Andulka
No title available
Love Begins
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
h
ojovivo
Xuebing Du
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
occasionally subtle
art blog(derogatory)
No title available
No title available
pixel skylines
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Cosmic Funnies
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n
NASA
sheepfilms
Kiana Khansmith
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Italy
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Argentina
seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
seen from Trinidad & Tobago
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Kenya
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
@utter-and-complete-freedom-blog
Hey guys! My awesome friend Jackie is writing an essay for a class! I know some of y'all cosplay and her questions are really great. I totally had an awesome time evaluating all my cos-feels and putting them on paper. (and I know you guys can write!) So if you could take a moment and fill out whatever thoughts you can spare, that would be great ^^
Thanks in advance :)
✉ ✘ ♣ (ooC: kldsjflkasjkfsl almost humannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn <3)
✉
[Text: Feathers] Hey Balth, think I’m lost… possibly drunk. My nose bleeding. I don’t remember fight… come help me?
✘
[Text: Feathers] I had another nightmare about him, Balth. I don’t know how to make it stop. Angels are supposed to help, right? Can you help? I can’t sleep anymore—[deleted]
♣
[Text: Feathers] Got booze, need someone to share with. Just imagine what I can do in person if I can make you come with a text. ;)
[Text: Timeless] Reasonably, you can’t both ask me to come help you and tell me you’re lost. Thankfully, I can sense your rash ass, and what a lovely ass it is. I’ll bring a handkerchief for your nose. You owe me a new one, again.
[Text: Timeless] Useless angels can’t help with anything. [never sent]
[Text: Timeless] Mmm, make me come with a text indeed, I’m coming already it might seem. I hope you haven’t had too much booze to make my next coming faster. That is a challenge.
Send ✉ for an 2 AM text
Send ✘ for an unsent text
Send ☠ for a threatening message
Send ❤ for a lusty/loving/affectionate message
Send ♣ for a drunk message
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
Jack gives a grin at the suggested nickname, bouncing it around in his mind. It could have worked, but he would rather know what the other’s name is. He documents Feathers away as a future possibility, giving a hum to himself at the compliment, resting his chin on his free hand as he listened to him, watching the emotions shift in his eyes.
He’s quiet as he listens to the other’s story, tilting his head slightly with a frown. He squeezes his hand when the glow reappears, not surprised in the slightest by it now—it’s simply filed away in his mind under the label Angel, just like every other species he’s encountered. He wonders if they’re all the same, or if it’s something about being… ‘fallen,’ as the other puts it. He squeezes again, more firmly, when he feels and sees the other fall into the same kind of memories he has himself, reminding him he’s there. He strokes his knuckles with his thumbs again, wincing at the mention of death—of murder. He knows murder. He knows what it feels like to be killed.
He gives a chuckle, eyeing that expanse of skin and giving a low hum in his throat. He stands as well, nudging his chair back and making the table between them less of a problem as he moves around it. He pulls Balthazar close, breathing him in again and closing his eyes, pressing his cheek to his in a form of intimacy that surprises even himself.
“Balthazar,” he breathes in his ear, loving the way it rolls off his tongue. “Let’s find somewhere a little more private, shall we?”
