#it'll be entertaining that's for sure

[trashworldblog]

pre puppet history moodboard

[sshcomic]

Will we see other Hashira in your Soryuu sensei Hakuji AU? 👉👈

- 🩸

hi!!! yes but like... later. rn we're in a bit of a "flame estate/renkaza bonding" sort of "arc," i guess, and then we'll meet uzui. ;P but where we're at, i've loosely got 5~7 more strips planned, so even meeting uzui will take a hot second. 😅

this is subject to change but the plan is to loosely follow canon, with the addition of the Formal Hashira Meeting about hakuji, bc i love that trope soooo much in renkaza fic haha. that's planned for after the entertainment district.

that being said, i already have most of the hashira outfits jotted down. 😂😂 pretty excited abt it ngl. thanks for the ask!

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[decepti-geek]

for all that I love Ghosts, I've been getting a very different kind of joy out of watching uploads of a very, very similar show on youtube - The Ghosts of Motley Hall.

Like, a setup where the ghosts actually mostly like each other from the off, so that a huge chunk of the dialogue just goes towards establishing more and more of their meandering, idiosyncratic shared history (especially because the budget was clearly about £1.50 so they have to establish most things through dialogue)... that has its own kind of charm.

[cherrydreamer]

More S4 thoughts about Billy chilling in his little house on the beach in Cali (the one he bought outright with his government hush money, of course), until he hears the news of the whole 'earth opening up and a ton of weird shit' happening again in Hawkins. And at first he smirks, glad that he's out of it, glad that all he has to worry about is how many entitled little shits he's gonna have signing up for surf lessons this month, and whether or not he set the VCR for Knight Rider.

But then he hears about Max. And it's mostly whispers and rumours, but it's enough to have him jumping in his car and racing the whole way back, barely stopping to sleep or eat, screeching into Hawkins and then storming right into the emergency centre, asking anyone and everyone for information on his sister, getting more and more worked up as he hears nothing but the same repeated lines about the 'proper process' from people who call him 'sir' and wave him away with pitying smiles.

And it's been a while since Billy got angry. He hasn't needed to, for the last few months. But it soon comes back to him, the familiar red mist falling over his eyes, as he stands in the middle of a row of cots and bellows at some poor soul brandishing a clipboard and a sign-in form.

And that's when Steve appears from out of the makeshift kitchen, summoned by the commotion. He's got a ratty dishtowel slung over one shoulder, and a smear of peanut butter on his cheek, but there's a calm, authoritative confidence in the way he rests a hand on Billy's shoulder, and says,

"C'mon, man, yelling at Gloria's not gonna get you anywhere. You got it all outta your system now? Good. So how about you come with me and help me finish up these sandwiches and I promise I'll explain everything."

And Billy does. A little sheepishly, he follows along and sits in a snug little backroom where Steve hands him a sandwich and a steaming mug of cocoa and, true to his word, he explains it. Everything. And Billy takes it all in, wide eyed but without saying a word -although he can't stop himself from gasping in shock when Steve talks about what happened to Max- and he's damn near shaking by the time Steve's finished, so Steve takes hold of his hand and squeezes it and says, so firmly, "She's getting better. She's fighting, every day. And you know how stubborn she is. Hey, must be something in the Cali water, man, cause, uh, you're also in damn fine shape for someone who died."

And there's no tact there, no gentle easing into it, but that's exactly why Billy's next gasp is one of laughter.

[maskyartist]

my new goal is to make an AU for each brother to be a putt putt now :) actively making a floyd putt putt au as we speak, i can come up with one for Bruce too i am unstoppable in this putt putt playground

[crayonurchin]

I got the job :)

[thebirdandhersong]

Maybe Lara Jean was right for processing her feelings through letter writing though

[roboq]

I'm too invested in T'Pring now. Despite the knowledge of Amok Time, the mere thought of she and Spock painfully drifting apart drives me to despair agony hopelessness heartache nothingness destruction of the self. I'll love you forever, T'Pring.

[orcelito]

I gave June Bug this little bouncy ball cat toy and she LOOOOOOOVES IT. Loves it even more than the toy mouse she loved.

