#and you can see it! he tells sam and romane about his feelings for romane. he's the most direct when trying to help victor.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: in your hands

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. we're back with yet another 'what if' scenario, prompted by you lovely people in an ask that i can't seem to find to link right now. smh.

words: 3.3k

warnings: none. just sam being sam.

song inspo: in your hands by halle

Roman should have stuck with his first mind. Stayed home. Texted her some excuse about being caught up with work. She would have never found out the truth, and even if she did, he wouldn’t have given two fucks. 

Because this shit doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

This dating thing. 

It’s gotta be at least the fifth or sixth one he’s taken her on, and each one has been just as miserable up until the point where he gets her on her knees, gagging or bouncing on his dick the minute they get back to his penthouse. Anything before that has been irksome, borderline miserable. 

Samantha is stunning. Has been since they were kids, and her body is the most desirable of the women he has on his roster. She leans on the thinner side of what he prefers, but the tits and ass are decent, regardless. She’s also just as kinky as him, which is why they’ve worked all these years.

But, the more “dates” Roman forces himself to power through, the more he’s starting to feel like bedroom activities is where it stops for them. 

Technically, he’s always known this. Even if he did have some level of desire to be in a real relationship with someone, which he doesn't, it would never be her. She’s vain, condescending, and seems to think she’s somehow better than the other women he fucks with.

If only she realized he views her just like he views the rest of the women. A warm body with a wet cunt to help him get his dick wet. 

“Roman!” Her voice cuts through his inner dialogue as he focuses on her cleavage. The dress she wore, short and tight, doesn’t help his desire to skip to the fucking part of this evening. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No.” Roman sees no sense in lying to her. “I probably don’t care either.”

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to continue like he literally didn’t just tell her he doesn’t care. “I was saying we should go somewhere.”

He’s partially intrigued now. Mostly because he’ll probably need to set her ass straight. “Where?”

She smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know. I was thinking Bora Bora.”

He shakes his head. “So go.”

She frowns, clarifying. “I said we should go, Roman.”

He scoffs, looking off at the ice sculpture in the middle of the upscale restaurant. A waste of money, in his opinion. “What the hell makes you think I have time to go to fucking Bora Bora with you?” He really wants to ask her what makes her think he would want to in the first place, but he’s trying to be somewhat less of an asshole to see if maybe this could work.

His Wise Man’s nervous voice balanced out with sage wisdom returning to the front of his mind.

“If the Elders are to force you into a marriage, why not with someone you already know? Especially someone who you know would have no issue in giving you an heir.”

If only Samantha wasn’t so fucking annoying.

She leans back in the chair. “You make time for these dates.”

Out of obligation. But, he won’t say that. “Yeah, but I can get my nut and send your ass packing in the same night. Can't do that if we're out of the fucking country.”

“You’re suck a di—”

“I’m so sorry.”

Soft. It’s the first thing that comes to mind hearing her voice. Light, almost. Kind. Even with just three words being spoken. And that’s just based off audio. Visually, Roman’s thoughts take an entirely different direction.

Stunning. 

Roman’s seen, entertained, and done a lot more with some beautiful women in his time, but the one standing at their table seems to have something more than all of them put together. She’s beautiful, easily one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid eyes on. And her smile, small but genuine makes him pause. As does her body.

She’s wearing the same uniform he’s noticed on the other waitresses, but none of them fill them out like she does. The white, long sleeved shirt that’s tucked into the knee length black pencil skirt can’t hide the curves he can practically see through the bland outfit. Nice, heavy breast. Curvy hips, thick thighs and an ass he can partially see from the front. 

This. This is his preferred body type. A woman who has something he can grab onto when he’s fucking her from behind. And Roman can only imagine what it would be like to be holding onto those luscious hips of hers while he—

“Oh my god, are you stupid?” Samantha’s annoying voice once again pulls him from his carnal fantasies. She gestures between herself and him. “Can you not see we’re in the middle of something?”

The girl, who Roman would guess is in her late twenties, early thirties at most, immediately looks repentant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I was just going to apologize for your wa—”

“Whatever.” Samantha lifts her hand, silencing the girl who’s now looking down at her shoes, clearly embarrassed. “What’s the special for this evening?”

“What’s your name?” Roman’s question comes out at the same time as Samantha’s inquiry. However, his voice clearly presents with more of a commanding nature. 

She swallows. “S–Solana.”

Pretty. Just like her. 

Samantha notices the way Roman is looking at her and is fully confused as to why he’s asking this fat troll for her name. She cuts in again, in that same nasty tone. “Hello? I asked you a question.” 

Solana is clearly struggling with Samantha’s aggressiveness, Roman wondering why this bitch is directing whatever unresolved feelings she has onto this innocent girl. “Umm, I think—”

Samantha scoffs, nose turned up. “You’re our waitress, and you don’t even know what the evening special is?”

“No ma’am, I do. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s been a long day.” There’s a weight to her words, a sadness in her voice and in her pretty brown eyes. Roman notices all of these things and finds himself wondering what the story is. Everyone has one, and hers is suddenly of interest to him. For reasons he cannot understand. 

“Pretty unprofessional to bring up your personal life, don’t you think?”

Solana closes her eyes, pausing before answering. She looks exhausted. Mentally and physically. “It’s Squab. That’s the main co—”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.” Roman rolls his eyes. This hoe has been saying that since they were in high school, yet every so often she goes back to having a normal fucking diet only to switch back to that salad shit. “What’s on your—”

“I’ll do us both a favor and get her to shut the fuck up.” Roman has had enough, both of Samantha’s grating voice but mostly her being a bitch to this girl for no reason. He’s a dick on the regular. He knows this. But, never has he come across someone like this Solana woman who, with just her presence alone, exudes such softness. Like, she doesn’t have a mean bone in her fine ass body. And she clearly doesn’t because anyone else would have probably lost their job by cussing Samantha out. Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.

Roman catches the faintest hint of a smile on Solana’s face as she redirects her attention to him. “Give her the salmon. I’ll take your best steak. For wine, you carry Madeira?” 

She’s pulled out her notepad and finishes taking down the order before answering with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Roman’s jaw clenches at that sir bit. He could ruin this girl. “What do you recommend?”

She’s visibly taken back by his question, probably by the fact that he’s asking her for her opinion. “Umm—”

“Roman, I can rec—”

“I didn’t ask you,” he cuts that bitch off with the quickness, eyes never leaving the pretty girl before him. “I asked Solana.”

Her smiles widens as she answers in a more confident tone. “Julio Barros…..1950.”

Roman smirks. 

Exactly what he was going to order.

“I’ll take it.”

Their gazes linger on each other a second too long for Samantha’s liking as she cuts in once once more. “You can go now.”

Solana’s smile drops again, Roman suddenly finding himself all annoyed. Her smile is something pretty that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of, though that irritation is waned as he’s granted the view of her nice, round ass and curvy hips swaying as she walks to the back to turn in their order.

Samantha reaches over and touches his hand, Roman snatching it back and sneering at her. “What?”

She sighs. “Baby, I’m trying to talk about us.”

And just like that, he’s annoyed all over again. “There is no us.”

Samantha looks sad only for a brief second. “Roman, I’m not stupid. I know what these dates have been for. You’re trying to see if it could work.”

“If what could work?”

“Us.” She goes on to share. “There’s rumors that the Elders have been putting more pressure on you to settle down and make an heir.” Sam leans over the table, intentionally trying to emphasize her cleavage. It’s nice. He’ll give her that. But, he’s certain it’s nothing compared to Solana though and those big breast of her hers. “I can do that for you. Be that for you. Be your wife. The mother of your children.”

Not a damn thing she’s saying sounds even the least bit desirable. At all. 

“I mean, we’ve been fucking around since we were kids. Why not make it official?”

For a lot of reasons. All the reasons. The main one being Roman don’t like this bitch unless she’s choking on or riding his dick. 

What he does like, however, and finds solace in is the interactions with Ms. Solana as the evening goes on. They’re not very often outside of her bringing the bottle of wine and their food when it’s ready as well as a check-in here or there on how they’re doing.

Each time Samantha sending her the dirtiest look or just being an ol’e nasty bitch, to which Roman shuts down, cutting her off and even telling her to shut the fuck up.

The girl is just trying to do her damn job. And as his eyes locate and land on her on several different occasions, he can see that she works hard. Moving from table to table, almost saddened facial expression indicates she’s on the receiving end of more verbal lashings from people like Samantha.

That actually pisses him off, Roman having to control and stop himself from doing some out of pocket shit. 

Again, for what reason, he hasn’t the slightest clue. He just knows those brief glimpses of her actually smiling, usually when she’s chatting with a coworker, do something for him. 

Maybe even to him. 

And unbeknownst to him, the intrigue goes both ways, because as shitty a day Solana Miller was having, the handsome stranger with the rude girlfriend or wife or whatever has somehow, someway made this day just a little bit better.

It’s been some time, if ever, Solana has come across someone with such a presence about them. Him dining at this uppity restaurant she was able to score a job at tells her that he’s wealthy. His disposition and the fact that he somehow secured it to where the surrounding tables of where he sits have been marked as unavailable tells her that he has pull. But, the way he interacts with her, a literal nobody, she’s not sure what that means.

Especially with the beautiful woman he’s with, because while Solana thinks she’s every bit a bitch as most of the women who come into this place, she’s a stunning bitch. 

Which is why Solana can’t allow herself to believe that that equally beautiful looking man is looking at her in any sort of capacity. 

There’s no way in he—

“Solana.”

And just like that, she's frowning again. “Mami?”

The last thing she expected to see this evening was the sight of her mother, already dressed in her scrubs, baby in her arms. 

Solana’s baby. 

Her 11-month–old daughter, Soraya. 

The shock wears off as Nina gets closer, Solana shaking her head, “what are you—”

Nina shakes her head, face apologetic and tone contrite. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I got called into work. I can’t watch Raya.”

Shit

It's inconvenient, but Solana understands it. She remembers the countless times Nina had no other option but to leave her with a neighbor after being called into work at all kinds of hours. She’s always worked so hard to take care of the two of them when Solana was growing up. 

“It’s okay, mama.” Solana easily reaches for her daughter, a wave of relief and happiness washing over her as she holds and kisses her baby. The source of all her joy. All of the struggle, every bit of it, is worth it as long as she has her daughter. She’d do anything for her. “How was she?”

Nina gives a small chuckle. “She’s like you were and still are. An easy child.” Solana kisses Soraya’s temple. “Sol…..” And just like that, Solana already knows she’s probably not going to like what she’s about to hear. “I know you’ve said you don’t want to go after him for child support, but it’s not fair for you to be out here working two jobs while putting yourself through school to take care of his child.”

Solana holds Soraya just a smidge tighter. “She’s my baby, mami.” 

Nina counters. “She’s his biological child.” Solana looks away, hopeful her manager, Aldis, doesn’t come out and scold her for this little interaction. She’s scheduled to clock out in another half hour anyway. “He should be paying you child support.”

Her mom is right. Solana knows this, knows that it’s not fair for her to have to be the sole provider for her baby girl, while Cruz lives his best life as an absentee, deadbeat dad. And she’s considered on several occasions going to the courthouse to see what she needs to do to get that ball rolling. 

But, every time, she’s haunted by something he said the last time they spoke, not even a month after her daughter was born. 

“Don’t you get it? We were fine before she came in the picture! We could be fine again if she wasn’t.”

Solana’s never been more disturbed than she was to hear those words leave his mouth. That’s why she’s glad he’s gone, that he wants nothing to do with her or his child. Because she would never trust to leave her baby girl with him in the first place.

And if that means she does it without him contributing financially, that’s exactly what she’ll do. 

Solana shifts Soraya from one hip to the other. “I don’t need him, mami.” And she doesn’t. Because if Solana had to resort to sex work to take care of herself and her daughter, it’s exactly what she’d do.

Nina gives a heavy sigh. “Mija, you know I help you when I can.”

“I know.” Because she does. But, the same way that times are hard for her. They’re hard for her mom, too. Everyone’s struggling these days, it seems. Everyone except the rich people who wine and dine without a care in the world around them. “I’ll be okay.”

Always will be.

Nina gives a knowing nod, hugging her daughter and gently taking her granddaughter’s hand, kissing it, speaking in Spanish. “I’ll see you later, okay? Abuela loves you.”

Solana smiles. “Thanks, mama.”

“Always, baby.” 

Nina reaches Solana the diaper bag, Solana placing it on the bar stool, knowing it’s bound to be left alone. These rich ass people would never bother with the Ross purchase. With a final parting smile, Nina is off to the hospital, leaving Solana with her daughter who’s just now waking up.

“Hi, baby girl,” Solana giggles at the almost cranky expression on her baby’s face. Raya is definitely not the happiest camper when being woken up. 

A glance at the time reminds Solana that she technically is still on the clock and really shouldn’t have her child with her. But, with no other option, she accepts she’ll just have to clock out early and take whatever those consequences are.

But before that, the least she can do is grab the bill from the table where the handsome stranger and his girlfriend sat. She’s briefly disappointed to see the table empty, even if she remembers his deep voice thanking her for her assistance this evening as she brought them that same check earlier. 

It’s a silly thing, really. And she tries to push away the disappointment at not properly telling him goodbye. A stranger. 

Silly.

Soraya grasps at the collar of her shirt while Solana walks over to the table, pausing as she gets close enough to see that there’s more than just a bill with a signature. There’s cash. A stack of it. Money in hand, she’s confused, because this man paid with a black card, so what—

“Good.” 

