#But I mean. I'm done with caring about that. I have people and things that I love and that's what I care about.

[hypnonerd1095]

They've dropped the pretenses because they know we can't really stop them anymore. Unless we all suddenly get very on board with the idea of violent revolution, which won't happen.

I can't even claim I'm not part of that problem. Because I know damn well I wouldn't want any part of a violent revolution. I have so little love for this country that there's no chance I'd ever risk my life to reform it. I just want to leave, and for the people I care about to be able to leave.

Is that selfish of me? To not want to put my life on the line for the sake of a nation that has done nothing but harm me and my loved ones? To not feel this burning need to make things right by any means necessary? To just want to go somewhere else where I can live my life peacefully?

Maybe, and I know people who are just too exhausted to fight like me are part of why a revolution won't happen and things will just get worse. But I just... can't. I feel guilty about it, but I'm not a hero and I've no desire to be a martyr.

So I resist in the small ways I can, but I know it won't be enough, because the resistance that's needed is more than what I can provide

Reminder that when you break the law, cops come and drag you to jail. When oligarchs and their minions break the law, several lawsuits are filed, while they're left to continue breaking laws.

The mythos of our "checks and balances" is being ripped apart before our eyes. There is no balance. Only meaningless security theater that does not impede their disastrous actions at all.

[baestruly]

Spencer reid, who is crazy nervous around the reader who is like this cold,quiet, and scary person and Spencer like wants to ask them out but he keeps messing up like stuttering everytime he interacts with reader or accidentally ruining something of hers and reader knows his crush on her and agrees to go out with him. It could lead to smut if you'd like. Hope this is acceptable.

for the poetry books ━━ spencer reid

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  spencer reid x fem!reader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 spencer has had a crush on you for a while, making it painfully obvious to the rest of the team. finally, one day, spencer's usual clumsiness around you sparks new informed feelings warnings - fluff, reader is usually grumpy, spencer is giving s1 spencer, morgan is their biggest shipper, (my poetry skills um) wc: 1.5k

It was fair to say you’ve always been distant and closed off.

If anyone were to peek a glance at you from across the room, they might say you’re angry, mean and bossy.

But Spencer never saw that.

He saw your strength and courage. The way you’d scrunch your nose when catching onto something in a case, or the way your hands would slightly unclench when talking to the people you cared for most. 

Because you were comfortable. 

He saw things he thought you didn’t even notice.

It was fair to say, he was a profiler after all. 

But so were you and it wasn’t impossible to see these continuous and not-so-subtle glances Reid threw at you every day from across the BAU.

“Oh look, pretty boy’s at it again.” Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. 

The comment had you looking up from the files scattered across the desk, the ones you’d carefully been scanning for any clue on how to find this UNSUB. So far, it’s been a day without any luck and Hotch had told the team to stay low until the UNSUB left a blue on to who his next victim or whereabouts would be.

“What now, Morgan?” You spat, frustrated. “You’ve been talking nonsense for 10 minutes now.”

He laughed again, his famous teasing smirk toying his lips. “Well, I'm sorry for trying to put my head in another place rather than the amount of things we’ve seen today, Little Miss Sunshine.” 

You only scoffed, shaking your head, but rather still amused with his playfulness. Only the team could secretly cheer you up after a long and stressful day.

“Looks like you got the real sun beaming at you from over there though, that why you’ve been so gloomy until now?”

Finally, you looked up from your papers, shooting him a warning glare before scanning your eyes to find who he was so obviously talking about.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Morgan had been teasing the two of you for weeks, mentioning Spencer's glances he made when you weren’t paying attention━━head elsewhere, or how he’d be a stuttering mess whenever having a conversation one-on-one. 

Unlike Reid, none of the team can say they’ve ever seen you crack. Emily had disturbingly called you the female version of Hotch━━also younger.

“Leave him alone, Derek, you think I haven’t noticed? I practically feel his stare.” You defended your friend. Although you and Reid had very different personalities, you got along well. While Reid was always looking for opportunities to spit out his knowledge or jump to inform anyone on his interests and theories of the deep pits of his genius brain, you were calm and collected, rather than keeping your interests and thoughts to yourself━━except on certain cases of course.

You were strict and determined while Reid was more reserved and quiet. But it didn’t make you think of him any less. 

“C'mon (Y/N), I see the way you soften that cold exterior you got over there around him, what are you waiting for?”

The truth was, you were scared. And when you were scared, you always pushed it aside and went with what had to be done.

But when it came to Spencer, you were scared.

It wasn’t something you’d ever admit, especially to the little snitch Morgan over there, but your friendship with Reid was strong and it’s something you would never intend to break.

“I don’t have time to be talking about this.” 

Morgan held his hands out in surrender. “Alright, alright. But c’mon, it pains the team to deal with the tension between you two lovers every day.” His voice mocked what could be a dramatic romantic monologue.

“Goodbye, Morgan.” You yelled back, watching him turn his back with a laugh as he walked to his desk.

After about an hour, you decided it was time you headed home to get some sleep—if you even could. Cases left like these always keep you awake, prying at all the things in your brain looking for something to give you a clue to crack the case.

When you opened the door to go outside, the soft brush of the summer breeze comfortingly grazed your face. 

Unfortunately, Spencer’s appearance at your side couldn’t have come across any softer.

Just like that, all the files in your hand go flying from your grasp when Spencer quickly tries to get to the door to catch up to you. This had to be the third time this week he’s accidentally knocked something out of your hands or off your desk. 

“Oh, crap━━I am so sorry, here I'll just━━” He quickly started picking up the files on the ground in a hurry, his anxious demeanour practically radiating off of him. It was starting to make you even more anxious than you’d like to admit.