I just heard a distant Thump from the bathroom. Sounds like she's still playing with it :')

[bunnie-bits]

omg I'm glad I'm awake, I had a dream i got back with my ex but forgot to tell her I'm polyamorous now and she found out bc i was holding her hand but also caressing this other girl who was in bed with us - and I asked if we could talk in the other room but in the other room we kept getting interrupted by random groups of people and whew!! it was stressful having to Explain Myself™ but also kinda nice to get some rly deep feelings out about why I'd be afraid of being monogamous again Especially with her 😬

happy to be back in the real world though. the first thing out of my mouth was "[friend from when i was younger's name]???" like girl what r u doing in my dream lol i have not spoken to or thought of her in Years.

[skrunksthatwunk]

i just started working on a wip from a couple weeks ago!! i haven't actually finished/published a fic before but i thought I'd give it a shot bc like. my blorbos from my shows video games <3. me when goromi me when kiryu me when gay people. insane. anyway I'm at around 2.8k words now!! yeehaw. also damn this shit is hard bless y'all

[troonwolf]

idc if Nandor and Guillermo actually ever start dating I just enjoy viewing them both under a microscopic and cackling manically 

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

12 / 1,147 words / for @141wh0re. happy birthday <3

nsfw, free use, rough sex, group sex ⬇

...

"Shut your bloody mouth before you broadcast our hiding place to every tango in a mile radius," Ghost snaps. He's got you bent over a crate, your nails digging into the old wood for purchase as his hips grind against yours.

"Then don't be so fucking rough," you snap, though it sounds breathy and thin even to your ears. You shift, feeling his hands squeeze your hips in irritation.

Ghost doesn't falter, but his eyes glitter at your backtalk. He claps his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you're making. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing you onto one leg as he pushes your knee onto the top of the crate. He pulls out and slams back into you, getting back to railing you hard and fast.

“We need you on your sniper, Ghost,” Soap hisses from his spot at the far window. He’s peering down the scope of his own rifle. This building is only two stories high and small enough that any one of you could cross the room in three strides. The body heat alone is getting to you. Not to mention the way Ghost is fucking you like it'll save this mission, his pants pushed down to mid-thigh just as yours are.

"Get back to work, then, Ghost," Price tells him from the nearest window, eye leaving the scope of his rifle for a moment to take you in. "I don't need you two distracting my team."

Ghost grinds into you, a frustrated snarl muffled under his mask. You feel the muscles in his hands flex as he bites back his anger. "Fuck," he mutters. "Alright. Let's finish this."

On the other side of the cramped room, Gaz and Soap kneel at the largest window. They keep their focus, sniping marks with ruthless precision. As they do, Ghost's hips snap into you faster and harder. His teammates are focused on their task; he's focused solely on his.

"You're so tight," he growls. His hand slips away from your mouth, falling to your neck. "I've been wanting you since we--"

"Stop talking," you snap, hyperaware of the implicit warning in Price’s voice and the way Soap and Gaz are shifting in position, getting restless. You’re not sure if they’ve had enough, if they’re jealous, if they’d sooner throw you out the window than entertain another moment of this. "Get it done."

Ghost doesn't bother to argue. He pins you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he fucks you, unceremonious and primal.

You bite your lip and try to stay quiet as Price's judgmental gaze falls over you again. Ghost flattens you even more against the crate and slams into you so hard and fast it creaks and squeaks against the floor. You cry out, writhing. His hips stutter, and then he's coming, slamming into you until you can't think. Your clit catches the rough edge of the crate. The sudden, sharp jolt is too much. An unexpected orgasm crashes over you, and you groan pathetically, clenching around Ghost.

Ghost curses. He slows down, still panting, and slowly pulls out of you. He runs a gloved hand down your back in a quick—but still noticeable—gesture of appreciation.

"Nice," Price mutters in approval. "Good work."

"She’s a good teammate, ain’t she," Ghost says. "Always wet."

You shiver, their words shooting straight to your core. You're sure you should be insulted, not flattered. But your body doesn’t seem to understand that.

Gaz nudges Soap and they glance over their shoulders at you.

“How long was that one?” Gaz asks Soap.

“I’m busy at the moment. You think I bloody timed it?” Soap snaps. 

Gaz looks amused. “Did you not?”

Soap swears under his breath, eye returning to his sniper scope. “Eleven minutes.”

Gaz scoffs. "Could do better."

“Alright, that’s enough,” Price says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Ghost, take up position.”