Solana gaps and spins around, her eyes widening as she looks up. He’s a lot taller than she realized, burly body nearly eclipsing her view of anything else, silky black hair in such a neat, perfect bun. “Wanted to make sure you got it.”

Brows furrowed, it’s hard for her to speak for a lot of reasons. One of which is the fact that this man cannot be real. A man cannot be this handsome. But, he is real, and he’s looking at her.

And Soraya. 

“I—” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Is this—you already paid—”

“That’s not for the bill,” his voice is so velvety, smooth, and deep. “It’s your tip.”

Eyes widening, her gaze snaps to the wad of cash as Soraya continues to grasp and squeeze her shirt. She doesn’t even need to count to know that this is a nice amount of money. 

Too much.

“I can’t—it’s too much.” 

He chuckles, “do I look like I can’t afford it?” Her eyes roam over his big, muscular build dressed in fine, expensive looking clothes. He just oozes wealth. 

And power. 

“N–no.”

“Dealing with Samantha, trust me, you earned it.” Solana looks down, wanting to hide her small smile. His gaze redirects to the child in her arm. “Who is this?”

And just like that, Solana’s proud smile returns. “My daughter, Soraya.” It’s like Soraya knows she’s being discussed, lifting her little head to look at Roman. A big grin on her face before she buries her face into Solana’s neck. 

Roman makes a sound, and she can almost swear she sees the smallest smile on his handsome face. “She looks like you.”

That creates such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach, “thank you…..”

He looks at her a bit confused, like her unspoken question surprises him, before answering. “Roman.” Roman. “Roman Reigns.”

Roman Reigns. Even his name is powerful.

It fits him.

Solana shifts Soraya around as she starts to get wiggly in her arms. “Well, thank you, Mr. Reigns.” She’s certain the shock of just how much money this random, rich stranger has given her hasn’t truly set in. Because if it had, she’d have a much more visceral response. 

A lot more.

“Roman,” he corrects. “Call me Roman.” 

“Roman….” 

Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, something that makes her feel a bit unnerved under his intense stare. It’s broken, however, by her now irritated daughter.

“Mama.” Soraya makes her dissatisfaction at being still for too long known by punching her tiny fist against Solana’s chest. “Mama!”

“Shhhhh,” Solana kisses her temple, trying to quiet her down before someone makes Aldis aware of her presence. She looks at Roman, eyes softening, “thank you again.”

Truly. Honestly. He hasn’t the slightest clue how much this will help her. It’s why she can stand here without anxiety and concern about making it to the bus stop on time. Tonight.....tonight she’ll treat herself and her baby with calling an Uber instead. 

Might even stop and pick up dinner.

Roman nods, eyes briefly glancing at her daughter again, the smallest smile on his face. “I’ll see you later, Solana.” His head dips a bit in acknowledgment towards her baby. “Soraya.”

The smile is plastered on her face even as he walks off without another word. And it’s only a good two minutes later that she catches onto what he said. A certain word in particular standing out the most. 

What did he mean by later?

[h8aaz]

⭒permanent price.

sum. sam has to deal with the loss of you; and grieving is never easy.

cw. angst . mention of reader's death . est. relationship . s7 leviathan arc but mixed with the bunker era? ignore it .

lock the door, but what for?

no one to walk in on me anymore

sam sobbed as quietly as he could as the flames burned in front of him. you were gone. really gone this time.

you had practically forced him to promise not to bring you back. and god, did he want to break it so bad. but he reminded himself of how you felt, what you said.

“we've died and come back multiple times over the years, and i'm tired, sam. i'm tired of this—this lifestyle. i wanna grow old with you. safely. i don't wanna have to worry about what creature or biblical figure is gonna come at us every second. i just wanna be with you, sammy. but if it comes to it again; don't do it. don't bring me back. i know it'll be hard, but you gotta let me go, okay? please just let me go.”

he shuddered under the warmth emmitting from the fire. the flickering orange glow illuminated him, reflecting off his tears. he was completely heartbroken. he had held you as the lights faded from your eyes, weakly babbling about your dream life and how in love with him you were.

were.

that word tastes sour. it reads disgustingly.

you shouldn't have to be described with that awful word. all it does is remind him that you're gone. how he won't get to wake up and sleep next to you anymore. won't get to make a separate pot of coffee just so its the way you like it, and pour it into your favorite mug that he got you before you started dating. he won't get to hear you laugh, see you smile, flinch when you scold him, hold you when you cry, take care of you when you're sick. nothing.

he had to bring you back to the bunker. he had to explain to everyone what happened, what killed you. those stupid fucking leviathans. they didn't deserve to take you from him. truly, nothing did. but they did anyway. because that's what god wanted, i guess.

his love life has been doomed since jess—maybe even before that. so you meeting a tragic end wasn't completely out of the question, but not exactly a no-brainer, either. he had told you about jess, as you two had met a few years shy of her death. and you had expected something to happen to you after lucifer admitted to having demons watch over sam all his life.

but expecting doesn't prepare you for when it happens.

sam had a gut feeling that it was a bad idea for you to sneak and spy on some of the leviathans. like he just knew something was going to go wrong for the two of you.

“i just don't think you should go alone, that's all,” he tried to reason as simply as he could, not wanting to say why he really thought you shouldn't go.

“i'll be okay, sam, i've done this shit before,” you responded, lightly punching his shoulder.

he scoffed, his lips twitching into smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. the expression fell from him quickly, and you could tell. you just knew his real reason. just by looking at him.

“hey,” you spoke softly. you turned in your seat as much as the confined space of the car would allow you to, resting a hand on his arm. “i'll be okay, you don't gotta worry about that. i can handle them. bobby taught us how to kill 'em, remember? sure, it'll be tough, but i can do it. you know i can.”

he struggled to meet your gaze, his head turning in minuscule snaps. “yeah, yeah, i know.” he let out a hesitant breath before moving his body to face yours, placing his hand over yours and wrapping his fingers around it. “i'm just scared. scared that you could get hurt, or- or worse, you know?”

“i know, honey, i know,” you soothed. “but if we're gonna get closer to taking down bitch roman, you gotta let me do this, please.” you pleaded, scrunching your brows as he laughed.

“what? what did i say? why are you laughing?” you pouted before letting out a laugh. “bitch roman?” he cackled, “his name's dick, baby.” he grinned at you, clutching his chest. “dick, bitch, same thing.” you rolled your eyes playfully.

to think that was the last time he'd ever hear you laugh. and it was because you were making fun of—yeah, bitch roman.

and now here he was, giving you a proper hunter's funeral. just like you'd always wanted. you were raised into hunting like him and dean, having this whole ordeal programmed into your head since day one. even when you'd talk to him about your dream future, you'd always go out like this. buried as a hunter.

when the whole ceremony was done, he told everyone to head to bed, to let him take care of you. just one last time.

he dismantled what he needed to, to get your covered bones and whatever was left of you off the pyre. he carried you over to a hole he had previously dug, right next to the garden you had started last year. he placed you inside gently, tears free falling, cascading, down his face. he blinked rapidly at an attempt of clearing his vision. he wanted to get everything right for you. you were the best, and you deserved as such.

his nose was red and runny, sniffles sounding out left and right. most of your things were burned already, except a few items to keep your memory by. he placed a broken charm bracelet—from one of your anniversaries—onto the charred bones of your chest. it had been ruined during your final fight, and it was quickly found by sam before he even got to you.

his chest burned and ached. all over broken and choked sobs. he was shaking at every turn of his body, and push of his shovel into the nearby pile of dirt. he never would've thought he'd have to salt, burn, and bury you one day—let alone find and hold you as you exhaled your last few breaths. hell, he was there. he was just twenty feet away. sitting. waiting, in that damn car where you kissed and hugged him normally for the last time.

sometimes he can still taste your blood in his mouth. you insisted on feeling his lips on yours as you let go. and he felt it. he felt that last sigh ghost his lips; his trembling and begging, and yours falling flat and cold. when he pulled away, he saw that you had closed your eyes, a courtesy that was your last thought. you closed your own eyes to save him from looking into them. from shattering him further.

you were caring and thoughtful to the very end.

an end that should've never came. not now, at least. you should be here. the two of you were supposed to get out. be normal, happy. sam had helped you build those two rocking chairs for when you'd get old. it was a task you brought up to him unexpectedly, but he was glad to do it with you, especially with the considered future of it all.

but now?

now the chairs sat in the bunker's storage.

not forgotten, but preserved.

preserved with your left over belongings that he begged and fought to keep. because he was preserving you. he'll let go, you know he will. but you also know it'll be years until then.

and all you can do is watch. watch him grieve. watch him cry. watch him yell. watch him fight. all due to his love for you.

the words that you say are the price that i pay

gabs yaps. GUYS DONT BE MAD AT ME PLEASEEEE IM SO SORRY LMFAOOO DONT KILL ME 🙏🙏 new fic layout is inspired by my dear millie's ( @soldiersgirl )!!

tags. @starzify @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bruisedfig @littlesoulshine @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @legalmente-loca @sacr1ficialang3l @j2archives @mahi-wayy @emeraldcrs @liiiilsss @jdmsslvt

dm me or send an ask to be added to/taken off my taglist !!

⭒divider by me!!⭒

[tribalauthor]

THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff) <chapter 3>

word count: 2k

Nervous is an understatement for my state of feeling right now.

Today is my first segment and in this segment I have to announce that I am the temporary wise woman for Roman Reigns.

Also I have a task from uncle. I have to persuade Nick Aldis - the general manager of Smackdown to cancel the fatal 4-way match since it's just unfair.

These past few days I met Jimmy, Jey and Solo. Very respectful men by the way. Uncle wasn't lying.

I have also been making friends with the women roster cause I do need female friends here. I can't only hang out with the Bloodline, right?

"Don't worry, girl. You got this!" Samantha tried to hype me up. She is the ring announcer and honestly we became close really fastly. In a few days, we know all about the life stories of one another. "I can't even wait to announce you. Ladies and gentlemen, accompanied to the ring by his special council, the wise woman - Sophia Heyman...oh my god" she started clapping excitingly and this made me grin from ear to ear.

"It sounds so good. You are so talented" I exclaimed. Her voice is really made for announcing, it's so powerful.

"Good luck to your fiancée, by the way" I wished her. Her and Trevor are one of the sweetest couples ever.

"Thank you so much" she smiled nervously.

"It must be nerve-wracking to have a partner wrestler, right?" I asked out of nowhere. I mean, looking at these men and women sacrificing their bodies and health everyday for the sake of entertainment is insane and is bringing a lot of thoughts in my mind...and questions.

"Indeed. You are always worried about their health cause anything can happen in that ring and yeah..." she explained. "I just pray every day for him and for my colleagues, of course"

"Understandable" I nodded my head.

"Speaking of..." she looked around us and got closer to me. "What do you think about him?" I got puzzled for a moment.

"Ricochet? Well, I haven't really spoken to him but he seems like a nice guy" I replied.

"Not my fiancée...about Roman" she looked around again and whispered his name.

"Is he like Voldemort, why you so scared of saying his name? Well, he seems okay for now. Honestly, better than I expected but I had no expectations so." I shrugged.

"I think he likes you." she just spat out but this time she wasn't very quiet.

"What? Samantha...are you in your delulu moment?" I furrowed my eyebrows because she just said that so out of nowhere.

"Girl, literally look at you. That's what I'm gonna say. You are the woman that haunts men's dreams, no matter if they are single or taken." Samantha clarified.

"Come on." I rolled my eyes. Would lie if I said I didn't get this before.

"He is divorced by the way but you haven't heard this from me" Samantha switched to whispering again.

"What? I mean...how do you know? I mean, yeah whatever, I guess. Uncle is divorced as well." I shrugged. Trying to look nonchalant.

"You don't get my point. What I'm trying to tell you is that you should be careful if you don't wanna end up being caught in his vice grip" Sam giggled cause she knows I got the reference very well. However, I was totally unfazed because I don't see myself with a man like him.

"Ha-ha, so funny, Samantha, ha-ha. Don't you worry about me. I have learned my lesson with Robert, so if somebody wants to impress me now, it's gonna be very, very hard." I solidified my intentions. I really thought he was the one for me but those thoughts were disproved when we tried to live together.

"What are you two girls talking about so passionately?" I suddenly heard Roman's deep voice behind me and it startled me so much that I jumped a little. "Woah, calm down, wise woman. Am I a ghost?" he was exactly behind me and I looked up to him since he is like more than 7 inches taller than me. Roman had his eyes down my direction and a big grin on his face. "Tell me what are you two gossiping about. Tell me the drama."

"The discussions me and Samantha were having, Mr. Reigns, are strictly confidential, so I am not telling you. You ain't one of the girls." I sassed him out and he let out a deep chuckle.

"But you are my wise woman. You should tell me everything. No secrets between us." he suddenly tried to act offended.

"This statement, Mr. Reigns, is disputed. There is nowhere in the contract that signifies I should tell you everything about my life and vice versa." I immediately opposed to him.

"Always disagreeing with me" he looked at Samantha with the look of complaint. "Have you ever seen the Wise Man disagreeing with me, Samantha?"

"No, at least not here." she replied.

"Okay but I'm not uncle. Also the agreements are only for the camera. Behind camera, I'm not obligated to." I turned to him and shrugged.

Roman chuckled once again.

"Miss Heyman, I honestly find your attitude so cute. You think you are 'biting' like a snake but honestly, I'm having fun."

