretty sure one of them is that ARC with the tattoo on his temple from the 501st, but it’s hard to tell with the way he’s bent over the woman he’s fucking against the wall. As you walk past, she moans out “Fives,” and confirms your suspicions. A sharp thrill of anticipation snakes through you. 

Gregor might fuck you like that in a minute. 

You think he might grab your hand to lead you through the alley, but he allows you to lead, hovering just half a step behind you without touching you. And that almost seems to make the space between you fizzle with anticipation. As soon as you get far enough past the other pairs to give yourselves a semblance of privacy, you finally feel warm hands snake around your waist. Gregor spins you, pinning you against the wall. You hiss as the cool bricks scrape against your bare shoulder blades, but it’s more from surprise than anything else. 

“What do you want, love?” Gregor asks, hands already wandering your body. The lighting out here is only a little better than inside 79s, but the shadows work in his favor, sharpening his features and somehow making his eyes more piercing. 

Karking hells, he’s hot.

“I want you to fuck me hard against this wall until I cum as many times as I need to,” you gasp, arching into his touch as he squeezes your breast over your dress. 

The corner of his mouth lifts into a triumphant smirk, one that would normally make you snarl at him, but he’s already got you unraveling. “Yeah? I think I can do that. Just gotta help me get ready.” He guides your hand between his legs, and you feel his cock through his pants again. He’s softened a little in the last few minutes since you’d separated, and while you could probably get him hard again just by stroking him, you want to turn the tables and get him back on his heels a bit. 

You want to wipe that smirk off of his stupidly handsome face. You want him to whimper for you.

Pushing him away from you, you squat down, carefully balancing on your toes, and start working to free his cock from his pants. Luckily, he’d opted to not wear any armor above his knees tonight, and it only takes a moment to fish out your prize. He’s long, and so thick and warm in your grasp. You feel your mouth watering already at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

“Oh, Maker, Bolts. Is that what you want?” he asks, and you feel his cock twitch against your palm. 

You say nothing, glaring up at him before you slip him past your lips. You groan as you taste him, tracing his shaft and flicking at the head of his cock with your tongue. Gregor’s mouth falls open slightly, and he gives you exactly what you’d hoped for, a whine high in his throat. You take him deeper, relishing in the way he stretches your jaw, even as his head brushes the back of your throat. With watering eyes, you drag your tongue along the bottom of him, pulling back enough to wrap your fingers around his length, twisting as you take him again. Gregor hisses out a curse between clenched teeth, and you hum, smirking around your mouthful. The commando stares down at you, clinging to what’s left of his composure. 

“Now love, I thought the rule was no hands?” he scolds breathlessly, reaching down to grab both of your wrists. He pins them against the wall with one of his massive hands, stepping closer and thrusting gently into your mouth. Your head rests against the wall, and all you can do is open your jaw wider to accommodate him as he presses even closer. He keeps your hands pinned against the wall, interlacing his fingers with yours. “Squeeze if it’s too much, but I’m not going to go easy. Not with the way you’ve run that mouth at me.” He’s teasing, and you raise an eyebrow, grazing him with your teeth. He reaches down, gripping your jaw firmly. 

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” he grits out darkly, and you shiver at how the hoarse, lighthearted rasp of his voice has turned to a deep gravel that promises to ruin you. Without further preamble, Gregor snaps his hips into you until you choke. He watches you for a moment, and when you don’t squeeze his hand, he starts fucking your mouth without abandon. You focus on breathing through your nose as he drives his cock into your throat, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, trying to find the place that’ll make him come undone. Tears stream from your eyes, surely ruining your makeup, and rivulets of saliva slide over your lips, dribbling down your chin and neck. Gregor’s too far gone to note your efforts with your tongue, swearing under his breath as he uses you. 

And as much as you dislike him, you love this.

Even if you’ll never admit it. 

You can feel your pulse between your legs, and your pussy is begging for some sort of stimulation. You flex your wrists experimentally to see if you’ll be allowed one hand to touch yourself with, but Gregor tightens his grip. 

“That greedy little cunt is going to have to wait,” he rasps, glancing down at your pleading eyes with the smuggest expression imaginable. “I’m going to get my credits worth out of your mouth first.” With that, he pushes to the back of your throat, burying your nose in the dark curls at his base, and he holds you there. Your vision blurs with tears, and he’s cut off your air, but fuck you love it. 

You feel his thumb trace your hand, reminding you that you can squeeze anytime to have him release you, but tapping out at this point would mean letting him win, and you’re not about to do that. 

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as a thick string of spit connects the two of you. You gasp and choke as you try to catch your breath, but Gregor is already pulling you to your feet, spinning you to face the wall and pushing your dress up and your panties to the side. Your knees protest as pins and needles snake down your calves where the blood flow was cut off in your squatting position, but you don’t have time to complain as Gregor kicks your feet apart, lining himself up with your entrance. 

