#but I didn't learn every word there is to know

[giantkillerjack]

Latin: THE CARRIAGE IS STUCK IN A DITCH (raeda in fossum est)

i’m obsessed with these…

(From DepthOfWikipedia on Instagram)

[shataarooj]

✨A VOICE FROM GAZA NEEDS YOUR ATTENTION ✨🙏

✅ Vetted by @lavalampadvocate -vetted link

✅ Vetted by @karlmarxmaybe - vetted link

✅ Vetted by @jolyne-best-jojo vetted link

I'm Areej I was an English teacher before war and everything change after October 7. Also I'm a creative writer at we are not numbers.

Also I am a mother of three children. We have lived through the war for a year and a half, and we have lost everything we own. My husband is a man who did not work before the war and even now. And I lost my job in teaching because of the current situation, the school was destroyed and many of my poor students was died by the missiles 😭

So i did not have a breadwinner or any source of income . But I didn't give up to teach so I volunteered to teach some students near my camp in IBM Rushed school. There where many family were displaced from the north of Gaza. Actually it was a good chance for me to know more people and to try to engage students with English after this bad war. I held many activities with the for fun and learning and they were happy for this great chance so I hope to return to have my project to enable more students to engage with my voluntury work. I hope you help me and understand my holy target for helping students in their education. 🙏🙏🙌💯

Your help also will also help me in rebuilding my own family home.

Today, after the war, the truce has entered its first phase in Gaza, and I now live in a tent and do not have a house after it was destroyed by missiles. I now ask you to help me rebuild my house. And buy basics for the daily essentials for my children and I need money so that we can stand up again and start again.

This war wasn't easy at all it has taken many friends at work, students and some of my colleagues at the university. They are almost ten souls I won't never forget . Their laughter, their presence, their love… all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.

Ours daily suffering in this bad war 😭🥺

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now in tents when it rain

🏠 Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

😢 Loss: The absence of my students and my friends is really hurts.

💔 Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

Life : it becomes harder

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

. $5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

. Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

Why Your Support Matters

Your kindness isn’t just about helping us meet our goal—it’s about reminding us that we’re not alone in this fight. It’s about hope. It’s about survival. And it’s about giving my family a chance to rebuild our lives, even in the face of unimaginable loss. Also I need to rebuild my future and to start building my project to teach students who are in need so my friend it will be great from you to help you this war destroy everything and many schools here in Gaza

Please help my future to be better and give me hope again with your humanity and passionate everything can come true 🙏❤️

I'm looking forward seeing this smile again on my students faces. I'm so optimistic and so thrilled to see you be part for this humane deed ❤️🙏

Share and boost this to more people you know and who cares about innocent children and education around the world 👇🥺

With all of my respect Areej ❤️🙏

[intothefrisson]

I present my link click x swan princess AU or what I call, The Swan Princes 😌🦢

(Part 1)

My notes on this AU:

Swan princes AU 

-Ql and CXS are from a neighboring kingdom from LG, QL's parents arranged to start bringing LG over to their kingdom every summer to try and matchmake QL and LG together so they can marry when they are older to unify their kingdoms. Ql and Lg do not have any romantic interest in each other at all right off the bat and end up more like siblings, Lg and Cxs (who is the adopted ward of the royal family) become fast best friends and all three of them are joined at the hip when Lg visits, and often arrange more visits outside of summer as well when they can. 

-QL's parents give up trying to get LG and Ql together but still welcome LG whenever he comes to visit 

-LG, Ql and CXS start making plans about the best way to unify their kingdoms (without marriage) when they reach their 20s, even though in general their kingdoms are really friendly already. 

-Not everyone is a fan of this idea, especially a faction of nobles in LG’s kingdom 

-One of the times that LG is leaving to travel back to his kingdom, his convoy gets ambushed by a party wanting to overthrow the throne, and only a wounded messenger escapes back to QL and CXS’s kingdom to tell them that there was this great beast that had attacked their convoy and he doesn't know if anyone survived, but that the beast isn't what it seems to be (like in the movie) but the messenger does not recover from his injuries and passes away shortly

-Cxs and Ql go out immediately when they hear the news to search for the remains for Lg's convoy (and possibly his body, because the messenger was adamant no one had survived.) but all they find is a bloody massacre (and no lg except maybe a personal item) leading them to believe he didn't survive

-They are both devastated, but Cxs is beyond devastated 

-Cxs and QL start researching into the great beast and about the messengers last words about how it was a deceiving beast because they want to figure out what the hell happened (And Cxs wants REVENGE)

-Cxs starts hunting in the forest over the span of a month or two because they can’t figure out what the beast could be disguising itself as and also to unleash some of his pent up anger and grief over LG’s ‘death’  when he comes across a Swan, (and like in the movie he assumes that's the great beast) so he chases it to the lake 

-But just as he was about to take the shot with revenge on his mind the swan turned into Lg in the moonlight hehe 

-both of them overjoyed to see one another

Random Notes:

-Lg can't talk as a swan, and can only honk 

-Ltx is part of the faction trying to overthrow the kingdom, but helps lg out when she can, she doesn't really have a choice of being in the faction or not cause her brothers in it also she doesn’t fully understand what is going on with the politics in their kingdom

-at some point cxs is brash and ends up getting turned into a swan too, Lg is less than thrilled with this development because how are two swans supposed to save an entire kingdom. 

-They figure out how to go honk to QL for help

-Lg didn't find cxs quickly originally cause he had to learn to be a swan and couldn't get to far from the lake, when cxs becomes a swan he has to teach cxs how to be a swan (fly, swim, honk, poop, eat etc)

-It goes as well as one would expect. 

Will upload more notes/artwork probably next week!

[imsofreakingtired]

barges through the wall like the kool-aid man

Buy Sevika flowers.

Please. Please she probably never received a beautiful bouquet before and I desperately yearn for soft hours with Sevika

SHE SO DESERVES FLOWERS I AGREE I AGREE

i will take good care of you

content warning(s): none

"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you."

~~~

** set post canon, Councilor!Sevika x reader. because oh my god i cannot accept that she’s all alone in there **

~~~

You stand in the doorway. Sevika hasn’t seen you yet. 

She is at her desk, the way she is every night. The desk of rich Noxian wood, inlaid with swirling patterns of gold. The desk came with the apartment, which came with the seat at the Council, which came with a new kind of fight that you had to watch Sevika go through day after day. 

The battles were won, the losses counted, the blood spilled and cities destroyed and rebuilt. Ambessa was dead. Hextech destroyed. The sister cities were forced to reconcile in the face of the realization that they had come very, very close to the end of the world. 

Piltover is quiet at night. Nothing like the undercity, where you would hear fights breaking out on the streets every hour of the day, drunks wailing from filthy doorsteps, dogs howling in the alleyways. No; Piltover was like a slumbering golden beast. 

And your Sevika, the new leader of the underdogs, the voice of the city the two of you had grown up in—the city that never slept. If Piltover was the idle lion, Zaun was the hungry wolf. You see the hunger still in your wife’s eyes. You see how she charges into every debate, every argument at the Council Table the same way she charged into battle years ago. Every reform, every proposal she makes, is met with a near unanimous opposition. A mandate that would have taken half a day to pass from a Piltover Counselor took weeks when it came from the Zaunite Counselor. 

Sevika has hung up the arm Jinx had made for her on the wall behind her desk, and it gleams in the lamplight like a trophy. Still she hasn’t noticed you—she is poring over the files on her desk, the endless paperwork awaiting her every night seeming to have no end. 

You want to take her in your hands tenderly, you want to crush the burdens she carries into an insignificant ball. You want to tell her to rest. But you've learned Sevika didn't like words that have no meaning: she cannot rest, and you and Sevika both know this. 

So you show it through actions. 

You walk up to her, standing behind her. She glances up briefly. 

“How was the academy today?” 

“Fine,” you say. “The pupils learn fast.”

“Hm.” She is preoccupied with the paperwork. You rest your hands on her shoulders and find them tight with tension. Your fingers knead her muscles, their strength making her groan involuntarily. 

“You work too hard.” 

She laughs dryly. Her prosthetic arm is off—the new one she bought from the Piltover mechanic, a simple and elegant arm of light gold, no weaponry assets. She’s still wearing the formal cape, and from where you’re standing she looks smaller and wearier than you remember. 

“Come to bed,” you say, massaging the tension out of her neck. You feel her relax at your touch, the muscles softening beneath her warm skin. 

“In a minute.” 

“Not in a minute. Now.” 

“You go ahead, baby.” She sighs. “I have to get this done.” 

You never feel so helpless as in moments like these, when she seemed to be trapped between one duty and another, when it felt like the world expected your wife to be everywhere at once, doing everything at the same time. 

You don’t know how to ease her load. There just seemed to be no end to it. You try to think of the last time you saw her smile, really smile, and find you can’t remember. 

You look around her office. The walls are plain, devoid of paintings. Besides Jinx’s mechanical arm on the wall, there isn’t much to relieve the somber atmosphere. 

“Sevika,” you say suddenly, “what are your favorite flowers?”

“Flowers?” she repeats in an absent tone, looking over a text on trade policy. “I don’t know. I don’t think much about flowers.” 

A pause, and she looks up at you, as if surprised to see your question was serious. 

“I remember picking moonflowers when I was small,” she says. 

“Moonflowers?”

“Yeah, the pale blue ones that grew near the mines. The only things that could survive in that air. More weeds than anything.” She shrugs. “I remember picking one a day to give to my mom when she came back from work. She never threw them away, even after they wilted. Then one day she didn’t come home at all.”

You squeeze her shoulder. Her mother had died in a cave-in at the mines when she was young. You had lost your own parents to the same kind of accident. 

Sevika looks at you, amusement in her eyes. “I don’t remember the last time we ever talked about something like flowers.” 

~~~

The next day you ask your academy supervisor permission to take off work early. Since you have no afternoon classes anyway, the permission is granted. You walk briskly down to the marketplace and go into the florist’s shop. 

When you ask the leopard vastaya man at the counter for a bouquet of moonflowers, he shakes his head. “Those are just weeds from the undercity. I don’t sell them in bouquets. You can buy a full bouquet including them as decoration.” 

“I want only the moonflowers. You can take them out of every bouquet and gather them together, I’ll pay however much it costs.”

He looks at you as if you’re crazy, but he sets to work. You leave the shop fifteen minutes later with a bunch of moonflowers in gleaming wax paper tied with a ribbon. They are beautiful with notes of gray, and in flashes they hold the same color as Sevika’s eyes. They look like hope. They look like Zaun. 

When Sevika comes home that night you present them to her with a tentative smile. All day you’ve angled them this way and that in her office, changing the vase twice to try to find the right look. You’re not sure if she would even like the gift, or if she would find it painful. 

Sevika stares at you. “What’s this?” 

“Moonflowers,” you say dumbly. Both of you can clearly see that. You can’t read her expression, and you start to feel nervous. “I just wanted…I wanted to make you feel lighter.” 

Lighter. Happier. You want to give her the world. You want to give her the moon, the stars, the warmth of your very soul. You want to show her she is not alone in this fight. 

Sevika takes the flowers and buries her nose in them, eyes closed. Then she looks up at you. “They’re beautiful,” she says, her voice husky.

Sevika sees her childhood in their petals. She sees the hope in the heart of the little girl inside her. She sees the wrinkles of her mother’s tired smile. She sees the bright eyes of young Zaunite children. 

“Sevika,” you say, worried, “Sevika, are you crying?” 

She wipes roughly at her eyes, giving you a smile as genuine as sunlight. “No, darling. Thank you.”

~~~

note: ah...this was meant to be fluff but it turned out angstier than i intended... i can still call it fluff if it involves flowers right...?

thank you @demothers-empty-blog for the req :)

[allfearstofallto]

"I Used to Have a Crush on You,"

Caleb x Reader

Angst (?)

Caleb sputters on the sip of his drink he was trying to take, spitting the alcohol back into his cup. He's coughing as he's trying to get words out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking visibly disheveled. But sure enough, when he looks upon you with wide, purple eyes, there isn't a hint of deception on your face.

“You know you're supposed to be honest during truth or dare,” he tries to sound casual as he says this, tries to coax more words out of you, more answers to the truth he asked of you, but inside he's reeling. A mixture of emotions bubbling in his gut and clouding his brain.

“I am being honest!” You retort, only making him look further off in disbelief.

He'd received the best news of his life, while playing this drunken game. Asking a simple, “Tell me a secret. Something I definitely don't know.” In hopes to learn more about you, but in being told the truth, it felt like a knife was twisting in his stomach. He was happy, but did it matter if he was in so much pain at the same time?

“I used to have a crush on you.” Used to. He could barely even hold in a bitter laugh. Not after that. A part of him hoped that maybe you were being coy, pretending that you didn't still like him now, but his attempts at flirting the entire day proved that there was nothing there anymore. No way to make you flustered, to make those cheeks flush a pretty color. You used to have a crush on him and from the way you were acting, it was long gone.

“When? Why didn't you say anything!” He had a million questions all trying to force their way out of his mouth at the exact same time, but he was simultaneously trying to hold it all in to not alert you.