"Oh, you think that this is my bad side, Mr. Reigns? I have to apologize then. You are mistaken" I fought back.

"No, I didn't say that this is your bad side. Anyway, we have to start preparing for later, so the gossip session has to end soon, okay?" he suddenly turned all serious. This man's duality is insane. He can throw some random jokes one second and the other second, he turns into a serious man. Is he a Gemini or something?

"Coming after a while" I said and turned around to Samantha.

"I bet you will" I heard him saying under his nose and I turned to him again. When he saw that I heard him, he made that funny "oops" expression.

Until the very moment he got away, Samantha had a look of disbelief in her face.

"See what I'm talking about? Now I'm 100% sure. Soph, I have never...ever in my career seen Roman like this. He is so obvious, oh my god." she put her hand on her mouth.

"Is he a Gemini?" I asked aloud, that duality has one explanation.

"Uuh, I think so, yes." Sam said rather unsurely.

"I knew it. And then people tell me astrology ain't real" I shook my head. "And how old is he?" I asked quietly.

"Let me think...uh, he is a bit older than Trevor. Two or three years something like this. In his late thirties for sure - 38, I believe." my friend suddenly started calculating. "This year he will be 39."

"What?" my jaw was on the floor. "Yeah, no chance. That's a...12 year difference, nuh-uh." I shook my head.

"But you thought about it" she started laughing and poked me.

"About what?" I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "Anyway I have to go"

"Coming for him" Sam couldn't help but snore.

"Ha-ha so funny" I rolled my eyes.

"I'm here" I shouted after I got in the locker room. The whole Bloodline is there.

"Lil' OG." Jimmy came to greet me with a high-five.

"Lil' OG"? Solo seemed weirded out by the way Jimmy called me.

"Paul is OG. Sophia is his blood, therefore she is lil' OG." Jimmy explained himself and his brother just seemed done.

"She looks nothing like Paul."

"Nah, she has his eyes" Jimmy disagreed with him.

"Ah yes. The saphire blue eyes that I inherited from my late great-grandmother Patricia." I stated.

"You may not look like Paul but for sure sound like him" Jimmy concluded. "So are you ready for later?"

"Mentally kinda, physically absolutely not. I have to start dressing up and everything because after 10 minutes the makeup artist and the hairdresser will be waiting for me." I looked at my watch.

Then reached to the wardrobe to grab the outfit I planned for tonight. It is a two piece costume consisting a blouse like blazer with a deep cleavage but it also has a scarf that is going to wrap around my throat and also a long skirt with a long slit. The color is dark blue with thin light stripes exactly like my uncle's costumes. For shoes I chose beige lacquered high heels.

Where is Roman? He was so insisting for me to come here and now he is nowhere to be found.

"Paul Heyman : female version" Jimmy said in a narrative tone which made me chuckle.

"Oh, they definitely will, trust me" Solo said seriously.

"I don't think the crowd is going to notice the difference" I shrugged.

I heard some steps behind us. I turned around to see, knowing it was definitely Roman.

The view in front of me is just...wow.

Roman fresh out of the shower with his wet, long hair, his big ass tribal tattoo and a white towel wrapped around his torso. Water drips falling onto his body like tears.

"Ah, you're here, Sophia." he said that as if he totally expected me and as if everything is on purpose.

"Yeah." I turned around and faced his cousins because if I stare for longer, I will boost up his ego. Damn, that man is jacked.

"So is the bathroom free? I have to dress quickly." I asked a rhetorical question but I tried to go as quickly as possible, so I don't look at him in any way. I went through like a flash honestly.

"Do you need help?" I heard him yelling at me.

"No?" that was so random of him.

"You said you have to dress up quick and you know two works better than one" he replied and that response caused me to open the bathroom door and he was still sitting there.

Is he out of his mind? Asking me this right in front of his cousins? Unbelievable.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Reigns but I have to decline this offer." after I finished, I slammed the door.

Roman's POV:

I chuckled at Sophia once again. Damn, I know this woman for a few days yet she got under my skin. The way she looks, the way she talks, the way she walks. I feel betrayed by Paul, to be completely honest. How could he never tell me he has such a pretty niece?

"Uce...what the fuck?" Solo whisper yelled.

"What?" the grin on my face still stayed.

"What do you mean 'what'? You are hitting on Paul's niece" Jimmy called me out.

"Nah, I'm not. We are just joking" I immediately debunked Jimmy's statement and went to the wardrobe to search for my stuff.

"You don't joke like this...ever. Come to your senses, uce. She is way younger than you. How old is she?" Jon asked with a concern.

"I don't know. Probably 25-26." the looks the siblings exchanged between each other were full of shock as if I said she is a minor...come on.

"She is younger than me?" Solo seemed caught off guard.

"That divorce has made you mad." Jimmy started lecturing me. "You see a pretty woman and suddenly you want to sleep with her".

"Uce, you can't fool us. Look at her. A living Barbie doll. Get yourself together immediately." Solo whisper yelled but we all shut up immediately when we heard the door open.

"I don't wanna sleep with her, you perverts. I just like her company, okay? Stop lecturing me." I tried not to yell at them because I don't want Sophia to hear me.

(outfit)

"So how do I look?" Sophia asked, standing in front of me with that business ass little outfit and heels and so much unholy thoughts going in my head of how I bend her over and pull that skirt up and then...

Joseph, you should stop before something rises underneath and completely embarass yourself.

"Amazing" I cleared my throat. "Spectacular" I cleared my throat again, trying not to stare too much at her.

That woman is my dream personified and I don't care what my cousins think. I'm going to have her one way or another.

"Great" Jimmy and Solo threw her big grins and thumbs up.

"Thank you so much, now I'm leaving you guys. Bye. See ya later." she ran to the door and left the room.

"Holy shit" I sat on the couch. "I may be in trouble" I finally confessed.

"Took you long enough." Solo said sarcastically.

[isabella-2025]

Love you from Dusk till Dawn Chapter 3: Warnings: Cursing and that is all. Happy reading.

Thank you for all the love and support for this story. You guys are keeping me going seriously I appreciate it. 😊😊

How do we like this chapter?

Were you surprised ?

How do you think her birthday will end?

Comments your answers please. ❤️❤️

P.S : Yall are going to need to hold on to your bootstraps because things are about to go down from here on out. 👀👀

Tama and the others had just walked in to Sami and the others house. Trinity looks at them and says

" We need to talk about Evelyn now its serious."

" Okay what's going on" Tama says

" Well, Evelyn felt how cold Sami was and Sami wanted to bite her and he's never had that age before. " Jimmy says

" Okay, and?" Tonga says

" Well she felt something with Tama to, Tama said when she accidently touched him he felt something sort of like an electric spark go through him and his wolf wanted to mark her right there." Jacob says

" Trinity what is going on" Solo says

" Well, I think she may be a hybrid." Trinity says

" WHAT" Everyone says at the same time.

" well she would not have been able to feel how cold Sami was unless she was a vampire and she wouldn't have felt what she felt with Tama unless she was a wolf." Trinity says calmly.

" She has a tattoo also right? " Roman asks

" Yeah she has the moon tattoo like Tama and his pack have and then she has a star tattoo like all of us have." Trinity says

" Okay but how does that make sense?" Solo says

" Wait, babe who did you say her parents were?" Jimmy asks

" I don't remember but she's setting up for her birthday party tonight I will call her and ask." Trinity says as she picks up the phone to call her.

Evelyn was setting up some balloons and fairy lights outside under her patio when she got a phone call. She took the phone out of her pocket and sees that it was Trinity she answered the phone and said.

" Hey, girl how are you your still coming to the party right?"

" Yes girl you know I wouldn't miss your 18th and yes I will be there soon to help you finish setting up." Trinity says

" Okay good, hey something weird happened last night?" Evelyn says

" What happened last night?" Trinity asks

" Well, I had just got ready for bed and I swear I saw a short blonde haired man standing on my balcony but I blinked and he was gone. Then I had been asleep for a while and my room felt cold all of a sudden and the neighbors dog barked. I got up and went to the window and didn't see a dog." Evelyn says

" Oh that is weird, are you okay? Trinity asks

" Yeah I'm okay just a little shaken up about the whole thing. " Evelyn says

" Yeah that is understandable, can I ask you a question?" Trinity says

" of course you can ask me anything what's up?" Evelyn says

" Okay what were your parents names I couldn't remember what you said." Trinity asks

" Oh yeah my moms name was Edith and my Dads name was Jake why? " Evelyn asks

" No reason I just couldn't remember, I will talk to you later I am about to head over your way." trinity says

" Okay, I will see you in a bit." Evelyn says as she hangs up .

Trinity hangs up the phone looks at the others and says.

" Her moms name was Edith and her Dads name was Jake."

" Wait are you sure her Moms name was Edith?" Sami asks

" Yeah" Trinity says

" Are you absolutely sure that her dads name is Jake?" Jacob asks

" Yeah I'm sure why, what are you not telling me?" Trinity asks

" Edith is the one who turned us into Vampires" Jey said

" Jake turned us into wolves." Solo said

" Wait, OMG her mom was the vampire queen and her Dad was the werewolf king.' Tonga says

" That's crazy if that's the case then she is a hybrid." Roman says

" That would also explain the tattoo that represents both of our people." Jacob says

" Yeah, wait Trinity didn't you say she turns 18 today?" Tonga says

" Yeah" Trinity says

" Didn't you say that your vampire abilities came out when you were 18? " Jey asked

" Yeah……. OMG" Trinity says

" WHAT" Everyone says at the same time

" If that happens tonight with her the transition will be twice as painful and she's not gonna be able to control the urges." Trinity says

" Yeah that makes sense so we should get going then right?" Sami says

" Yeah" Everyone says

" Wait, there's more she said she saw a short blonde haired man outside her window and he disappeared when she blinked and she also said when she woke up her room felt cold." Trinity says

" Wait, short blonde haired man are you sure?" Roman says

" Yeah, why?" Trinity says

" If that is the case then she's in big trouble." Roman says

" What do you mean" Sami and Tama say at the same time.

" Well he's……."

Evelyn was finishing up some last minute decorations when she suddenly felt cold and she looked up to see the same short blonde haired man from her Balcony last night. She walks in his direction and says

" Hey, who are you?" Evelyn says

The man does not answer and she hears something fall and looks in that direction, when she turned back around the man was gone again.

" What is wrong with me?" Evelyn says to herself. She goes back to finishing her decorations not knowing the danger that was right around the corner.

The short blonde haired man was perched up at the top of a tree next to his dad. He says

" Well, Dad do you think I scared her enough?"

" Yeah, I think you did but our job is not over until shes dead." The dad says

" Why, do you need her dead?" The man says

" Because she was my bastard Child I didn't want her, you were always my favorite, Cody" Jake said

They look at each other, laugh evilly and say

" Well, she's gonna have one hell of a birthday."

Evelyn had just started welcoming guests to her birthday party she is so excited and happy to be with all her favorite people.

What she did not know was danger was right in her own backyard and her life would change dramatically and would never be the same again.

The gang know what she is and her parents are but how will they help her?

Were you surprised that her Dad was alive?

Did you expect Cody to be the parodical son?

How do you expect her night to end?

Tune in to chapter 4 to find out.

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @empressdede @femdisa @usoinked @southerngirl41 @holycollectivekitty @bloodlinemadness @eringobragh420 @madhatterbri @mytribalnightmare @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @bossbitch-25 @officialeve24 @jstarr86 @purplementalitybluebird

[tia-amorosa]

Episode 39: Cool breezes

Evansdale County

The morning is cool. Not only because it's also fall here in Evansdale County, but also because we have Zelda's house right by the sea. But it's definitely too cold to go swimming. “No message from him again… I'm going crazy”

Again and again, Zelda took her phone out of her pocket and checked to see if she had received a message. But she knew that staring at the display over and over again seemed to be in vain at the moment. “Four days… I haven't heard from you for four days, damn it! I'm worried”.

“Basically, I know that I don't have to worry about you. If necessary, you're happy to punch someone in the nose. But it's not usual for you not to write at all. There's always at least one message a day, no matter what time of day it is…hh… I have to keep distracting myself before I go crazy.” Since her first encounter with Roman, Zelda had been in contact with him almost daily, either by phone or when he managed to visit her. But there had been no news from him for days.

A little later. “It really wasn't necessary to pick me up, Amelia"/ ‘I was just in the neighborhood and you seemed to want to go somewhere’/ ”Yes, but by tour bus? Well, I don't have to pay the gas money… Hey, just let me out the front left here…“/”O.k….”. …

A popular meeting place in the city is the University Park & Grill, which was actually intended for students to offer them a place to relax after their stressful day at university. But the other residents also liked to come here. “Hey, you're making a terrible face, what's going on?"/ ‘If you play a game of pool with me, we can talk.’ In the meantime, Zelda had made friends with some people from Sunset Valley with whom she had never had close contact before.

Twyla had become quite a good friend to her by now. But she always had a strong opinion about everyone. “let me guess… Roman?"/ ‘hh, I still haven't had any sign of life from him for four days now’/ ‘is he still at the front?’/ ‘Actually, his mission should have been over by now… He always managed to get in touch’/ ‘I bet he's in bed with someone else and has written you off’/ ‘Rubbish!’.

“Why rubbish? Those soldier guys have girls sitting all over the place to have fun with them"/ ”But not Roman! Maybe he's in trouble or worse…"/ ”Oh man, don't get your panties in a twist, okay? Maybe he's got another special assignment, they're always needed somewhere”.