“You ready to cum on my cock, love?” 

Your voice feels rough as you reply. “We’ll see if you can make me.” 

Gregor pulls the strap of your dress off your shoulder, freeing your breast, which he immediately grabs, pinching your nipple. In spite of yourself, your head falls back against his shoulder as you try to press the tender flesh into his palm. He squeezes roughly as he takes your earlobe in his teeth, chuckling. 

“Oh, I’ll make sure you can still feel me all day tomorrow. And that you’ll be back for more.”

The snarled retort is on the tip of your tongue when he sheathes himself fully in you in one stroke, and it’s strangled by the high-pitched gasp that rips out of you. Gregor crowds you against the wall, practically lifting you up on your toes with every thrust. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, you’re certain of that with how he’s stretching you out, carving out his place inside of you with every snap of his hips. Your breasts press against the cool, rough brick, and normally, you’d complain that it was uncomfortable, but Gregor’s cock hits a place inside you that makes you cry out loudly, and the pleasure overshadows the pain. 

“Shhh, love,” Gregor coos in your ear. “Gonna attract an audience. Unless that’s what you want?”

“Thought y-you liked hearing me,” you gasp.

“Inside was louder. Out here, everyone can hear you mewling.”

You place your palms against the wall, digging your teeth into your lip to try and keep your moans locked inside you. Gregor shifts his grip on your hips, reaching up to splay his massive palm against your breast, his other hand trailing between your legs. You regain enough brainpower to swat it away. 

“No hands,” you snarl.

He huffs a laugh, redoubling his efforts. “Fine then. We’ll be here longer, so you’ll really have to stay quiet.” He purposefully bottoms out, and you moan before you can stop yourself. “You’re so loud, Bolts,” he teases, bearing down on the place inside of you that’s making your legs tremble beneath you. “I suppose I can help with that.” 

His hand slides over your mouth, and you think he’s just going to muffle your screams, but instead, he slides three fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You whine, and he chuckles, driving into you. You want to make a comment about how loud his hips are slapping against your ass, how the wet sounds of your cunt are echoing down the alley, how Gregor’s panting and grunting in your ear, and you certainly would if the pads of his fingers weren’t pressing against your tongue. You realize those are the same fingers that touched you earlier, that found the place his cock has now discovered, and you can still taste traces of your orgasm on his callouses. He hooks the corner of your lip, pulling the corner of your mouth down enough to allow a trail of saliva to slither over his knuckles. 

“Sloppy little thing,” he mutters, and you moan. The brick scratches against your chest and palms as he pushes you harder against the wall, using it to pin you in place as he takes you roughly. You feel eyes on you, and turning your head as much as you can manage, you find the gaze of the woman that Fives is fucking. The ARC trooper is on his knees now, his face hidden under her skirt, one of her legs draped over his pauldron. The woman’s braced against the wall, her sharp purple eyes watching you with interest as her fingers snake through Fives’s curls. It’s hard for you to tell in the dark, but you’re almost certain Fives is stroking himself as he lavishes her cunt with attention, his arm moving in a repetitive motion as he groans quietly. The woman winks at you, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips before Fives pulls a moan from her.

“Knew you’d like an audience,” Gregor rasps. “Now, let’s give them a show.” His hand leaves your breast, disappearing for a moment before he brings it down in a stinging slap across your ass. Your eyes roll back into your head as the pain courses through your veins, blossoming to pleasure under Gregor’s warm palm. He lands another blow to your other cheek, and this time, you can’t help but scream around his digits. Your cunt spasms around his cock, and you know you’re close, so close. 

“Your pussy’s going to choke me, love,” Gregor moans. “Better finish you off before you milk me dry.” 

“T-tfhh eeee,” you mumble around his fingers. 

You know he’s grinning behind you. 

“What was that?” 

You bite his finger gently, and he yanks his hand loose, spanking you again. 

“Touch m-me,” you demand once you regain your breath. 

“Now, you said no hands was the rule. And I intend to comply.” 

“I know what the fuck I said,” you snap. 

He readjusts, and somehow, he hits the perfect place. Your eyes cross and you think your legs might give out. You moan, your forehead resting against the brick as you try to not move, hoping he’ll strike the same place again. 

“Ask nicely,” Gregor whispers mockingly. 

Your resolve and animosity crumbles to ash as he strokes the same place inside you again.

“Please,” you beg. “I’m so close. Please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Oh, I love hearing you beg like that,” Gregor groans. You expect him to tease you more, dangling you over the edge as you whine and thrash helplessly, but he relents, slipping his hand between your legs and easily finding your clit, which he presses against with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Say ‘thank you, Gregor,’ and I’ll let you cum.” 