This couldn’t refrain you from giggling at him, bending down to meet his level as you started to help him with the files he’d dropped. 

He looked embarrassed, a faint redness tinting his soft, beautiful features. “Sorry again, I━━”

“Spence,” your eyes softened among your last few chuckles, “it’s okay I got it.”

He still picked up a few before placing the remaining papers in your hands as he gave you an anxious smile, the wind blowing his hair softly.

You stood up, shifting your head from downwards to upwards as he now stood in front of you and scrunched his nose. 

“I was just trying to catch you before you left, I, um━━need to ask you something.” Spencer declared, looking down and then into your eyes. You noted the extra pitch to the end of his hesitant words and how anything he said sounded what was very faint of a question.

“You do, huh? Is it worth ruining all my papers for?” You teased, looking up into his eyes with a small smile. He’d only chuckled quietly as if he were trying to stay calm. You weren’t supposed to profile each other, but to anyone, this could’ve been obvious. 

Unexpectedly, he reached into the brown bag he had strapped over his shoulder and pulled out a book. 

A book?

“I just wanted to give this to you. You mentioned the other day about how you were starting to get into poetry. I thought you might like this.” 

You gently grabbed the book from his hands, your eyes sparkling as you studied the beautiful artwork on the cover. “Wow━━Spencer, yes I have been, thank you so much for this, this means a lot.” 

No one had ever given you gifts. Not ones on days like these. You’d never gotten gifts on your birthday let alone the one gift you needed from your parents most.

Love.

What was it like? Was it the racing of your heart whenever that one person looked at you with such admiration you wanted to melt━━because if that was true, you’d be a mess right about now.

You hoped the heat rising on your cheeks couldn’t be seen, the cool breeze giving relief to the heat in your face. 

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow then.” He smiled with a little wave before he turned on his heel to the parking lot.

You couldn’t help but admire the book, gliding your finger over the front cover and opening the front page━━to the dedication.

To your surprise, there was a note written there━━not from the author, but with a gel pen.

seeing this book made me think of you, but truth be told, my mind is a cloud, floating elsewhere, taking me away from all the bad when I see your face.  my heart starts to race before every case. but it’s not from fear, it’s from your presence.  the presence of your eyes, your soft hair you always put in a bun, your mind.  it’s all so beautiful.  so, that’s why i’m giving you this.  because not only are the words etched from ink beautiful but so are the pair of eyes reading.

You feel unglued from the pavement before you hurriedly race after Spencer━━the man who you so badly wanted to hug, kiss, and tell him how much he meant to you at this very moment.

Because he felt the same.

Somehow you knew he had for a while now, but this was real. The note was real.

Everything in this moment was so real.

“Spencer, wait!” You shouted after him, Spencer turning around with his eyebrows pinched together. 

You stopped before him, heart racing a million miles per minute. 

His eyes beamed with hope and admiration in the moonlight and you reached up to brush his hair out of his eye. 

He looked down nervously, but looked into your eyes again, slightly shocked from your bold gesture.

“I like you too.”

“You━━you do?” He asks, eyes softening even more.

“Yes.”

The moments of longing and emptiness were filled from the touch of you and Spencer’s lips. That tension through many months of stares across the bullpen and smiles on the jets were made up until this very moment, where it’s just you and the man you liked so much.

You finally could say it. It was real.

You pulled away softly, eyes being hooked to his as your face moved away. Giving him a smile and an aggressive hair ruffle, you walk in front of him, leaving a still-dumbfounded Spencer in the parking lot.

“Guess it’s a date then, pretty boy.”

masterlist | spencer reid masterlist

[rockwgooglyeyes]

Hi Rocky, remember when I said I had conflicting feelings about Round 7. Well um what did you think of the new video

Geo!! Lovely to see you :3

So unpopular opinion maybe, but I actually really liked Wiege? That could be just because I enjoyed the song but the amount of lore that they're able to give us in little snapshots is truly amazing. Hyuna losing her round, Hyuna sacrificing herself for Luka, all of the natural metaphors in the lyrics (the wings drenched with longing finally unfold, you'll embrace the sea that sings, etc), Mizi finally gonna go apeshit . . . I'm excited for what's next and I'm actually very happy with Wiege! Not necessarily happy that Hyuna died but uh thats more complicated. . .

One, it seems apparent that Luka killed the other clones of him? Which is both insane but also makes a lot of sense, insofar as his feeling of superiority towards them. It's a crazy thing to think about but it shows the way that he views most other living beings as chess pieces in a broader game, if that makes sense? He doesn't really care about people on a personal level, most often, and that's what makes Hyuna special. . .

We also get to see how Luka's love is both obsessive and possessive, the him kissing her wanted posted while in his room, (yknow the whole "your life is mine" bit from before) but we also get to see how Luka's love really is, in part, about seeking comfort from someone he loves. He leans into Hyuna while she cries, likely mourning Hyunwoo's death, and when he runs towards her, he's reaching out. It's strange how . . . earnest it is, how unadulterated by anything like possession or conditions. Not only that but Hyuna does seem to genuinely love Luka back, maybe not romantically, but she definitely cherishes him, which we knew before but it's still nice to see confirmed again.

Additionally, I would say that we get evidence that the fight that killed Hyunwoo, well, it was started by Hyunwoo. It seems likely that Luka did something to annoy Hyunwoo or did something that frustrated him, enough that Hyunwoo decided to get physical. I mean Hyunwoo doesn't seem happy about it, for sure. But with the framing, it makes me think that Hyunwoo was simply killed in a fight, most likely on accident- though we know that Luka has possessive feelings over Hyuna, from what we've seen of his past with Hyuna and Hyunwoo, he didn't seem to view them as that much of a separate entity. A lot of the shots where Hyunwoo is still alive, in Wiege at least, Hyunwoo is framed as positively as Hyuna is . . . which makes me think that Luka didn't kill Hyunwoo on purpose.