In a way, Zelda liked Twyla's direct manner. But when it came to Roman, she was a bit touchy. “I hope you're right…"/ ‘My goodness, you really have a crush on him, huh?’/ ”The last time he visited was six months ago. And those three days were far too short…"/ ”hh, he'll get in touch, okay? Otherwise you would have heard something in the media by now about whether something happened to some soldiers on a mission…”.

“Yeah, who would hide the fact that soldiers have been killed in action. Hh I don't feel like playing anymore, I'm putting most of the bullets in again anyway,” she smiled a little tiredly. “You're really good, despite your slightly bad mood… It's fine, you don't have to torture yourself unnecessarily"/ ‘I think I'll go and visit someone else’/ ”as you wish. And believe me, I'm sure there'll be a sign soon”.

It's Saturday, Zelda would normally be sitting at home writing her new song right now, but her lack of concentration and worries about Roman just don't allow her to continue working on it at the moment. So she took the time to visit old friends. And new ones… “No one at home? Hey, how are you, Leighton?”.

“hn, hi, you handsome one. It's hard to get used to looking at a horse with the same name as a former good friend. But I guess there was a reason Sam gave you that name. Where did the others go? Probably to the fall festival or maybe to the fish restaurant? You can't tell me, I know. And You're not worried that they won't come back, are you?”. .

Zelda lovingly stroked the soft nose of the stallion, who had been living with the Wolffs for several months now. “hn, you're a really nice guy. So was our Leighton. We all miss him. OK, if there's no one here, then I'll go again for now, OK?”. Zelda left the Wolffs' property devoutly and somewhat wistfully. Morgana was probably on duty at the hospital today.

Traveling on foot. This was something that Zelda learned to appreciate after the great catastrophe. It was often not worth taking the short distances to various locations by car or bus. She didn't have a bike, so in good weather she explored the area without a vehicle. “Roman?, No, just Blair sending baby photos again…hh, she's really lucky though”.

Lost in thought, she headed back towards the house. She was really lucky to get something cheap right by the sea. Such houses are usually in high demand. But even the house next to her is still available. “There's no point in driving myself crazy… I think I'll just pick up where I left off… this song has to be finished at some point”… the closer you got to the sea, the cooler the air became again. Zelda mentally prepared herself for a quiet evening. But things would turned out differently…

---------------------------------------------------------

@greenplumbboblover , @solorisims , @honeywinesims 🌤

[padscomm]

ethan?

part 3

tara carpenter x f!reader

warnings: grammatical errors, so yea

a/n: I didn't expect this to blow up, but thanks alot!!

Anika · nikayoko

; anika

hey, are you okay?

you stormed out w/o hearing us say anything

I'm worried

; y/n

yea

I'm okay

nothing happened, it's just my tita auntie

was finding me because it was late

; anika

y/n, I thought you didn't have curfew?

; y/n

tita auntie made new rules ig

; anika

c'mon, stop lying to me y/n

I know that you're lying

you can tell me everything

if your not comfortable, just tell me okay?

I'll give you some space

; y/n

I'm not comfortable of talking about it

sorry anika, I promise I'll tell you when

I finally feel comfortable

; anika

take your time, don't rush.

INSTAGRAM

ynartist

liked by carpensam , nikayoko , lndry and 130 others

ynartist nobody knows my real birthday lol, do you even know me?

Ethan · @ lndry

when’s your birthday anyways?

· replying to @ lndry

Y/N · @ ynartist

i am not telling you that

Anika · @ nikayoko

I guess nobody know's you that well, even if your a talkative person

· replying to @ nikayoko

Y/N · @ ynartist

I don't tell info about me, unless your willing to know about me:))

mindymarts

liked by nikayoko , vcchad , tarafilms and 560 others

mindymarts my roman empire

tara · @ tarafilms

delete this right now!!

· replying to @ tarafilms

chad · @vcchad

but we look cute there

Mindy don't delete it

sam · @carpensam

r u fucking my sister?

· replying to @carpensam

mindy · @ mindymarts

probably he is

ynartist

liked by lndry , tarafilms , mindymarts and 1000 others

ynartist I'm gonna deactivate my account since i need to get away from shit, lol.

Anika · @ nikayoko

; Anika

mindy

have you been seeing how

y/n has been acting?

; mindy

oh yea

it's very weird

actually

do you think it's about chad & Tara?

; anika

I think so

; mindy

does she like Chad?

; anika

she said that she see's Chad as a brother figure

come to my apartment like right now

; mindy

okay?

after a few minutes, Mindy arrived at anika's apartment. “hey, baby.” anika pulled her in for a kiss, “lets talk about y/n. because I'm actually worried for her.” mindy didn't understand why anika was so worried for you, when she knew that you can take care of yourself.

“why are you so invested in y/n?”

“because, I care for her. I don't really see how you guys care for her.” anika said. mindy didn't say anymore, and just listened to anika yapping about y/n.

the both of them were on the couch, Mindy laying on anika's lap. “let’s go to her apartment.” Mindy suggested, and anika said yes.

and the both of them did, they went to your apartment, sharing with ethan. mindy didn't like ethan that much, but anika, ethan and you were the most closest people on earth. but anika alway's felt, that you and ethan had something together.

anika knocked on the door, and anika saw ethan’s tall figure Infront of her. “can i help you anika and mindy?” ethan asked politely, while mindy frowned, and wasn't buying it. mindy barged in the apartment, and knocked on your door.

“y/n? it's me mindy! can we talk?” you heard mindy knocking on your door, loudly. you didn't have any choice, and you just opened it.

“hi mindy, and anika. what are you two doing here?” mindy looked at you with disgust, “you were definitely been crying all night, judging by the looks of yours.” you were offended at the words of mindy.

“so? why do you care.”

“y/n, let's talk.” anika says, you agreed because you trusted anika, but not mindy. so you guys let her out for a bit, she didn't care.

Mindy was going to their place, of course McDonald's! and the core four was there, so she was excited since she was about to get food.

she arrived at McDonald's, and saw chad hooking his hand on tara’s shoulder. “whats up!!” Mindy says loudly. “ohh hey mindy, where have you been?” tara asked, “at y/n’s place, anika and ethan are there right now, they're having a deep talk.”

“ethan?” tara looked at mindy, “why is he hanging out with that douchebag?” tara frown’s, “well they are like something, that's what anika said to me.” mindy sense’s jealousy in the room.

“i can sense jealously in the room..” mindy jokes, and tara doesn't like it. “i need to use the restroom.” she goes directly to the bathroom, slamming the door.

“why does she trust Ethan more than me! I'm supposed to be the one for y/n.” tara thought to herself.

[bredforloyalty]

Hii would you like to share your favourite fics?? In any fandoms tbh i just trust your taste a lot 🫣

oh i am an animal i don't think i have good taste i have the taste of someone who's always horny and a teeeeny tiny bit fucked in the head jcsgbhy but i'm honored you asked and i'll share<33 you said you don't care if it's more smut or more plot so i didn't worry too much about that 👍

first off, a warning: most of these are explicit, involve incest, rape, child sexual abuse, and more!!! also most of them are on the shorter side + all are male slash! you'll be able to tell based on the pairing and the concept (i'll describe them a little) so just go by common sense and, idk. beware ahaha i'll go from some pairings to assorted and then the rick and morty ones will be under the read more (i feel like i can't leave them out because some of them genuinely made me insane and changed me as a person or allowed me catharsis like very very few fics before and even though it's repulsive to most others i can't deny that. there are big favorites in there. favorites of all time if i'm being fully honest). let's go..

gcest:

ghost dancer - by the lovely and talented rye @ supersonic1994!!!! noel overdoses on coke. i looove the image of kissing your brother when you think you're about to lose him forever,, does that make sense? love is love is love when one is desperate and if it's deep then it can transcend taboos and boundaries of self and all that shit. you know

things we never see - told through jill furmanovsky, their photographer, noel comes back (after they had almost broken up and he went to san fran without telling anyone). when it comes to them i do love an outsider pov. speaking of outsider pov,

you never notice you are blind - five times alan mcgee thinks he catches something between them and one time he definitely does. it is what it is

i don't really want to know - Nawt consensual, made me a bit sad hehe liam is not sick like him

some that are like, unhealthy jealousy possessiveness dubcon angst and so on: sins like scarlet, fishhook, what am i gonna dream now

samdean:

hungry til well fed - by the wonderful bug @ deanjohn (and mandymovie)!!! iconic cannibalism fic, just so them

brighter wound - wound blood pain codependency babeyyy

take the things you love - hathfrozen is iconic also.. i loved the heaven fic (you'll find it. if you want) but i want to share this because i like how conflicted sam is about their relationship and about the way dean treats him. smutty though

manhattan for beads - what i wrote down is this is the one where they try and it doesn't work and it's heartbreaking. so yeah candle_beck can be trusted w spn, iconic too

serpent round your heart - one of the first ones i read haha ^^

deanjohn:

where the evening splits in half - bug fic also!! all of bug's fics are great do check them out if you're interested in this pairing or dadson at all, seriously.. "Sam says, "I know how you felt about the man." No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know that Dad was a pig. He has no idea how far down Dean was in the mud with him. How dirty they both were, how much Dad ruined him."

midnight midnight - first time, dean hooks up with men so john can take blackmail pics and he gets jealous and yeah, hooray

and you learn how to settle for what you get - sex again but they're fucked up so it's always fucked up. dean never asked for it

waltjesse:

like i'm underwater - by the amazing @ kuleaxoxo!! yayyy power imbalance!! "Mister White's showing him off, isn't he?"

monaco - jesse gifts walt the watch. dubcon

i'm asking you to - rape roleplay, ignored safeword

others:

countercontrol - terence fletcher/andrew neiman, "Andrew leaves; but he always comes back. He likes to think that it’s of his own accord. But then he thinks of those paintings of staircases with the optical illusion of the stairs going nowhere except winding into each other, going the same place again and again, and ultimately going nowhere."

beach fag - roman roy/jeryd mencken, "Roman wishes he was a kid with an adult boyfriend."

the serpent under it - aaron stampler/martin vail, look i fucking love primal fear this is post-canon they get together etc. important to me

simple pleasures - edward nygma/bruce wayne, this is a big favorite i can't leave it out because when this was um coming out i was fucking obsessed. it's long i don't even read long fics

there's a head in the refrigerator - michael afton/william afton, this one's sort of self-explanatory..... i felt we needed necrophilia representation here

rick and morty:

bitter and begging - FAVE.. after the jealousy and possessiveness in vindicators 3 (the episode with the avengers copies that morty is enamoured with. who rick slaughters when he's off his shit and then covertly confesses how much he loves morty basically). this one really got me i think i cried because it's all so sad but um. full of love

that's my boy - this is the first of a series, i like that it's the start of.. the sexual abuse and they're still uncertain like i enjoy the in-betweens and when lines are crossed

love is a solitary thing - this one i love so much, it's about morty's fantasies and unrequited feelings for rick

safe - gen, morty starts talking with another morty whose rick rescues mortys from abusive ricks. i always really liked how the multiverse is like a prism? you can explore the different facets of their relationship and the possibilities and the extremes through it, you can have your characters meet their worst and their best versions, i just think selves from different dimensions are a great tool. in storytelling. and eliciting emotions. anyway rovingotter is fucking solid here

hands - a favorite.. the atmosphere... "He wonders if he'll still be sitting here in ten years, handing Rick his screwdrivers, feeling that hot instinctive rush of pleasure at knowing what Rick is going to ask from him before he even asks: bred for it."

the shape you made me - morty's stream of consciousness. i usually don't give stuff like this a chance but when i tell you that this affected me. because fuck it did affect me

the damage has been done - um..... internal cardiac massage fic 🥴

repurposed - "Is it ethical to leave the horrors of the universe at a boy's fingertips?"

and last but NOT least there's this series that i haven't read in full, just a little bit broken, that fucking killed me. tbh! i sobbed at some parts legitimately. maybe that's just on me i don't know maybe it isn't. the first 5 are crazy. admittedly alcoholism runs in my family too (lol!) and their relationship is so tragic.... this fic is about when rick quite literally stole the kid's dreams, concocted an entire plan to erode morty's love of heists and make him stop writing his heist movie script (and having any aspirations or plans outside of rick). when i watched that episode these are exactly the emotions i wanted more of.. it's madness......

[skylarmoon71]

Dick Roman: Oneshot - Fraternizing With The Enemy.

It didn't make sense.

He knew who you were and he had you captive. There was no reason for you to still be breathing.

His henchmen were watching you like a hawk, handcuffed to the bed. Your head was still slightly throbbing from the hit you'd received, but your frown is set. When the door to the room opened and you spotted the perfectly tailored suit, you prepared for the worse.

That grin was planted on his face.

"A Winchester as I live and breathe. I can handle it from here. "

He ushered the men away and your hard stare moved to him.

"Dick."

His smile just widened.

"I'm honored that you feel so comfortable using my name. Most people insist on the surname, I think it's more courtesy. Spineless walking meat."

You kept your face stoic, if nothing but to show no fear. Sam and Dean were already cooking a plan, all you had to do was stall. The second they came bolting in, the bobby pin in your hair would be enough to slip out of the cuffs.

"So what, you're just going to talk my ear off, or are you going to eat me."

There was a look in his eyes that had you a bit unsettled.

"I do enjoy a meal before bed, and you're already here, so maybe I should indulge."