He disappears from behind you. You pull yourself together and get to work.

...

This mission went tits up right out of the gate. If not for your teammates’ ludicrous skill and focus under pressure, you’d be dead. No doubt. But they’ve been in far worse binds than simply being pinned down inside a rickety, moldy shack by endless enemy gunfire.

Soon enough, the chaos is over, and no more shots ring out.

“Clear,” Soap says.

“Proper job,” Price says. “Regroup.”

You’re patching up a graze on Gaz’s forearm when Price returns three minutes later, frowning.

“Bad news. No exfil for another forty-five minutes.”

“How bloody long does it take to—” Ghost cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere safer to wait it out.”

“After we regroup here, yeah?” Gaz says.

Ghost scoffs. “Why? You in the middle of something?”

“Oh, we’re about to be,” Soap retorts.

You’re hardly paying attention, fastening two butterfly bandages to Gaz’s laceration when Soap’s arm loops around your waist and drags you backward into his lap. He makes sure to drag your core over his thigh, knowing you’re still sensitive enough to feel it even through your pants. You grit your teeth, biting back a groan. He tugs the top half of your combat uniform apart and shoves his hand inside, groping your chest roughly. You gasp, grinding down on his lap unwittingly.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Soap’s breath is hot in your ear. “Real reliable.”

“We don’t have time for fun and games, Johnny,” Ghost says, sounding irritated.

“Easy for you to say. You had yours,” Gaz says. He slides closer to Soap, his eyes fixed on you.

Ghost throws a questioning look at Price. Price leans back on the crate you’d been bent over a few minutes ago. He shrugs, rolling around a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Not a bad place to sit tight. We’ve got a good view in all directions if more tangos approach. Relatively protected and exfil has a clear landing zone through those trees. We stay.”

“You heard him,” Gaz says.

“Arsewits, both of you,” Ghost mutters.

You’re staring at the cigarette in Price’s mouth, eyes half-lidded, when Gaz’s fingers take your chin and tilt your face toward him. “You don’t mind, love, do you?”

A frustrated growl rolls through Soap’s chest, but he pauses mid-squeeze to hear your answer too.

You stare at Gaz, then Ghost, then Price again. “Forty-five minutes?”

“We’ll make it work,” Soap says.

“I know.” You shift in his lap again. Your core is aching, your mind already clouded over with want. “Fine. If… if that’s what you need.”

Soap chuckles into your ear. “Away wi’ that. No pretendin’ you do this because it’s your job. You like it.”

“Fuck off,” you snap.

“Gettin’ to that.” Soap shifts you so he can get his pants and yours out of the way. He notices Gaz’s hand run down your neck enticingly, hears you sigh, and pushes Gaz’s hand away. “Wait your turn.”

Gaz scoffs. “You’ll hardly last long enough to wait on.”

“You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart.”

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hurt IV

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Morsa gets hurt

You're sitting in the stands when it happens.

Momma's still not back in the squad so you're not sitting on the bench. You enjoy sitting on the bench more than sitting in the stands but at least you get to eat hotdogs in the stands so that's a win.

You're munching away when Morsa goes down. You stop chewing to stand up properly so you can see and you will Morsa to get back up.

She doesn't.

She just kind of rolls around on the ground clutching at her foot.

"What's wrong with Morsa?" You ask as if Momma would just know.

"It's okay," Momma says though her tight smile says she doesn't quite believe herself," Morsa's being a bit dramatic. She'll get back up, you'll see."

Only Morsa doesn't get back up.

She has to be helped off and you see a stretcher being prepared.

Momma takes your hand and walks you over to the barrier.

"Sam!" She calls out to Scottish Sam," Sam!"

Sam turns, getting up from the bench. She takes you as you're lifted over the barrier.

"Look after her, okay?" Momma hands her your bag. "I'll grab her in a bit."

"Go," Sam says," I've got her."

You're still in Sam's arms as you watch Momma sprint the opposite direction, to where Morsa's being loaded up onto a stretcher. She's crying and you kind of feel like crying too.

"Magda's strong," Sam says as she takes her seat back on the bench," She'll be okay."

"Morsa's crying," You reply bluntly," Don't lie. I'm not stupid."

Sam winces a little but you pay no attention because you stand up to see if you can catch a glimpse of Momma and Morsa. The stretcher is moving away now and they're holding hands.