Then again it doesn't really appear like Luka knew what he'd done, in the aftermath. . .

We also get to see more glimpses of the kiddos at the garden which made me very happy!! I don't have much to say about it but I simply find it endearing to see them all together again, to have that confirmation that they really were friends, they really did love each other. Ivan bringing the others to take care of the waygein was the most interested of the "past" cutscenes to me . . . besides all of the Hyuna focused ones, that is.

Additionally, the snippets of a modern alternate universe, seemingly the high school au? or something adjacent to that, is so lovely, just to see them all happy . . .

I think it's so interesting that Hyuna sacrifices herself, fulfilling a pattern that we've seen before with 3 out of the now 4 dead characters. Ivan, Sua, and now Hyuna, all sacrificed their lives for a person that they loved. It's fascinating on a more meta level that Hyuna's sacrifice is the only one that isn't planned, she didn't intend to die for Luka today but she does because she doesn't think, she just knows that she needs to save him from being killed. I think that both of those forms of sacrifice are kind of lovely, they show the willingness to put your life on the line for someone you love (but sacrifice in and of itself is often a selfish act, and I'm definitely not saying it's heroic . . . just poetic).

Not only that but the rocket imagery behind Hyuna while she's speaking to Luka is so so strange. I don't really know what that is but I have one theory; "because everything begins from there." I think that the rocket, maybe, is representative of that first contact that humans had with the seygein all those years ago, the way that humanity got itself into this mess of slavery and suffering, and by extension, "everything begins from there." but that's my only real thoughts on the rocket . . .

man this is so long I'm sorry Geo . . . suffice to say, I actually like Wiege!! probably a weird thing to say but uh yeah, the song is lovely, the animation is stunningly beautiful as per usual, and the story is utterly thought provoking, I am rapt. The amount of lore we got in this episode along makes me froth at the mouth a little.

Thank you so much for asking, Geo!! I am going to send you an ask because I'm curious what you thought 👀 love youuuu thank you so much for indulging me :3

[maxdibert]

They butchered all female characters and it's true, but people can simply don't like Sansa's chapters or don't enjoy her character because she's classist. She thinks bastards are beneath her in earlier chapters and in Alyanne. She's disgusted by Arya spending time with Butcher boy and other peasants because they're beneath her.

I'm not saying she's s bad person or the worst one or that we should blame her for being passive while being hostage. She's a kid, she's s victim, she can still have a positive change. but I'm reminding that saying people are misogynist because they don't like her is a reach. And it's not that people hate her, they just point out things she did or thought about in canon and her fans scream "you hate her! You hate women!" No. It's okay to not like a character, you can point out their flaws, it doesn't make you a mysoginist.

Oh, trust me, the issue isn’t that people simply don’t like Sansa—it’s why they don’t like her and the patterns that emerge when you look at how traditionally feminine female characters are treated in fandom discourse.

See, I don’t care if someone criticizes Sansa for her classism. That’s a valid discussion. I don’t care if someone dislikes her personality. Not every character is for everyone. But let’s not pretend that the dominant criticism Sansa gets in fandom spaces has ever been about her early prejudices. No one’s out here writing essays about how Sansa Stark needs to deconstruct her internalized feudal biases. What do we see instead?

“Sansa is useless.” “She’s weak.” “She’s stupid.” “She just stands there and does nothing while other people suffer.” “She should have done something.”

And that’s where misogyny enters the chat.

Because when you actually break these takes down, what they boil down to is that people resent Sansa for not being proactive in the way that they think a strong female character should be. She’s written as a character whose resilience is passive rather than active, who survives through adaptability rather than aggression, and fandom hates that. This is a known trend in media reception.

Feminist film and literature studies have examined this bias for decades. De Beauvoir discusses how femininity is traditionally coded as passive, and because of that, it is devalued in comparison to traditionally masculine-coded traits like physical strength, direct confrontation, and assertiveness. Susan Faludi discusses how women who embody traditional femininity often face more ridicule than those who adopt “strong” or ���unconventional” roles. And the male gaze, as theorized by Laura Mulvey, conditions audiences to respond more favorably to female characters who are active participants in traditionally masculine-coded spaces—combat, strategy, direct rebellion—while dismissing those who navigate systems through softer, less immediately visible means.

Sansa fits this mold perfectly. She does not fight with a sword, she does not make grand speeches, she does not take direct violent action, so fandom deems her “useless.” But here’s the catch—this standard is not applied equally.

Think about how Tyrion is treated for his ability to navigate the political landscape through words rather than force. Is he called “useless” for not picking up a sword and charging into battle? No—because intellect and political maneuvering, even when nonviolent, are still considered active and thus valuable in a way that Sansa’s more passive survival is not.

Now, compare Sansa’s treatment to Arya’s. Arya is beloved in fandom spaces, and yes, she has her own set of haters, but notice how different the tone of that criticism is. Arya is rarely called “useless.” She is rarely ridiculed for being afraid. She is allowed to be traumatized, to make mistakes, to be messy and complicated in ways that Sansa is not—because Arya performs a more masculine-coded form of resilience. She fights, she kills, she runs, she rebels.

And just to be clear, none of this means that Arya’s arc is bad or that her popularity is undeserved. The problem isn’t that Arya is liked—it’s that traditionally feminine resilience is not. The issue is that Sansa is not disliked because of her flaws in isolation, but because those flaws reinforce her femininity, and femininity is what people are actually responding negatively to.

This is why calling Sansa hate misogynistic is not a reach. It’s not about saying that everyone has to like her. It’s about looking at the larger pattern of why she is dismissed, why she is mocked, and why so many people cannot accept a female character whose form of strength does not align with masculine-coded ideals.