You swallowed, now slightly tugging at the cuff on your wrist. He was just watching you, so close. He could kill you at any time, so why wasn't he? You have no doubt he's aware that your brothers will pull a rescue. After all it's their fault you're in this mess in the first place. You told the idiots the trail they were chasing was a trap, but no one ever listens to the logical one.

"While I'd like nothing more, wherever you and I have an encounter, I lack the urge to feed. Typically looking at you sad excuses for organisms give me that tingle for a bite, but with you, it's different."

His hands moved to his wrists, slowly loosening the cuff links. You're not certain of what he's getting at, or why he still doesn't chomp down, not that you're really complaining. You appreciate all your bones being in place at the moment.

"So tell me, anything tingling?"

His words are confusing. You're trying to keep your tough facade, but the longer he looks at you, the faster your heart races. You'd like to say it's adrenaline, or simply fear, maybe even anger, but that would be a lie. His hands drop, and he moves over, taking a seat on the bed. You're trying to straighten from your lying position, hand now a bit stiff against the metal bed post. It's hard given your angle.

"How many times have we met so far, four?"

"Five." You reply, gritting your teeth.

That just urges another smile from him.

"You're keeping score, I'm flattered."

You're liking this less and less. You're about ready for the calvary.

Where the hell are your brothers!!

You're in a pretty vulnerable position as it is. You suppose there are worse ways to go.

At least he has silk sheets.

"See, I'd like to think of myself as a people person."

"Really, is this before or after you eat them?"

"I'm ambitious."

You snort.

"I'll remember that when we finally chop your head off."

The threat makes him chuckle.

"Is that really what you want to do?"

Your brows knit, eyes holding nothing but agitation.

"Of course, you really think you're going to turn this planet into a buffet! We're going to stop you."

He clicks his tongue.

"I have no doubt that Sam and Dean want their revenge, but you, not so much. I told you, I understand people. It's hard not to be in this type of profession. I've got a really good feel for you and I can tell right now your heart is beating a mile a minute, but it isn't terror, is it (Y/N)?"

His words make your eyes widen.

"W-What the hell are you talking about?

This is going into dangerous territory.

He smirks.

"I think you know."

He licks his lips, and when he leans over, you should be petrified. You know what he is, what he's done, he could kill you right now and feel nothing, but instead his hand presses into the sheets at the side of your head.

You're positive your expression must say it all. Surprise is too small a word. His lips are possibly an inch away, but he doesn't close the distance. Your breath is shaky, shallow. You're almost certain you might not even be breathing anymore.

"You want me as much as I want you, don't you Winchester?"

His eyes flicker to your lips and you gulp.

Those words should not be causing flips in your stomach.

"Y-You're wrong!!"

"Am I?"

His breath against your lips feels like a drug. You should be trying to free yourself, but your brain is scrambled. To make matters worse, you couldn't be in a more compromising position. You're laying in his freaking bed.

Handcuffed.

"I'll kill you!" You threaten.

"Foreplay, exactly what I like."

He pulls back, and you curse yourself for missing the feel of him hovering. Closing your eyes, you turn your head. You need to regain some kind of composure. You take a few calming breaths. When you feel the release at your wrist, you look up.

Your hand drops and Dick just leans back into a seated position.

"You're free to go."

The cuffs fall off at the side and you're still just lying there in disbelief.

"Walk on out, I won't stop you."

Maybe it's your hunter instinct that kicks in, but you slide your machete right out of your boot, and in a matter of seconds you have him pinned to the bed, blade at his neck. He's still grinning at you, hands against the bed in a surrender. You hate the fact that this is certainly a trick.

"I'm not like those others, it'll take more than a blade to subdue me, but you can take your best shot."

You figured as much.

The boys dropped a car on Edgar and he walked away and he's just a lackey.

Even if that's the case, you should try, you've never thought twice before, so why hesitate now?

"Feeling squeamish?"

He's taunting you, right about now you should make him swallow his words. Something, anything other than staring at his delicious soft looking lips.

"Do it."

Your breathing staggers and before you know what's happening you're dropping your blade at the side of the bed, and grabbing the collar of his suit. Your lips press into his desperately, and he reciprocates with just as much heat. This man could very well snap you like a twig, but instead he's groping your body like you're both teenagers hiding under the bleachers.

He rips your plaid shirt open and you gasp, but don't fully pull away. His hand finds its way under the parted fabric and you moan into his mouth when he cups your breast. His hands are a bit rough in their ministrations, but you're not much better. Your tongue is exploring his mouth thoroughly as you grind your hips into his.

This is wrong on so many levels, but you can't seem to stop yourself. Your fingers start tugging at his shirt. You manage to get the tie off, and his shirt is your next destination. You pull the material and the buttons all pop off. He lets out an appreciatively groan, and you pull away, lips moving to his neck. His eyes are closed and his hands move to your back.

"You're good at this Winchester."

It's a little murmur.

"Shut...up.."

You growl between kisses.

He just laughs, pulling you back towards his lips. You accept, enjoying every bit of it.

You hate that he smells so good, feels so amazing.

You should stop, you need to stop. You have to.

"Don't stop."

It sounds like a demand, one you seem to find yourself following.

At least until the door to the room is kicked in.

Apparently the cavalry has arrived.

"Son-of a bitch!!"

Yep, that's your brother alright.

You practically jump off the bed, stumbling to your feet.

"I-It's not what you think!"

"Really! Cause it looks like you were sucking face with that wide mouth monster! Dick, really!!"

You wince, moving to your brother's side immediately. They both have machetes. Sam is also holding a bottle of what you can only assume is borax. As you glance in the corridor, you see the two idiot guards from earlier lying on the floor, heads a few feet away.

Dick finally rises, still sporting that air of confidence.

"You boys couldn't have come at a worse time. Things were just getting interesting."

"Shut up you wide mouth bastard!! If I didn't hate you enough before now I'm gonna enjoy chopping your head off!!" Dean is furious and Sam still looks as though he's processing what he saw.

"Seriously?"

You stammer.

"D-Don't judge me, you've slept with a werewolf and a demon!"

"Fair enough." Sam reasons.

"No, not fair enough, this is Dick!!" Dean complains.

"At least my first crazy was an angel, things could have been worse right?"

Dean is still holding his blade threateningly at Dick, but your statement seems to divert his attention.

"Wait, what? What angel?"

You laugh awkwardly, because you can see Dean going over all the potential ones that you've encountered that haven't tried to off you. When he lands on one, he looks on in disbelief.

"No..Cas!?"

"W-We were both drunk, it was only one time!" You defend.

His mood has gone from bad to worse.

"Damn it (Y/N)!!"

There's nothing you can really say to justify the discovery. It takes a moment to realize you're all still pretty much standing there with Dick. He hasn't really moved or said much.

"You're a fiery woman Winchester."

"DON'T FLIRT WITH MY SISTER!!"

Dean throws his glass bottle with force and it breaks on impact on his face, the sizzling echoing. With the distraction, he takes your hand, pulling you along and Sam follows behind as you all take off running.

"Call me anytime (Y/N)." Dick shouts.

Running through the building, you cut through a few more of his guards before you're all jumping into the car, Bobby at the wheel.

The drive home is interesting to say the least.

Bobby was obviously curious about Dean's overly pissy mood.

"What the hell is with our family and monsters, seriously?!"

Dean sounds a bit beside himself.

Sam looks away awkwardly and Bobby just shakes his head once he gets the full story.

"Idjits." 

[heyho-simonrussellbeale]

A Piece of Work — Simon Russell Beale on a career spent playing Shakespearean roles

Simon Russell Beale’s memoir of a career spent playing some of the great (and many of the minor) Shakespearean roles, is as much a work of criticism as of autobiography. It is a better read for that.

By Cordelia Jenkins August 30 2024

“It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue,” says William Shakespeare’s heroine Rosalind, breaking character to speak to the audience at the end of As You Like It, written in 1599. Neither has it been the fashion, since then, to see the actor play the critic. In fact, the whole idea of character analysis in Shakespeare studies was out of fashion until relatively recently. But Simon Russell Beale’s memoir of a career spent playing some of the great (and many of the minor) Shakespearean roles, is as much a work of criticism as of autobiography. It is a better read for that.

At the age of 63, Beale can claim to be one of Britain’s most prolific and revered stage actors. The book is a patchwork of episodes from his life and sketches of the characters he has played over the years, starting with the lonely Roman, Cassius, and moving through some of the great comic and tragic heroes, Benedick, Richard III, Macbeth, Leontes and Lear.

While Beale is careful to avoid making claims to be “an academic, or even a genuine amateur specialist”, he confesses that he finds it impossible not to think of the characters he plays “as less than living, breathing men and women”. And when he breaks off from telling the story of his own life to deliver his observations on a particular role, the insights feel truer for being born of emotional, rather than purely intellectual, labour.

Beale is honest about the pitfalls of this approach. His interpretations are partial and deeply subjective. His chosen characters are typically loners or outsiders in some sense, looking for acceptance and, above all, redemption. And the themes he draws out from them are reflected in the telling of his own life story. It is easy, for example, to see what the appeal of joining a company of actors might have been to the son of an army doctor who had a peripatetic and often isolated boyhood.

His meditation on the crippling grief of Leontes, the jealous king who is responsible for the death of a beloved child, turns upon Beale’s memories of the death of his younger sister, Lucy, who suffered from a congenital heart defect and died at the age of four.

Readers may flag at the level of detail with which Beale describes his early career at the Royal Shakespeare Company and the National Theatre. But 30 years working in British theatre have given him an unusually acute understanding of the relationship between what he describes as the “work in the study and the work on the stage”.

He interrogates the centuries-long scepticism that actors have had for scholars, and vice versa. “I have met scholars who believe that Macbeth and King Lear should never be performed, because any attempt to do those plays justice will fail,” he writes, gearing up to dismantle that argument in his account of his own performance of Lear in Sam Mendes’ production of 2014.

In an interview with the FT this year about playing the part, Beale remembered a game with a fellow actor in which they habitually ranked “our top five favourites and our bottom five” of Shakespeare’s plays. “The bottom five were always the same. And the top five used to change, but Lear was always in them,” he said. It’s a revealing anecdote that hints at how consistent a presence Shakespeare’s plays have been through his career. A life’s work in fact — irrespective of the changing fashions.

Cordelia Jenkins is deputy editor of FT Weekend Magazine

A Piece of Work: Playing Shakespeare and Other Stories by Simon Russell Beale Abacus £25, 288 pages

[mrsaltieri-real]

Hi CJ, how would you rank the Ghostfaces?

Hey, Anon.

My ranking varies day to day so I’ll just tell you what it happens to be atm.

1: Mickey Altieri. Are you surprised? No, probably not. He’s been my number one ever since I can remember. He’s strong, brutal fast and GOD, he’s so fucking fine my heart cannot take it. Plus, he’s the first Ghostface to have an unmasking reveal and a bitch LOVES the unmasking reveals. He’s my baby girl and I love him forever. Also, I’m in love with Timothy Olyphant.

2: Stu Macher. He’s also my baby girl. I just love him so much he’s so funny and cute and brutal. Invented the iconic knife swipe GOD. I just adore every single thing about him.

3: Billy Loomis. Babe. Babe, babe, BABE. He’s so pretty I want to burst into flames. Complex baby girl fr my heart goes out to him. Again, brutal! “We all go a little mad sometimes.” RAIL. ME.

4: Amber Freeman. Best female Ghostface hands down. Her kills style is so chaotic and messy I LOVE it. She killed Dewey which aches my fragile little heart but you gotta give her props for doing it. She’s so hot. SO. HOT. She’s also literally insane and I like em crazy.

5: Ethan Landry. Although he doesn’t have a “hIgH KiLl cOuNt” I couldn’t give a flying cunt on a donut. He’s baby. His Anika kill was absolutely insane and his whole attitude in Act 3 was so fucking enjoyable. Just running around having a grand old time. Mood.

6: Charlie Walker. I’ve been experiencing some insane Charlie brain rot lately so he’s sky rocketed on my list, he may go higher who knows. Most brutal kill in the franchise, the phone call with Sidney, “I’m going to slit your eyelids in half so you don’t blink when I stab you in the face.” OKAY!!!! he’s fucking adorable I want to sit on his fucking face.

7: Quinn Bailey. She’s fast. Fuck she’s fast. She’s hot. Fuck she’s hot. She had so many feelings I honestly felt for her. Gale’s attack scene was so fucking cool. Her fake out death had me tbh. I love her, just not as much as others. Also, “Heyyyy roomies.” She can HIT.

8: Richie Kirsch. I don’t like him, I don’t hate him. He’s just pretty meh to me. His kills are cool I guess? I like that he goes for the throat. Jack Quaid’s acting was fucking phenomenal. He was funny and I really would’ve preferred him as a final boy.

9: Jason Carvey. Wasted. Potential. His Laura kill was so fucking brutal oh my GOD. I would have loved to see him more as a Ghostface because he would’ve been so cool.

Now to those I hate. Fuckers.

10: Nancy Loomis. Ugh. Nancy. Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. Fuck off. Bitch. You think you can kill my guy Randy? Fuck you. You think you can hire my baby girl Mickey and just betray him like that? Fuck you, you didn’t even succeed in killing him. Fuck off with your one kill. I like her motive though although like… Why did you just leave Billy? Make it make sense.