He lets himself be lost in the quiet heat of the moment. There's lust still crackling strongly around them, to be sure, it's still bright and wanting in the other's darkening eyes, but there's a softness to this pause, to the confessions they've both made to each other, strangers swept together in a bar. And yet...not so strange, perhaps, after all. He feels as much as sees the way Jack's eyes cloud over in understanding at his words, the careful way a thumb drags across his knuckles in solidarity. He wonders, but doesn't ask, if it's ever been done purposefully to Jack, with intent...something beyong an enemy, something meant only for him. But then the other has moved off his chair, pulling Balthazar closer with a smooth, strong, grip, and the angel allows himself to be brought forward. Somewhere in the spicy scent of the other, in the contact, he shudders a breath, in the contact that it seems he's longed for for ages, he allows himself to forget. He's not faced with purity or sanctity, only with the same grit that covers him as well, and that means he doesn't have to dwell on it, that's it's not pushed into sharp relief with each touch. His breath catches in his throat as he nuzzles back, his hands moving to stroke down the strong clothed chest in front of him, settling on the man's waist. It's like a hug, but more than that, intimacy and connection in the stance. The craving for contact, for more, for skin, hits him a heartbeat later and he moves closer. "I think that would be appropriate." He murmurs, his own breath drifting across the other's skin now, it's all he can do suddenly not to bury his face in the crook of the man's neck, to bring his lips to the expanse. The burn of lust grows, the desire for touch overwhelming. "I have a house not far, if you'd like." He wasn't a fool before he'd fallen, had recognized the necessity of safe houses, of human money and means, it's why he's here in this bar, out of the way and under the radar. "Unless you have something -" He shifts until their chests are pressing together, his fingers still curled around Jack's waist. "Something closer in mind." It comes out as half a groan. "I don't care."
Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.
"How drunk are you right now?"
"Well that was unexpected."
"Have you ever even done this before?"
"I just want to cuddle."
"I can’t even look at you."
“What happened to you?”
"Don’t you dare."
"I missed you."
"This stays between us."
People say that I am h e a r t l e s s
—— I just learned to use my heart { less }
dsfkd
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
Jack sees the faint glow but decides against mentioning it—they’re both other, and it’s not as strange as it probably should be to him. He turns their hands over, tracing designs onto the other’s palm as he listens to the other speak, eyes flicking back up to his. He gives a small shiver when the light fades and that feeling of darkness returns, drawing down his shoulders and bringing a quiet sigh from his lips. He gives a weak chuckle at the word wrong, but doesn’t mention his second meeting with the Doctor—the one where he was told just how wrong he really is.
He can’t help but be a little surprised at the other’s revelation—he’s never encountered an angel before. Again, though, it’s not too foreign that he doesn’t believe him. Perhaps Earth has its own creatures, inhuman but just as intelligent, if not more. Maybe that’s part of the reason the colonies disperse in the far future. Aside from the whole ‘Sun expanding’ thing, anyway, but he supposes the angels could cause that later on.
“You could bite me anytime and I’d enjoy it,” he murmured with a grin. “And I think… as two not-people who can’t die, who are… wrong… I think we could learn a thing or two from each other. Even if we don’t, I’ve certainly never been with an angel before.” His grin turns into more of a smirk, and he brings one of the other’s hands up to kiss his knuckles, peeking up at him again.
There’s a certain softness in him now, stroking his thumb over the other’s knuckles. He felt, and that was new. This isn’t pain looking for numbness—it’s numbness looking for good feeling. It’s new to him. “You didn’t give me a name, though. And you don’t want me making up a nickname for you, I don’t think.”
"Feathers?" He suggests with a hint of a tease flowing through the word. "I don't know, I'm sure you could come up with something lovely -" His own smirk is in place now, "You seem to be one for a vivid imagination." The amusement glows in his eyes for another moment, before it dies away slowly. "I should though -" Balthazar hesitates. "Should tell you, that saying that I'm an angel is something of a stretch these days." He sighs. "A bit like saying you're human. Fallen, perhaps, is more accurate." His fingers glow again, the surge of light and peace filling their connection. "My grace is all but gone, just enough to make me not one or the other." He shudders for a moment, feeling the dark spaces in him, the grace made dead and scarred by death and knives. If he were whole, he could bring them both peace, could at least make the shadows fade against the brightness of his powers. But he can only offer stolen moments. He doubts Jack understands how much better it could be if he were different, if he'd run into a different angel tonight, well..at least perhaps Cas, or one of the other non bastard ones. But Balthazar knows, understands his shortcomings with acute detail. "I died -" He bites his lip and corrects, an icy ache filling his chest. "I was killed, and nothing came back correctly." He watches Jack bend his head over to bring plush lips to skin, blue eyes reaching up to find his and he bites back a bit of a groan. "So if you'd like to be with a fallen poor excuse for an angel, I can offer you that. As you said, it could be very educational." His voice falls lower again, and he leans in, something pleasant in telling Jack the truth, at least in part, in revealing what a mess he is, and not having the other want to run. He shifts gracefully off the bar stool, invading Jack's space more fully, tipping his head to the side, the smooth expanse of skin at his throat bared. "My name is Balthazar."