You merely shrugged, looking upset, almost embarrassed about your past feelings as you admitted more, “It was in highschool. And what was I supposed to say? I didn't wanna make it weird.”

Make it weird? If only you knew. The only thing between him and you finally having the relationship he really wanted was you being shy and him not pushing hard enough? Mentally he was fighting himself over the idea. Had he really not noticed any changes in you? It was always you and Caleb against the world, he was always by your side. How could he not have figured it out?

“What-” Caleb stopped himself, words clogging his throat as he tried to think of how to phrase his next question, “What made it go away?”

Fear was clouding his mind as he watched you ponder, waiting for all the horrible things you could say to pierce his heart. Did you truly come to hate him when you noticed how possessive he was, or maybe you fell for another guy, God forbid it. A pit formed in his stomach as the worst idea crossed his mind, did you really see him as a brother, even though he fought so hard to be something else.

“Hm, I don't know,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, “Time?”

Another bitter laugh fell from his lips as the game continued on as usual. Despite the way his heart ached, he kept up a happy facade, but every smile on your face, every laugh from your lips, everything you did that night made his chest clench tighter.

Time?

Even with all the time in the world, he'd still love you the same.

[sweetdispatch]

Who’s the boy? - C. Bedard

Next door hearts

pairing: Connor Bedard x Hughes!reader

summary: It's summer time and you need to face your brothers and admit to them who's your mysterious boyfriend

warning: swear word

words: 1.4k

note: finally the longer version! feel free to send more ideas to this AU🧸

---

Knowing that you’re gonna return to Chicago, you packed only essentials. All the clothes have at home and there’s no need to bring more. You were thankful that your parents helped you to rent an apartment and you don’t have to take all your belongings back home to bring them back after summer. Connor drove you to the airport and you felt bizarre. It was the first time in the 5 months since you knew each other you'll be apart for more than two weeks. 

“I don’t know if I want to go home” You admitted and Connor looked at you surprised.

“Why? I thought you miss your family” 

“I do but… I would love to spend these free months with you without worrying about our schedules” You sighed. 

“Hey” Connor grabbed your hand. “We’ll be back together soon. You can’t prioritisering me over your family. Look, you have to return in the middle of August to Chicago, I’ll fly there too and we can spent my last free weeks together” 

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have to spend as much time as you have with your family” You protested.

“It’s my decision and I already made up my mind about it” Connor said and you laughed.

“You’re ridiculous” You looked at him with love in your eyes. 

You walked out of the car and Connor went to grab your suitcase. You hugged him tightly and kissed him goodbye. You knew that you two would talk every single day for the next couple of months but you still didn’t want to leave him. You were well aware that you’ll miss him but that was also a learning experience for you. The whole time you were in the plane, you were thinking about your relationship with Connor and how to tell it to your brothers.

Thankfully, your parents came to pick you up from the airport and not your brothers. You ran towards them and hugged them. In all the craziness, you forgot about your parents and how much you missed them. You were excited to cook with your mom and golf with your dad. In the car, you break the news to them.

“I met a guy in Chicago and he asked me to be his girlfriend so basically I’m in a relationship” You said and your mum turned to face you.

“That’s amazing sweetie! Why didn't you bring him with you?” You mum asked and before you could answer your dad spoke. 

“I bet he’s a hockey player since you were working for them” You knew he said this as a joke but he was right.

“He is a hockey player and he wanted to spend time with his family” The car stopped at a red light and your dad turned to face you.

“Which one?” He said and you couldn’t recognize his voice. 

“Connor Bedard” Your dad turned away his eyes back on the road. “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m happy for you…” Before he could finish, your mum spoke.

“We’re happy for you and we can’t wait to meet him. Did you tell your brothers?”

“No and I’m scared to do it. You know how protective they are” Your mum laughed. 

“That’s their job, they’re your brothers and they don’t want you to get hurt” 

“I know, can you not tell them? I want to do it by myself when the time is right” 

“Sure sweetie but it’s better to do it fast before they’ll figure it out by themselves” Your mum said and you nodded. 

The rest of the drive you were telling your parents about Chicago and how life looks there. Before you could see, you already parked in the driveway and you left the car. You took a deep breath and walked into the house. Your brothers ran to the door to question you about your last instagram post but your mum stopped them. 

“Give her a break, she just arrived” You smiled at her and took your suitcase to your room. 

You laid in the bed and started thinking about how to break the news to your brothers. For now, you decided to keep your mouth shut. You thought to yourself that tomorrow you’ll tell them about everything. For now, you need to rest. You send a quick message to Connor that you’re at home. 

The next day, you woke up and decided to go for a run. It was your tradition during summer. Around 9AM, you left the house and after an hour you returned. You saw that your parents' car is not in the driveway which meant you’re alone with your brothers. The first thing after you opened the door was the smell of breakfast. Your brothers are up and you can’t escape them. Slowly, you walked into the kitchen and felt all eyes on you. 

“How was Chicago?” That's the first question you heard from Quinn when you entered the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. You took a sip before you spoke.

“Great! I love the city and the job and…” You didn't finish your sentence because Jack interrupted you.

“Later you’ll tell us about it. We have more important things to discuss. What does the caption mean under your post?” Jack asked you.

“Umm… I meant that I fell in love with the city” You lied and judging by their faces, you knew they’re not buying this.

“Bullshit, tell the truth” Luke said and you were surprised at this outburst. You expected this from Jack, even Quinn but not Luke.

“Okay I have a boyfriend. Happy?” You were done with this conversation already and it hasn't even started. You walked out and started going upstairs. Your brothers followed you.

“Who’s the boy?” Quinn asked you and you took a deep breath.

“He’s my neighbour, his name is Connor” You told them, trying not to share the news that he’s a hockey player and keep it simple thinking that they’ll drop the topic. You entered your room to take clothes. 

“Like Connor Bedard? The one from the Blackhawks?” Jack asked you and you cursed under your nose. Of course they’ll connect that you said to them that you live next to the hockey player and work with the team.

“Yes” You confirmed and turned away to go into the bathroom.

“I’m cool with that” Luke replied and you looked shocked at him. That was not the reaction you expected from him, especially after his outburst earlier.

“Me too, he looks like a good guy” Quinn said it back and you froze in spot. You expected screaming from their side and they just accepted it. This felt bizarre for you.

“He better treat you right or I won’t be too careful on the ice towards him” Jack said and you laughed. Now that was the reaction you expected. 

“I’ll tell him that but Connor is treating me right. We’ve been friends for the past 5 months before he asked me to be his girlfriend. Actually he planned a super cute day for me before he even asked me the question. I’ve never been in such awe of a man” You replied, still replaying the day in your head.

“That's the most important thing, but as Jack said, he better not hurt you because we might not be too careful on the ice next time playing against Chicago” Quinn said and hugged you. You smiled, grateful that your brothers accepted Connor but also scared of them playing against Blackhawks next season. 

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it” You smiled at them. It wasn’t as scary as you thought. Went better than expected. 

“When can we meet him?” Jack asked out of nowhere. 

“Probably during the season” 

“Invite him over here, we need to meet him” Quinn said and you didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t want to take away his time with his family” 

“Just a weekend. I bet he’ll be happy to see you” Jack said and you thought about it for a minute.

“I’ll talk with him later, okay?” All three of them nodded. “Can I take a shower now?” 

“Yes but don’t you think that you’ll get away with telling us how Chicago had been treating you” Luke replied and all of them left your room. You smiled to yourself.

[thetadispatcher]

Vincent gave a quiet hum of approval as he nodded his head very slightly. He didn't know any better way to put his thoughts into words without risking rambling again. He still wasn't used to talking to people, having become too reliant on using non verbal forms to communicate.

He also preferred noises over actually speaking, even with people he knew well and trusted. It was something he'd learned was called selective mutism, another thing his anxiety was causing that he was trying to work on. The AP700 felt he'd worked on enough of his issues for the day, and that the other would understand why he hadn't given a verbal response, and not be offended by his silence.

"Perhaps that is true. I like a challenge, a chance to further improve my skills." Nines was the last model Cyberlife ever released, and he'd been made to excel at his intended function, so finding something that could be considered challenging for him was quite hard.

So he was happy to have found a chance to further improve his skills, and he felt it would be a waste to pass up on the opportunity. "I already have these two fully worked out, so there's not much fun in it for me. And I see a fun opportunity in front of me, so I'd be a fool to pass on it." The RK900 kept his expression neutral, another thing he found to greatly annoy those around him. He found it funny how something as simple as refusing to show emotions, whether it was by changing his facial expression or letting his LED shift colors, could cause so many to yell at him for it.

The other two androids just looked at Nines, seemingly annoyed by the android's blunt way for saying things, but they didn't comment on it as they knew it wouldn't do anything.

Strasky glanced at the RK800 as he went back to his previous task of picking out toys that fit what Willow had said, he had to agree that it was very clear that Vincent was trying to better himself. Even if the AP700 clearly didn't want to, he had people who encouraged him and didn't find his behavior annoying.

"Maybe one day, I just can't say when..." It wasn't a topic he could see himself approaching in the near future, at least not until he could think about it without feeling every muscle in his body tense, and the sensation of his heart sinking.

The physical reaction and the instant mental turmoil that followed was enough for him, enough to know that he couldn't be able to talk about it without something bad happening. "And I don't want to promise anything as I might disappoint a lot of people if I do..."

"I can offer my assistance, but I can only do so much. Although I suppose any help is better then nothing." Dan knew he had given a rather troublesome reason for Strasky's behavior, and there was no good way to look at it. He had a feeling medications wouldn't work on someone without a fully functional brain, and therapy would only do so much.

He paused as he recalled something that had been said to him once, deciding maybe he should share one of Peter's more insightful spiels. "The way in which one can lose themselves only to find themselves again when faced with grief by staring into the face of what hurts most and deciding it's worth trying, recognizing even in the midst of confusion and despair and mere hopelessness that happiness is achievable and worth the struggle it takes to obtain it. Peter said that once, and I feel it applies to this situation." The PL600 said with a slight nod as he thought of how to further explain his point.

"He just has to realize that he won't get anywhere, that nothing will get better, until he faces down the thing that hurts the most, and finally talks about. Maybe then that voice in his head, the one he allows to degrade him, will no longer have any power as he realizes the things it tells him are lies. That he doesn't have anything to fear, he doesn't have to be perfect to make others like him, he only needs to be himself and people who like that will find him, he doesn't have to search for them." Dan explained as he gently pet the creature resting on his shoulders, it was clearly very interested in what they were talking about even if it didn't fully comprehend it.

"Simply put, he has to stop feeding the monster looming over him, allowing it to have power over him, and go against what it says."

It wasn't a long wait before Vincent reactivated. The android only briefly shifted his gaze away from his work to look at the other, knowing by now that the pain around the LED was temporary. This was all pretty standard, there was no need to get worked up about it.

He kept at it once Vincent while settled down more comfortably, then showed the result of his efforts so far. He seemed to be making a chicken.

Bishop's expression didn't shift during the exchange, nor at Nines' offer.

"Aren't you by any chance offering to switch seats because you are the one in need of a challenge?" he replied with a smirk.

It'd definitely be more difficult to get away with lies, but he had accepted to play to see how good Nines was and the only way to do that was to challenge him directly.

Willow motioned with her hand at Sixty's answer, pointing out she was right about Vincent's chances of improving. It was perhaps the only positive part, as having no record of androids who deviated because of positive influences wasn't exactly encouraging.

She could, however, encourage Strasky. "Please, do try once you feel ready. There are many new people waiting to welcome you for who you are. You simply have to let them in and perhaps consider seeing a therapist."

"Wow." Rook ran a hand through her hair, "That’s a lot of stuff to drop on somebody who resents herself every other day. I got him out of hell and told him to stay clear of Bishop. I'm only good at fighting things, I'm going to mess that up."