11: Wayne Bailey. God. I actually used to like him a lot but after rewatching I was like ew. No. NO. I get Sam killed your precious baby boy but like… You have two other children and you had to ruin their lives because of your sons obsession with Stab? Fuck you. His kills were amazing though I have to hand it to him. The bodega scene is top tier.

12: Roman Bridger. Okay. I adore Scott Foley. I cannot stand Roman. Imagine getting a whole teenager to kill your fucking mom because you’re too much of a little bitch to do it yourself. Grow up. Also, he’s so fucking whiny like oh my GOD just shut the fuck up, nobody cares what you have to say. His whole character and backstory was just horrible in my opinion.

13: Jill Roberts. Not a surprise to anyone. I hate her. I hate her and her boring ass character. Her two kills were boring and shitty and also I despise Emma Roberts. I will say nothing more about it.

[trippinsorrows]

Has it ever happened that it gets really hard for Roman to leave Solana and Leticia? Or maybe that, once she gets older, she starts to get more attached to him and wants to go with him or even call/FaceTime him? 🥺

Also, when does Samantha learn about his little family? 🤭

i'm about to hurt your feelings, friend. 😭

it most definitely did. we saw how he's always wanted to be with solana. but once lici is born, it's even harder. and, their secret family dynamic goes on for three years, so it does take a lot of work/arrangement. he comes to see them every weekend, but he'll also do visits on a weekday or two when he can.

he'll sneak and do facetime calls for her. but the older lici gets, the harder it is for her. so much so, one time when roman is packing/getting ready to leave, they find lici trying hide in one of his bags/suitcases. in the sweetest/saddest lil voice, tears in her eyes, she says, "i go with daddy." 😭😭😭

and a time when roman is leaving once again, lici is upset, refusing to hug roman, screaming, "daddy always leaves!" as she runs upstairs in her room. roman is gutted. 💔💔💔

it most definitely results in solana feeling emotional, telling roman, "do you think we were wrong to do this to them? that we were being selfish?" in regards to having kids with their dynamic. because by the time roman divorces sam, they have two kids, and solana is pregnant with baby #3.

as far as how sam finds out, i'm still working out the kinks, but i forsee roman forgetting to change his lock screen back, and it's a picture of him, solana, and the kids. 🥲🥲🥲

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

It’s here!! Not gonna lie I watched the Frontierland episode last night in preparation 😂 And I am so ready to lose myself in Western Dean Winchester. Not to mention ready to rekindle my childhood love of Spirit lol.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

Oh goodness the enemies to lovers is bubbling under the surface and I am already naming Dean and Mila's children.

This chapter really is one of the best scenes in Spirit, not to mention one of my favorite songs in that movie. "Get Off My Back" is legendary.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. "That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.” That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed. “He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

I love her already. I mean I loved her from the moment that I found out she broke that jerk's nose, but a strong defiant woman. Yes ma'am here for Mila 1000000%.

Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

He's already feeling!😏 And I really loved that he fought the smile when she spat in the Colonel's face. Because Dean is already smitten with this woman.

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

I really love this part, when Dean can sympathize with Mila and her people and why they continue to fight. It also really brings together the "realism" in this story. Especially with the "He doesn't always understand their way of doing things..." A lot of people fear what they don't understand and for Dean to have a more "open" outlook even being surrounded by people who don't is refreshing. And now Mila gets to show her all the wonderful things about her and her tribe! He's different and I love him.

I also really liked the background you gave him. His father being in the army and that being the reason why Dean joined, and I can just imagine young Dean and young Sam riding horses and breaking them out on their family farm.

Okay also the fact that Mila calls Dean "Green Eyes" had me literally screaming lol. I was like, "girl I see you and I respect you for noticing how beautiful that man's eyes are."

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Let's go PROTECTIVE DEAN ALERT!

I hope Roman falls off a watchtower and into a giant pile of poop (the size of the ones in Jurassic Park) and then dies. I mean he doesn't... because Dean destroys that man. BUT I hope that they shoveled his body away with the same shovel they use for all the horse poop. It's what the people want lol 😂

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

The descriptions of his hands made me hyperventilate. 😳 I am telling you the trope of a big strong man who has done terrible things with his hands and then is nothing, but gentle with his significant other WIPES ME OUT. Oh stars, I can't take it 😭

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

It's true love and now I'm scared of what's gonna happen to them.

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently. “Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

YOU TURNED BABY INTO A HORSE?! MASTERFUL! GENIUS! Oh my word I was not expecting that, but it made me so happy you have no idea lol.

Again, so happy Roman is gone. Man is a whole problem and Dean is a problem solver lmao 😂

Oh this chapter was absolutely wonderful and it was everything that I expected and SO SO MUCH MORE friend!❤️ Western Dean is quickly infiltrating my subconscious and someone is gonna have to raise Freud from the dead to work this one out for sure. I mean Freud's already gonna have to talk to me about Spirit, but that horse had an energy, it was voiced by Matt Damon, I was young and impressionable, and I can't be held responsible lmao lol😅 (catching myself in 4k)

I can't wait for the next chapter!!😊

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

COMING 11/10! (New chapters every Sunday.)

Or read Part 2 on Patreon now!

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[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 157

The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo/The Doctor’s Wife

“The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo”

Plot Description: an unsuspecting but hip hacker is hired by Dick Roman to break through Frank’s firewall and gain information in the Winchesters

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died

Oh. The Leviathans are doing a “fun” little eugenics project before before just turning humans into breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Well, I guess Frank IS dead. Sorry Frank.

Awww I love Charlie 💖 she and I have similar looking work desk

Dick’s EXTREMELY THINLY veiled metaphors…they’re not even metaphors. He’s explicitly saying his plans, they just sound like hyperbole

Ooooo Bobby is gonna turn vengeful but I don’t think it’s gonna be Dick

Damn near choked on my lunch when Dick told Charlie’s boss that she was in the same league as Bruce Springsteen and Eli Manning as irreplaceable people…where he is absolutely replaceable like Tim Tebow…and Joe Biden. Just DYING here

I’m trying to get a better look at Charlie’s apartment decor…just looks cool. They’re making plans to break into Dick’s office

Dammit Bobby…DAMMIT BOBBY. You can’t just hitch a ride in Charlie’s bag via flask

I know it was fine and culturally relevant at the time this came out to reference [fandom redacted], but it does sour my mood

I can’t believe the writers pretended that even just the description of Charlie’s tattoo isn’t at all sexy…

The WAY Dean is so very good at walking Charlie through flirting with men

You know that vague sense of unease you get at the end of Blink because you have no idea which statues all over the place could be Weeping Angels? I’m getting that way with every background extra for Leviathans, and like…much more than I had with any demons

Oh. Except the background extras from the private airport were actually………Sam and Dean

No, Bobby. Stay focused.

God he’s so creepy. Which is good for a billionaire who’s also a biblical monster but damn. It does seem like a fun role to get to play

Don’t put what to do about Bobby on the back burner guyssssss

“The Doctor’s Wife”

Plot Description: The Doctor is lured to a sentient asteroid outside of the Universe by a Time Lord distress signal and soon realises his TARDIS is in grave danger.

I just…why would he trust that the distress call ACTUALLY can’t from “one of the good” Time Lords??

And that’s what you get for buying that lie

OMG I FORGOT NEIL WROTE THIS ONE!!! Mr Gaiman, I’m sorry for being incredulous, but god I hope he doesn’t ever see this

“Biting’s excellent! It’s like kissing only there’s a winner.” Did he write this from/for present day tumblr??

Like…I KNOW what “the little boxes will make you angry” means but it’s another thing to HEAR all those Time Lords that got lured there

Michael Sheen as House is just…..he HAS THE RANGE, DARLING

Omggggg his sad little “don’t we all?” when Amy tells him he wants to be forgiven for what he did to Gallifrey 😭😭😭

That’s not good…

I do have a much different reaction to the reveal of how House repairs Uncle and Auntie than I probably did when I first saw this episode. I’ll hold off on whether it’s at all their fault too til later

Not saying that the Doctor isn’t right to be angry at the situation, but can Uncle and Auntie REALLY be blames?

Oh, Idris/the TARDIS is such a Gaiman character (affectionate, absolutely affectionate) from my experience with his work

Oh noooo, House just abducted Amy and Rory. That…is gonna be the worst mistake it made

OMG 💀 Uncle and Auntie are literally just like

The TARDIS calls Amy the orange girl. Cute

Wait, is…is this the one where Amy and Rory have to face all sorts of horrors in the TARDIS??

BOLD of the Doctor to look at the TARDIS junkyard and not think at all about how HIS TARDIS will feel about piecing together a new TARDIS out of parts of old ones after his reaction to the repairs on Uncle and Auntie…..just sayin

Oh. It is…I think.

She always took him where he needed to go ❤️❤️

Nooooooo. There it is, Amy and Rory got separated…again and again. I hate the pain they go through in this one. She’s done nothing wrong but he’ll yell at her because she’s made him wait again after already waiting 2000 years

Like…did he think he could JUST BUILD a TARDIS without putting the soul of a TARDIS in it??

Look. I know House is messing with them and all, but if I found out there was ANY possibility that I could believe the person I was with could loathe me so much that they’d write “KILL [NAME] DIE [NAME] HATE [NAME]” over and over and over all over the corridor where they died??? I don’t think I could so easily and so quickly run into their arms even when I found out that was an illusion. Yeah, I’d still go with them, but…..

I’m also having a different reaction to the whole the name of the TARDIS thing…

Oh it’s nice to see Nine/Ten’s control room again, at least i think that’s what it was. Feels so long ago now

“She’s the TARDIS?!” “And a woman” “did you wish really hard?” “Shut up, not like that”

There are some REALLY good lines. Great job, Neil!!“Fear me, I’ve killed hundreds of Time Lords” “Fear me, I killed them all”

She just wanted to tell him hello. She stole him away from Gallifrey seven hundred years ago and only got to say hello this once after all that time

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 Gold Panel ATLCon 2023

The boys are looking handsome wearing blue, and red 🥰

Jared brings up the Saturday night concert and asks the crowd if it was thumbs up or thumbs down, then he shares a quick story about how when he was in High School the movie, Gladiator, came out and his Latin teacher was pissed off because in the movie the Emperor gives a thumbs up to mean mercy and thumbs down to mean death but according to Jared's teacher realistically it would be the opposite thumbs up for death and thumbs down for mercy because it's supposed to be a representation of the sword.

Out of curiosity, I did look this up and while some kind of hand gesture involving the thumb was used scholars can't say definitively what this looked like because writers at the time didn't really describe it, and if they did we seemingly have yet to find their writings. So there's a lot of scholarly debate as to what these gestures actually looked like and meant in Roman times. The popular idea that thumbs down was involved and meant death is attributed to an 1872 painting by French artist, Jean-Léon Gérôme, called Pollice Verso which depicts a gladiator asking for his life while the crowd gives a thumbs down. And that's your history lesson for today now back to our scheduled programming! 😅

Getting back to the panel, Jared mentions that there were times that were never printed where Dean would do an exorcism and Jensen would fumble on purpose, and Jared knew he did this on purpose and he would tell Jensen so and Jensen's reply would basically be 'yeah, but if I do it good they'll make me do it more, if i make it look like I can't do it they'll have Sam do it'.

And Jensen mentions what he called "his senior moment" which is that during the Saturday night concert he was singing Simple Man, and it's been so long since he sang it that he forgot the lyrics to the last verse. Backstage, prior to singing, he had the feeling this might happen because, again, it's been so long since he's sang it so the lyrics were printed out for him and placed in front of him on the floor but the font was too small for him to see them so when Jason Mann went over to him, he took his glasses and he said it was like the Matrix 😂

Getting into the questions, not gonna lie the first one is a weird one, but does Jensen remember the color of the belt and shoes he was wearing with the blue suit in his Man About Town UK photoshoot? He answers that he doesn’t think he had a belt on which gives us fangirl!Jared saying "easy access"...sir!

Anyways, Jensen thinks they were brown dress shoes. He says that in those photoshoots you walk in and there’s racks of clothing and generally a stylist and an assistant who will ask what you like, and he'll tell them that he doesn't know that they're the professionals so they just had him try stuff on and he wasn't really paying attention also he had like 12 outfit changes that afternoon which makes Jared mutter 'Jesus'. Jensen says that yeah, it was a lot that photoshoots are not their (his and Jared's) favorite thing to do, they're a necessary thing for their industry but he did have fun on that shoot. x

Out of all the famous horror movie villains which would be the hardest for Sam and Dean to face? Jared says it’s a name he can’t say aka Voldemort. Jensen says the easiest would be Michael cause he just stands there, that he's never understood how he catches people like does he get on like a segway. Jared mentions any villain Walking Dead, I wouldn't be too confident in that answer cause Negan but also I don't watch that show but I do know they've made some changes to the Walkers and they can open doors and climb shit now.

Jensen is still trying to figure out who would be the toughest, Jared tells him he'd go Star Wars or Harry Potter but those aren't horror movies. Someone in the crowd yells out Jason to which Jared replies he already beat Jason. The crowd also yells out Freddy Krueger but Jensen thinks Sam and Dean would have figured it out although he would be a tough one. x

Can they share any aspects of strain that their characters experienced that might have thought them something? Jared says that in his 15 and a half years on SPN he learned a lot, that it's hard for him to parse out what he learned with the help of Sam and what he learned with the help of Dean, and what he learned from the help of whomever. What he learned is that he went from being 22 to being 38 but he certainly learned that we are more capable than we understand, than we believe. That he loves stories of ultra marathon runners, or the one he was listening to recently on a podcast of a guy who trecked across Antartica. That those stories really inspire him cause sometimes when you're stressed about something and you go 'there's no way I'll figure this out' there's a little reminder in him to keep at it, and that as much as it is a cliche every thousand mile journey began with a single step. He felt that with Sam, and with Dean, and with the show so no matter how tired he is, no matter how emotionally or physically beat down he feels he just tries to keep on going forward.