Fuck, you despise this man. He’s embedded himself under your skin for no discernible reason, and yet, you’ve let him touch you and pleasure you and fuck you, and there’s no way you’re going to be able to scrub this night from your mind. You’re going to want this again, no matter how much you push against it, and knowing that Gregor’s a willing participant, even if you’re ready to scream every curse you can think of at him right now, well, that makes it even easier to allow it to happen again. 

If he’ll just let you finish. 

He slows the roll of his hips, and you groan in frustration. Your desperation is clouding your mind at this point, and as you feel the finish line of your orgasm slipping away, you become frantic. He’s dangled you long enough, and after months and months of not having anything but your toys to sate you, you’ll allow yourself this small humiliation in order to get what you want. 

“Please. Please, let me cum. I’ll say anything you want.” 

He snickers, snapping his hips again, and you’re immediately back on the edge, tingling with anticipation as your entire body thrums with pleasure. You hate how easily he’s got you figured, how quickly he shoves you back to the precipice, and how smug he’s going to be about it. 

You’ll be mad later. Right now, you can’t be bothered to care.

He leans closer, and you know what he’s waiting for. 

 “Thank you for fucking me like this, Gregor.” 

His fingers press harder against your clit just as the tip of his cock slams into the spot no one else has ever come close to reaching. You claw at the wall in front of you as your vision whites out once more, and you feel him pull out of you, expending ropes of his seed across the curves of your ass. 

He doesn’t let you fall, his hands flying to your waist and his weight pinning you in place against the wall as your knees threaten to crumble underneath you. His hold is much gentler than it was a moment ago, and he rests his chin on your shoulder as he recovers. 

“That was fun,” he pants, and you can practically hear his mouth curling into a grin, but somehow, it’s not as smug as you thought it’d be. “We should do it again some time.”

“Not if you’re going to make a mess of me before sending me home,” you mutter, glancing around for something to wipe the quickly-cooling spend off of you. 

“Allow me.” 

You feel fabric wipe across your ass, and turning, you see Gregor tucking the soiled edge of his shirt back into his pants along with his cock. He shrugs when you raise an eyebrow. 

“I imagine that wouldn’t be very comfortable in the cab home.”

“You imagine correctly.”

You stand there staring at one another for a moment awkwardly in the now-empty alley, Fives and his companion having finished their encounter and disappeared. This entire thing was unexpected to say the least, and neither of you know what comes next. You break into nervous laughter, straightening your panties and dress. 

“I like your smile. Don’t get to see it very often.” 

In spite of yourself, heat flushes across your face. You reach up to fix your hair, and a warm hand cups your cheek. You lock eyes with Gregor, and he’s staring at you so gently you almost forget how much you dislike him. 

Almost.

“Don’t you even think of kissing me.” 

“We already kissed.”

He has a point, but of course you won’t give any more ground. “I’d hardly call that a kiss.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Fair enough.” He reaches out, brushing some of your hair back into place. It’s surprising, and fuck, your treacherous heart clenches just a bit at the tenderness of the gesture. It’s not because you’ve suddenly developed feelings for him, but you can’t remember the last time someone touched you like that, so gentle and warm.  

It hasn’t been that long. And you’re not that desperate for affection. Just for a good fuck. 

And this was a good fuck.

You survey him for another moment as he rubs the back of his neck. “I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about,” he offers. 

“Do I look worried?”

“You look uneasy.” He smirks. “Although maybe it’s because the man you loathe made you cum. Twice.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes. Gregor steps closer, straightening the strap on your dress. “I meant what I said. I’d do it again. If you’d like.” 

His brown eyes lock onto yours, and you consider it. Your shoulders do feel like they’ve dropped away from your ears, some of the tension you’ve been carrying for as long as you can remember seemingly vanished. And you feel like your fuse isn’t as short. Even the steady thrum of annoyance that you’ve felt tearing through you since the moment you laid eyes on Gregor seems to have abated slightly. 

No one would suspect it since we hate each other. No expectations. Just sex. Really good sex. 

I could use really good sex.

“I suppose I could tolerate you doing that when you’re planetside,” you concede. “But no one else finds out. And this is just sex.”

“Just sex,” he agrees, extending his hand to seal the deal. “Shake on it?”

“You’re an idiot,” you grumble, stepping past him, leaving his hand hanging in the air. He catches your waist from behind, pulling you back against him. 

“Don’t forget this idiot that knows how your pussy feels wrapped around his cock. Now, are you going to give me your comm?” 

“Fuck off. You know where to find me when you get back,” you mutter, ignoring the way your thighs are clenching together again at his words. 

Get it the fuck together. 

“True. Since you never leave that garage,” he snickers. Before you can protest, he pecks a kiss to your temple and gently pushes you forward by your ass, squeezing the curve of it a little. You stumble a bit, shooting him a glare over your shoulder. 