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
Jack can’t help but laugh at the other’s doubt, though he bites back his comment to let the other continue speaking. Absently playing with their hands now, eyes pinned there, his voice was a quiet murmur when the other finally finished speaking. “Always harder to be the first one to go, huh?” He chuckled, running his free hand through his hair. “Alright, I guess I’ll bite. And if you aren’t running away after this, I think it’ll be worth it to… explore our options.” He leaned away a little, just his fingertips brushing against the other’s knuckles as he considered where to start. His eyes became distant, older than the body that wore them by far.
"I was born with a name I can’t even remember… in the 51st century," he finally said, keeping his voice low. "I stole the name I have now from an officer who died in the second World War. I was a time traveler, a rogue Time Agent and a conman, until I found this man who called himself the Doctor. I traveled with him and his companion for a long time… and then I was killed." His hand pulled away fully and clenched into a fist as his mind flashed back to the Dalek attack on Satellite 5, and he drew in a shuddering breath. "And then I was brought back to life by the companion, who had absorbed the Time Vortex.
"They left me on the Satellite, on purpose." He sighed. "The Doctor couldn’t stand knowing I was an… anomaly in the lines of time and space. And that’s why I’m different. I’m a fixed point in time. I can die any number of ways and I don’t stay dead." He gave a quiet, weak laugh. "I was buried in the Earth for nearly two millennia and I kept waking up, filling my lungs with dirt and dying all over again. I was blown up, for fuck’s sake, and I regrew myself from scraps of skin and bone.”
His eyes flicked up to the other’s again. “My name is Captain Jack Harkness, and I’m the man who can never die.” He could have continued, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
The other's hands play with his own as he speaks, idle, absentminded strokes that curl across his wrists and his fingers, exploring without realizing. It's an unusual set of touches to be bestowed upon him, too gentle, too quiet in comparison to the usual rough movements that excess of drink leaves humans with. But it's the expression that coats the blue eyes all of a sudden that captivates him. The stranger looks, for a moment, like an angel trapped in a host's form. An age that doesn't match with the rest of him falling into place, an exhaustion that Balthazar understands instinctively as having lived too much, seen too deep; an expression that comes with going places from which there is no return whole. Death, Balthazar realizes, destruction. The words he speaks, at first, have no meaning to Balthazar - are foreign to him; time vortexes, companions, the Doctor. But his grace is still there, torn and frayed as it may be, and it hums tiredly within him, looks through the whole of creation to find him explanations that he could not have had otherwise. Definitions and words, ideas from worlds that are not quite his own, but intersect, now and again, crossover at points and then fade out of each other. He doesn't question it, if the universe made sense, everyone would understand it. There are moments that are not for God and the angels to interfere with, when destruction and protection were left to other powers, ones bound less to faith and more to reason. They do not belong everywhere, cannot fix everything, after all. For all that has not been in his own personal experience, the laugh the man gives, that he knows all too well. Recognizes the tired slump of it, the slight betrayal still soaked in the words, /they left me/ - the self deprecating lilt around anomaly. Those he needs no translation for. His fingers turn to catch the other's, this traveler of space and time. Without realizing what he's doing, he feels the last, weak, vestiges of his grace glowing through him, floating towards their connection as though trying to heal. He gives a little huff of laughter, they should know better than to try and mend this kind of wound. He lets them though, lets them glow faintly against the other's skin with their quickly extinguishing warmth. For a heartbeat, the light chases away the taint of death. "I -" He hesitates, he wants to tell the other that he's sorry for the the pain, that he cannot imagine being crushed over and over, having died only once, a sudden desire curling through him to bring the other closer. "seem to share your inability to stay dead, though I know several that do." He says as the darkness creeps back into him. " But it feels the same on you as one me." His lips curve a bit, but not exactly in a smile, fingers tensing for a moment and before easing. "Perhaps because we're both wrong, in some way." The words are more of a breath as he considers. "They left me too, you know." He adds without knowing exactly why. "my...friends, left me to die, I suppose. Though I can hardly blame them... I was...unimportant." For all that Jack has said, it is the thought that those around him had left him to suffer on his own that draws the ache from Balthazar's chest. Such beings they are and in the end, the most mundane of things pierces through all the same. "Since you've...bitten though. I suppose -" He finds Jack's eyes, voice low, a hint of amusement flooding back in. "I shall have to bite back and tell you that I...am an angel."