Jensen says he'll echo what Jared said just slightly different view point. That both Dean and Sam, as his grandfather would say, when the good Lord made them he forgot to put the quit in them. They don't quit. And he can 100% be sure that Jared also has that in him as well and he feels confident he has some of that as well but it's because now they represent these characters that don't have quit in them that that he thinks drives them in their personal lives a little more than it would have had they never played these characters. x

How are the kids? Jared answers that theirs are good, that they finish school in May. That Shep just did a PSIA which is similar to the mathletes Jared did and he got like 4th on the district so he's a chip of the block, that Odette is still queen of the world as far as she knows, and Tom is kicking ass he's in sports and is doing well, that they're all safe and sound. Jensen says his are currently gallivanting around Europe with D, that they were at a museum today and she told him it was a total disaster. JJ is great, the twins however are 6 and very opinionated and if they don't like something- it reminds him of a story Ryan Gosling told about his little girl about how he took her to the Louvre and his little girl gave the museum a thumbs down that Arrow is like that, and that makes Jared share a story about when they were all in the Austin airport together last week on their way to Rome. They were supposed to have a 2hr layover in Atlanta but it ended up being around 5hrs so Jensen and D were trying to keep the kids awake and trying to think positive that maybe this is good cause they'll be more tired - at which point Jensen says that it was nice to have Uncle Jared stuck there with them (💕) - and when they were set to board Jared is standing with his rolling carry on and his backpack and he feels something push his carry on forward, when he looks behind him there's Arrow with her roller bag giggling evilly at him cause she wanted to play so he started to play with her. And then, at another point, he and Jensen had a little race with Arrow and Zep sitting on their carry on's, so Jensen has one of those aluminum rolling carry on's, the ones that you can sit on, and he was walking Arrow up and down on it but Zeppelin started complaining that it wasn't fair even though Jensen had spend a couple minutes already walking him up and down on the carry on too so Jensen looked at Jared and started signaling towards the kid, and Jared was like 'come here buddy' and put him on his bag and they had a little race through the airport. This is so cuuuute!!! I need y'all to go watch this moment for yourself cause it's an adorable story but also so you can see what the look was that Jensen gave Jared when he was asking for help with Zeppelin because it's such a help me with our kids look. x

Jensen had mentioned Lonesome Dove a while back but who would be Woodrow and who would be Augustus? Jensen feels like it's obvious, he would be Augustus and Jared would be Woodrow. Also, Jared mentions that the key makeup artist on Walker won the Emmy for makeup on Lonesome Dove! x

If they got a 60 sec ad in the Super Bowl what would it be about? Jensen goes "ha! you know how much money I just lost buying a 60 second ad?" Jared says that it would just be them crying, and Jensen says it would be an ad about how to stupidly spend your money 😂

Jared jokes his would be herpexia 🤣

The next fan read an article a couple years about how people think, some think in full sentences like a running monologue while others think in pictures and concepts, how do the boys think? Jared says he is absolutely the former. That he's either thinking solving the problems of the world in his head, or meow mix jingle, which he does part of, Jensen asks him if he sees things in text to which Jared replies yes, that he's thinking of the description of the visual more than the visual. Jensen also asks him what the recall looks like in his head when it comes to scripts, Jared replies that it flips in that case that when he's doing a scene he can see the script where the page turns, he doesn't have a photographic memory but he has a visual memory but that's for memorization if he's thinking about what he's gonna do later that day when he gets home he's not thinking about how it looks necessarily he's like making lists in his head.

Jensen says he would probably lean the other way, that when he memorizes a script at first he literally sees the page in his head and is reading lines which is largely why he can memorize lines that he's not even saying like he'll know what Jared's lines are he's basically reading the text in his head. And when talking about daily life if he's thinking about what he has to do when he gets home, he's visualising so if he's thinking about opening the door he sees that door and the dog going out, or thinking about getting the groceries he visualizes the grocery store and the aisle he has to go down.

Jared adds that a big day on Walker or SPN, a one hour episodic tv show, is like 8 pages, if you have an 8 page day you have a full day he thinks the most they've ever had was an 11 page day and that's kind of undoable unless you absolutely trust your director or is a lot of dialogue. He asks Jensen what's the most pages he's done in one day, Jensen answers 24 when he was on Days Of Our Lives that they usually shoot 60 pages a day. x

When the boys had a home ie the bunker was there anything they had to take with them from home or that they kept as a comfort thing when they had to go back on the road? Jared quips a flask. He also says he thinks they probably still had the cooler, he asks Jensen if he got legos or army men Jensen says he got all the weapons in the back. Jared says that when the show ended they had said the things they would love to have so their props department send them some things like motel cards, samulet, an army man and some legos so those are in safe keeping in his house.

The fan asks if Sam and Dean have any favorite driving games, someone in the crowd mentions punch buggies which Jensen says he calls slug bug which is when you slug someone when you see a bug car, and that that's probably what they played Jared says probably while the other one was asleep. Jensen also adds that there a couple of other things that they got from the set which they're not at liberty to talk about but the one thing he really wanted was Dean's two weapons of choice: his pistol and his sawed off shotgun. And that's a little trickier of a prop to take home and across the border because it's not a prop it's a firearm so instead what he did was he got a 1911 Colt .45, and he comissioned the craftsman in Van who had done the filigree engraving in Dean's gun to come out of retirement to do that filigree on the firearm that he bought, and he actually ended up using it in an episode just so he could say it was on tv. Then he did all the paperwork and sent it back home but the shotgun is ilegal if it's sawed off so he didn't think he'd be able to get it until he talked to his dad who told him that he tought his uncle had one and he did, he left it to Jensen when he passed so now his collection is complete. x

J2 Gold Panel Atlanta 2023

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (6)

Word count: 3.6K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: None for this chapter, really. Kinda fluffy?

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Do let me know what you think of the chapter. Feedback keeps me going!

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 love ya!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“That looks so good!”

You jumped in surprise, hitting your head on the stone pillar behind you. “Jesus, Jack!”

He chuckled, dropping down on the parapet next to you. “Don’t say the lord’s name in vain.”

What else was the lord going to do to you that he already hadn’t let happen?

“Religious?” You raised an eyebrow.

He whistled slowly. “No one who’s lived in this house can believe in God. I was only teasing.” He focused on the papers in front of you. “What is that?”

You brightened. “It’s a column capital. See those elaborate designs of leaves and petals? They’re unique to that period of Roman and Greek architecture. This one specifically is a Corinthian column.”

The library still remained your favourite place in the whole wide house. Not only did it provide you with a continuous supply of the best poetry there was to read, but the room itself was so richly made, that each part appeared to be a piece of art waiting to be put onto the paper. More than that, this room, in particular, felt more alive than the rest of the house, lived in. Things happened here– the papers you left the day before were usually piled neatly on the top the following day. In fact, more papers appeared in the desk drawer as the week passed. Your first time there you had found a rouge pen in the drawer, but in the half-month since, a set of charcoal pencils had appeared next to the papers, complete with a putty eraser. A few days later the colours appeared. You had your suspicions, given Jack’s blatant interest in your drawings, but hadn’t brought it up since he wanted to keep quiet about it.

“This is stunning,” Jack marvelled. “Your drawing looks real.”

Grinning up at him, you put the book down. “Where have you been these past few days?” You had missed him.

He huffed out a long-suffering sigh, “Exams. Sam wanted me around so you won’t feel threatened by all the guns and security, but he wouldn’t ever ask me to ignore the piling college work. Final year.”

“I hear you.” And you did feel sympathy for his cause. “Tell you what I don’t miss about college? The exams.”

“It’s like the whole world spins differently if you know there’s an exam coming,” he piled on. “The coffee tastes all wrong, the birds cease to sing and the air itself saturates.”

“Oh my God, yes! And sleep starts to feel like a guilty pleasure.”

Jack clapped his hands. “See, you get it! I tried to explain that to Abby, but she doesn’t understand–” His cheeks turned pink. You wanted to smile widely at him.

Clearing his throat, he hurriedly pointed at your drawing sheet. “If you draw like that… why were you worried about exams?”

“It’s different with art school,” you explained, running your fingers over the drawing. “Even more so for architecture. Design and creativity is very subjective. There’s no correct answer and most exams didn’t exactly have a question paper. Your design itself became the question and the answer. Basically, you take your work to a panel of jurors and they decided if your design’s worth keeping. That’s a design jury for you.”

“Scary,” shuddered Jack, toying with the edge of the paper. “But I bet you aced them all.”

Smirking, you put the paper aside. “Most of the time.”

“You shouldn’t just abandon these papers,” he muttered disapprovingly. “People out there might sell their souls for a talent like yours. I would know. Even my stick figures look like trees.”

You snickered. “I don’t know what else to do with them.” Your room had several shelves but they didn’t feel yours.

“Don’t you guys carry a cardboard jacket of some kind to stash your drawings? I’ve seen it at the university.”

“It’s called a portfolio,” you told him. “And I don’t have one here. Maybe I’ll just put them under the table here for a bit.”

Satisfied by your display of respect towards the drawing, Jack stretched his arms wide and got to his feet. “If you feel like disappearing in the evenings any of these days, drop by for a coffee. I’m sure I make for better company than the deserted hallways of this house.”

So, Abby had been venting her frustration about your disappearances to Jack. It went both ways.

You couldn't stop yourself then. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for the art supplies.” It was the nicest thing anyone had done for you in a while.

He frowned. “Art supplies?”

“Yeah. The ones you keep leaving the library desk for me?”

The lines of confusion on his face deepened. “I didn’t put them there. I was going to ask you where you keep getting them.”

Jack moved on from the topic easily, distracted by the possibility of a wish-granting library and you let him speculate it to the point of hilarity. You found Abby in a mood when you reached your room, complaining about how no one in the house took their responsibilities seriously. You knew most of her ranting was aimed towards you. Still mad at you for worrying her last night, she spoke sharply, but you felt overwhelmed by the emotion behind it. Only someone who cared would worry about you at all.

“You should wear this one for the dinner tonight, Miss,” she said, flinging a dress on the bed. Flowy green silk, right to the floor. “It’s not chilly so you’ll be just fine without a shawl.”

“Abby!” You stopped her tirade. “Thank you for picking out the perfect dress.”

She thawed almost immediately. “You make them all look perfect, Miss. Now, stop making those eyes at me and get on with it. Mr. Winchester doesn’t seem to be a patient man.”

The mention of his name made you stop. You had been actively trying not to think of him, because if you did, then you’d have to also evaluate what you felt for him. Abby’s estimation seemed accurate from her standpoint, but your experience of him, the actual him, contrasted vastly from anything she’d ever said.

“Now don’t just stand there ogling at the mirror,” Abby fussed, thrusting the dress in your hand. “Put it on. The clock’s already pointing at 8.”

Fifteen minutes later, you walked into an already full dining room, bustling with conversation– mostly just men in suits talking to one another. Sam sat with his back straight, deep in conversation with a man you had never seen before. Unfortunately, this time the only empty chair was the one next to Sam. Trying not to draw too much attention, you quietly took the seat.

Next to you, Sam politely excused himself from the conversation to acknowledge you with a deliberate nod and then went back to the man in the expensive suit. You tried to keep up with their talk, but it all felt so dry that you found yourself slipping away from the now, going back to the poetry you had been reading in the afternoon- The Ballad of Semmerwater by Sir William Watson. Such a sad tale of an entire kingdom sinking to the depths of water because of the ungratefulness of its people. But did the kingdom not have one good soul? Not even an innocent child that deserved to live?

Next to you, Sam’s hand resting on the table moved, a finger lightly tapping the table, followed by pats till the pattern emerged.

T-O-O  B-O-R-I-N-G

Pressing your lips so as to not smile, you inched your hand forward, mirroring his pose and actions.

Y-O-U  C-A-N-T  S-T-O-P  T-H-I-S?

A small sigh escaped his lips, the man before babbling on, completely clueless. Sam’s fingers moved again.

N-O-T  R-E-A-L-L-Y

The conversation droned on and on and though Sam’s face looked bland, you could see the way his jaw twitched. Jesus, he was miserable.

Y-O-U  W-A-N-T  T-O  G-E-T  O-U-T?

He didn’t waste a moment before tapping, P-L-E-A-S-E

You gave it a couple of minutes, then bent over the table, clutching your forehead.

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?” The old man seated beside you asked.

“It’s my head,” you groaned, making your voice dull. 

The chair next to you creaked and Sam was up in a second. You slumped further into your hands. “I’m feeling faint.”

“I hope you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” said Sam, sounding believably worried. “I should help my wife upstairs. Please stay and enjoy the desserts.”

He placed his hands on either side of your shoulders and for a minute you forgot everything except the places on your skin where his fingers pressed.

“C’mon,” he whispered in your ear, leading you out. And then you breathed in his heady cologne, the sort that made you want to turn around in his arms and pull him closer. Good thing that you reached the hallway before your common sense completely abandoned you.

Sam let go of you instantly.

“That,” he said grinning from ear to ear, “was awesome.”