“Get home safe, Bolts,” he says quietly. In spite of everything, he’s being sincere. And that’s nice.

You pause. “Yeah. You too.” 

His smirk fades and his gaze softens at your words, but he quickly slips his default expression back into place. Raising an eyebrow, he gives you a two-fingered salute, and you roll your eyes again before walking off to find a cab.

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @skellymom @runforrestr @djarrex @corrieguards @the-cantina @witchklng @fives-lover @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

[einloukrativesangebot]

February 2024 Destiel Fic Recs

Fics that were written in february of 2024, that I really loved.

Bad Day at the Office by nephiliminality

Castiel has successfully retrieved Dean Winchester from Hell, and now all he has to do is resurrect him, introduce himself and persuade him to serve Heaven. Should be an easy job, right?

Unfortunately, keeping this particular human alive is a lot harder than he expected. If Gabriel would stop laughing, that would really help.

(Lazarus Rising meets Mystery Spot. That's it, that's the fic)

This was is so good, awesome doesn't even begin to cover it.

Piece of Mind by golbygloom

Castiel has only been human for a few weeks when he experiences his first 'headache,' as Dean calls it. At first, he thinks it's nothing, as Sam and Dean said, but as they begin happening more and more frequently, he becomes convinced that this is Naomi's doing as she tries to rip him away from everything he's worked so hard to get. Why else would his head be aching almost constantly, with the pain originating so close to his eyes?

This fic is very angsty, but who doesn't love angst?

room for one more troubled soul by an_ardent_rain

“I’m here looking for Sam Winchester.”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m… sorry for bothering you,” Castiel says. He clears his throat, and then takes a deep breath, pulling himself together. “I need your help. It’s about your brother.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise, though he keeps his expression mostly blank. Castiel licks dry lips. “Dean went on a hunting trip,” he says. “And he hasn’t checked in in a few days.”

The concept is so intriguing and the writing is amazing.

dawn breaks overhead by dykeydean

So he finds himself standing in the middle of a run-down motel, letting himself be dressed by a human.

He doesn’t quite remember getting from there to here, but it doesn’t matter. This human’s soul is good, and so he trusts. There is nothing else to do.

“I only got one bed, but, uh, we can share,” the human says. He radiates nervous energy, and Castiel supposes that a bloody angel- fallen angel- showing up on your doorstep would be quite disorienting. Then again, humans used to worship angels almost to the level that they worshiped God. Perhaps times have not changed, and the human is simply awe-struck.

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel says, and then he blacks out.

Again, amazing concept and the writing is superb.

spanner in the works by casdoms (moffwithhishead)

 “You have to choose, Castiel. Us, or them.”

Them. It was always going to be them.

Definitely worth the read, especially for Cas-fans.

Candy-crushing the angel way by FreyaBlackthorn

Dean is a bit uncomfortable with Cas staring at him during the night; he convinces the angel to download Candy Crush.

Because Dean is a candy and Cas is crushing, right? (I'm sorry).

This one is hilarious.

Steady As The Night Goes by Angel_With_A_Shotgun (CalmWaters)

“Yeah. Here,” Dean lifted one of the blankets from the stack beside the bed, “you kept kicking them off earlier.” Cas took it quickly. Wrapped himself up in it. Wide, blue, fevered eyes stared into Dean’s. More alarm bells rang inside of Dean’s head.

Or, a newly human Cas struggles with a fever, while Dean struggles with his feelings.

It's just very sweet and very in character for Dean.

True Blue by adeptune

Based loosely off of this tweet:

"Anyone down to take couples counseling and see at what point the therapist realizes we don't even know each other ?"

Or Sam bets Dean a thousand dollars that he and Cas can't go to couple's therapy for a week without the therapist noticing they aren't a couple...

These guys really do need therapy...

feather and nest by orphan_account

Early November comes and goes. Dean tries to hold on through the winter.

Starts angsty, but the ending is really cute.

Cowboy Blues by tollie

“I’ll take this,” Dean dropped a beaded bolo tie on the counter, “and he’ll wear the hat.” “I will?” Cas said, but Dean appeared not to hear as he swiped the Charlie card and pocketed the receipt.

Episode coda for 13x06 "Tombstone" in which Dean buys Cas that absurd hat and Cas wonders what the real cause is for Dean's good mood.

This is very fluffy and such a nice fanfic gap-fic.

Kitchen Table Conversations by Owco

“So let me summarize,” Sam began, still somewhat hoping he’d wake up and this would be a bizarre dream he’d never tell anyone about, “Dean was asking for it so hard it turned into a prayer, causing you to accidentally jump into his body. You were so cozy next to his soul that you left your vessel dead on the bed for over ten minutes. Have I got that right?”

This one's very funny.

Here are the January Recs

[youllallriseintheink]

Do you have any immortal Bolo headcanons?