You're glad that Morsa has Momma to look after her until you get there.

"Hey." Sam taps your leg. "Let's sit down, huh? You could fall."

You grunt in frustration but do as she says. You've no interest in the match anymore and grow a bit restless. You keep turning your head around, hoping to see Momma and Morsa returning but they never do.

Sam rummages through your bag to find something to entertain you.

"What is this?" She asks," A fancy straw? It's kind of big."

"That's my epipen," You say and Sam immediately drops it into your bag like it's burned her," Because Australian Sam gave me bad kiwi and I almost died. Momma makes sure I always have it."

Scottish Sam laughs uncomfortably. "Well...I'll make sure not to give you kiwi then."

"Or banana or avocado because those can kill me too." You think for a moment as your stomach rolls. "Is my Morsa dying?" Your bottom lip trembles. "Is that why she's not back yet?"

"No!" Sam says quickly, shaking her head firmly," She's just talking to the medics. They're very chatty. That's why they're taking so long."

You accept that Morsa's not dying but not really that the medics are chatty. You keep looking behind you all the way up until halftime.

Sam takes you back to the changing room but you dig your heels in all the way because you don't want Momma and Morsa to go back onto the pitch and not know where you've gone.

This whole situation is very worrying and you sullenly take refuge in Morsa's cubby because it's nice and small and smells just like her.

"Lea?" You ask as the woman mooches around nearby," When are my mummies coming back?"

She winces a little. "Sorry, kid," She says," I'm not too sure. Soon, though. It'll be soon."

You sigh a big sigh and huff, reaching out for Lea's hand as she gets ready to go back out. "Is my Morsa going to be okay?"

She winces again and pats you on the head. "She'll be just fine. She'll be back on her feet very soon."

In the second half, Sam has to go on so she hands you straight over to Sarah who has the unenviable job of watching you have a complete and utter breakdown.

You've decided that it's been too long, that Momma and Morsa have been away too long for Morsa to be just fine like the girls are telling you. You curl up into a little ball in your seat and sob.

Sarah looks like she's about to cry too as she wildly looks to the other girls on the bench for help before deciding that the best thing to do would be to pick you up.

It's pretty hard on her part because you won't uncurl from your protective ball and she kind of has to pace around with a little girl whose not willing to give her even an inch of help in it.

"Hey."

You stop crying when you hear Momma speak.

She's standing by the barrier.

"I can take her now," Momma says to Sarah," I'll take her back to see Magda."

"It's fine," Sarah lies," We've got everything under control."

"I'll take her," Momma insists," Magda's been asking for her."

"Oh, thank god," Sarah breathes out before holding you out for Momma to take along with your bag.

"Is Morsa okay?" You sniffle as Momma begins to walk back to where she disappeared too.

"She will be," Momma says," She's a little sad right now and she needs some Princesse cuddles to make her feel better. And I think some Morsa cuddles will make you feel better too."

You nod.

Morsa's still sitting on the stretcher when you arrive. She's not crying anymore but you can see where the tears use to be.

Momma settles you by Morsa's side and you look down to see her bandaged foot.

"What happened?"

"I hurt my foot," Morsa says. She crowds you into her space with a hand between your shoulders, allowing you to curl up properly against her as she rests her chin on the top of your head.

"Is it really bad?"

"I have to have surgery soon," Morsa says," But it'll be very quick."

You think for a moment before nodding, making sure to hug Morsa nice and tight so she knows that you're here for her.

"It'll be okay," You say," Because me and Momma are going to look after you."

[wraithlafitte]

you're no femme fatale

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

CONTENT: use of y/n, dubcon (mission sequence), soft dom!reader, guided masturbation, light degradation (m!receiving), stripping, begging, scratching, hair pulling, handjob, exhibitionism if you squint

word count: 3.3k

a/n: anon request here! enjoy 🖤 honestly felt like i was scraping the bottom of the barrel to keep this interesting LOL hope it's what you wanted

"No. No way in hell I'm doing that," you said, throwing up your hands and backing away from the table, littered with piles of Sam's research.

"Aw, come on, Y/N," Sam protested. "You're the only one of us that could do it."

"I am not entertaining some dirty old man for this," you snapped, snatching up a museum scan of the artifact you were supposed to steal. "We'll find another way."