So no, I’m not saying that every single person who dislikes Sansa is a raging misogynist. But I am saying that if your criticism boils down to “she’s useless, she’s weak, she’s stupid,” you should probably examine why those specific critiques keep coming up for female characters who embody traditional femininity. Because it’s not a coincidence.

[guthraiel]

officially finished kcd 2 so now im gonna complete the younger hans and henry meeting fic and some art wips i have because my brain is overtaken by this game HOLY FUCK

(spoilers under cut but its just my rambling mentioning the ending and some plottwists really)

ive been a hansry truther since the first game in the sense that henry is sooo clearly a bisexual loser and so is hans. imo the two most logical choices for henry's romance are hans and theresa, who, in each of the games they're romancable in are the ones who henry has known and trusted longest. theresa in KCD 1 is his childhood friend, the one person who shares his survivors guilt and the memories of skalitz. while in KCD 2 hans is the one person who has been with henry throughout this whole thing and never really left his side (excluding the arguement at the start and the various kidnappings and being taken hostage)

like either way imo those are the most 'cannon' romances to henry and i really wish kcd 2 adressed the existence of theresa a bit. she's by far the most interesting woman in the franchise since warhorse does lowkey struggle to write women in a way that's logical. i mean the way every female around henry throws herself at him except his main LI's who all follow some version of the girlboss trope is... man come on. i actually do really like both rosa and katherine, but i think there could've been just a teensy bit more done with them

also like what the fuck is up with henry's mother. idk if her name or any personality being excluded is meant to be an artistic choice to show how henry remembers her as just 'mom' and ignores any other part of her character but like wtf. both radzig and martin get names, a backstory and a deep relationship with henry while his mother is just. there. i get that this is the 15th century but in the first game it's clear in the tutorial that hal and his mom are CLOSE like i wish we got to see a bit more of that tbh

i have words to say about samuel as a character but none of them are appropriate for tumblr so i will abstain. tldr i actually like him a lot henry getting a brother-butnotreally is actually really sweet. like despite the fact that he lost his family and everything dear to him there is still someone who cares about him in a familial way. i hope we'll het to see more of him in some of the upcoming dlcs although i doubt it since he can technically die during the game (and i'm pretty sure in a canon run you should leave him behind)

okay last point to the characters is one ive had since kcd 1 but THE NAMESSS WHY ARE THEY NAMED THATTT

henry of skalitz my ass bro THAT'S JINDRA 😭😭 jindříšek even!! like i get that ř may have been an issue but just have him be jindra instead of jindřich then???

hans capon is just a bit silly like jan ptáček could be a pronouncable name, not to mention there is SO many characters named jan already so even Jan Capon i could lowkey get behind more

also i do fully believe non czech speakers miss out on the game a bit, there are parts of bg dialogue that are in czech and add just a bit of humour and immersion to the game (like in taverns, markets or during henry's nightmare in suchdol where the skalitz/maleshov people hiss 'you killed us')

okay ttldr this game is really good i just needed to yap since my friends whove finished it dont share any of my sentiments

if u have thoughts to share please do im curious what impression others got

[ifbrd]

Cipher Zodiac - Holding Hands with Enemies

If I’ve got my dates right, today is the 9 year anniversary of Gravity Falls ending. Consider this analysis and discussion my celebration post! (Not that I care to celebrate that my favorite show ended nearly a decade ago but anyway…)

I recently ran into this really cute little mini Gravity Falls fan comic by @the-meme-monarch. I actually first saw it Reddit (credit properly given) a few weeks ago (and hunted it down today to reblog lol) and people on Reddit were talking about how having Mabel hold Gideon’s hand in the finale was a weird choice.

I want to talk about that, but first I want to clarify a few things:

- This is not supposed to be any kind of like callout or attack or anything like that on you @the-meme-monarch. I love this art you did, it's sweet and adorable and it would have been nice to see in canon. I'm really worried you'll take this post the wrong way and think it's meant to be personal so I just want to assure you that that is not the case.

- I am making this a separate post, not a reblog to your post, because I don't want to hijack it haha. I want your post to just be about your lovely art, not the long winded analysis I'm about to give. So everyone please go check out that post!

- I definetly think this is a fair critism about the finale. Mabel, by no means, should have been forced to hold Gideon's hand when he couldn't just learn from his wrongdoings. With what I'm about to say, I'm not trying to say this was necessarily a good choice.

With those things said, I do want to play devil's advocate a bit for this decision.

Having Mabel and Gideon be next to each and hold hands, does serve a narrative purpose here, albiet said narrative purpose could have been executed a lot better, in my opinion (or, alternatively, wasn’t even entirely necessary)

Let me explain. Let's revisit this scene: Ford takes Robbie's paint can and goes around painting the Cipher Zodiac on the ground. People start figuring out where they are on the Zodiac and getting in position. Gideon makes a big deal about being next to Mabel, despite her asking him not to. Ford instructions everyone to hold hands. Pacifica remarks that she will not hold hands with McGucket's dirty hand, and her father tells her she should do the one thing no one in their family has ever done "touch the hill-billy" (a sentence that sounds terrible out of context). They start glowing and after the extras evacuate, Ford tells Stan to join. Stan refuses, taking this opportunity to have a conversation with Ford that absolutely does not need to be addressed in this moment. Ford passive aggressively thanks him, and then corrects his grammar which is also something that absolutely does not need to addressed in this moment. They start fighting and it all falls apart.