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
A steady hum started its way through Jack’s veins, and a soft voice in the back of his mind reminded him, it’s not going to last forever. It might not even last through the night, but that didn’t matter to him. Hell, the buzz from the booze wasn’t going to last through the night, and there wasn’t enough in his system to be clouding his conscience anyway. He was known on more than one planet to be like this—in plain terms, a bit of a manwhore—so why not have a bit of a throwback to the old Jack? It wasn’t like Ianto was there to be ashamed or upset with him. He never would be again.
“Suppose I could,” he mused at the other’s last inquiry. “I’m incredibly flexible, it’s almost embarrassing.” He smirked. “And you don’t seem nearly as intimidated now. Tends to happen with a bit of drink and a clever mind.” He finished off his own drink, closing his eyes on a low hum as he let it burn down his throat, slow and smooth. Oh, he hoped things would pick up quickly soon. He loved it when it was quick, dirty, and meaningless.
Well, old Jack did. New Jack wanted nothing more than making love, but old Jack was fine with a blow in the bathroom or a cheap motel room with flickering lights. He reached out to touch his hand again, just the tiniest bit firmer, not needy but appealing, fingers stroking soft but quick over the back of the other’s hand. “There’s one question I do have, though,” he murmured, leaning in slightly once more, taking in a soft breath through his nose. The other carried a scent he hadn’t yet experienced, and it was intriguing enough to be almost arousing in itself.
“What are you?” He made eye contact once more, his tone serious but not accusing. “You’re not human. You’re something else. It’s not that I mind, I’ve had my fair share of aliens but I don’t think I’ve had anything quite like you before. It’s the only secret I’m asking you to give up.” He glanced away briefly before looking at him again. “You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
He lets the other touch him, lets himself relish for a heartbeat in the softness of it, in the way it ripples over his skin and settles there, between all the torn edges that he is. It's foolish, to look for comfort amongst the lust, to think in some way that this encounter will be anything but a quick inflation of his ego and the fleeting freedom of pleasure. But he sighs with it, he can't help himself, seeks the softness buried in the hard edges of their obvious desire, burning the air between them. In the end, all Balthazar wants is to be touched, to be reminded that he's in some way important, valuable, in all the ways he feels he isn't. In the end, he scarcely finds that among the trysts and the back alleys, in the menage twelves and too many hands on his body. He always thinks he will, that letting someone else use him, touch him, will make him better, forgets until he remembers that it only leaves him on his own. Since he ran away from heaven, he's been trying to find in the lust and the frenzies of the most human parts of humanity, a way to forget. But the softness, the affection, what he's felt only from Cassy in some distant past that is no longer, that which he craves most of all, eludes him, only sends him further down this path. The question gives him pause, his eyes flickering up to other's with something like thoughtfulness pushing to the forefront. "I was going to say." He says after a pause of silence. "that I could say the same thing for you, but it would seem you beat me to it." It feels to him, suddenly, inexplicably, as though this is important. A part of him wants to simply reveal everything, but a larger part clings to the protection that comes with not being himself. What should he tell this man, that he's a one time angel with half a grace? "I do not think you would believe me, even if I were to try your open mind." He defaults to the walls that fly up, though not fully. The truth still lingering on his tongue, behind his lips. "and there are a great many other things I would care to try instead." He hesitates, as his fingers brush Jack's skin again, the aching similarity between them calling out to him. "Though I do admit." He shows a weakness despite himself, leaves an opening through a door he ought to shut. "that I am quite curious to know your secret...to understand...Why we are so much the same."