"If there was another way, I'd be asking you to do that," Sam said, furrowing his brow. "This is the path of least resistance. You get in his office, slip it into your dress while he's not looking, and we'll come get you after ten minutes. That's it."

You huffed a sigh and crossed your arms.

Just then, Dean returned from his fast food run, greasy paper bags in hand. "Hey, nerds," he greeted impishly. "Grub's on."

You rolled your eyes as he plopped the bags right in the middle of Sam's papers.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Dean asked, settling himself into a chair and unwrapping a double cheeseburger.

"You would know if you had stayed to help make it," you replied annoyedly.

Dean flicked his eyebrows. "No need to get testy."

Sam sighed, deciding to intervene before things got ugly. You and Dean weren't exactly known for getting along, tolerating each other just enough to get jobs done when you had to. This was mostly due to the fact that you thought Dean was a douchebag, and he just dished back whatever you threw at him.

"The best plan we've got so far is that Y/N seduces the guy," Sam explained.

Dean snorted, almost spitting out his too-large bite of burger. "I'm sorry what?"

"I figure we'll never be able to get in there during the event, since it'll be so locked down," Sam continued. "Our best bet is getting him to let one of us in."

"Have you seen her?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and giving you a once-over. "Not exactly the seducing type."

You looked down at your current outfit. Cargo pants and a mens t-shirt topped with a utility vest and a leather bomber jacket. He had a point, although not for the reasons he thought. You could dress up, you just chose to dress practically. More pockets for knives. No, you just weren't sure you'd be able to convince the man you wanted him. Seventy-something sleazebags weren't exactly high on your to-fuck list.

"For once, I agree with Dean." You tossed the photo back onto the table. "Can we think of something else, please?"

"Yeah, as much as I'd like to see her try and pretty up to get in some old dude's pants, there's gotta be a more surefire way," Dean said with his mouth full. "Cuz you're no femme fatale," he added pointedly.

You were getting a little annoyed at his jabs. "You don't think I can do it?" you asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Sister, I don't think you could seduce a virgin," Dean scoffed.

You turned to Sam, bristling. "That's it then. I'll do it."

"What?" Dean said loudly through his half-chewed bite.

Sam looked at you with concern. "Are you sure? Just because Dean-"

"I'm sure." You set your jaw confidently. "Let's go to the charity event."

"We're heading out to the car," Sam called through the bathroom door, where you were putting on the finishing touches to your makeup.

"Be right there," you called back, surveying yourself in the mirror. Not bad, you thought, considering the last time you put on this much makeup was prom night. You had tried to go for something an old man would like: a classic red lip and smoky eye that paired pretty well with the vintage-looking slinky black satin dress you'd found at the thrift store around the corner. It went down to your ankles, showing off your heels, and had a long slit that made its way up your leg to your hip.

You threw your coat on and hurried out the door, hopping into the backseat of the Impala. Sam glanced at you in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows appreciatively, but Dean didn't spare you a second glance. You were annoyed, since half the reason you were doing this was to prove him wrong, but there would be plenty of time to show off later.

As the Impala peeled out of the hotel parking lot, you took a deep swig from the flask you kept in your coat pocket. This better work.

Neither of the boys helped you out of the car when you arrived.

"Chivalry is dead," you announced after almost stumbling onto your face getting out. You tossed your coat back into the backseat, revealing your outfit to the two hunters.

Suddenly Sam was all-too-eager to offer you his arm, and the two of you headed inside, Dean close behind. You hadn't missed the way his eyes widened when you dropped your coat, so you swung your hips a little as you walked. That'll show him.

The plan worked better than you could have hoped. The sleazy old something-inaire led you to his office, hand wrapped around your waist as you clung to his arm, pretending to laugh at his stupid sexist old man jokes.

As he clicked the heavy oak door shut, you quickly scanned the room, trying to find the artifact you came for. There. On his desk. All you had to do was grab it, and-

The old man grabbed you by the hips, pulling you flush against his body. "Where were we, sweetheart?"

Insides roiling with disgust, you turned around and placed your hands on his chest, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster. "Right here," you said cattily, batting your eyelashes as you grabbed him by the lapels and led him backwards to the desk.

Here goes nothing, you thought, and pulled the old guy in for a kiss. Trying to ignore the way his tongue dug into your mouth, you felt around behind you for the artifact.