[the-owl-tree]

also figured out the clan names i wanted to use so! we got mustangclan, serpentclan (might change), coyoteclan, boarclan (thank you bonefall), cardinalclan and tempestclan.

some light notes on each, might do a more detailed post later-

some general worldbuilding notes:

do not ask me how this biome functions

the cats cook, prepare food, and know how to start fire.

subranks like courier, head of patrols, head of hunting, and so on exist. their power and relevancy varies within each clan. the deputy/deputies are in charge of managing them.

not all clans have the same positions and wording.

no starclan, these cats worship a pantheon of gods and pray to the appropriate god for advice. the gods have different names and appearances depending on which clan you go to, not writing them out because i haven't figured out every name yet lol

mustangclan

leader: bearstar; deputy: duskclaw; medic(s): fogstep and foxtrot

semi-nomadic, have a few different camps scattered around the map they travel to depending on their needs.

because their camps are so scattered, they often have pre-arranged travel paths through other clans territories. in the past, they'd just brute force their way through though, with different leadership, have begun to put more value in negotiations.

heavy emphasis on might makes right, though that's begun to change. lots of value in conquest, combat, and defending one's honor through force.

names often reflect this with aggressive predators and suffixes like -claw, -strike, -bite being common.

the clan is your family, lineage and blood relations are downplayed in favor of serving one's clan.

unfortunately for bearstar, his father was the last leader...and his own daughter won the trial for deputy. no one would outright accuse such a popular leader of nepotism and spitting on their values...at least not to his face.

leader and deputy are decided through combat, i like the idea that there's a makeshift "coliseum" that all the clans can use to settle minor disputes.

you can challenge the leader and deputy for their position at any time, you just have to win through battle.

outsiders can enter if they prove they're strong enough.

mustangclan cats are blunt to the point of coming across as rude and have a dark sense of humor, which can often rub other clan cats the wrong way.

strongest ally is boarclan, whom they fought alongside in a moon's old war against coyoteclan (pre-war, who were actually three small clans in a coalition!) and cardinalclan.

most of the cats here are followers of the god of war and glory, though followers of the god of the hunt and harvest are common (though they are a popular god in all clans)

serpentclan

leader: troutstar; deputies: saugerleap & pikesnap; physician: turtlestep

stationary, reside in one massive camp that's split into three sections: exterior where the warriors sleep, middle section where the nursery, elders, and physician's den lies, and the central section where the leader, deputies, and other leaderkin stay.

essentially a hereditary monarchy, the leader here is the one that speaks with the gods. this keeps their power absolute, the physician in serpentclan is purely to help heal.

some leader lineages have placed their children in the physician position, just to maximize their power over the clan. troutstar didn't get that, had two sons with no interest in learning medicine.

family lines often have a naming theme. troutstar's lineage uses fish names.

they try to completely avoid war, troutstar has established a long history of lengthy negotiations to avoid combat (saugerleap likes to joke his father has won negotiation wars by boring his enemies to tears).

can come across as snooty and arrogant to the other clans, they find the other clans history of war and bloodshed to be, not repulsive, but almost like...embarrassing?

they don't get along with mustangclan and boarclan cats lol

completely isolated during past wars.

outsiders are allowed to join, but most are barred from every ascending to the position of leadership or even become a physician.

one of the clans that practices betrothals, though it's most used for cross-clan negotiations. saugerleap and duskclaw were briefly engaged to cement a travel path for boarclan through serpentclan territory, though that fell through after saugerleap got discovered with his boarclan boyfriend.

lots of followers of the god of water here, thanks to troutstar's long reign; also lots of followers of the god of art.

coyoteclan

leader: oxeyestar; advisor(s): goosehop, duckstrut, grousetail; saint: icesnap

once three small clans - lupineclan, roseclan, yarrowclan - that worked in a coalition; a past war against stallionclan devastated them as they were forced into one cohesive unnamed clan to better control them. when the war ended, stallionclan pulled out from this group, leaving a massive power vacuum that a new player, tempestclan, took notice of.

this ended with them putting a leader of their choosing into this new clan, renaming them coyoteclan for their cleverness and resourcefulness to survive. this move solidified the alliance between the two groups...an alliance which slowly has begun to degrade as more of the warriors recognize just how much control tempestclan assumed.

the advisors and the saint of coyoteclan are all sent from tempestclan, feeding information back to tempestclan and swaying oxeyestar's decisions.

oxeyetail was no special warrior when picked, some naive and arrogant enough to believe he was so special that the god tempestclan worships picked him out of everyone. it's gone to his head quite a bit.

leaders are picked by the advisors of the clan, though they do a bit of fog and lights to try and make it more legitimate, as if the leader really has been handpicked by a god.

anyone can join, not many want to unfortunately.

it's not uncommon for coyoteclan to skip gatherings, there's a lot of resentment. when they do go, they can come across as prickly and quick to judge. but their sharp wit can make them good conversation partners.

their closest ally is tempestclan.

while tempestclan's influence has forced a lot of them to believe in their sole god, followers of the god of the sun and day still take up the majority in coyoteclan. other popular gods are the god of luck and the god of the hunt and harvest.

boarclan

leader(s): dawnstar & sandstar; deputies: nightstride, darkwater, dewleaf, lifeseeker; healer(s): raindrop, jaycall

a big clan with five different camps, set up around their territory where they often shuffle around depending on what they need. one's probably utilized completely for the healers, acting as both a herb garden and a quarantine zone.

the non-healer camps are run by the four deputies while the leaders often circulate around each week to make sure everything is alright.

similar to mustangclan, boarclan has a big culture around combat. though, it's more considered a performance akin to art rather than a way of life. showing off your strength is encouraged.

leadership is done the more traditional canon wc style, picked based on merit. however, you can absolutely challenge a deputy, healer, and leader if you'd like. it's a big event though, everyone's getting their roasted duck legs to watch a fight.

while hereditary leadership lineages aren't law enforced, they aren't discouraged. dawnstar and sandstar are mates, with their deputies and one of their healers (jaycall) being their kittens.

two leaders only, any more is demanding too much from the gods. they used to have more, but it resulted in a civil war that killed all four of the original leaders. two makes sure there is balance.

a very boisterous and loud group, play fighting is common and loud tales of glory and survival are often told at night around a fire.

for that reason they can come off across as abrasive, loud, and disruptive. they aren't trying to be, but not a lot of boarclan cats realize how loud they are.

they used to be a closed clan, though they've opened up somewhat to idea of cats joining.

their closest ally is mustangclan but dawnstar and sandstar has been working to try and repair relationships with cardinalclan.

a majority of boarclan cats are followers of the god of beasts.

cardinalclan

king: swiftstar; next-in-line: cranegaze; magistrates: cootwaddle, crowfoot, piperstreak, tattlertail, gullcry; cleric: loonback, cormorantpelt, pelicanjaw

a very hierarchical clan, their hierarchy extends to warriors themselves though i'm still teasing out the details.

forest clan, their camp hidden away. i'm still figuring out the details, i think they operate similar to serpentclan's camp just with more layers to reflect their hierarchy.

a hereditary leadership system, swiftstar is a long line of leaders groomed from birth to inherit the throne. his sister cranegaze is next-in-line, with their youngest sister, mallardsong, being the one to inherit afterwards.

magistrates act as the leader's advisors, the next-in-lines mentors, and enforcers of the leader's rulings. despite not inheriting the throne, they command a massive amount of respect from the clan and hold a lot of sway, with some forming their own unofficial courts of cats they can rely on to get things done.

betrothals are common in the "noble" bloodline of cardinclan, with swiftstar, cranegaze, and mallardsong's parents' mateship having been prearranged.

their parents were killed in a raid organized by the previous leaders of boarclan in a bid to control a very lush piece of territory. the devastation of losing their king and queen increased the antagonism towards boarclan tenfold.

swiftstar entertaining dawnstar and sandstar's pleas for peace is wildly unpopular, especially among his own magistrates.

cardinclan only names their cats after birds, yes this will probably come to bite me in the ass if I ever try and do a full allegiance.

i'd like the swiftstar line to have some sort of surname or title? still mulling it over.

a big artsy culture encouraged by the ruling cats, portraits of the king, of the clan in its prime, and of the god of art are very popular. cats of cardinclan also love to decorate themselves for gatherings and just general special events, smearing mushed up berries on their fur and rolling in flowers.

they used to have a strong alliance with the three clans that once made up coyoteclan, but tempestclan's control has withered that alliance away.

tempestclan

leader (referred to as the "father" of tempestclan): tempeststar; saints: martinbounce, wolverinesnarl, cariboucall, lynxstrike, cougarpelt, marmotscreech, beaversnap, pikapounce

isolated in a mountain range, the harsh weather and conditions to travel to this clan has kept them from being invaded by others for a long, long time. their camp resides in an abandoned village with an old church being where camp meetings are called.

an intensely religious clan, born around the idea there is one singular god whom they must devote themselves to entirely. they are patriarchal in nature, mostly as a way to better control the numbers of their clan.

this extends down to sometimes arranging mateships for the cats of tempestclan, blightspirit's parents was an arranged mateship between cariboucall and sheepstomp, a loner who was "rescued" by tempestclan after nearly freezing to death and was coerced into joining them. yes, it's as horrific as it sounds.

saints are often from a long lineage, though they dress it up with the idea they have been picked by their god. their leader, who when ascending to leadership is always renamed to tempeststar, is mostly just a figurehead to vocalize the saints orders. an ultimate figure of authority for the cats to follow. the current tempeststar's old name was snowdancer, he misses his old name and his close friends refer to him as 'snowy' in private.

blightspirit was being trained to take over his father's position, decided to get rid of any specific healer position. saints now handle that to maximize their control and authority over the clan.

this intense isolationism in both their policies and their territory has resulted in their clan numbers dwindling, taking a heavy toll when an exiled cat, stripped of her full name and just referred to as 'wolf', took some of her followers with her in exile.

so when mustangclan left a group with a big ol power vacuum in a region with prey, herbs, and lots of kittens to bring up the mountains...the saints decided the kindest thing to do would be to lend their aid, in exchange for herbs, resources, and some apprentices. it's only fair after all they've done for coyoteclan, don't you think?

kind of a miserable place to live, either with those unable to leave or those who genuinely believe in the religion pushed by the saints.

reserved, tired, and distrustful of strangers, most of the other clans barely know what tempestclan is like. they never come to gatherings and none, besides coyoteclan, have gotten into talks with them.

closest alliance is coyoteclan, whom they essentially rule from within and take advantage of.

they pray to a different god from those in the pantheon, choosing one singular god of cats that rules absolute.

[stanart4clearskin]

how about cowboy! art with californian! reader. art thought she would have a valley girl accent and be prissy but no. he absolutely adores her little accent especially when she’s moaning his name.

a/n: anon i could just kiss you. as a californian going to texas soon i felt this one in my bones

when you first moved to town, art was not happy. most guys were excited to get their hands on a girl that they hadn't known since diapers and most girls were excited to get someone new to add to their groups. art on the other hand wished that you would hop right back on the next plane and fly back to california. his deep hatred for californians started when he was around 10 years old. a few families had flown to his small little town for vacation and they were awful. the kids had relentlessly teased art about his accent even though they were the ones with the god awful valley accents that made him want to bash his head through a wall. they were stuck up and disgusting by the sight of mud which made art hate them even more. he expected you to be like them... and well you kind of were.

you had the classic valley girl accent and were constantly saying 'like' but surprisingly art didn't want to rip his ears off. in fact, he wanted you to keep talking. for months he would do whatever he could to make you keep talking to him because he was infatuated with your accent. there's something about the way words came from your mouth that made him want to kiss you stupid. your voice made him dizzy in a way that he couldn't explain. over the past few months of you moving into town, you had been giving art these looks. you'd be staring at his lips as he talked or staring at his biceps as you watching him work on his family's ranch. he didn't know if you were actually into him or just into the fact that he was a cowboy. it wasn't until you had straight out told him that you liked him that he finally could believe it.

from then on, most days were spent in either tangled up in the back seat of your car or in art's sheets. remember when art said he loved your voice? well art loved your little moans exponentially more. the way you would gasp as he pounded into you made him almost come the first time he heard the sound. ever since then he made it his life long mission to draw any sound out he can from you. he learns every inch of your body and what spots are sensitive.

he'll nip the spot right under your ear because you let out the cutest gasp when he does. when he latches onto your nipple, almost like a baby, the way you arch under him and moan in a high pitched squeal is absolutely delicious. as his fingers curl in you and you cry out, art swears he could get off on just the sound. and dear lord. the first time you moaned his name in that sweet valley girl voice of yours, he had to pull out and calm down for a few minutes just so that he wouldn't come on the spot.

[dreamersworldduh]

CRAZY, STUPID, LOVE

�� DEAN WINCHESTER x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — In the dangerous, chaotic world of hunting, you and Dean Winchester found solace in a friends-with-benefits arrangement—a simple, no-strings connection to escape the relentless weight of your shared lives. Dean, a man who kept his emotions locked behind walls built from years of pain and loss, treated attachments as liabilities and avoided vulnerability at all costs. Yet, you became the exception.

Your sharp wit, unwavering confidence, and ability to see through his bravado slipped past his defenses, offering him a sense of stability he didn't know he needed. While he tried to convince himself that your relationship was purely physical, the truth was far more profound. You mattered to him in ways he couldn't deny, grounding him in a life defined by chaos. Against his own rules, Dean found himself holding onto the one connection he couldn't let go.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 9.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, I have a confession—I have never seen Supernatural! Which is weird because I loveeee any show or movie dealing with the supernatural! However, I seen read plenty of Jensen Ackles fics, enough to fall in love with the gruff hunter, Mr Dean Winchester. Boy, oh, boy. He’s a tough one, so here’s something to melt your heart!😉✨

The story of how you and Dean Winchester became entwined is far from conventional—though it began in the simplest, most unremarkable way. In the unforgiving world of hunters, where every day was a gamble with life and death, and the weight of your duty pressed heavily on your shoulders, finding moments of relief wasn't just a luxury; it was survival. For you and Dean, that relief took the form of a shared understanding—an arrangement born out of mutual need: friends with benefits. No emotional messiness, no strings attached. Just two weary souls seeking solace in each other's company, finding fleeting comfort amid the chaos.