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
Jack kept the grin there, humming under his breath while he watched the other, tongue darting out briefly against his lips to wet them. He looked down when the other touched his wrist, a small shiver running down his back. In the back of his head he checked his catalogue, tracing back to the last time someone had been able to incite that in him with a simple, light touch. He quickly pulled out of those thoughts when a single name came to mind, eyes darkening minutely even as his own grin widened. He could play through that. Maybe he’d be able to have sex without feeling completely numb for once in a decade or two.
He’d honestly lost count of the number of years he’d lost travelling through time.
“Oh I’m game to help you with whatever you want,” he said sweetly, “as long as you agree to help me too. I mean, I can’t be all give and no take. That’s just not fair to either of us. I promise I’m good at doing both.” He lifted his fingers slightly, returning the brushing touch to the other’s wrist, eyes lidding. He suddenly pulled away, a tease, while he took a drink from his glass, eyes watching the other playfully. “But I do enjoy playing hard to get. I hope you like a chase.”
There was a stirring of something—definitely not numb this time around. What was different about this man? Of course, if he really was a man—but Jack couldn’t be bothered worrying about that. He’d done his fair share of aliens and otherworldly creatures. There was a definite aura of other about this man. Maybe that’s what was making Jack’s heart beat just a little bit faster.
It didn’t matter to him, not really. A shag was a shag these days, and if this guy could make him feel something, all the better for both of them.
He strokes his fingers along the bared patch of skin between the other's shirt and his wrist, long, slow, brushes, taking the words as the invitation he'd been hoping for. Every touch confirms what the first had; he can feel the darkness in the other's cells, in the core of this man, the holes that rip open only with death. But it doesn't upset Balthazar...doesn't disgust him, if anything, it's relieving, that there's someone else in the universe that has been changed the way he is. Perhaps they are not the same, but at least matching in this imperfection, in the flaw that taints them irreparably. It had twisted his stomach, to be the only one ruined in such a way, but now, in the very depths of a stranger, it seems there is company...solace.
The minute ways the other reacts please him to, the drawing out of a shiver, the darkness in the eyes. It has been a long while since Balthazar has touched another, not since before he'd pledged himself to the fight, to keep Cas going, to be a leader he had no wish to be. Between the exhaustion of the war...and the ache that pervaded every time Cas had looked longingly at Dean, touch had been only a distant memory. And he thrives on it, Balthazar does. On the wholeness that comes temporarily from being desired, only to flee again in the wake of loneliness. But that is later, for now the stranger with the dark eyes and the familiar taint is looking at him through hooded eyes, calloused fingers sliding along his wrist and the familiar burst of desire is flushing through Balthazar. His eyes trace the movements of the man's tongue, the lines of his body beneath his clothing.