Got it. You quickly palmed the object and broke the kiss, looking up at the old man through your lashes. Now Sam or Dean was gonna bust down the door, claiming you as his missing drunk sister.

Aaaaany minute now.

The old man smiled wolfishly and you felt his hands creeping lower, lower, until he grabbed your ass firmly, jerking you closer to him and capturing your lips again.

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was not going how it was supposed to. You tried to wiggle away, but the guy was surprisingly strong for his age.

"Where you going, baby?" he asked, eyes glinting.

"I think I- I have to go," you said, aware that you were sounding a little panicked.

"You wanted this," he reminded you, giving your ass a tight squeeze. He swung you around and pushed you into the leather couch across from the desk. You tried to scramble up, but it was hard with your tight dress and the artifact still clutched in your hand, desperately being concealed, so the old man grabbed you easily by the hair, forcing you to stay down.

"Now why don't we put those pretty lips to use?"

The door swung open with a bang. The old man looked up, startled, releasing his death grip on your hair.

"There you are," came the fake-laughing voice of Dean.

"Who are you?" demanded the old man. "Get out of here!"

"Sorry man, this is my sister," Dean said, raising his hands apologetically. "She gets really hammered, acts like a slut. Gotta get her home." He helped you up, and you smiled and giggled, putting on the drunk-girl act.

Dean helped you hurry out of the room, the old man looking disappointed and angry at being cockblocked.

"Thanks," you whispered once you were down the hall and out of earshot. "What a creep."

"Please tell me you got it," Dean said darkly, weaving you through the crowd. You slipped the artifact into his suit pocket, giving it a pat for good measure.

"Didn't do that for nothing." You winked at him and pushed him away to walk the rest of the way to the car on your own two feet.

Dean stared after you, dumbfounded. He tried not to fixate on the way your hips swayed in that dress as you walked away proudly. God, that dress! It hugged your body perfectly, and Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't been eyeing you all night. His cock was semi-hard in his dress pants, an annoying reminder of just how much you'd proved him wrong.

"Come on, dickhead," you yelled out the back window of the Impala. Dean realized starkly that he had stopped in place thinking about your tits.

"Dammit," he muttered, hurrying around to the driver's seat.

The three of you piled into your hotel room to debrief from the mission. You assured the boys that you were alright from your creepy encounter with the old guy, and that stealing the artifact was worth it. The way Dean watched you raptly as you began to disrobe was not lost on you.

"I've dealt with worse in my time," you reminded them, shaking out your hair. "I'm a solo female hunter. Sleazy men hit on me literally wherever I go." You plopped down on the bed and pulled your stockings off one by one.

"As long as you're sure," Sam said, stretching and yawning. "I'm gonna head back over to our room to get some sleep. You coming, Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his fantasy. "Uh, no. I'll be there in a little bit. Gotta talk to her about something."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Just don't bite each other's head off." And with that, he was gone.

You watched Dean from the shadows of the half-lit room. When he made no move to say anything, you did. "What do you need to talk about?" you asked, knowing full well. "Gonna say sorry cuz of how wrong you were?"

Dean flicked his eyes up to yours. Where had he been looking before?

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah. You did good."

You stood and sauntered over to where he sat in a straight-backed chair by the dresser. "But that's not all, is it?" You smirked at him and looked him up and down, gaze lingering on his crotch, where a tent had begun to form.

Dean covered his bulge with his hand and pressed down, growling. "You were a little too good."

"So, what? You stayed because you want me to help with that?" you teased, coming closer.

"Yeah," Dean said roughly, standing quickly.

"No," you said bluntly, taking him by the shoulder and pushing him back into the chair.

Dean grimaced. "Why? Please," he begged, face twisted in arousal.

You giggled. "Wow."

"What?" Dean snapped, eyes cracking open.

"Nothing," you said, smirking. "You could beg a little more, might help." You felt your own arousal start to pool in your panties.

"Please, Y/N." Dean looked up at you with wild eyes, squeezing his cock through his pants.

"Please what?" You cocked your head.

"Please... make me cum," he said finally, eyes dropping to your midriff, unwilling to hold your gaze.

You tilted his chin up so he would look at you again, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction that you had somehow reduced him to this begging, horny mess in the chair before you.