The narrative purpose that's being served by Mabel holding Gideon's hand, is to contrast Stan and Ford, and further emphasize how riduculous they are being in this moment. Mabel is choosing to temporarily let go of her ill feelings towards Gideon, for the sake of saving the world, and she's not the only one to do this. Pacifica didn't want to hold McGucket's hand, but did so anyway to save the world. While Stan is refusing to hold hands, Robbie announces that he has "never held hands this long before" and is "very uncomfortable" but he is also continuing to cooperate in spite of this clear discomfort. These are examples of members of the Cipher Zodiac, members who are children or teenagers with underdeveloped brains and are therefore more likely to act selfishly or immaturely, setting aside their discomforts for the sake of the greater good. Then there's Stan and Ford, two grown ass men, who both know what's at stake, know their family, their neice and nephew, could die if they don't defeat Bill, yet can't manage to put aside their hurt feelings long enough to do whatever the Cipher Zodiac was going to do. The kids can pull themselves together, why can’t the full grown adults?

In what way could this have been executed better? In my opinion, the best way to execute this would be to have has many members of the zodiac as possible be holding hands with people they have or had conflicts with. This would, in theory, make Stan and Ford the only ones who couldn't set aside their grudges, which would have made it more impactful.

Most of us know that the Cipher Zodiac wasn't originally supposed to mean anything, it was just supposed to look cool and mysterious at the end of the title sequence. It was thrown in to the finale because fans had spent so much time theorizing about it. If this hadn't been the case, if the Cipher Zodiac was actually something intentional that was planned from the beginning, they really could have preplanned this and made it impactful. They could have designed the Zodiac to have the symbols have to be in a specific order, and could have written the series with that in mind, to make it so everyone was holding hands with someone they had issues with.

Of course, that wasn't the case, but I still think this could have been done more effectively with the position the writers were actually in. Looking back on the series, I decided to photoshop the finale's Cipher Zodiac to be odered in, what I think, would have made this contrast in actions more impactful. I tried to order it in a way that as many people as possible had a problem with someone they were holding hands with.

The original:

My Photoshopped version:

My explanations, starting with Ford and going counter clockwise:

Ford and McGucket - they had a falling out, although they did make up mere minutes prior to this.

McGucket and Pacifica - what canon did, and the reasoning has already been brought up and was openly expressed in canon. Though McGucket doesn't seem to have any ill feelings towards Pacifica or her family.

Pacifica and Mabel - what canon did, these two did have a rivary for a good portion of the series, although they had more or less resolved that

Mabel and Gideon - what canon did, and I don't need to explain this, it's what sparked this entire post

Gideon and Dipper - these two hated each other. Dipper didn't like how Gideon harassed Mabel, Gideon was convinced that Dipper was coming between him and Mabel

Dipper and Robbie - these two fought over Wendy for half of season 1. And I don't think they every actually made any kind of amends with each other specifically.

Robbie and Wendy - they dated and had a messy breakup, although they did appear to make amends

Wendy and Soos - also what canon did. Look, Soos is the world's most perfect man, he has beef with literally no one, but he's on the Cipher Zodiac nonetheless, so he has to hold hands with someone, this is the only spot left.

Stan and Soos - Again, what canon did, and we can refer to the same logic as above, but I also think this can work to our advantage here. One the one hand, keeping in mind their father-son dynamic, Soos adores Stan and wants his affection, so I could see it being awkward for him to hold hands with Stan, whether nervous because "don't mess this up, Soos" or an overly excited issue. While Stan seems to care about Soos the same, he would never in a million years admit it, which would make holding Soos's hand potentially awkward for him, especially if Soos is being a crazy fanboy over it. On the flip side, like making the complete opposite argument, Stan not being cooperative when he has no problems with one of the people he's holding hands with, while nearly everyone else has an issue with both people they're holding hands with and aren't making a scene, could further emphasize the ridiculousness and immaturity in his actions.

So yeah! That's what I think should have been done for this to be most effective! Or just not putting Mabel by Gideon at all would have also been great!

I'm curious though: Does anyone else have a different way they'd set up the Cipher Zodiac than what I did?

[waynes-multiverse]

Oh, I'm so giddy to read this chapter, I'm squealing ����😆😆

Dean had kissed you back. And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you. Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like— Nope. Absolutely not.

I loved this entire inner monologue and her reliving everything (plus that nasty hangover lol)! I'm glad she realized Dean kissed her back, though. Wondering if their first meeting will be awkward as hell or if they get over it quickly. Since there's smut in this chapter, I'm guessing the latter 😂🫶

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

Yes, but what were his motivations, you fool!!! I yell at the screen, into the void where these idiots will never hear me...

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing.

Uh... Yeah, it is!!! I swear, Abbie, I will not survive this series. The amount of times I wanted to slap her in this scene... 😂🤌

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused.

Oh, homeboy's been brooding, I see 😆

I absolutely love this little tidbits about their past and their friendship and their families. You can feel the familiarity and love between them 🩵

Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

Always rocky road! That's the hill I die on! 🫶

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

10/10 for Friends references 😆⭐️ (And I saw your gif at the end – this scene has been living rent-free in my head since it first aired lmao)

His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Loved this line!

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips.

This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

Oooof, that smut was deliciously hot, friend 😮‍💨🔥 And still so sweet and loving and caring in between 🥹 Their connection and chemistry is undeniable. Get married and have kids already lol

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

I knew it was going there obviously from the title of this story, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanna kill these sweet little idiots 😂😂😂

I'm done (for now lol). It's been a great pleasure yelling at you this week, Abbie! Can't wait to do it next week all over again 😆🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable. 

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well… you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.” 

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard. 

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off. 

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things. 

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful. 

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.” 

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered. 

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment. 

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted. 

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you. 

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast. 

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map. 

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it. 