Thanks for the ask! I'll do my best with this.

-After the events of the game, Volo hastily traveled to Hoenn because he was worried that, now that his evil actions had been revealed, he would be ostracized by everyone he knew. He wanted to leave before anyone found out about his crimes, as he didn't want to have to face the people who had once respected him, especially Cogita.

-It was well over a decade later that Volo realized that he was no longer aging. He wasn't sure why this was. Eventually, his curiosity outdid his fears and he wrote to Cogita, asking if it was a rare genetic quirk in their lineage as well as explaining his current situation (he'd set up a life for himself as a merchant in Hoenn, had learned to craft many different tools under a master craftsman, and had calmed down significantly) and asking for forgiveness. Cogita was overjoyed to hear from him again, forgave him, and said that no, she was the only one of the Celestica people who had ever been immortal. This was something else entirely.

-Volo concluded that someone, perhaps Arceus, had great plans for him. He returned to Hisui and made amends with many people, including Cogita, the Ginko Guild, and Giratina, who would show up to help him or spend time with him often over the coming centuries. After some soul-searching, he decided that he was meant to learn about the entire pantheon of legendaries and thus answer the philosophical questions that had led him to evil.

-During his studies in Hisui, he fell in love with a woman from the Diamond Clan and fathered a child with her. He was away often after his daughter's early childhood. However, he did return to visit her periodically. His daughter is long-lived as well, though not immortal or even so long-lived as Cogita. She eventually takes Cogita's place as a keeper of knowledge about myth and legend. She is alive in the present day (Cynthia's "grandma"- perhaps actually her great or great-great grandma), and though the trait grows weaker with each generation, her descendants are long-lived as well.

-As transportation technology advanced, Volo was able to travel and gather information quicker and visit Celestic Town more frequently. He adores Cynthia and encouraged her to become a great champion so that she could protect the region. He even gave her the best gible he'd ever bred so that she could use it as a starter Pokemon.

-The more knowledge Volo gains, the older he begins to look and feel. In the current day, he looks to be in his early fifties. He feels as though he knows now what has happened: Arceus decided that he would be the one to find the philosophical truths that would lead the world to peace, such that no one would be driven to the extremes he was. That, along with the ways in which he's encouraged his descendants to protect the region, is his penance for what he's done, and it’s brought him a lot of peace. His family knows about all of this, and Cynthia wonders if he will finish his quest during her lifetime. It's even crossed her mind to join him one day, or that gathering the last of what he needs might be up to her once his body grows too old. Regardless, she loves her uncle Volo.

[toxinellebug]

Shadybug/ClawNoir Christmas PART 3

Betterfly never in his worst nightmares would’ve dared imagined that Claw Noir would use his Cataclysm on a human being!!

The superpowers granted to the old man by the kamiko have protected him from instant death, but the damage is done. There is no telling what will become of the old man once he relinquishes his powers and the magic is gone.

Betterfly must get to Father Christmas, NOW!

But first, he has to evade an angry Shadybug.

He’s been defensive ‘till now; as a peaceable man, he is hesitant to physically attack a lady let alone a young girl, but desperate times call for desperate measures after all.

Forgive his rudeness, young miss…

Parrying another swing of her blade, he pushes off and makes a run for it, leaping from roof to roof, ignoring her accusations of cowardice, he spies his target- running up he grabs a string of Christmas lights off the edge of a rooftop, and turning, he yanks the lights free and flings them at the pursuing Shadybug.

The string of lights wraps around her like a bolo, entangling her and causing her to slip on the ice, landing ungracefully on her derrière. As a result, she shouts several things that are quite unladylike.

It won’t hold her for long, but Betterfly only needs long enough to get to Father Christmas and bring the poor man to safety!

Father Christmas falls to his knees, clutching his chest in pain.

Claw Noir can’t believe it! What’s WITH this guy?? Also, how is he still alive???

Not that he was trying to commit murder or anything. He’d never used his Cataclysm on a person before, but he’d always assumed it would just caused them to crumble to dust like everything else. 

The fat man may not be dust… but he does look like he’s in a lot of pain. For a second, Claw Noir almost feels bad. ALMOST.  

It’s his own fault for getting in the way! Why did he have to go and do something so stupid all for some lame tree?! 

Walking past the downed man, Claw Noir marches towards the giant tree in the middle of the Place de la Concorde; wrapped in white faerie lights, it’s covered in silver and gold baubles. Large, perfectly symmetrical red ribbon bows are tied to every other branch. There is just a scant dusting of angel hair, and on top rests a bright, neon star.

One of his cat ears twitches, and in the distance he can make out the orchestra inside the Le Grand Paris Hotel playing “Mon beau sapin”.