"All you had to do was ask," you said softly. You backed away and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Dean started to get up and follow you.

"No," you said, holding up a red-manicured finger. "Sit back down." You pointed.

Dean frowned but did as he was told. You smiled, delighted.

"You're having way too much fun with this," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry what was that?" you asked with a stern expression. "Do you want to cum or not?"

Dean's dick twitched in his pants. The way you bossed him around was really turning him on. "Nothing."

"That's what I thought." You twirled your hair thoughtfully. Dean whined impatiently.

"Tsk, tsk." You crossed your legs at an angle where he could almost see through the slit into your crotch. "Take your cock out."

Dean was all too happy to oblige, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants faster than you could say desperate, hiking up his dress shirt in the process.

"Wait," you interrupted before he could go any further. "Why don't you unbutton your shirt, too. Wouldn't want to make a mess." You smirked.

"Okay," Dean agreed breathily, practically tearing the two sides of the shirt from each other, exposing his muscular torso. You had seen him shirtless before, but there was something about the way he was breathing, stomach rising and falling quickly as he panted, that turned you on when it wouldn't normally.

"Now you can take your dick out," you said. You held your breath a little as his cock came into view. He was fully hard now, and dripping. He squeezed the base, moaning.

"Now what?" he asked, eyes shut as he lightly stroked his cock with his fingertips.

"You need me to tell you how to jack off?" you asked meanly. To your surprise, Dean moaned loudly at that.

He began stroking his cock, slowly at first, building up speed as he could no longer contain himself. A near-constant string of quiet whimpers and moans fell from his lips. You took note of the way he swiped his thumb over his leaking slit, spreading it around to aid his fingers.

"Look at me," you instructed. You wanted to see that wild look in his eyes again, and were instantly rewarded as his eyes flew open to meet yours. His mouth fell open as he gasped when he saw you.

"Forget I was here?" you teased. Dean gulped and shook his head vehemently. His hand slowed, and he started tugging himself less frantically, holding eye contact with you intensely.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "You're so hot, wanna see you."

You smirked. "Only because you admitted it." You hiked up your skirt, spreading the slit open so he could see your black lace panties.

Dean devoured your skin with his eyes, rubbing the head of his cock in circles with his thumb.

You dropped the straps of your dress so that they hung loosely around your shoulders and ran your long nails across your collarbones, petting your shoulders. Then you took hold of the neckline and pulled it down, freeing your tits from the dress.

"Better than I imagined, baby," Dean groaned at the sight, as his hips bucked into his hand.

You took one of your breasts in your hand, squeezing it towards your chest. "You imagined?" you lilted, smiling.

"Been thinkin' about you all night," he admitted shamelessly. "How good your tits looked in that dress. How good- ngh- you looked walkin' away from me."

Your other hand started creeping into your skirt. "Thought I couldn't even seduce a virgin. What does that make you?"

Dean growled, jerking his cock faster. "I don't- fuck-"

"Maybe you're just a manwhore," you purred, hopping off the bed to approach him.

"Please," Dean gasped, tossing his head back. "I need you."

You scoffed. "I'm not that lacking in self-respect." You lightly scratched your fingernails down the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, groaning, hand stilling.

You leaned in to murmur in his ear. "No, you're gonna take care of this all... by... yourself." You laced your fingers into his short hair, scratching his scalp, and pulled his head back. He relaxed and his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling.

"So take care of it," you remind him harshly, giving his hair a hard tug before letting go. Dean raised his head hazily and began to stroke his dick again, gasping. It was angry red, practically begging for release, but Dean seemed determined to tease himself until he couldn't take it anymore, which you suspected would be soon.

You turned your back to him and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a silken puddle. You heard Dean moan softly, sound of skin rubbing skin growing faster. You smiled to yourself as an idea occurred to you.

Against a backdrop of street lamplight coming through the window and lewd noises coming from Dean, you padded barefoot wearing only your underwear to the other side of the bed, where your pajamas lay folded neatly on the nightstand. You unfolded them and spread them out on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked hoarsely. "Don't- please stay- I need to see you," he whimpered finally.

You ignored him, as you had been planning to do, and put your pajamas on dramatically slowly to the soundtrack of Dean begging you to stop, stay naked, help him.