He moves forward as quickly as the other moves back, not touching, but close, the dim light catching his eyes. "Perhaps," He murmurs, words soft but carrying over the din of the bar, an undercurrent of heat threading through them. "I could do with some help. I could be helpful too..." His lips curl in a smirk, brow raising just slightly. "...with incentive. But are you really trusting me to give chase?" He leans back against the bar, body moving languidly,. "I thought you found me to be ...intimidated." His eyes flash in amusement at the word as he teases himself. "Should you not be carefully coaxing me to come out and play?" He chuckles lowly and adds. "Though you're right, I do like a chase. As long as it ends with me being tangled in a trap. What do you think?" His voice shifts lower, as he turns the other's words on him, reaching for his own drink, letting the fire burn through his throat, mixing with the lust that's starting to simmer. "If I ran, could you pin me?" Images of all sorts flash inside his mind at the words.
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
Jack had made it a habit of stopping for a drink at least once a night (well, more than once a night in the recent past, but that was a completely different matter he was sure Ianto would be ashamed of, if he was alive or even watching over him—but Jack didn’t believe in heaven or hell. He knew what was behind the veil of death. Cold and darkness and nothing else… he supposed that could be hell). All the same, he wasn’t completely sure why he chose the place in question, and a quick look around didn’t give him the answer.
Still, he stepped up to the bar and flashed a trademark grin at the bartender, ordering a drink that quickly became on-the-house when the man behind the bar fell to Jack’s charms. A kiss blown and the glass swiped, Jack turned away with a promise of getting to know the other man better later—though he wasn’t sure those were exactly his intentions.
He paused when he saw another man staring at him, giving a low hum and sauntering forward—he was a bit more his type. He sat across from him, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “You know, you don’t have to be intimidated. You could just ask for my number.”
"Well, now." He leans forward as well, voice low, dry amusement flitting through. The unsettled feeling in his chest had only grown as the man had moved closer and yet he senses nothing more that he can clearly recognize. Human is obviously not a completely apt description, and yet the familiar myriad of emotions, the raging feelings that characterize the mud monkeys, are still inside of this stranger, hidden well, but present in the dark blue eyes. For a moment he thinks of another set of blue eyes, a different head of dark hair, but he blinks the feeling away. "I'm so very glad you cleared that up. I'd have been terribly frightened otherwise."
The words curl around his tongue, sarcasm and lasciviousness like a second skin to him. They make him feel more as he used to, less like the barely alive, disposable, angel that he knows he is now. More something to be wanted. "So good that you're here now." His eyes flit up to the other's, head tilting as he reaches out idly to ghost his fingers across the man's wrist where it's lying on the counter top. "to give me a hand."
There's another bewildering sensation in him that starts up though, at the touch. The same taint of darkness that has blackened his grace since he'd dodged death is mirrored on the man. The recognizable sheen of death that he cannot seem to rid himself of no matter what he tries. It hadn't lingered on Cassy like that, nor on the ape, when the angels had pulled him out. Perhaps because they had been meant to return, perhaps because they were so sickeningly good, Death washed out of their souls without a second thought. But finally, in this man, he senses the same...the same wrongness. How? He'd like to ask, Why? But it's not in his way to be open, to spread all his cards across the table, so instead, he only broadens his smirk.
Resurrection || Jack and Balth
It's not every day, he supposes, that one comes back from the dead. Though more and more it seems to be happening, of late, between Cassy... and the Winchester apes, again and again. Seems to him, that there's a new resurrection with every breath, and he's just a long line of too many after all.
Perhaps he should tell someone that he's alive again, only an ugly scar wrapping around his chest to remind him that he was ever truly gone. It's his grace that was stabbed, and broken grace can't heal broken grace. They likely need him, the side of good, he snorts to himself, what with the war raging and the angels falling, and everything he'd tried so hard to avoid until...until it had gotten clouded in his head. Until he'd tried to fight for something and was, in the end, left with nothing at all.
He downs the whiskey in his glass, motioning for another, and as he turns his head, a man slides into his line of sight, white teeth gleaming in the dim bar light, broad shoulders hidden under the tight fabric that stretches across them. It's not the physicality, much as it exudes sexuality and promise, that catches his attention though, but something else altogether. Something...different. Not human...but not-not human...not anything he's ever sensed before.