It makes him sick. The perfect tree, the happy carols….This whole stupid Holiday is nothing but people getting drunk off mulled wine and opening presents. The most wonderful woman in the world is GONE, but everyone is feasting and laughing without a care and expect him to do the same?

Here’s what he thinks of their “Happy Holidays!” He raises his hand and summons another Cataclysm-

A mittened hand grabs his boot.

Looking down, it’s the fat bearded guy in the tacky red suit. Somehow, despite the pain, he’s crawled his way over here.

Did he already forget what happens when you cross paths with a black cat?

Father Christmas tells Claw Noir that he knows he doesn’t believe in the Magic of Christmas, and nothing he says will change that. But there are still people in this city who do believe, people who NEED to believe. For some, this holiday may be the only thing that can bring them joy in such a cheerless world. Can he truly take that from them?

Claw Noir sneers; don’t make him laugh- trees, tinsel, ornaments… all that junk comes from the store. People can always go out and buy more “christmas magic” tomorrow.  He plans to live for today! He swipes at the tree-

Only for a snowball to hit his claws and turn to black dust before he so much as touches a single pine needle.

What now???

Betterfly has arrived. 

He tells Claw Noir to stop this now.

Stop? Sure, he’ll stop… Just as soon as Boogerfly hands over his Miraculous!

Claw Noir rushes Betterfly, who stands in place calmy until the last possible moment before leaping away, and Claw Noir finds himself yowling in pain as he is ensnared in a red and black polka-dotted electrified net.

The sparks die down and the cooked cat glares up at Humbug holding her lucky charm; a net gun.

He accuses her of doing that on purpose!

She didn’t… But she won’t deny that it was funny. What’s he complaining about anyway? He still has 8 mangy lives left.

Unfortunately, she was too distracted by that little light show that the Butterfly got away, AGAIN. What lousy luck…

Betterfly has managed to carry the old man back to the rooftop of his apartment, leaning him against the rooftop access door, he uses his super enhanced strength to break the lock, then helps his kamikotized ally inside.

His heart is heavy; he knew Shadybug and Claw Noir were ruthless- never hesitating to use their full strength to violently attack anyone Betterfly had granted powers to. Which is why, after seeing what they did to that poor Théo Barbot boy, Betterfly had decided against ever sending a kamiko to any minor unless it was to get them out of immediate danger. Children shouldn’t be exposed to such risks.

But he hadn’t anticipated that such intensity could lead to… This.

Father Christmas notices Betterfly’s saddened expression and tells him he thinks it’s time he returned the “gift” that was lent to him.

Before Betterfly can stop him, Father Christmas rejects the kamiko and reverts back into a regular old bearded man… who clutches his chest in agony, wheezing to breathe.

Betterfly tells him to try and keep calm, delicately loosening the first two buttons on the old man’s shirt and peeking underneath the fabric. His heart sinks at the sight of blackened flesh.

The Kamiko was only able to shield the poor man from the full impact… but it was not enough to prevent the effects of the cataclysm. There was nothing he could do.

This man was dying, and it was all his fault.

Betterfly sobs out his apologies. He never meant for this to happen!

The old man is extremely forgiving- he understood that he was taking a risk from the start. They were both only trying to do the right thing and he has no regrets.

Shadybug sighs as she surveys the damage… mysterious presents everywhere, gift bows on shiny new windows, suspicious wreaths with golden berries, the remains of a sleigh hanging out of the side of the eighth floor of the Le Grande Paris Hotel, flying reindeer circling the Eiffel tower. The whole city reeks of magic.

What a pain.

Tossing her net gun into the air, she calls out for Miraculous shadybug and loveliness swarms throughout Paris- Reindeer, Sleigh, and presents vanish, windows are restored to their old, un-shiny yet unbroken state. Wreaths of gold make way for plain wreaths, no longer mangled and back on each of their original doors. Toppled snowmen are rebuilt, and the Le Grande Paris Hotel shows no sign of being crashed into.

Claw Noir, no longer barbecued but thoroughly confused, asks Humbug what she did THAT for?

Idiot.

The Supreme made it clear that they were to be DISCRETE! The public could NOT be allowed to discover the existence of the Miraculous or magic.  Just how was this fleabag expecting to explain this whole mess if she DIDN’T cast the stupid cure?!

Yeah, well… how was SHE going to explain beetles swarming all over Paris in WINTER?? That’s also suspicious!

Whatever. She’s going home.

Glittering ladybugs swirl around the old man’s chest and his haggard breathing becomes light. He sits up and pats his chest- the pain is gone! 

Betterfly can’t believe it! How is this possible??

There is a chiming of bells… it is now midnight.

The old man smiles; his cheeks are rosy and there is a twinkle in his eye.

It’s a Christmas Miracle of course.

A miracle?

Betterfly looks out the rooftop access door into the cold winter night.

Yes… a Miracle.