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we’re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224

Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

[dellamortethelesser]

The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 5

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5 | pt6

DISCLAIMER: These posts I'm doing are my own analyses and are done with the intentional eye to examine the relationship between Lucanis and Illario. I try to source all my assertions from what the text is giving me. This is not Lucanis critical nor should it be taken as such.

"bad timing, mia cara" ← why did he say that. i mean i get the whole bad timing thing but why the pet name. oh Illario…. anyways. i did pick up in the middle of the scene because we have a lot of ground to cover. Lucanis is the one who takes note of the really bad state poor Effe is in

She doesn't know her own age, severely underweight, her hair has been ripped out—bad just bad. Lucanis is the one who tells her to go on her way, seething with rage all the while.

Illario protests, saying that she's seen their faces and thus the contract is compromised. Lucanis bets of her bluffing for them, and she asks if he's a Crow. Lucanis admits this… Illario chides him for doing so. They let Effe go on her way.

"Never known you to have a soft heart," Illario murmured. Lucanis's right cheek muscle twitched. "She won't talk." "This isn't Antiva. We're not heroes here." "We're not heroes anywere, cousin."

Before I jump into the next bit, I want to talk about this! I worry that people falsely attribute the 'we're not heroes anywhere' quote to Illario, but it is LUCANIS who says that! Illario is the one who seems to imply that they may already have a sort of patriotic reputation in Antiva—a reputation that is the one Teia builds on in Veilguard!

Lucanis is the one who points out that the work they do isn't heroic. It's mercenary and fueled by coin. I still think it's interesting that he's the one who says that because he's still at odds with what an assassin should be concerned about. Illario says that he hasn't known Lucanis to have a soft heart—he let a witness walk free.

Illario rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. The Venatori already have your name. If they learn your face—" "I'll grow a beard," Lucanis smirked. "They'll never see me coming." Illario's frustration deflated. He grinned reluctantly. "That cavalier attitude's going to get you killed." "It's served me well so far."

I'll grow a beard… the infamous Veilguard beard reference <3 really charming to me that they did pick it up from the book lol

I had thoroughly underlined the 'grinned reluctantly' part of this passage. I don't think Illario's frustration is genuinely fading, more so he's putting it aside to focus on the job and the situation. The fact he points out that Lucanis's cavalierness is going to get him killed…

I think it's a link to the conversation at the end of the short story. Lucanis does not care about the right things—he cares about people, and slaves, and justice, but those aren't things an assassin needs to care about. He needs to care about the risk and where he stands with the Crows, and he needs to start CARING about how Caterina is pitting them against each other. But Lucanis ignores all of that.

Anyways. We move to the next scene, where Lucanis and Illario are on their way into the room with the slaves.

Lucanis went first, showing Illario where to place his feet.

Remember that line for later. We're going to come back to it with The Wake analysis.

The slaves are in fucking horrid condition. I'm not going to be recounting it here because it's a bit graphic but you can read along in your own books <3

Lucanis stumbled back, his mouth dry. Something inside snapped. 'Death's too good for this bastard'. Illario touched his arm. Only then did Lucanis realize how quickly he was breathing. He closed his eyes. 'Remember your training', he told himself, and suddenly, he could hear the tapping of his grandmother's cane, the hard elegance of her voice. 'There is no place for emotion in killing. It's sloppy. File it down. Make it useful.'

Pausing here so we can pick apart at this passage for a second. We start with Lucanis reeling back in anger at the horror of what he is seeing. He's incensed on behalf of the people that Ambrose is harming. What surprises me here is how vastly different his reaction is to Illario's.

Illario, ostensibly, seems level and unfazed, or at least he is masking it better than Lucanis. To the point where Illario puts a hand on him to bring him back to center! I also love the insight that we get into Caterina here… she tells the boys there's no place for emotion in killing.

But also to file it down and make it useful? I don't think she's saying they need to be emotionless but rather that they need to control their emotions, stay aware of themselves. We don't have the insight into Illario but I don't think that Lucanis is NOT doing that. I'd argue everything he does from this point on is emotionally led.

That doesn't mean I think every decision he makes in this story is a good one—morally, yes, but pragmatically? No. I'm getting ahead of myself, though, there's the next part of this passage I want to peek at.

'Make it useful', he repeated to himself. With slow, controlled breaths, Lucanis flushed the rage pumping through his veins until he could think clearly. Ambrose would die—that was certain—but he couldn't walk away from these people.

My above points stand.

"What are you doing?" Illario whispered. "Breaking their shackles." Illario stared. "That's not the job." "Fuck the job."

Notes I scribbled around this specific part of the passage incoming:

'Once again, Lucanis is pushing past the terms of the contract without consulting Illario.' 'Is Illario following or being dragged?' and 'He's risking the contract to do this, but he's the favorite. Does Illario even have room to say no?'

"That's not the job" & "Fuck the job" respectively are almost the thesis of the story in and of itself—Illario wants a plan, a solid follow-through, whereas Lucanis is taking twists and turns until it's not about killing on a contract but freeing slaves and killing for vengeance. It's really an interesting dynamic from this point out because it widens a gulf between them.

Red lyrium note later in this passage which really does not come up in Veilguard like it did in previous installments of the game.

Sensing thinness in the Veil again—really would have liked to have gotten more details in Veilguard about Lucanis's abilities but Spite took precedence. Which is… fine, but it means we do see a disparity between this book and the game release.

Lucanis grabs Illario's wrist and hits the pressure point at the base of it to get Illario to drop his dagger. Insane move—I see why Lucanis was doing this (he had a different plan to handle the kill, re: the Fade orb in the room) but I would be so pissed if I was Illario lmfao. He let Ambrose get away! Their contract!

Illario wrenches his arm free. "Have you lost your mind? We had him!" "He doesn't deserve a quick death."