And if there was anyone who could embody that kind of arrangement, it was Dean Winchester. Ruggedly handsome in a way that seemed almost cinematic, Dean exuded a raw masculinity that was both infuriating and magnetic. His confidence was disarming, his smirk a challenge, and his green eyes held the kind of mischief that dared you to keep up. He was a man of contradictions: a relentless hunter who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but masked his pain with crude humor and unapologetic charm. He had a talent for turning even the most innocent remark into a sexual innuendo, a penchant for classic rock, and an encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture references that would have been impressive if it weren't so distracting. And, of course, there was his unashamed fondness for pornography—a fact he made no effort to hide, even when it made you roll your eyes.

Dean wasn't someone who let people get too close. He had built walls around himself, reinforced by years of trauma, heartache, and the gnawing fear that attachments only brought more pain. Women came and went from his life, their names forgotten as quickly as they were learned, serving as fleeting distractions from the shadows that seemed to follow him everywhere. He had rules—strict, self-imposed boundaries that kept him from caring too much, feeling too deeply. But then there was you. And somehow, without even trying, you became the exception to every one of those rules.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself in the heat of battle—calm, collected, and fiercely determined. Or perhaps it was your sharp wit, the way you could meet his sarcasm with a quip of your own, effortlessly keeping him on his toes. You challenged him, called him out on his nonsense, and refused to let him get away with his usual bravado. There was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that ignited every time you were in the same room. It wasn't just physical, though that was certainly part of it. There was something deeper, something intangible that drew him to you like a moth to a flame.

Dean couldn't ignore the way you made him feel—how your presence seemed to ground him, even when everything else in his life was spiraling out of control. You weren't just a convenient distraction or a fleeting fling. You were a rare constant in a life defined by chaos and loss. And though he might never admit it, not even to himself, Dean found himself captivated by you. Not just your striking features or your commanding presence—though those certainly didn't hurt—but by something deeper. Something he couldn't quite name, but that made him break every rule he had so carefully built to protect himself. Something that made him keep coming back, again and again, to you.

You had an undeniable effect on Dean—an effect so consuming, so all-encompassing, that it shattered any expectations he'd ever had about what someone could mean to him. You weren't just someone he wanted, someone he found attractive or compelling. You were a craving, a fire that burned through his veins and refused to be extinguished, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it. You were in his thoughts constantly, lingering like the hum of a well-tuned engine, always there, even when he didn't want to admit it. You weren't just a desire; you were an addiction—intoxicating, irresistible, and impossible to replace. And the truth? Dean didn't want to escape it. He welcomed the way you consumed him, as terrifying as it might have been.

There was something about you that defied explanation, a magnetic pull that went beyond physical attraction or fleeting infatuation. Maybe it was the way you could match him stride for stride, meeting his sarcasm and teasing head-on with that sharp, wicked smirk that drove him insane. You weren't intimidated by his bravado, his wit, or his rough edges—instead, you seemed to thrive on the challenge of keeping up with him, throwing his words back at him with twice the fire. Dean wasn't used to that. He wasn't used to someone who didn't just tolerate his roughness but met it with their own, blending seamlessly into the rhythm of his life like you'd always been there.

But it wasn't just the banter or the chemistry that set you apart. It was the way your presence made everything feel... lighter. For a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, who lived every day knowing death was just a step behind, you were his reprieve. The chaos and noise of hunting—the relentless guilt, the endless responsibility—felt a little less suffocating when you were around. With you, the world didn't seem quite so heavy. You didn't just make life bearable; you made it worth the fight, worth the endless sacrifices and heartaches. And that was something Dean hadn't felt in longer than he cared to admit.

The thought of losing you? It was more than unbearable—it was terrifying. Dean was no stranger to loss; it was a constant, unyielding shadow in his life, stealing everything he held dear. But the idea of losing you wasn't like anything he'd faced before. It wasn't just grief or sadness he imagined—it was devastation. The thought of you walking out of his life, of your laugh, your presence, your fire disappearing, left a hollow ache in his chest that he couldn't ignore. Losing you wouldn't just hurt—it would break him in a way he wasn't sure he could come back from.

So no, you weren't going anywhere. Not if Dean had anything to say about it. He wasn't the kind of man who easily held onto people—his life was messy, dangerous, and far too uncertain. But for you, he would make an exception. He had to. Because somehow, in the chaos of his life, you had become his anchor, the one thing he could hold onto when everything else seemed to spin out of control. You were his constant, the steady presence that reminded him why he kept fighting, why he hadn't given up. And though he might not be the best at showing it, Dean Winchester would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. Because the thought of losing you? That wasn't just unbearable—it was unthinkable. You weren't just someone to him. You were everything.

When it came to you, Dean Winchester didn't just care—he claimed. His protectiveness wasn't a casual thing, nor was it something he apologized for. It was fierce, unapologetic, and at times downright terrifying. He didn't just watch over you; he guarded you with the intensity of a man who had lost too much already and refused to lose again. The idea of anyone even speaking ill of you was enough to make his jaw clench and his green eyes harden with that razor-sharp, dangerous glint that made most people back off without him having to say a word. Disrespect you? Hurt you? They'd better pray Dean didn't hear about it—because when it came to you, there was no forgiveness, only retribution.

It didn't matter that you didn't need protecting. Dean knew you were strong—hell, he'd seen it up close. You weren't just capable; you were a force of nature. He'd watched you take down monsters with a precision and ferocity that left even the most hardened hunters slack-jawed. You handled yourself with confidence and skill, and there was a fire in you that burned so brightly it was impossible to ignore. You didn't need anyone to save you—you'd made that clear from day one. But that didn't stop Dean. It wasn't about whether you needed him; it was about the fact that he needed to be there for you.

Dean had your back in every possible way. He wasn't just a partner in battle; he was an unmovable presence in your life, standing by you like an unshakable wall. He was the first to step forward when things got rough, the first to take a hit so you wouldn't have to, the first to make it clear to anyone who dared cross a line that you weren't someone to mess with. Whether it was stepping in with a cutting remark to shut someone down, fixing that steely glare on a threat, or physically putting himself between you and danger, Dean made sure the message was clear: you were untouchable. On his watch, no one—human or otherwise—would get close enough to hurt you.

But his devotion ran deeper than just physical protection. Dean wasn't just your shield in the field; he was your unwavering support in every part of your life. He stood by you in the quiet moments, too, watching your six not just on the battlefield but in every room, every situation. You'd catch him scanning a crowd, making sure no one was getting too close, too loud, too bold. He didn't need to say a word; his presence was enough. The way he hovered just a bit closer when tensions rose or the way his gaze darted to you when you entered a room spoke volumes. It wasn't just about keeping you safe—it was about making sure you knew you weren't alone. That no matter what came your way, he was right there, ten toes down, ready to stand between you and anything that threatened you.

Dean Winchester might have been a lot of things—brash, stubborn, and infuriatingly sarcastic—but when it came to you, he was steady, loyal, and relentless. His care for you wasn't loud or flashy; it was in the little things. In the way he made sure you had a hot meal after a long hunt. In the way he double-checked that the weapons you carried were in perfect condition. In the way his hand would find your arm or your shoulder when words weren't enough to say, I've got you.

Because when Dean cared, he cared with everything he had. He didn't do half-measures or halfway devotion. You were his person—his anchor, his partner, his everything—and he wasn't about to let anyone forget it. He'd fight for you, bleed for you, and, if it ever came down to it, he'd die for you without hesitation. Because you weren't just important to him—you were everything. And Dean Winchester never let go of what mattered most.

Tonight, Dean Winchester was a man on a mission. It wasn't about hunting monsters or saving the world—though those things had their place. Tonight was about you, about making sure you understood, without question, just how much you meant to him. Grand gestures and sweeping declarations weren't Dean's style. He wasn't the guy who showered someone with roses or planned elaborate candlelit dinners. No, Dean expressed himself through dry humor, protective instincts, and those rare moments when he let his guard slip, showing the vulnerability he kept locked away. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was determined to show you, in his own way, that you weren't just someone in his life—you were the someone.

Even Sam and Castiel couldn't hide their surprise at the effort Dean was putting into planning something special. Sam had raised an eyebrow when Dean muttered something about setting aside some time and needing things to go "just right." Castiel, ever the curious observer, had tilted his head, his unblinking gaze silently analyzing this rare glimpse of Dean's softer side. After all, this was the same man who thought a six-pack of beer and a slice of pie was romantic gold. Yet here he was, mapping out a plan to make sure you felt appreciated, loved, and understood.

Unfortunately, as was often the case in your world, life had other plans. Before Dean could even begin to set his night in motion, the three of you—Dean, Sam, and yourself—caught wind of a small pack of vampires preying on a nearby town. The hunt couldn't wait. Innocent lives were at stake, and in true Winchester fashion, the mission had to come first. Castiel had been ready to join you, but angelic duties had called him away, leaving the three of you to gear up and face the threat alone. The trunk of the Impala was quickly filled with machetes, bottles of dead man's blood, and the familiar weight of yet another dangerous night.

Despite the sudden change of plans, Dean wasn't about to let the hunt derail everything. Even as the three of you strategized, his attention lingered on you in ways that spoke volumes. He handed you a weapon with a brush of his fingers that lingered just a little too long to be casual. His jokes, aimed at breaking the tension, were always delivered with a glance in your direction, his eyes sparkling with something deeper than humor.

The three of you—Dean, Sam, and yourself—pushed cautiously into the abandoned mansion, the heavy wooden doors groaning under their own weight as they creaked open. The air that greeted you was suffocatingly stale, carrying the acrid stench of rot and mildew that made your stomach turn. The grandeur of the once-stately home was long gone, replaced by decay and neglect. The intricate carvings on the wooden banister were chipped and splintered, the elegant chandeliers dangled precariously, and the faded remnants of wallpaper peeled from the walls like forgotten memories.

Dean moved on your right, his machete glinting faintly in the dim shafts of moonlight filtering through shattered windows. His body was a study in controlled tension, each step deliberate, his green eyes scanning the shadowed corridors for the slightest hint of movement. To your left, Sam's towering form moved with equal precision, his flashlight sweeping over the debris-strewn floors and gaping doorways. You could feel the charged silence between the three of you, the unspoken knowledge that danger was lurking in the dark.

The herd of vampires you'd been tracking was somewhere in this sprawling labyrinth, and the unease in your gut only deepened as you ventured further inside. Years of hunting had sharpened your instincts, and right now, every nerve in your body screamed that you were being watched. The oppressive quiet pressed in on you, broken only by the creak of the warped floorboards beneath your boots and the distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous space.

"We should split up," you suggested in a low voice, your words cutting through the heavy silence.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, turning to you with an incredulous glare. His jaw tightened, and his voice was a low growl as he snapped, "That's the dumbest idea I've heard all week. And that's saying something."

You met his sharp gaze with calm defiance. "The house is too big, Dean. If we stick together, we'll be here all night, and they'll have time to scatter. Splitting up means we cover more ground faster."

Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he considered your point. "He's not wrong," he offered cautiously. "If we stick to a plan—stay in contact and regroup at the first sign of trouble—we might have a better chance of catching them off guard."

Dean let out a heavy sigh, gripping his machete like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words to refute you both. "Fine," he muttered, though his expression left no doubt he hated the idea. "But if either of you gets in over your head, you call. I mean it. No hero crap."

With a reluctant nod from Dean, the three of you split up. Sam headed toward the grand staircase, his flashlight sweeping over the crumbling steps as he ascended to the second floor. Dean veered off toward the eastern wing, muttering something under his breath about bad ideas. That left you with the western halls—a maze of decaying doorways and shadowy passageways that seemed to stretch endlessly into the dark.

The deeper you ventured, the heavier the atmosphere became. The walls seemed to close in, the corridors twisting and intersecting in a way that made you question whether the mansion's design had been intentional or the result of time warping its structure. Your machete felt solid in your grip, a reassuring weight against the growing tension.

When you stepped into a large library, the air felt different—heavier, charged with a faint energy that raised the hairs on the back of your neck. Rows of dusty shelves loomed around you, their contents long forgotten and crumbling. A massive window at the far end of the room was cracked and fogged with grime, letting in just enough light to cast eerie shadows.

Then you saw it—a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye. You froze, your heart hammering as you tightened your grip on your weapon. Slowly, you turned, scanning the room with practiced precision. That's when you spotted him.

A figure emerged from the shadows, leaning casually against one of the bookshelves as if he had all the time in the world. He was tall and lean, his pale skin giving him an almost ghostly appearance in the dim light. His dark hair was slicked back, framing sharp, angular features that were only accentuated by the smirk curling at the corner of his lips. But it was his eyes that held your attention—cold, calculating, and predatory, glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and hunger.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with mockery. "A hunter, all alone. What a delightful surprise."

The vampire prowled around you, his movements unnervingly fluid and calculated, each step deliberate as though he were savoring the moment. His sharp, piercing gaze raked over you, studying you with an intensity that felt invasive, as if he could see right through you. The smirk tugging at the corner of his lips hinted at amusement—or perhaps satisfaction—but there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in his eyes.