You turned back to him when you were finished and a rush of arousal hit you at the sight: Dean, cock in hand, sitting exactly where you had left him, sweaty and gasping and looking at you with a wild, desperate expression. You moaned softly in spite of yourself.

"Poor baby," you pout, rounding the bed to sit next to him again. "Haven't you come yet?"

Dean's hand was working overtime, forearm muscles flexing and rippling beneath his skin where his sleeve was rolled up.

"Can't," he breathed.

"You can't come?" You feigned surprise, even though you had known for several minutes that he was probably going to wait for your permission.

"Need you," Dean panted. "Can't do it- mm- without you."

"Sure you can," you said, running your nails down his chest. He shivered intensely.

Dean whimpered, face contorting in frustration. "I can't."

"What, I got you so turned on you can't even jack off without me?" you tease, fingertips stopping right above his happy trail.

"Please touch me."

"I am touching you," you reply smoothly, digging your fingers into his stomach.

Dean rolled his eyes, although you weren't sure if it was sass or pleasure. "Please," he insisted, whining.

"Useless." You replaced his hand with yours, gripping his cock tightly as you stroked it for him. "Can't even make yourself come without my help."

Dean went slack-jawed, head falling back once more. "Uh-huh," he moaned breathily. He ground his hips upwards, trying to find more pressure or friction or something but getting nothing but what you gave him.

"You're a useless whore, right?" you taunted. He would tell you if you went too far, right?

"Yes," Dean groaned loudly. You almost clapped your hand over his mouth, certain that Sam could hear through the walls.

"Shhh, be quiet baby," you said instead. You swiped your thumb over the head of his dick and he hissed, biting his lip. Your other hand went down to cup his balls, giving them a light squeeze.

Suddenly Dean's whole body tensed and his eyes flew open. "Shit- I'm so close, please," he panted. His abs flexed, indicating that he was telling the truth.

You increased the pressure on both hands slightly. "Go on then."

Dean let out a sound somewhere between a strangled gasp and a groan as he came, spurting over his stomach and your hands. You kept pumping, using his cum to aid your efforts, until he was begging you to stop between gasping breaths. Only then did you let go of him, admiring your handiwork.

One Dean Winchester (formerly unbelieving of your sexual prowess), spread over a chair, covered in cum, sweaty and panting and utterly fucked out.

"Thank you," he whispered weakly after a moment.

"Will you ever doubt me again?" you asked, smirking.

He rolled his head to the side to look at you. "No. Fuck, that was hot." Dean grinned. "Actually, I changed my mind. Maybe I should doubt you more often."

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever, Winchester. Clean up and go to bed."

Dean got out of the chair stiffly, winked at you, and went to do as he was told.

dividers by @cafekitsune and @saradika

[txttletale]

I'm speaking as an artist in the animation industry here, it's hard not to be reactionary about AI image generation when it's already taking jobs from artists. Sure, for now it's indie gigs on book covers or backgrounds on one Netflix short, but how long until it'll be responsible for layoffs en-masse? These conversations can't be had in a vacuum. As long as tools like these are used as a way for companies to not pay artists, we cannot support them, give them attention, do anything but fight their implementation in our industry. It doesn't matter if they're art. They cannot be given a platform in any capacity until regulation around their use in the entertainment industry is established. If it takes billions of people refusing to call AI image generation "art" and immediately refusing to support anything that features it, then that's what it takes. Complacency is choosing AI over living artists who are losing jobs.

Call me a luddite but I'll die on this hill. Artists with degrees and 20+ years in the industry are getting laid off, the industry is already in shambles. If given the chance, no matter how vapid, shallow, or visibly generated the content is, if it's content that rakes in cash, companies will opt for it over meaningful art made by a person, every time. Again, this isn't a debate that can be had in a vacuum. Until universal basic income is a reality, until we can all create what we want in our spare time and aren't crippled under capitalism, I'm condemning AI image generation because I'd like to keep my job and not be homeless. It has to be a black and white issue until we have protections in place for it to not be.

you can condemn the technology all you like but it's not going to save you. the only thing that can actually address these concerns is unionization in the short term and total transformation of our economic system in the long term. you are a luddite in the most literal classical sense & just like the luddites as long as you target the machines and not the system that implements them you will lose just like every single battle against new immiserating technology has been lost since the invention of the steam loom.