Objectively shouldn't matter what he 'deserves'. They're assassins and they are paid to kill. Illario knows this, Lucanis has been set up and shown to be more emotional and sympathetic to the point of interference.

"Did you forget the mess you left upstairs? What do you think will happen when Ambrose finds his bodyguards slaughtered?" "Hopefully he panics. I want him scared." "He'll flee," Illario asserted. "And this contract will be forfeit. Your life will be forfeit."

Two things I want to note here: One, that Lucanis is confident he can still kill Ambrose even with the situation shifting the way it has, and two—Illario's concern for Lucanis. If Crows fail a contract, as has been stated and confirmed consistently, they are eliminated as operatives for the House of Crows.

Interesting that the focus is on Lucanis's life—was anyone else aware that Illario was also on this contract? Or because it is Lucanis who accepted it, it is only his life on the line, regardless of assistance from other Crows? Fascinating to consider.

"Don't worry, cousin. He'll die. But in the right way."

Literally should not be Lucanis's place to determine this. They had a shot and they didn't take it—he wants the perfect vengeance, Illario wants the job done.

Illario threw his hands up. "Death is death! There's still time to chase Ambrose down. But we need to leave. Now. Magic isn't my forte, but even I know red lyrium is bad news. It infects people's minds. Lucanis!" Illario pressed. "We can't help these people." "No, but we can give them vengeance."

Once again I wish red lyrium was as important in Veilguard as it used to be <3 I know they explained it to us in the lore reveals we got but also that shit fucked people up so bad for so long and we saw… none of that lol. I would've even been down to see an Illario corrupted by red lyrium more than venatori in his villain arc who said that

I love that Illario talks with his hands btw go off pookie

I've made previous points about the vengeance talk with Lucanis and I'll say it again: he is a fucking assassin. He is getting lost in the inhumanity of the situation. They are not paid to care, to get vengeance, to do all of these extra steps that he wants to take. Illario, in this moment, is the only one focused on the job.

"What are you doing?" Illario called out. Lucanis took the dagger from his mouth and positioned it over the artifact. "You'll see." Illario groaned. "I really wish people would stop saying that."

By "people", he means Lucanis.

and end scene.

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

[dandysworldhcs]

ANGSTANGSTANGSTANGSTANGST

who will I be making depressed today? the mains because I kin 3 of them holy shit (in two parts. this is part one YIPPEE) (also these are the 3 I kin)

berry boy:

ahem. after the ichor incident, sprout became really scared for what could happen, but eventually he suppressed it and basically turned it into a kind of need to feel like he's protecting someone. like for example even if everyone is safe he just HAS to check just in case because what if this what if that this could go wrong that could go wrong if this happens that could happen and this has happened before so if I do this I can lessen the chances of thing happeni- and gets burnt out significantly quicker than... literally everyone else in gardenview. he won't admit it though he'll just sit in his room with the door barricaded (the handlers had the keys to the door locks) trying to function properly, and if someone tries to check on him he'll hide under his bed or desk to avoid being seen because UH OH DANGER DANGER WHY AM I BEING SEEN DOING NOTHING UHHHH OH NO !!! irrational panic basically (even though the only entrance is barricaded...). also, when he discovered tapes could be used to heal he immediately began using them on runs because if even a single person is not on full health he cannot feel relaxed in the slightest- but the dumbass doesn't care if he's on one and WILL run away from cosmo at 1 if he doesn't have enough tapes to heal him back (I'm totally not projecting all of this totally). also random but he will definitely cry if you yell at him (he'll go somewhere to hide before crying though). also has a habit of assuming everything that goes wrong has to be his fault because 'he was supposed to make sure everything went fine'

asstroke:

eepy hypersomniac who in a lot of situations wants to just sleep instead. he dozes off a lot because of that. also, it might be a bit subtle, but he can tell when his friends aren't rested, and usually tries to fix it, even if it's the kind of tired sleep can't fix. also, the guilt from knowing too much about the ichor operation and not being able to say anything about it to protect dandy eats at him endlessly. but you know when he's free from all that? in his curated dreams, where nothing can affect him, where he can be happy, free from all the depressing truths gardenview has to offer (think basil from omori but with sunny's headspace). he's starting to see everything as a kind of cycle... and he's kinda losing motivation to do pretty much anything, but he kinda still has to to survive so. also, the insecurity about his extra arms came from when gardenview was still open, a lot of children called him bug-like for it or even just straight-up scary or ugly, so now he just hides 'em by turning himself into a burrito with his blanket. also, not depressing but... he's just always cold, so he wears a shirt, another shirt, then poncho, then blanket

ammonite wannabe:

being constantly ignored by everyone has increasingly proved to her that no one really cares about her, and that has made her more open about her feelings. no one's listening, what's the point in not thinking out loud? she's done the thing where she just doesn't talk and sees if anyone notices... and they do! but they jokingly say 'aren't you gonna start yapping about dinosaurs around about now?' but unfortunately, she didn't realise it was in a joking way and ended up 'realising' everyone thought of her as the dinosaur girl, not anything else. not a person, not someone worth loving, just 'the girl who likes dinosaurs'. she also secretly gets REALLY happy whenever she gets hurt on a run because that means she'll get healed, which is a form of care!!! yay!!! (can you see the dynamic yet. guy who stresses whenever anyone gets slightly hurt and girl who loves getting hurt to feel cared about. and they're totally 100% not both me) sometimes people just don't notice, but usually it's fine. she yaps about dinosaurs because it's something she's interested in and she wants people to know all about them!!! but unfortunately people thought it was annoying that she talked about them so much, so they avoided her. this led to her thinking that people just don't want to be around her, and that they weren't wrong for it

- psstyourbonesarewet anon

wet bone anon. watch out. im coming for you. you arent gonna see it comonv.