Your grip on the machete tightened, its weight steady in your hand, a much-needed anchor in this tense standoff. You held your stance firm, but your mind was a whirlwind of calculations. He wasn't lunging, wasn't snarling, and yet his every movement radiated menace. He was toying with you, a predator testing its prey. But why? That lingering question gnawed at the edges of your mind.

"Tell me," he drawled, his voice like velvet, smooth and disarmingly calm. "What brings you here, hunter? Were you foolish enough to wander in alone? Or are you just that brave?" His tone was mocking, but there was something underneath—curiosity, perhaps? Intrigue?

You didn't answer, your eyes tracking him as he circled. Silence was your shield; words could give too much away. He noticed your refusal to speak and chuckled, a low, rich sound that made your skin crawl.

"Ah, the silent treatment," he said, feigning disappointment. "That's fine. Silence can be... telling." He stopped briefly, tilting his head as though examining a puzzle piece he couldn't quite figure out. "But you're different, aren't you? Not like the others. There's something... unique about you."

His eyes gleamed with a strange intensity as he resumed his slow circling. You could feel the air shift around him, heavy and charged, as though the room itself was reacting to his presence. Most vampires you'd encountered had been feral, desperate creatures, attacking with reckless abandon or fleeing when cornered. But this one? This one was composed, confident—dangerously so.

You couldn't ignore the questions clawing at the edges of your mind. If he was here alone, where was the rest of his nest? Vampires didn't operate solo, especially not leaders. And you were certain this one was the leader. His calm, his control, the way he carried himself—it all screamed authority. But if that was the case, why wasn't he surrounded by his kin? And more importantly, where was his mate? Vampires who lived long enough to lead a nest often had a mate—a partner as strong and cunning as themselves. The absence of one was glaring.

Your eyes darted subtly around the room, searching for any sign of movement in the dense shadows. The room was vast, its corners dark and endless, offering countless places for another vampire to hide. If his mate was here, they could strike at any moment. Or was he truly alone? The possibilities buzzed in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

"Looking for something?" he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. He had caught the flicker of your gaze, and his smirk deepened. "Or someone, perhaps?" He leaned in slightly, his movements so smooth they were almost imperceptible. "If they're here, you'll meet them soon enough."

You refused to flinch under his scrutiny, your resolve unwavering as you met his gaze. But there was something disarming about the way he looked at you, as if he were searching for something deeper, peeling back layers you weren't even aware of. And then there was that other look—the faintest flicker of admiration, or something more unsettling. Attraction, perhaps? Whatever it was, it left you uneasy.

"What do you want?" you asked finally, your voice sharp and steady, cutting through the thick tension like a blade.

He stopped circling, standing just a few feet away now, his smirk softening into something more calculating. "What do I want?" he echoed, his tone almost playful. "For now? I want to know more about you. You've intrigued me, hunter. There's a strength in you, something I haven't seen in a very long time. Something rare."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You didn't rise to the bait, keeping your expression neutral, your weapon steady. He was trying to disarm you, to draw you into a game you didn't intend to play. But his calm demeanor only made him more dangerous. He wasn't like the others you'd hunted—this one was intelligent, deliberate, and playing a game with stakes you couldn't yet see.

"You're stalling," you said, narrowing your eyes. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now."

His chuckle was soft, but it carried a dark edge. "Kill you? Oh no, hunter. You're far too interesting for that. Besides," he added, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint, "I have a feeling this is just the beginning. I'd hate to waste such... potential."

The male vampire took a deliberate step closer, his smirk curling into something darker, more predatory. His eyes gleamed with an intensity that felt almost magnetic, holding your gaze as though he could bend your will with a look alone. Yet, there was an undeniable allure beneath the menace, a strange charisma that made your skin crawl even as it piqued your unease.

"You know," he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with a chilling kind of seduction, "you would make a magnificent vampire. Strong. Clever. Fearless. Qualities like yours don't come along every day." His pale fingers hovered near yours, not quite touching but close enough to make you hyperaware of his presence. "Imagine it. No more running, no more mortal limitations. You and I—forever. Doesn't that sound... enticing?"

The words sank like ice into your mind, freezing your blood as you processed his absurd proposition. Your grip on your machete tightened, the familiar weight anchoring you against the storm of implications behind his offer. Yet before you could summon a response—sarcastic, angry, or otherwise—the tension in the room shattered with a thunderous crash.

The door behind the vampire burst open, slamming into the wall with a crack that echoed through the decaying mansion. A blonde woman stormed in, her every movement radiating fury and disbelief. Her striking features were sharp as a blade, her golden eyes glowing with a mix of rage and disdain. She carried herself with the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed—or feared.

"Elliot," she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip, "what the hell are you doing?"

The male vampire—Elliot, apparently—stiffened briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in irritation before he turned to her with a calmness that only deepened the tension. "Ah, Celeste," he said smoothly, his tone laced with mock surprise. "You're earlier than expected."

"Clearly," she shot back, her voice dripping with venom. Her fiery gaze darted between you and Elliot, her scowl deepening. "What is this?" She gestured at you, her tone sharp enough to flay skin. "Are you seriously flirting with a hunter? Have you lost your damn mind?"

Elliot exhaled a long-suffering sigh, running a hand through his dark hair as though Celeste's arrival was the greatest inconvenience of his night. "Flirting?" he repeated, his voice tinged with exasperation. "You misread the situation. I'm making an offer."

Her laugh was sharp and bitter, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "An offer? You're trying to turn him, aren't you? Don't even try to deny it."

Elliot's smirk returned, this time more amused than predatory. "And what if I am?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. "He's exceptional, Celeste. Even you can see that."

The color drained from her face, her fury briefly giving way to stunned disbelief. "You're insane," she hissed. "We've been together for decades, and now you're ready to toss me aside for some random hunter? Is that it?"

Elliot turned to her fully, his expression hardening, the amusement fading into something colder. "Decades of convenience, Celeste," he said bluntly, his tone like a blade cutting through the air. "Don't mistake what we've had for something it's not."

Her face twisted in a mixture of pain and fury, her fangs flashing as she stepped closer to him. "You bastard," she spat, her voice trembling with emotion. "You used me. All this time, you used me."

"You were useful," Elliot said flatly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "But don't delude yourself into thinking you were anything more."

Celeste's golden eyes burned with rage as she turned her attention to you, her expression venomous. "This is your fault," she snarled, pointing a finger at you. "You've bewitched him somehow, haven't you? But it doesn't matter—you're dead. Tonight."

She took a step forward, her fury boiling over, but Elliot moved faster. He stepped between you and Celeste with a speed that made your heart skip, his posture rigid and his voice low and dangerous. "Enough," he said, the word cutting through her rage like a command. "You will not touch him."

Her laugh was a harsh bark of disbelief. "You're protecting him? A hunter? Against me?"

Elliot's gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "He's not just any hunter. He's mine."

The possessiveness in his words made your stomach churn, your unease mounting as the energy in the room shifted. It was colder now, heavier, as though his claim had weight beyond the spoken word. You could feel the power in him, raw and oppressive, pressing against you like an unseen force.

Celeste stared at him, her chest heaving with suppressed fury. "You've lost your mind," she whispered, her voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "You'll regret this. Both of you."

Suddenly, the room exploded in a flash of violence as Celeste's head was severed cleanly from her shoulders. There was no warning—just a swift blur of silver and the sickening sound of blade slicing through flesh and bone. Her head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling to a stop, while her body crumpled in a lifeless heap. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood as the shock of what had just happened settled in.

You barely had time to process the scene before your gaze locked on the source of the attack: Dean Winchester, standing tall and unapologetic, his machete glistening with blood. His green eyes burned with a sharp, unyielding intensity, his smirk laced with the kind of swagger that only Dean could pull off.

"Yeah, sorry to interrupt your little soap opera," Dean said, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he stepped forward. He gestured casually with his bloodied weapon, as if he hadn't just executed a vampire mid-argument. "But let's make one thing clear: he's spoken for."

Elliot's body stiffened, his expression shifting from shock to pure, unbridled fury. He snapped his head toward Dean, the calm facade he'd worn earlier disintegrating in an instant. His dark eyes burned with hatred, and his lips peeled back to reveal his fangs, sharp and glistening. "You dare interfere?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing, practically vibrating with rage. "You'll regret that."

Dean, utterly unfazed, rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the machete. His smirk widened, his voice dripping with cocky defiance. "Big talk for a guy who just lost his girlfriend," he quipped. "What's wrong? Did I ruin your plan to turn him into your eternal cuddle buddy?"

Elliot's face twisted in rage, his entire frame vibrating with barely contained energy. His movements were sharp and predatory as he took a menacing step toward Dean. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the air around him growing heavier as he prepared to strike. He wasn't just angry—he was an apex predator on the verge of attack, his supernatural strength and speed radiating off him in waves.

Dean didn't flinch. He stood his ground, his machete gleaming in the dim light as he squared his shoulders. "Bring it on, Dracula," he growled, his tone daring.

That was all the invitation Elliot needed. He lunged, moving so quickly he was almost a blur. His hand shot out to strike, claws extended, but Dean sidestepped at the last second, swinging his machete in a wide arc. The blade connected with a shallow slice across Elliot's arm, drawing blood. Elliot hissed, barely fazed, and spun back around with terrifying speed, his claws slashing through the air where Dean's throat had been just moments earlier.

The fight was brutal and relentless, their movements a chaotic dance of strength and strategy. Elliot's supernatural speed and power were staggering; he moved with inhuman precision, every strike aimed to kill. Dean, however, was no stranger to impossible odds. He moved with the practiced skill of a man who had faced death more times than he could count. His blows were calculated, his every movement a mix of grit and raw determination.

The sound of their battle filled the room—the clash of steel, heavy footfalls, the occasional grunt of pain. Elliot's strength was overwhelming, and at one point, he caught Dean by the arm and threw him across the room like he weighed nothing. Dean crashed into a bookshelf, the wood shattering under the impact, but he was on his feet again in seconds. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the pain. "That all you got?" he taunted, his voice low and daring.

Elliot snarled, his eyes glowing faintly as he lunged again, this time aiming for Dean's chest. Dean ducked just in time, bringing his machete up in a swift upward strike. The blade bit into Elliot's chest, leaving a deep, searing wound. The vampire howled in pain, staggering back, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He retaliated with a backhanded strike, his claws catching Dean across the shoulder and sending him stumbling.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding as the fight raged on. Dean was holding his own, but barely. Elliot's supernatural strength was wearing him down, each counterattack forcing Dean closer to the edge. You wanted to jump in, to even the odds, but before you could move, Dean's sharp gaze found yours.

"Stay back," he barked, his voice firm and unyielding, despite the strain in his expression. Blood trickled down his arm, staining his shirt, but his resolve was unshaken. "I've got this."

Elliot's head snapped toward you, his cruel smirk returning. "How noble," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Trying to protect him? You can't even protect yourself."

Dean's jaw tightened, and without hesitation, he lunged forward with a roar, swinging his machete with every ounce of strength he had left. The fight wasn't over—not yet. And if you knew anything about Dean Winchester, it was that he wouldn't stop until the vampire was dead, even if it killed him in the process.

Dean was struggling, his movements growing slower, more desperate with every swing of his machete. Elliot was relentless, dodging each strike with inhuman speed, his attacks growing bolder and more calculated. The vampire wasn't just fighting—he was toying with Dean, circling him like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Blood trickled down Dean's forehead from a cut just above his brow, the crimson streak stark against his pale skin. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion, but he refused to stop. Refused to give up.

Elliot's smirk deepened, his predatory eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "You've got grit, I'll give you that," he drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he stepped closer. "But let's be honest—you're out of your league, hunter. Look at you. You're barely standing."

Dean's lips curled into a snarl, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his machete tighter. "Yeah? Well, I've taken down worse than you," he shot back, though the quaver in his voice betrayed just how close he was to his limit.

Elliot chuckled darkly, his fangs catching the dim light as he leaned in, closing the distance between them. "Oh, I doubt that," he sneered. "But don't worry. I'll make this quick." He paused, his smirk turning even crueler. "Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll let you watch while I turn your little friend. Make you see what he becomes."

Those words lit a fire in Dean's eyes, his rage momentarily overriding his exhaustion. With a roar, he lunged forward, swinging his machete in a wide, desperate arc. But Elliot was faster. He caught Dean's wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply until the blade clattered to the ground. Dean barely had a chance to react before Elliot's other hand shot out, slamming him against the wall with bone-crushing force.

Dean's head snapped back against the crumbling plaster, his breath knocked from his lungs as Elliot pinned him in place with one hand around his throat. The vampire leaned in closer, his smirk widening as he bared his fangs. Dean thrashed against the grip, but it was like struggling against iron chains—Elliot was too strong, and he was enjoying every second of it.

From your position, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the scene playing out in agonizing slow motion. Dean's struggles were growing weaker, his face reddening as Elliot's grip tightened. The vampire was speaking, taunting him, but the words barely registered. All you knew was that if you didn't act now, you'd lose him.