You stood there, watching him look years younger just because of one smile. His eyes, full of warmth, regarded you with the kind of appreciation you hadn’t experienced in a while. No, he wasn’t scanning your body up and down. He appraised you with an acknowledgement of your intellect. 

“Let’s move before one of them finds us lurking here and pulls me back inside.” He ushered you up the staircase and out of the dining room’s view.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you murmured, following him. “But isn’t this your house? And wasn’t that your dinner? Why do you have to run away from it?”

He didn't break stride as he answered. “It’s a formality I can’t get myself out of– the monthly dinners for the board of directors.”

“It’s a shame then that you managed to look so convincingly interested.”

“Maybe it is,” he replied. The two of you had made it to the landing of the third floor.

“I’ll ask Martha to send something up to your room for dinner,” he said. “If that’s okay with you?”

You nodded, then asked impulsively. “What will you do with the evening off?”

He appeared surprised at your question, but answered anyway, “Probably read.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Just started The Fountainhead. By Ayn Rand.”

“You’re kidding!”

He blinked, if possible, more surprised than before and you realised you had said the words out loud. “I most certainly am not.”

The Fountainhead was pretty much a rite of passage in architecture school. One would be very severely judged if they hadn’t read that book.

“Tell me what you think of it when you’re done,” you said, instead of explaining your reaction.

He dipped his head once in acknowledgement, a lock of hair casually escaping the part as he did so. “I will.”

You had almost reached the first door– his bedroom– when Sam stopped, hesitating. “I have something for you.”

“Me?” You squeaked, several scenarios, possible and impossible, running through your head. 

He gave a small smile at your worried expression. “It’s just a little thing,” he said, hand on the doorknob. “Would you like to come in?” 

Though he was giving you the option to decline, you knew very well you didn’t have one. Objects don’t have opinions.

You nodded slowly and Sam opened the door of his room. The darkness within was soon illuminated when he turned on the lights and motioned for you to follow him in. When you did, your jaw nearly hit the floor. 

The suite’s layout was pretty much an exact mirror image of yours. A seating room leading to a proper bedroom vestibule, divided by a wide arched door. Except, due to the positioning, this one didn’t have a balcony like yours, just a window in its stead. However, apart from the floor plan, nothing else was similar in any estimation of the word. You didn’t know what exactly you had expected of Sam’s room from the nightly noises but it wasn’t this… the walls were pretty much bare. The seating area held only two wooden chairs and an elongated, old couch with a small reading table. No paintings adorned the walls, no pretty wallpaper or heavy drapes. In fact, the sitting room didn’t have curtains at all. The bedroom vestibule mostly lay hidden from view, but from what you could see through the door, it barely held much beyond a bed. Fourposter, but with none of the extravagance of yours. A simple mattress, a thin bed frame hung with netted fabric. The table next to it, however, was loaded with books, overflowing to the point where columns of books stood stacked on the floor next to it. From here, you couldn’t see the names on the spines. The vestibule windows must have curtains. How else would he sleep in the morning? 

But Sam woke up early, you knew that now. 

Even the floor was thinly carpeted in a generic brown matt carpet, nowhere as luxuriant as the lush faux fur in your room. 

“Please have a seat,” he said politely before disappearing into the bedroom. You noticed he hadn’t shut the main door behind him, leaving it ajar, just enough for you to see the corridor outside.

Sam returned with a rectangular folder in his hand, and when he offered it to you, a gasp left your lips. You took it from him reverently, fingers trailing over the finely stitched mountboard, clad in a soft velvet cloth with satin strings going up on either side to tie it up. The design on top grabbed your attention– two entwined peacocks embroidered in gold and inlaid with beads. Tugging the strings, you opened the folder, revealing a bunch of your sketches neatly placed inside.

“You have a real talent,” he said in that deep, deep voice. “It deserves to be preserved. I figured you would like a portfolio.”

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you managed to croak. “It was you, wasn’t it? … you put the pencils and colours in the library desk.”

He shrugged, “As I said, you have a talent. It warrants more than old sheets of paper and a broken pen.”

Slowly, you sat down on one of the wooden chairs, unsure of your legs. “Why?” you hissed, unable to keep the anger at bay. “Why am I here? Why did you… did you…” The sentence hung in the air, incomplete but perfectly clear.

You watched him slowly sink into the chair opposite yours, silent… until you met his gaze with your bitter one. Sam’s eyes were clear and he hadn’t yet evaded your question, but looking into them made your heart speed up again, it messed with your head, made it hard to hold on to your anger.

“I want you to understand this,” he said, finally, “And I want you to understand this for good. You’re safe here. Your privacy will never be invaded in this house and your comfort will never be compromised.” The way his gaze roved over your face, hinted that he was recording your every change in expression. 

“Then why?”

“I won’t lie to you, because you deserve better than that, but I can’t tell you the truth either. Not right now anyway. Just know that there’s something you can help me with. Think of this as an arrangement in a way that traditional contracts work.”

“Traditional contracts are between a person offering services and another receiving them.”

Sam flinched at the sharpness of your words; you continued, uncaring. “I’m not offering you the services I’m supposed to be specialised in. What’re you getting out of this?”

He shook his head as if dispelling a notion. “Forgive me,” he said. “Not a contract. Not services. I worded it all wrong. Think of this as a favour then. A huge favour you’d be doing me. It’s not coming yet, and we’ll get to it when we get to it, but I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you.” He swallowed, looking down. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

And you believed him without a hint of a doubt, you believed his every word.

“And when this is all over,” he said, “You’re free to go your separate way… legally. Alimony and all.”

Unable to believe your ears, you mumbled. “But you paid–”

“No. That doesn’t count.” His voice was cold steel, dangerous for the first time since you’d heard it, full of seething hatred. Though relieved that steel wasn’t aimed at you, a shiver still ran up your spine. “You’re doing me a favour and I’d like to be able to repay you for that.”

“I don’t even know what I’ll be doing,” you said. “What if I mess it up? What if I can’t do it?”

“Then that’s that. We tried and it didn’t work out. Doesn’t change anything. You still get your freedom and you still get the alimony.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to break down because this was exactly what you had dreamed of in the cold cell, some Prince Charming would ride in, save you from the pain and the blood, and whisk you away to his castle. Of course, you knew even then that it was all just a fever dream. That Prince Charming didn’t exist. Even if someone looked like that, they didn’t actually own a castle. Even if they did, they wouldn’t actually care for someone like you. 

Prince Charming got Cinderella. Yes, she wasn’t rich, Yes, she cleaned chamber pots, but she didn’t sleep with men for a living. You didn’t even make a living out of that.

And most of all, Cinderella didn’t have two little kids being held at gunpoint in a boarding school somewhere.

But what pained you the most was how sincerely Sam cared. In his own silent way, he had cared more about you than anyone had in years. He hadn’t flung his favours in your face. No, quietly, he’d managed to give you the best room in the house, furnished it better than any other, even his own. He’d actually seen your hidden wishes, heard your unspoken words and tried to make it better for you in his own sweet way. 

For all his kindness, you couldn’t even tell him how delusional he was in thinking you could ever be free. The prickling returned in the corner of your eyes. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms and sob your heart out, ask him to fuck all that money, and just save your brother and sister. Do something, do anything. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t break down and you sure as hell couldn’t tell him about the kids.

“Hey?” He said softly, urging you to look up at him. “And don’t think you’re not doing anything for me. I wouldn’t have survived half those dinners if it weren’t for you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the moisture there.

“You did more than enough,” he said gently. 

Sam walked you out of the front door as if the connecting door didn’t exist. But then again, he’d been so cautious with your privacy, maybe you should allow him the same and not step into his bedroom.

It was barely ten steps between the doors but you found yourself dragging your feet, already missing his company. 

And when you turned to say goodbye, the torn look on his face had you frowning.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “as long as we’re both here, we could at least be friends, right?”

The corridor started caving in around you a little, your throat hurting painfully.

“Or not,” he added lightly as an afterthought when the silence stretched.

“You- you called me–”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I shouldn’t have assumed that it’s okay to call you by your name. I won’t–”

“No!” You shouted, startling him. “Say it again.”

He frowned. “Say what?”

“My name. Say my name again.”

“Y/N,” he said simply.

He must think you were crazy, but you still wanted him to say it again and again and again, not remembering the last someone had called you that; the last time it was Y/N instead of bitch, or whore or Mrs. Winchester and Miss. You thought you would forget the sound of your name. And when he said it, it sounded more than just a name… it resurrected a part of your identity.

Sam must’ve understood. He placed his hand very lightly on your shoulder, where he had placed it earlier while ushering you out of the dining room. But this time he did so slowly, giving you every opportunity to back off if you wanted to. You didn’t.

Funny how your heart knew even before his fingers brushed your skin. “Good night, Y/N. Knock if you need anything.”

You nodded. “Good night, Sam.”

He smiled when you said his name. Friends called each other by their names, right?

Turning the knob, you slipped in and closed the door with a last smile aimed at him. You waited right there, listening to his receding footsteps, then the sound of his door against the frame. When all was quiet, you slid down to the soft carpet, hand placed over your chest, trying to tame the frantic beating.

You understood the response of your heart better now. With it, you also understood the anger you had been harbouring towards Sam and the reason why. The memory of his brief touch had your stomach feeling funny and that itself was so new, you clutched your middle to make it stop. And it scared you… it scared you so much. Because if Sam had been the monster you first thought him to be, you might have still survived the abuse and torture, but this feeling? Liking him might just destroy you for real. 

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A/N 2: Not gonna lie, the writer’s block is hitting hard lately, and some love would be appreciated.

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[honorhearted]

15 December 1778

Dear Genya,

I apologize for the delayed response. In between Washington's declaration of Thanksgiving, the rampant spread of contagion throughout camp, and a brief little respite for the officers, I confess to having very few moments to break away and write. I've missed our correspondence more than you could possibly know.

If you wish for a life away from the Lantsovs, then that is what I wish for too. I can't promise you happy travels, but I have friends in both Connecticut and Long Island who'd be delighted to house you. Alas, it wouldn't be appropriate to offer you my home, but I hope you know the suggestion is there in spirit.

Yet again, you've rendered me momentarily speechless. I don't know what I've done to deserve you, nor your gratitude, but the sentiment is very much reciprocated. The first thing I intend to do upon reuniting is embrace you -- then we can start on your lessons. I have plenty of books to lend on the Roman Empire, and I also have an affinity for languages. In university, I learned Greek, Latin and Hebrew.

At this point, I feel there's nothing too personal you could ask. Speaking of Samuel is painful, but I don't mind telling you -- I know you'll respect his memory. He was good and kind and devout; far more than I'll ever be. Sammy was my younger brother, and I can still remember the day Father set him into my arms as a yowling, squirming bundle, and told me I had to protect him. It pains me that I failed... I know in my heart Sam would never blame me, but I blame me. And sometimes, that's the most devastating blow.

I'm glad the ribbon can at least bring some sort of pleasure for you. I was granted a new one, if only for the sake of the party we attended on the tenth. It was rather silly, in my opinion -- masks, after all, are reminders of deceit rather than good fun -- and I didn't think I'd enjoy myself...but I did. Genya, you were right: when the heart is finally ready, it welcomes the right one in. I met someone that night...a woman with dazzling eyes and auburn hair akin to the fiery, crackling leaves that blaze along the horizon. It feels like my very own personal fairytale, because we shared a connection, and yet never once learned the other's name...and no one could tell me who she was. I don't know if I'll ever see her again, but I have to... I have to. She was my first real kiss, and God willing, she will be my last.

I apologize for prattling on so extensively. I've never felt this way before. It's all so very new and dazzling, and my entire soul feels as if it's aflame. I hope you can one day meet one another...

Your Friend,

Benjamin

P.S. My favorite color (aside from Continental blue) is green. It brings about the promise of life and marks the start of spring.

4 December 1778

Dearest Benjamin,

You were in no condition to think of anything other than your well-being and I wouldn't have wanted you concerning yourself with my affairs when you have greater dealings at hand. I'll be alright, especially now that I have something to look forward to in our correspondence. When the war is won, should you still wish to whisk me away from this life, then I will happily run away with you. The Lantsovs will simply have to make do without me.

My father taught me how to fire a musket when I was young. I have not used one since, but I imagine I will be able to do so, should the need arise.

I'm glad to know that my inappropriate wording, at the very least, made you laugh.

Tell them whatever you wish about our correspondence, although I must confess that I too admire the intimate secrecy of our friendship.

You've given me more than half that solace if not tenfold, Benjamin. If it isn't too untoward for me to say, my life could end tomorrow, and feel complete having had the blessing of meeting you, as opposed to living a thousand years without you...

With as relevant a topic as it appears to be nowadays, perhaps you could teach me more about the Roman Empire. If you happen to know other languages, I would also enjoy learning that. To be quite transparent, I'd enjoy just about anything you have to teach me.

Thank you for your kind words. They mean more than you could possibly know. If I am permitted to lament then I only beg God that He sees you through this war. I care to ask for nothing else.

Over your heart is the perfect place for your brother's bible. If it isn't too personal, may I ask about him?

I trust you with my most precious possession wholeheartedly, Benjamin, because I know you'll honor it and bring it back to me when the war is won -- and even then I may not wish for it back, as it will be just as much yours as it is mine.

There is nothing paltry about it! I'll cherish it as much as I cherish our friendship. Thank you, Benjamin. I love it. Truly, I do.

If you must know, my favorite color is red. But I expect you must tell me yours in return, sir.

Yours in friendship,

Genya S.