His back tightens as he weighs whether or not what he feels means threat. He's vulnerable, and all but powerless, though his grace is in there somewhere, a perfect target if a demon should desire to strike or Raphael or Metaron, or whomever it is out for their blood today. He has no way of knowing what occurred while he wasn't around, no information on who or what might be looking for him. It could be this man, who feels unnatural. He scarcely notices he's staring as the thoughts whirl through his mind.
Hey all, my apologies, there's been family drama up the wazoo as I'm trying to get a new job off the ground. I will do my best to reply tomorrow if things quiet.
Sooooo tired right now :(
Nostalgia | Herc & Balth
Herc Shipwright had been something of a trouble maker in his youth. His parents had shipped him off to a boarding school, tucked away in the Scottish countryside where they would only have to deal with him in the summertime. Luckily, his intelligence had allowed him to excel despite his acting out and general laziness. Most of his rebellious streak had passed when he left school, though some of it had carried over to university. And eventually he’d become a pilot where a certain degree of arrogance and dry wit were expected.
But now, as he walks into the ritzy hotel in Monte Carlo, he realizes that a modicum of boredom has set in. Middle age is sneaking up on him and he isn’t sure what to make of his life. He misses his earring and showing off the tattoo that he doesn’t think anyone’s looked at in years. And most of all, he misses the guitar that he still has packed away in storage somewhere. He’s taken some vacation time, reassessing what he thinks he wants. Plus, he plans to have a little fun, play some poker, drive too fast, spend too much and maybe meet someone…or two.
As he finishes checking in and turns to follow his luggage up to his room, he sees something that makes him stop mid-stride. More specifically, someone. He’s suddenly struck by an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. His mind flies back to the large, caste-like, boarding school and his years as a lustful, rebellious youth. How long had it been since they’d last seen each other? He realizes with a start and a chest clenching feeling of regret, that it’s been nearly twenty years since he’s seen the beautiful boy…man, before him. Balthazar.
He feels someone's eyes on him from across the room before he even looks up. He's always been good at sensing the weight of a gaze, had learned to be anyway...soon enough. It makes him stifle a groan, inwardly. He'd come here to escape after all, to get away from prying eyes that thought they knew him too well and the family drama that's been plastered all over the news of late.Undercover deals with mob bosses and troves of money hidden away where it ought not to be, Balthazar snorts to himself a little, he hadn't been shocked when he'd heard.
It would perhaps be fitting to be concerned, but he has too much faith in his father's ability to weasel his way out of anything to take this too seriously. Instead, all he wants is to hide out until this has all blown over. He'd run away altogether, but the empire has his name on it, literally, and it's the fate that's written out for him.; has been forever. At least when his father finally gives it up, he can sell his shares and do as he likes. For now, it's a trap. On some level, he realizes he's not fourteen anymore, but he's become far too accustomed to wealth to do without, that's the honest reason he's willing to part with. There are other reasons, but he won't acknowledge them, not even to himself, niggling fears of consequences that he can't give name to.
With a sigh, he looks up, ready to berate whichever reporter has followed him all the way to god damned here, but the words die in his throat. The man in front of him is a carbon copy of the boy he remembers, boyish beauty still intact, but age has suited him well, hollowed his cheeks, lengthened his stride. A hint of a smile comes across his lips as the memories assail, and he nods his greeting at the other, just a slight movement of the chin. He wonders idly for a moment why they stopped talking, and then with a regretful ache some of their last arguments come back to him. Too different in the end, he supposes, despite appearances, or perhaps just too similar in different circumstances. It all seems so far away now, covered with the hazy dust of time.
He hesitates and then makes up his mind, moving towards the other.
OMNOMNOM TIMES || Dean and Balth
Dean felt the drastic change and he grinned.