Adrenaline surged through you, and you moved without hesitation. Dean's earlier order to stay back echoed faintly in your mind, but you pushed it aside. There was no way you were letting him die—not now, not ever. With your machete in hand, you crept forward, your steps quick but silent, your grip tightening around the hilt until your knuckles ached.

Elliot was so focused on his prey that he didn't notice you until it was too late. Just as he leaned in, his fangs poised to strike, you swung your machete with every ounce of strength you could summon. The silver blade whistled through the air, a deadly arc that struck true.

The cut was clean, precise. Elliot's head severed from his shoulders in an instant, his expression frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. His body crumpled to the ground in a heap, lifeless, as his head rolled a few feet away before coming to a stop. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Dean stumbled forward as the vampire's grip released, coughing and clutching at his throat. He leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Slowly, he looked up at you, his face a mix of relief and frustration. "You really don't take orders well, do you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse.

"You're welcome," you replied, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you tried to steady your breathing. Your grip on the machete remained firm, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Dean straightened, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His gaze dropped to Elliot's lifeless body, then back to you. A faint, crooked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hell of a swing," he muttered, nodding toward your machete. "Remind me not to piss you off."

You managed a small grin in return, though the weight of what had just happened hadn't fully lifted. "You looked like you needed a hand," you said simply, your voice steadier than you felt.

Dean's grin softened, and he reached out to clap a hand on your shoulder. The gesture was brief but heavy with meaning. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter now. "Seriously. I owe you one."

Before either of you could say more, the silence of the room was broken by a faint noise—a distant creak of footsteps echoing through the mansion. The two of you exchanged a glance, the momentary reprieve evaporating as the reality of the situation returned. The fight wasn't over. There were still more vampires lurking in the shadows, and you both knew it.

Dean bent to retrieve his machete, his movements steady despite the fatigue etched into his frame. "Let's finish this," he said, his voice firm, his green eyes sharp once more.

You nodded, your machete still at the ready.

The heavy iron doors of the Men of Letters bunker creaked and groaned as you, Sam, and Dean pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit warmth of your sanctuary. The hunt was finally over. Days of tracking the vampire herd, endless skirmishes, and close calls had culminated in one brutal showdown, leaving the herd annihilated—and all of you battered and exhausted. The adrenaline that had kept you on your feet had long since burned out, leaving only the ache of bruises and the bone-deep fatigue that followed every hunt.

Dean was the last to step inside, his machete hanging loosely at his side, the blade streaked with dried blood. His shirt was torn in several places, revealing fresh cuts and purple bruises across his arms, chest, and shoulders. He moved with a slight limp, favoring his left leg, and his face was streaked with grime and blood—some his, some not. Yet despite his disheveled state, he still managed to mutter, "Those damn bloodsuckers were on steroids or something," his tone laced with sarcasm as usual.

Sam, equally worse for wear with a gash above his eyebrow and dirt smudged across his face, clapped Dean on the back. "You're lucky they didn't do worse," he quipped, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Without waiting for a response, Sam trudged off toward his room, the promise of a shower and sleep clearly his priority. "I'll patch this up later," he added, gesturing vaguely to his injuries before disappearing down the hall.

Dean made to follow, his steps slow and uneven, but you stepped in front of him, crossing your arms and blocking his path. "Hold it right there," you said, your tone firm yet gentle. "You're the one who looks like you just went twelve rounds with a grizzly bear. Sit down."

Dean rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of annoyance. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the stiffness in his posture and the wince that flickered across his face told a different story. "It's just a couple scratches."

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his bravado. "Uh-huh. And I'm the queen of England. Sit. Down."

He sighed dramatically, but the fight was already gone from him. Dropping into one of the war room chairs with a heavy thud, he leaned back, letting his machete clatter onto the table. "Fine, Nurse Ratched," he grumbled, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Without another word, you grabbed the first-aid kit from its usual spot on the shelf and pulled up a chair beside him. Dean watched as you opened the kit and laid out what you needed, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. "You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?"

"Not even a little," you shot back, already dampening a cloth with antiseptic. "Now sit still and shut up."

Dean complied, though not without muttering something about you being bossier than Sam. You ignored him, focusing on cleaning the blood and grime from his face and arms. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the occasional hiss or wince from Dean when you pressed too hard on a particularly nasty gash. Your hands moved methodically, and despite his usual resistance to being fussed over, Dean stayed still, letting you work.

As you carefully wrapped a bandage around a deep cut on his arm, you caught him watching you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that his usual smirk was gone, replaced by something softer, almost contemplative. His green eyes lingered on your face, the intensity of his gaze making you pause.

"What?" you asked, glancing up at him.

Dean shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Just... you're good at this."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful but pointed. "I've had a lot of practice patching you up, Winchester."

He chuckled, but it was a quiet, almost bittersweet sound. "Yeah, I guess you have." His gaze dropped briefly, as if searching for the right words, before he looked back up at you. "You don't have to, you know. Take care of me like this. I'm supposed to be the one looking out for you."

You frowned, tightening the bandage with a little more force than necessary. "You don't get to decide that," you said firmly. "You're not just some guy I hunt with, Dean. You matter to me, okay? So stop being stubborn and let me take care of you."

Dean's breath hitched slightly at your words, his expression shifting. For a moment, he just looked at you, his usual walls nowhere to be found. His green eyes softened, and the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I'm in love with you."

The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of it sinking into the quiet space between you. You froze, staring at him, your heart racing as you processed his words. Dean Winchester, a man who guarded his emotions with ironclad defenses, had just let them spill out in the most unexpected way.

"Dean..." you started, but he cut you off with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

"Don't worry," he said quickly, his voice rough. "You don't have to say anything. I just... I needed to get it out there. You deserve to know."

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before placing a hand on his uninjured arm. "Dean," you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "You're an idiot if you think I don't feel the same way."

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. "You do?"

You smiled, squeezing his arm gently. "Of course I do, you stubborn ass. But we'll talk about it later—after you let me finish patching you up."

Dean let out a breathy laugh, his smile genuine this time. "Fair enough," he said, leaning back in the chair. "But you're still bossy."

"And you're still reckless," you shot back, shaking your head with a grin. "Take your shirt off."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, and despite the fatigue lining his face, a slow, cocky grin spread across his lips. "Well, if you wanted me naked, you could've just said so," he teased, his voice carrying that familiar drawl of Winchester charm. "Didn't peg you as the 'wounded soldier' type, but hey, I'm not complaining."

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the way his grin tugged at something in your chest. "I'm serious. I need to clean that cut on your chest, and I can't do that with your shirt in the way."

"Mm, bossy. I like it," he quipped, but as he reached for the hem of his shirt, his smirk faltered for a moment when the movement made him wince. He pulled the fabric over his head, tossing it to the floor with a groan.

You tried not to stare, but the sight of his battered torso was hard to ignore. Bruises in various stages of discoloration painted his skin, and dried blood streaked across the angry red gash that ran diagonally across his chest. Even beaten and bruised, Dean Winchester was... well, he was still Dean Winchester.

Focus. You grabbed a cloth, soaked it in antiseptic, and stepped closer, crouching slightly to better reach his chest. "This might sting," you warned, pressing the cloth gently against the wound.

Dean hissed, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. "No kidding," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You're lucky you're cute; otherwise, I'd be kicking you out of my personal space right now."

You raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a smirk of your own. "Pretty sure I've earned my place in your personal space, Winchester."

He chuckled, though it was rough and breathy. "Fair point." His green eyes lingered on you as you worked, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Y'know, you're pretty good at this."

"I've had a lot of practice," you replied, dabbing carefully around the edges of the gash. "Mostly because you keep getting yourself into situations like this."

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze never leaving your face. "Well, if this is how you're gonna take care of me, maybe I'll get banged up more often. Free TLC from my favorite person? Could be worse."

You let out a small huff of exasperation, but his words still sent a flicker of warmth through you. "You're impossible," you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued to clean his wounds, the air between you shifted. The banter quieted, replaced by something heavier, more intimate. The room seemed to shrink, the space between you and Dean charged with an unspoken tension. You could feel his gaze on you, more intent now, as if he were memorizing every detail of your face. Your hand brushed against his side as you worked, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

When you finally stood to discard the bloodied cloth, Dean's hands suddenly found your waist. His grip was firm but careful, his calloused fingers pressing gently into your sides. The unexpected touch made you freeze for a moment, your heartbeat stuttering as his thumbs brushed lightly against your hips. You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, you felt the warmth of his lips against your neck.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative, as if he were testing the waters. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered sent a shiver down your spine. You stood still, your hands hovering uncertainly near his shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

Then he tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that left you breathless. This wasn't the impulsive kind of kiss born from adrenaline or heat of the moment. This was something else entirely—something deliberate, something meaningful.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant. Dean Winchester wasn't exactly known for vulnerability, and this was different. There was no bravado, no smirk. Just him, raw and unguarded.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his hands still on your waist as if he couldn't bring himself to let go. His green eyes searched yours, his expression uncharacteristically open. It was as though he was trying to say something but didn't know how.

"Dean," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Don't," he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Don't say anything. Just... let me have this."

You swallowed hard, your emotions warring in your chest as you placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Okay," you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "But, Dean... I'm not going anywhere."

He closed his eyes for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at your words. When he opened them again, the vulnerability in his gaze was still there, but so was something else—something warmer. His hands loosened slightly on your waist, though he didn't let go.

"Good," he said quietly, his voice carrying a faint trace of that signature Winchester charm. "Because I'm not ready to let you go."

Dean's hands, so steady and certain in battle, now moved with a different kind of confidence. They trailed downward from your waist, his touch warm even through the fabric of your shirt. The shift in his grip sent a shiver through you, anticipation crackling in the air like static.

When his hands settled firmly on your ass, his hold was unapologetically possessive. He gave it a squeeze, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling from his throat, the sound reverberating through your chest. Against your lips, you felt the telltale curve of his smirk, laced with mischief and hunger. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes alight with that dangerous combination of charm and heat that was uniquely Dean Winchester.

"Didn't think I'd get you in my lap tonight," he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that sent warmth pooling low in your stomach. "But I'm not complaining."

Before you could form a coherent response—whether to quip back, scold him for his timing, or give in entirely—Dean shifted. His grip tightened, firm and insistent, and with one smooth, fluid motion, he pulled you forward. Your knees slid onto the chair on either side of his hips, your body straddling his thighs as he drew you into his lap. The sudden movement left you breathless, your chest brushing against his as you steadied yourself.

His hands returned to your hips, anchoring you firmly in place as if daring you to move. His gaze roamed over your face, taking in every detail with a mix of amusement and barely concealed desire. "That's better," he murmured, his lips twitching into a self-satisfied grin. "Now I've got you right where I want you."

Your breath hitched, and before you could retort, he surged forward, claiming your lips once more. This kiss was nothing like the first—it was hungry, demanding, a raw intensity that made your pulse race. His lips moved against yours with fervor, his hands pressing against your hips to pull you even closer, until there wasn't a sliver of space left between your bodies.

As the kiss deepened, his tongue teased yours, every movement deliberate, sending heat coursing through you. His fingers curled against your sides, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held. Beneath you, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength barely restrained as you balanced precariously on his lap.

When his lips finally broke away from yours, it was only to trail down your jaw, leaving a hot, tingling path in their wake. He pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, each one deliberate, calculated. His breath was warm against your pulse, and when his teeth grazed the tender spot just below your ear, your body reacted instinctively—a soft, involuntary sound escaping your lips.

Dean chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating against your skin. "Careful," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and a darker, more primal edge. "Make noises like that, and I might not let you off this lap for a while."

There was teasing in his tone, but beneath it, there was something deeper—something raw and unspoken. You could feel it in the way his hands moved over your body, exploring with a mix of reverence and desire. He wasn't just touching you; he was committing every curve, every line, to memory, as though this moment mattered more than either of you had expected.

When his lips returned to yours, the kiss was just as searing, just as consuming, but now it carried a weight that left you breathless. There was no rush, no urgency to move beyond this—just Dean, claiming every inch of you with his touch, his kiss, his presence. His hands remained steady on your hips, keeping you tethered to him, as though letting go wasn't an option.

And you realized you didn't want him to let go. Dean Winchester had a way of commanding a room, of making you feel like nothing else existed but the two of you. In this moment, you were more than willing to let him consume you completely.

Your fingers tangled in Dean's hair, the strands soft and warm against your touch as he kissed you with an intensity that made your world narrow down to just him. His hands gripped your ass firmly, his hold unapologetic and possessive, grounding you in a way that made your pulse race. The heat of his palms burned through your clothes, a stark contrast to the cool air of the bunker. Every touch carried a deliberate weight—hunger, yes, but also something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the space between you.

Dean finally broke the kiss, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak. His voice was low and gravelly, tinged with a vulnerability you didn't often hear from him. "You know," he began, his green eyes meeting yours with an almost shy flicker, "I had this whole damn night planned for you."

The unexpected confession caught you off guard, and you blinked at him, your hands still resting in his hair. "What?" you whispered, your voice soft, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat.