(TO BE CONTINUED AND FINISHED IN PART 4!)

PART 2

PART 4

[carrotkicks]

what has dazai's bolo tie become ? or is this more like dazai is always watching situation and not ,,,, whatever this thingy is being alive/sentient ?

no the tie is alive. it's both. the tie is alive

[mini-uzzy]

NAME : Jason "Askal" Timog

ALIASES : Shadow 5-1, "Ryett"

APPEARS IN : Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III

NATIONALITY : Filipino

AFFILIATIONS : Philippine Army (former), Philippine Scout Rangers (former), Shadow Company, KorTac

GENDER : Male

STATUS : Alive

MARKS : Tattoos on left arm

EYES : Dark brown

HAIR : Black

SKIN : Fair

HEIGHT : 5'7'' (1.70m)

WEAPONS : TAQ-V, Mini-Uzi, Bolo, Any weapon acquired by the player

EQUIPMENT : Any equipment obtained by the player

TIMELINE : Modern Warfare Reboot

FACE MODEL/VOICE ACTOR : Baron Geisler

"Former Philippine Scout Ranger from Davao Oriental. Specializing in jungle and unconventional warfare, and highly skilled in close quarters combat."

IN-GAME BIOGRAPHY

Jason "Askal" Timog was born and raised in the rural mountains of Davao Oriental, Philippines. At 18 years old he enlisted in the army, motivated by the rampant terrorist attacks on his country. He would later join the Philippine Scout Rangers, where he was nicknamed "askal" meaning "feral dog", from a habit of baring teeth during vigorous trainings.

One of his deployments was a joint operation between MARSOC and the Scout Rangers, tasked to take down a chain of Al-Qatala strongholds in Southern Philippines. Among the MARSOC operators was Phillip Graves.

In 2019, Askal and several other Rangers were involved in a mutiny. Although it was a failure, the rebels took multiple innocent lives before fleeing the area. Askal barely escaped trial thanks to the help of his sister, who was exiled by their family for being transgender. She took him to Canada, but it was a matter of time before he's recognized.

Commander Graves approached Askal at a perfect time, offering security in exchange for his expertise. In 2021, Graves formed "Whiskey Company", a group of operators specializing in reconnaissance, amphibious and jungle warfare. Askal is among the most capable of the operators.

Early 2023, Whiskey was dispatched to track down Konni strongholds across Europe and gather intel of Makarov’s inner circle. The intel would later aid TF-141 and Shadow Company on their relentless search for Commander Makarov.

⛓ 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔢 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ☕ ⛓

[yokohamapound]

Nakahara Chuuya x Reader - Birthday

So, yeah...this is over a month late. It was sitting in my drafts waiting to be finished and I finally had the motivation to get it done so here we are! I hope you enjoy it. It's just a piece of Chuuya fluff.

Characters: Nakahara Chuuya

Contents: SFW, food mention, smoking

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya doesn't know if his birthday is his birthday. The date—April 29th—is the date he found in the data files for the original Chuuya, the one the military scientists kidnapped years ago. Chuuya still doesn't know if he's the original or not. He decided a while back that it doesn't matter. He is the only one left alive, and he'll celebrate his damn birthday on April 29th. 

He's full of plans as he silently lets himself into the luxurious apartment, palming his keys so they don't jingle as he enters the front hall, plans he's been turning over and over in his mind all day. 

His eye had been on the clock, watching the hands crawl closer toward the time he could reasonably slip away. He's a Port Mafia executive—it doesn't come with guaranteed hours, but it wouldn't look good if he skipped out halfway through the day, birthday or not. 

He wants to take you out. Drive you to some fancy restaurant he's never been to before, somewhere he can make a fresh, vibrant memory with you over delicious food and just enough wine to have him buzzing, but not drunk. Then he'll take you dancing, spin you around until you forget what your name is and stagger into his arms. 

Then he'll bring you home. For dessert. 

He's been playing it in his mind's eye since breakfast. Everything from the rush of wind as he drives a little too fast, to the taste of expensive wine on his tongue, and the taste of you later, under the bedsheets, panting and clutching and—

This particular Port Mafia executive has been rather distracted, you could say.

Chuuya slides his coat off his shoulders, hanging it up on the fancy coat rack by the door. He leaves his shoes there too, relishing the cool, polished floors underfoot. He's halfway down the hall when the smell hits him and drags him toward the kitchen, like a cat being lured by a feather on a string. The sound of humming reaches him, slightly off-key, and adorable for it.

He pauses in the doorway, hat still in hand, and takes in the sight. You're not dressed to the nines like he’s been picturing you, but instead wearing a t-shirt and leggings, feet bare on the floor, tapping your foot absent-mindedly while you whisk something in a frying pan. The kitchen smells incredible: garlic, lemon, sizzling meat.

You’re cooking dinner for him. 