[chocodile]

Hi ! I’ve been a massive fan through the years, seeing you develop Hyden and his world and how full of life and wonder and details is so awe inspiring and cool! I really love your work and your style is so vibrant and electric! It always makes me happy when I see your posts pass by

I wanted to ask if you had any advice about wanting to share your stories with the world. I get so anxious that no one will care and I’ll just be posting to no one. I don’t want fame , just mutual interaction or have people genuinely curious , hear about others stories and be able to tell my own

How did you start? I don’t want to assume , but you do have so much confidence and are very well spoken in the way you explain your lore, what helped you get over any fears or worries?

Gosh, thank you so much for the compliments! That's so sweet of you to say… it means a lot to me that people enjoy my stuff.

My thoughts on your other questions about sharing stories are long, rambling, and disjointed… apologies in advance for the length, I swear I tried to edit this down:

Regarding sharing stories, I'd say the most useful thing you can possibly have is to have at least one friend you share story stuff with who is totally on board with it and having fun too. I've been coming up with stories and characters my entire life, and only twice have I really had an audience for it. Every other time it was just me and my sister, or me and a couple friends, or me and my wife doing creative stuff semi-privately just for the joy of the craft.

(Of course, I know that's easier said than done… but if you do have creative friends, organizing some plans to share stories with each other, ask questions, create AUs where your OCs from different stories interact with each other, etc can be very psychologically nutritious.)

Regarding feeling anxious, I suppose I never felt much anxiety about it myself, so I'm not sure how to advise there… I was a teenager on Neopets where putting massive amounts of work into character stories that nobody might ever read was the norm… unless you were astronomically popular, it was expected that you would probably never hear from your audience and would never know how many people read your stories. Everything was primarily for your own entertainment, and I carried that approach forward into other creative works. Of course, it's hard not to feel a little self-conscious these days, when you can easily see what people are saying and see who is getting "engagement" and who is not... but I do think that aiming to entertain yourself (and perhaps one or two friends) first and foremost is the healthiest approach. Plus, if you are really invested in something and constantly producing lots of art and info about it, people tend to pick up on that positive energy.

Apologies if this isn't super useful... I know "just don't care and also happen to have a bunch of friends with very specific interests!" is not very helpful advice in itself.

I have many other thoughts on "launching" a story, how to meet other OC creators, and trying to build an audience who interacts with your characters... it's something I've thought about a lot. I can share my insights for others in this boat, if anyone's interested? I'm unsure if I should include them here since it might feel lecture-y to Anon (and also this post is long enough, PHEW). Let me know if you're interested in hearing them though!

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[swordscleric]

I can't stop thinking about the post from a few days ago about how Critical Role has been great at doing personal faith but didn't put the necessary work in to discuss the religious/god angle of c3 in-depth. Like the fact that Cardinal Respa was linked to both the Dawnfather and the Chained Oblivion is, on a personal level, very interesting (fallen/corrupted priest goes hard) but like does that mean that there's a Papacy somewhere in Exandria dedicated to the Dawnfather? If so, are there more cardinals who ordain the bishops of the Dawnfather? Are there Conclave-level intrigues going on in the Dawnfather's Sistine Chapel? Why is the Dawnfather so Christianity-coded in vibes alone if there's no actual outline of his religious organisations? With Downfall the Dawnchild/Dawnfather thing makes the allusions to Christ as Son of God co-existing with the Father textual - was there a Dawnfather Schism around whether the Dawnchild was a separate mortal? Was there a Reformation about how the Dawnfather's Pope kept selling indulgences? Is that why the priest of the Dawnfather Grog & Pike offer a drink to doesn't partake because of a cultural shift between Protestant-Temperance-League-coded and Catholic-coded Dawnfather congregations? Why do I have so many questions about the religious organisation of one of the most important Prime Deities in Exandria and to Critical Role's 3 campaigns? How on earth were the cast (and us as the viewers!) meant to care about the gods if all they had were "really tall kings" instead of interrogating how religious organisations provide both a place of healing and community to a wide range of people and also a place of horrific harm and abuse for a wide range of people?

[alongtidesoflight]

i swear my stepdad is so illogical AND stubborn it hurts

[miodiodavinci]

im being so so brave but also i am gripping you by the shoulders and leaning in and letting you know i am so tired of being brave

[dootznbootz]

I think some folks MAY have gotten the wrong idea about how I feel about Circe with some of my posts. So, to clear the air...

Homies, I love that fucked up sorceress.

I love how we're never given a reason why she turns people into animals. That's so funny and so awful. And another potion-making magic gal?!?! I love that she's just basically vibing on an island doing whatever she wants. I even love the fact that she scares Odysseus shitless! She's morally gray and that's why she's FUN.

I just sincerely hate when people try to girlboss her or have her be a victim of SA when she never was Looking at you, Miller. Especially when she was actually the one who coerced Odysseus in exchange for his men being transformed back into humans. And even then, while he was clearly afraid of her, (it's in the language of the Odyssey) she likely meant him no harm after a certain point. He just didn't know that.

Why does she need a reason to do awful things? Why can't she just be a goddess who does whatever she wants? That's the reason why I love her!!! She's fucked up!!! :D

I hate what the Telegony did to her as well! >:( You're telling me, this sorceress goddess, who makes potions (!!!) wouldn't have magic contraceptives??? Would WANT CHILDREN?!?! WITH THE PATHETIC WIFEMAN?! No. Fuck no. Eugammon of Cyrene, I have beef with you 🤬

Anyways!!! Understand all the "#anti circe" I have is simply Anti "Girlboss Circe" or the book. I genuinely think she's neat af as her morally gray, fucked up sorceress self and just get frustrated with...everything :'D