Dean let out a quiet chuckle, equal parts humor and self-deprecation, as his hands slid from your ass to rest gently on your hips. He tilted his head back slightly, his gaze searching yours, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction. "Yeah," he said, his tone quieter now, a rare tenderness weaving through his words. "Candles, music, real food—not diner junk. I even picked out a bottle of whiskey that didn't taste like it came out of an engine block."

Your lips parted in surprise, the image of Dean Winchester—gruff, no-nonsense, and allergic to emotional displays—meticulously planning a romantic evening stirring something deep in your chest. "You?" you managed, a note of disbelief creeping into your voice.

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, lacking his usual cocky edge. "Yeah, me. Don't look so shocked." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to speak again. "I don't do that kind of thing for just anyone. But for you... I wanted to."

Your hands slid from his hair to cup his face, your thumbs brushing gently over the stubble on his jaw. "Dean..." you began, your voice soft, but the weight of your emotions made it impossible to finish the sentence.

Dean cut you off, his smirk fading into a rueful grin. "Of course, the universe had other plans," he muttered, his tone turning wry. "Because why the hell not throw a pack of vampires into the mix, right? Nothing says romance like dead man's blood and machetes."

A soft laugh escaped you, the sound breaking through the heavy tension that had settled between you. "So, what? You're telling me I missed out on some grand romantic gesture?"

Dean's lips twitched into a quiet laugh of his own as his thumbs traced slow circles on your hips. "Not just some grand gesture," he corrected, his voice growing serious again. His green eyes locked onto yours, the sincerity in them hitting you harder than you expected. "I wanted you to know... how much you matter to me. How much this—" he gestured faintly between the two of you with a slight shrug "—means."

His words hit you like a freight train, the raw honesty in them leaving you momentarily speechless. Dean Winchester didn't do vulnerability—not often, and not easily. But here he was, baring himself to you in a way that was rare, even for him.

After a beat, you found your voice. "You didn't need candles or whiskey to show me that," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Just you, Dean... that's more than enough."

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Yeah, well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead that was so tender it made your chest ache, "I'm still gonna make it up to you. Just wait."

His hands slid back to your ass, his grip firm and familiar, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together again. His lips found yours once more, and this kiss was just as consuming as the first—but now it was softer, filled with something more profound than just hunger. It was a promise, a reassurance that this—whatever it was—wasn't just a fleeting moment.

As the kiss deepened, his touch moved with the same deliberate care, his hands anchoring you to him as though he wanted to keep you there forever. You couldn't help but smile against his lips, your heart full as the weight of his words lingered.

Maybe the night hadn't gone as planned. Maybe there were no candles, no music, no expensive whiskey. But none of that mattered. Because Dean was here, raw and unguarded, and in this messy, unplanned moment, he had given you something far more valuable than any grand gesture.

He had given you him. And that was more than enough.

[weeping-fairy]

My first lil writing. Just Spencer Reid smut

Please be constructive, this is literally the first time I've ever written something like this. MDNI 18+

It has crying, unprotected pnv, multiple orgasms, non specific body size, sorta friends to lovers, sorta sub spencer, and ya things like that.

word count: 3131

Spencer has always had a thing for you. 

Poor guy could never admit that though. I mean you, in his eyes, is probably the most stunning person he had ever seen. Its not like he would watch from afar, no you guys are good friends. Every time you guys hang out he has a new fact to tell you, wanting to impress you. He especially loves to tell you things that he knows you are interested in. If you talk about anything he's researching it, trying to understand it the way you do. Its his way of getting closer to you. Him being an intellectual, he loves learning your brain. Youve even taught him a few things, mostly about social interactions, something he is not too good at. He studies the way you effortlessly coast through an awkward situation, how you avoid saying certain things, how you know when to talk and when not to. Its absolutely fascinating to him, how much you know about strangers. He's a profiler, and he's glad he gets to use his training to learn you. 

Whenever he comes home, he always goes to you. This case was particularly hard for him as it hit close to home. He couldn't help but to think of you. The victims friend deeply in love with her. She died the day he was going to tell her. And he had the misfortune of interrogating him for her murder. 

Through tears he explains, "Please you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with this.." the man unable to breathe, Spencer interrupts:

"What did you do when you found out about her boyfriend?"

The subject completely dumbfounded, "Her what?"

Spencer could tell he was being genuine, he had no idea about any boyfriend, he didn't kill her in a jealous rage, he loved her, and she will never know how much. 

Spencer had wished that you were there, to change the subject, or maybe provide your calming presence for the troubled man. If anyone could get him out of this, it would be you. After that awkward interview he couldn't push you out of his mind, how similar this situation is to his own. You could die, and you will never know how he feels. He starts to overthink on the jet ride home. 

"I've waited too long, she wouldn't like me back." 

"It doesn't matter, nobody wants the burden of being with me, I'm never home, she deserves someone who could be by her side"

"And what if by some sort of miracle she likes me back? then what, my job will put her in danger. everyone that i touch is murdered. Maybe i should just stay away, it'll help the both of us"

You knew that Spencer must've been having a hard time. He always keeps tabs on you, texting you everyday, occasionally a call if he gone for more than a week. 

This time its different, he hasn't gotten back at all. Its not total silence, but its enough to get you worried. 

You decide to text: "Hey, I hope every thing is ok, you haven't been talking to me as much. I'm not upset, i know that sometimes cases get hard and draining. I just want to be there for you if you want to talk about it, or something else to get your mind off of it. I look forward to hanging out when you get back, stay safe!"

His response is cold, which only worsens your anxiety

"Just a hard case. Don't want to get into it."

That's all? Spencer is never like this, ever. You can feel your heart drop, tears form. 

"Did i do something? Did i push to far, hurt him by accident?" You start to cry, but still respond:

"That's ok, let me know if you need anything at all, alright?" No response. A day later you stopped by his place, unannounced. He opens the door, obliviously surprised that its you. His eyes widen, he always looks at you like that. It makes your stomach flip and your cheeks flush. 

"hey i hope this ok, i just missed you." you end the what felt like a long pause. He says nothing, instead moving out your way to let you in. Its like second nature, he cant even think when he lets you in, he just knows he needs you around. 

You enter the space, you've been there 1000x before but this time there's an undeniable tension, it makes you nervous. Your head swirling with negative thoughts, worried that he hates you, you must've said something to trigger this behavior right?

When you show up at his house he's in awe. He had been pushing you away, the newest case affecting him in ways that made him uncomfortable. Made him face feelings that he had known were there but pushed away. But there you were anyways, in his home, just you. It had been too long, and just your presence had put him at ease. Due to the abnormal distance from you he was also unbelievably turned on. This always happens on long cases, but usually he would call you, listen to your voice as you fall asleep. The soft, tired tone of your voice enough to make him cum without even touching himself. But this case was different, he pushed you away on purpose, and he had deprived himself of these small moments to keep his raging hormones at bay. He could text you or call you and then fuck his fist and act like he didn't just imagine you in a very compromising position. But now here you were, at his door. Your face flushed, eyes tired. You weren't wearing anything revealing, but that didn't stop him from imagining what was underneath the clothes. It took everything in him not to stare at the way your shirt stretched over your breasts. He moves aside to let you in, his eyes fall to your ass as you walk past him. Your scent trails behind you, it was subtle. Your perfume complimenting your natural scent perfectly. He watches as you turn to face him, your big eyes looking up at him, a pleading look in your eyes. You don't need to speak. 

"Im so sorry," he whispers. You cut him off.

"did i do something?" your voice threatening to break.

He thinks to himself "fucking idiot, she's about to cry because of you and the only thing you can think of is how you want to be buried between her thighs," his mind drifts for a second before responding, thinking about how heavenly your moans would sound muffled, your thighs pressed up against his ears. In fact he doesn't respond, all the pessimism that had plagued his mind, gone. Instead he steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. He looks at your lips and moves in. Just doing it. 

Feeling his hand on your face made your cheeks burn. A pool forms at the bottom of your stomach. Then he does it, he kisses you, a soft, surprised moan slips out. This only serves to turn him on more. Kissing you deeper now, your lips part just enough for his tongue to slip in. This makes you step back, your back is met with the closed door. He moves with you, caging you in. His hands move to your hips, gripping the soft fat of your hips. His hands creep under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your bare skin. You stop him,

"Wait," you say breathless, "what's going spencer?"

His forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, he begins to speak, years of feelings coming out in one single word:

"Please." Then his eyes blink open to be met with your own. Your pupils blown. You don't respond with words but a passionate kiss, your hands tangling in his hair. You dont know what led up to this, but that doesn't matter right now. Your mind consumed with the pleasure of his lips against yours. He starts backing away from the door, his hands still under your shirt, on your waist leading you to the couch. He sits down, holding you still looking up at you, he gently tugs you to straddle his lap. No words, just staring at each other with lust and longing. He holds your face in his hands and admires you. He kisses you again, gentle. He keeps your head in his hands and kisses from your lips, to your jaw, down to your neck. He cradles your head as he continues, moaning against your skin. The taste of just your skin is magnificent. You can feel his bulge press against you, at first you sit up a bit, but as you melt under his soft moans and gentle kisses, you sit down. The feeling of your bodies joining elicits a moan from the both of you. He moves his head from the crook of your neck to look at you, his face flushed. 

"I'm sorry, i cant help it, vie needed this for so long," he whines, bucking his hips against you. You meet him in the middle, grinding against him, your face falls to the crook of neck. 

He pleads "no no please, i need to see your pretty face"

You look at him. He leans back on the couch and keeps a firm grip on your hips, not guiding you, but keeping you firmly pressed against him. 

"yes yes please, god you are so beautiful," his voice breaking, tears forming. 

"please keep going, please i could cum just like this," tears falling now

You slow down a bit and hold his face, "what's wrong? spencer you are crying"

In a sheepish tone he responds, "please don't stop, i just need you so bad, you are all i think about please, please"

His hands tighten around your hips in an effort to get you back to the pace you were at before. But this doesn't work, you stop.

"Please spencer, what is wrong?"

A quiet sob comes out and he hugs you, "I just- this case. it made me think about you and I'm tired of pretending that everything you do doesn't affect me. Even the most insignificant things are like their kind of art when preformed by you. Ive written poems about the soft sound of your breathing when the conversation hits a lull. And i cant act like im not completely enchanted by you. I cant ever let you go without telling you that, without you knowing that i am completely smitten with you."

You hold him as he admits this, you would be lying if you said you didn't feel the same way. You hold him as he sobs.

"Spencer, lets go lay down ok?" You say as you stand up off of him. You lay in his bed and hold him, his ear placed against your heart he calms down. A comfortable silence falls between the both of you. you break it:

"Spencer?," you whisper, almost afraid to break the ease the quiet has provided.

"yes?" He responds in the same, yet more eager tone

"You know i love you too.." 

He looks up at you and kisses you, shifting his body on top of yours, then he stops himself:

"We can go slow, im sorry im just eager"

You reassure him, "No please, dont stop, i need this too."

He does not need to be told twice, the blood rushing to his groin as the words leave your mouth. He shifts between your legs and kisses your neck as he grinds against you. His ear at the perfect place to hear every one of the soft moans fall from your lips. He leaves open mouth, sloppy kisses against your neck, groaning at the taste of your skin. He desperately rubs against you, his hands going under your shirt, massaging your breasts. You buck your hips up, you moan his name and he stops, meeting your gaze. He gives a confused expression.

"take it off spencer, dont stop please"

He does, for a second his brain short circuits. Staring at you topless, it was better than he could've ever imagined. His face moves to the crook between your breasts. Kissin you with reverence. A whimper falls from his mouth with each kiss. Whispering sweet pleasantries' into your skin.

"you are so soft, so sweet"

"thank you so much, so beautiful" 

His mouth attaches to your nipple while his hand rests atop the other. Sucking your nipple into a hard bud, then doing the same to the other. As happy as he is right now he wants something more, he kisses down your body, gripping at the waist band of your pants and pulling them down. Its like hes in a trance. You aren't complaining, lifting your hips so he can pull everything off. He looks down at you, you look up at him. There's a vulnerability in your eyes, you are almost completely naked on his bed and he has yet to take anything off. He notices this and holds your face,

"whats wrong?" he questions further, "did i do something wrong?"

You assure him, "no no, just exposed is all and you aren't" You let out an awkward chuckle to bring light. He looks embarrassed as you bring this up, in his mind this was never about him, it was about you. He could cum in his pants by just sucking your breast all day if that's what you wanted. Although he craves your touch, it doesn't have the same effect as touching you. 

Hearing you. Tasting you. 

"You want me naked?" you cant help but to laugh at the question.