Chuuya’s plans for the evening are swept away in a sudden, crashing wave of domesticity. He wants this: you in your lazy clothes, cooking him dinner and humming to yourself in the kitchen. 

Silent, unnoticed, Chuuya slips away from the kitchen door and makes for the bedroom. He shrugs off his jacket, waistcoat, bolo tie, and choker, feeling the knots in his shoulders loosen with each undone button or buckle. His hat he leaves on his bedside table, and plucks his cigarettes and silver lighter from the pocket of his waistcoat. It’s engraved, a present from you. He runs his thumb absently over the string of characters as he lights up. 

Chuuya normally smokes when he’s drunk or stressed, neither of which he is right now, but it feels like a day to indulge in his vices, the biggest of which is currently clattering pans in the kitchen. 

You’re busy, cussing under your breath as oil splatters out of the pan where a nice cut of sirloin sears. The oven is lit up, a dish of seasoned vegetables crisping up inside. The kitchen counter is covered in knives and the abandoned papery skin of a clove of garlic. 

Chuuya rests his shoulder against the doorframe, taking in a long breath of smoke along with the myriad scents of the dinner you’re trying to prepare. Normally he’d walk over to you, slide his arms around your waist, but you haven’t noticed him yet. It’s a rare chance to watch you unnoticed. 

His gaze tracks down from the line of your neck to your hips, your ass, your legs, as you move back and forth to check on all those metaphorical plates you’ve got spinning. It’s not totally lascivious—okay, it totally is—but he’s also just admiring you like a fine work of art. 

Slyly, Chuuya takes his phone from his pocket. He tucks the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and fires off a quick text. 

On my way home, doll. See you soon. X

Your phone chirps on the counter, half hidden underneath a recipe book. You lunge for it, read the text, and freeze. 

“Shit!” 

Damn it, you’re not finished cooking and you’re not even dressed for dinner yet. You need to take a bath and put on some make-up and—

You spin for the kitchen door, phone in hand, and stop. Chuuya’s there, smirking, phone in hand, shirt half-undone with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Given how comfortable he looks, he’s probably been there for a while. Obviously, there’s no other option but to grab a dishtowel and swat at him with it. 

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Chuuya retorts, dodging the pathetic flail of the towel. He approaches the stove and peers down into the pan, his mouth already watering. “You’re cooking dinner for me, huh? How cute. Maybe I should buy you a lil’ apron.”

“Oh, be quiet,” You prod him in the waist to make him step aside, and turn the steak over before one side cooks too much. “Since you’re here, you can set the table.”

“Sure, yeah.” Chuuya’s grin is irrepressible. 

He gets half a step toward the dish cabinet before your grip on the back of his shirt halts him. You pull him back, tugging him toward you for a kiss. Smoke, lemon, butter, garlic—flavours clash in the meeting of your lips. By the time he pulls away, some of that smoke is in his eyes too and you can already tell that most of Chuuya’s birthday is going to be spent in bed.

🏷 @heavenlyres

[wulfthedollmaker]

Drop some Wulf lore if you wish 👁

Yes ofc!!!! Here’s the basics:

Wulf is not entirely alive, as they allegedly died from unknown causes before entering the constant

They remember little to nothing about their previous life, and what they do remember is very foggy

Their third eye is a separate entity, who they dub Opal, a very mysterious entity that seems to have fused itself with Wulfs body under unknown circumstances

Opal seems to be the only thing keeping Wulf alive, (as in, if Opal is destroyed and/or removed from Wulf, they will die)

Wulf is all around an air headed and forgetful person, and despite their spooky and mysterious nature, wulf is a very nervous individual often plagued with anxiety

Wulfenite isn’t their real name, it is simply a nickname they gave themself after the wulfenite gem on their bolo tie (their real name is unknown)

They have vague memories of attending a boarding school when very young (said school has several rumors surrounding it being a secret cult)

They despise any medical setting such as hospitals and asylums, partially associated with some repressed trauma

Their eyes can reflect light, not unlike canines and deer

They are absolutely repulsed by mirrors (and their reflection in general), as they feel like there’s a person staring at them

After their alleged death, a series of several supernatural occurrences seemed to occur leading up to the day they were buried

TYSM FOR LETTING ME RAMBLE ABT MY SILLY LITTLE CHARACTER I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!! 🥹🥹🥹

[single-snail]

ok so if the carlos from meta fiction is the canonverse version of carlos cervantez i have some questions. first, how do sam and dean know him? presumably carlos still knew mary but sam and dean wouldn’t have met him before 4x03 at the absolute earliest bc nothing would stop him from telling them mary was a hunter, so when did they meet? do they know he knew mary? does he tell them stories about her from when she was a teen? not a question but i’m just really happy he’s still alive. and most importantly, did he give dean his bolo tie?