"Très bon mon amour.” Once again the French language slips his tongue and he shifted up, gingerly grabbing the side of the gag and his teeth sharpened for a second, tearing the frail fabric, leaving Dean to pull away, gag hanging from his jaw.
It too, was thrown away as he ground his hips down and instantly claimed his lovers lips before a word could escape.
Rough and lustful, hungry for more, a thirst only Balthazar could quench. Dean thrust his tongue into Balthazar’s mouth, coaxing him to play, running fingers along heated skin with pleasure pulsing through his body.
He whimpers at the hot tongue that claims him, roughly licking past his lips and deep into his mouth. With a little moan he tilts his head back as far is it will go to accommodate and lets his own tongue dart forward to lick against the invading one.
There's little he can do but let himself be taken wholly by the other, fingers twisting into his skin making pleasure dart through his veins, and the ceaseless movement of the other's hips against his body. The rough friction of their jeans creating a delicious pressure which only sends him groaning into the other's mouth.
He starts and ends with Dean, his body singing to be closer, for more.
"I think not." He smirks at her. "It’s unsettling enough that someone might create weapons to destroy us as it is." He inclines his head towards her for a moment. "You understand, demons and creatures I know, but I shudder to think what the humans might do if they became aware of us…and that there were ways to wound us."
He huffs a small laugh and adds. “With no offense, of course, darling. But it is a worrisome idea.”
Lora chuckled, nodding subtly. “Oh, I can agree. Humans are terrifying. Crazy, mad. Hell I wish I was an angel sometimes just so I didn’t have to call myself human,” she mumbled, shoving her pale, small hands in her butt-pockets. “You never know if they’re good or bad. Or crazy killers. It scares me the most when they have no motive to kill. They’re also after me. Along with demons, police, monsters, etc.”
"Well darling," He chuckles a little raising his hands in a let's not be hasty kind of gesture. "I don't know that you want to go that far. Most days being an angel isn't quite that fabulous, rather awful, I would say. It's true, we are ... blessed, in certain ways, but it's no simple thing. And lately - " He sighs. "It seems as though you can never know if those around you are good or bad either, it seems we're learning more from the humans than we'd like to think."
+utter-and-complete-freedom
He gives her a small smile in response, a thoughtful hrm escaping his lips. “I could take you back, if you wanted? Perhaps only for a short while…if that would put you at ease. But I think…” He pulls her in closer, enjoying the warmth of a living being against his chest, a closeness that he craves but doesn’t often get to partake in. “I think that might make you happier. And since I have my powers once again -” He shrugs his shoulders. “I may as well do something useful with them for once. Unless you have something here that you couldn’t bear to leave behind, that is.”
He pauses for a moment, his eyes casting about the room until they land on the child. “As for Sophia, she is something of a supernatural being herself is she not? I don’t think it would really bother her to make one more jump through time and space. I doubt that whoever will come to claim her will not know how to find her in the end, whether she is here or elsewhere.”
It had actually sounded like a pretty good idea while she listened, and as she rested her head on his chest, everything seemed like a much better idea than it had before. “Not much around here other than myself and Soph, no.” she murmured as she shook her head once and settled back in.
"I suppose you’re right, one more trip for her probably wouldn’t hurt anything. And once her time is up…yeah, either way, she’ll get home just fine." she nodded. "This…this sounds like a pretty good plan."
His eyes sparkle with the thought of an adventure, taking her back to his own universe...if he can manage that is. His grace is still...there, so if he just calls to his own time, perhaps that will bring him back with his companions? He doesn't voice his doubt though, they can cross that bridge when crossing dimensions either fails or succeeds. There's also something about Janet, something that makes him feel stronger, perhaps her heritage bolstering his grace.
"Is there anything that you'd like to bring along?" He nods around at the house. "I think probably, you'd want some of your belongings. If not...we can arrange for everything you need when we arrive." He winks at her. "I do seem to have acquired a sizable amount of money in my time on earth."