"well isn't that how this usually goes?" He smiles at you and rushes to take his clothes off. He just wants to get back to kissing you. You both share giddy giggles as he gets back on top of you. He kisses you, its sweet. Its beautiful, there's no fear. Nothing about spencer has ever frightened you, even when all he wants to do is ravage you he still stops and slows down. He always notices your face, hes studied every expression you make. With spencer you feel known. As the kissing gets deeper he moves to your neck and back down your body. Kissing where the waistline of your underwear sits. Then he moves his head between your legs, kissing your clothed cunt. Lapping up your clothed core. Finally he cant take it, he pushes your panties to the side and starts. He kisses it before he eats it, worshiping his meal. He might as well have said grace. His tongue delves into your folds. Your taste causing him to moan against you. the vibrations shoot through your body. He attaches to your clit, licking and sucking as his fingers graze your entrance. As he continues he cant help but to hump the mattress. He cant stop it. Your moans and the way your body reacts to his touch is all to much for him. And when his fingers dive in, that's it for him. He stops for a second to look at your face. 

"her face.." he thinks to himself. your face contorted with pleasure. You look up at him, his fingers working you from within and his thumb rubs your swollen clit. 

"Sp-spencer" over and over. Its the only word your know. The familiar coil tightens in your stomach. You are close. You grip his shoulders, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

"please just like that," you whine. Its spencers turn to plead,

"Please i wanna make you feel good, please cum for me"

Finally it hits you like a ton of bricks, you clench around his fingers as he slows his ministrations, working you through. As you cum you moan his name, its like heroin to him, he loves it. He brings his soaked fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. The sight is something out of a museum. Your own personal art, a snapshot that will etch itself into your memory. You pull him to you and kiss him. The both of you moan as your lips attach. Your hand palms him through his boxers, he bites your bottom lip as he moans. Your hand reaches in his boxers and works him. His tip sticky with pre-cum. He whimpers in your neck.

"spencer i need you, i need you in me" 

He immediately springs into action, removing your panties and his own boxers. He lines himself and looks at you as his tip slips in. The ecstasy on your face, the way you let your head fall, and your jaw goes lax. He slowly moves until he bottoms out. His own eyes flutter shut, tears forming. 

"so so warm" he mumbles as he starts to thrust harder. Hes not fast but he is deep, pounding in deep. It almost knocks the air out of you, for a scrawny guy his thrusts are powerful. Tears falling from his eyes he rambles

"dont make me stop, im not sad you just feel amazing, i need this please"

"its ok spencer please keep going, you feel so good."

He hides in your neck, his hips still moving. he whimpers in your ear

"so good, so pretty, god i love you so much, thank you, thank you." His movements grow sloppier, you are close too, but hes a lot closer. 

"spencer please just a little longer, mmso close" more tears fall from his eyes as he fights to not finish, he reaches between the both of you and starts to rub your clit. The extra stimulation is just what you need.

"f-fuck spencer im cumming"

He slams into you a couple more times then cums deep inside you. He bites your neck to hide the pathetic moan/sob that falls from his mouth. He stays sheathed within your warmth as he catches his breath. the occasional "thank you" and "i love you" whispers come from him as he calms down. As he pulls out a gasp comes from the both of you. He watches his essence seep out of you. Then looks at your face. Your spent, sweat glistens against your forehead, your hair a mess. You reach your arms out to him, and he lays next to you. You lay your head on his chest. 

"spencer, that was perfect," you say, your voice raspy and raw. 

"i hope so, ive thought about that a lot" he holds you, rubbing your back lazily. You sit in silence till he hears your soft snores. He chuckles to himself and makes sure the blankets are snug around the both of you. He shuts his eyes and falls asleep, listening to his new favorite white noise. 

If yall hate it or have any pointers lemme know! I hope everyone enjoys, i think its nice. I'm sorry if its confusing or anything i wrote it in like a stream of conciseness

[venomwrites]

So, I felt conflicted about everything in the last chapter. Which I think is a good thing. I get Cait should have talked with Vi about her decision. But I also understand her need to do something for herself. And I've loved that Cait went and did it regardless but also in the end gave Vi a choice to be a part of it. Plus the reconnect of intimacy with the dropped badge was a nice touch because Cait actually recognized Vis trauma.

And I feel for Vi. I do. That is some fucked up shit that happened on that bridge. And not her fault. And Cait should have been more mindful of that. And I need that to be recognized. But here is the kicker: I understand Vis conflicted emotions but I also understand Vander's anger.

Because: Vi is not responsible for her trauma. But as you said: She is responsible for working through it. And what she went out of her way to do is hurt Cait. It's a trauma response. And it makes sense to lash out. But it's no excuse to do it. It's no excuse to go out and hurt ppl. And she did so deliberately. And it's conflicting in the best way. Because on the one hand, the person Vi cares about so so much, who kept her alive, goes off to join the force who hurt her deeply. But on the other hand Vi goes out of her way and maybe only temporarily to hurt Caitlyn who fought hard to keep them alive in a way traumatizing her in return.

It's a great thing! I was conflicted writing it!

I really love what you said at the end because one of the things that really drew me to exploring this AU was how Vi and Caitlyn would experience the Bridge. And we know Vi's trauma, but imagine being Caitlyn who gets tear gassed in her living room. And we see that trauma affecting them as they grow up. Caitlyn has now experienced a taste of the brutality but for all her resources she can do nothing except try to make this one Zaunite a bit less miserable. And Vi grows up filled with anger towards Piltover but also aware that there is at least one Piltover person keeping her alive.

I tried to plant this seed that Felicia, Vander and everyone else thought Vi's soulmate was someone in Piltover with resources, but no-one considered it was the Kiramman's. Vander even says to Cassandra that he wondered why she called off the Enforcers on the Bridge. So Vi's Soulmate is both directly responsible for her survival and very connected to her parents death. I think it leads to a lot of complicated feelings for Vi regarding her Soulmate even though Caitlyn did not do any of those things directly.

Vander doesn't want Vi to make his mistakes. He doesn't want he poisoned by the anger that poisoned him. That's why when he sees her being deliberately cruel to Caitlyn with the face tattoo, he calls Silco. It's almost past the point of whose right or wrong, it's kind of forcing Vi to see that she can have the anger but it's going to cost her a lot. It's almost an echo of the 'who are you willing to lose' scene in the show.

That's why I loved that scene where she finally says to Caitlyn you really hurt me instead of lashing out. And I think that's what lets Caitlyn say Vi hurt her too. The violence turns from physical lashing out to words. They grow past their predecessors because they don't descend into the same violence. Even though it would be justified. When I was a kid learning to cross the street, my mother used to tell me you can have the right of way and still be killed by a car.

Now for the acknowledgement of the trauma, this came up in my other fic but Caitlyn actually takes off the bandage. She has the VI tattoo in her official Enforcer's license. She does it so every time she takes it out she remembers what Enforcers did to Vi and her family. It's a reminder to consider her actions in the line of duty.

And then when Vi becomes an Enforcer, their licenses match.

Also. yes I loved the dropped badge. Especially in the wake of Vi deciding to go with the other Soulmates (which Cait didn't even tell her about to spare her from it). I love that when Vi decides something is more important than her anger, Caitlyn shows her she's always been more important than the badge.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 12 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Angst

Word Count: 2K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE Read Pt. 8 HERE Read Pt. 9 HERE Read Pt. 10 HERE - Read Pt. 11 HERE

Who Gave You So Much Power?

Cringing at one of the voices you never wanted to hear again, you spun, coming face to face with the aforementioned woman. "Val."

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, or simply Val to those unfortunate enough to know her, stood before you with a smug smile plastered on her face. Her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of shadows, and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. She was dressed in a tight black dress that accentuated every curve, and you had to admit, she still had the same intoxicating allure she did all those years ago. She tutted at your attitude, stepping in closer to you.

"Val, what the hell are you doing here?" you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady.

Her smile grew wider. "Oh, I just thought I'd stop by and see how my favorite little side-project was doing," she purred, stepping closer. Her scent, a seductive blend of vanilla and sandalwood, filled your nostrils, and you had to fight the urge to push her away.

"Pietro is my best friend, Val. Stay the hell away from him," you warned, your voice low and threatening.

"Oh, Y/N. It's not just him," she stepped into your personal space, her front pressed to yours. "You never did tell him, did you?"

You felt your throat constrict as you stepped back, trying to put distance between the two of you. "Tell him what?"

She cackled, her eyes full of mirth. "Oh, Y/N," she cooed, "you still don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" you demanded, your voice a mix of anger and annoyance.

"How much you and I had in common," Val whispered, her breath warm on your neck. You could feel her hand sneak around your waist, her fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt. "How much we both love to play games, especially when it comes to those around us."

You tried to push her away, but she was like a siren, her touch paralyzing. "What are you talking about, Val?" you managed to ask, your voice strained. "Remember how much comfort you gave me after Piet had left me, not even a word? And then, you thought you were so slick, moving on to my stepdaughter, but..."

"And, Val? None of that fucking matters. It was the past. And a mistake."

Her eyes narrowed, "What make you think I don't know about Wanda?" she hissed.

You took a step back, breaking her hold. "It's none of your business," you said firmly. "What happened between us is in the past, and it's staying there."

Val's wry smile never wavered. "Is that what you tell yourself?" she challenged. "Because it seems to me like you're still playing the same games, just with different players."

"What the fuck, Val? There aren't 'players', just one human, who I care deeply about."

Val let out a deep laugh, leaning against your car. "Oh, Y/N. Dogs don't learn new tricks, they play the same ones, over, and over. The only player here is you. Or should I say, was you?"

You felt your fists clench, but you took a deep breath, trying to keep your cool. "I don't know what you're trying to do, Val, but you're not going to ruin what I have with Wanda. And you're not going to destroy Pietro in the process, either."

Her smile turned predatory, "Is that what you think this is about? Ruining you all?" She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to caress your cheek. You flinched away, your heart racing. "No, darling. This is about fixing what you broke. And if that means playing a little game to remind you of what you lost, then so be it."

You stepped back, your hand bumping into the cold metal of your car door. "I didn't lose anything," you said through gritted teeth. "And I'm not playing your games anymore."

Val's smile never faltered, "Oh, but you are, whether you want to or not. And as for what you think you have with Wanda... well, let's just say that she's a very perceptive girl. She'll see right through your little charade."

"Whatever you say Val. This conversation is done." You turned to get into your car, but she grabbed your arm, her nails digging into your skin. "Don't be so hasty, Y/N," she said, her eyes glinting with malice. "You don't know how far I'm willing to go."

You jerked your arm free, the sting of her nails reminding you of the pain she's always been so eager to inflict. Shoving her back from your car, you walked her backwards, away from you. "Stay away from Wanda," you snarled. "And from me, too. We have nothing to do with your fucked up games. Don't ever threaten me with your bullshit again."

Val's smile grew, "Threaten? Me? Oh no, darling. That's not a threat, that's a promise. You see, I know what you're feeling right now. The excitement, the anticipation of what's to come. It's like a high, isn't it?"

You laughed in her face, before stepping back from her. "Is that what we call disgust now?"

You didn't escape that conversation nearly as fast as you wanted, but you were now on your way home. That much closer to Wanda. Your mood had all but been destroyed by two women, but you knew you needed to talk to your neighbor. You had to be the one to tell her about Val's return and what she had said, because if you didn't, you knew that Val would find a way to twist it. The car ride home was a blur, your mind racing with the implications of Val's words.

When you reached your house, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before you walked over and knocked on Wanda's door. The heavy wooden door opened, revealing Wanda in a soft, white sweater and a pair of leggings that hugged her in all the right places. She looked surprised to see you, her eyes wide. "Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

You stepped inside, the warmth of her home enveloping you like a comforting blanket. "No, Wands. It's not," you sighed, running your hands through your hair. "I need to tell you something."

Her eyes searched yours, sensing the gravity of the situation. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Do you remember Pietro's ex? From Westview?" You began, the words feeling like sandpaper against your throat.

Wanda's eyes grew serious, "Valentina? The psycho that sent him sprialling for months?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation grow heavier. "Yeah. Thats the one." You took another deep breath, "Val's back in town, and she's down to playing games again."

Wanda's eyes widened, the color draining from her cheeks. "What does she want with Pietro?"

"Wanda, I don't think she's back for Pietro."

Wanda's gaze sharpened as she stepped closer, her eyes searching yours for answers. "What do you mean?"

You swallowed hard, bracing yourself for the potential fallout. "Can we sit?"

Wanda nodded, leading you to the couch, the same couch that had been the stage for your intimate confessions and passionate encounters. The memory of your tangled limbs and whispered promises seemed to hang in the air like a ghost, a stark contrast to the tension that now filled the space.

"Speak, Y/N. You're kinda freaking me out here."

Wanda's voice brought you back to the present, and you took a deep breath before speaking. "Val's back, but she doesn't seem to be concerned with Piet."

Her eyes searched yours, "What are you saying? Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

You gulped, looking down at your clasped hands. "She's a little bit more interested in someone else, Wanda."

Wanda's eyes searched yours, "Who?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your next words. "Me," you admitted. "And by extension, you. She and I were a thing, after Piet left, I was there for her. It turned into a fling before I left Westview. And after I was done with her, I slept with her stepdaughter, kinda as payback for the way she made me feel."

Wanda's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions crossing her face. "Why are you telling me this?"

You met her gaze, your own eyes filled with a mix of guilt and resolve. "Because she came to my office today, hinted that she knows about us, and said she's playing a game. I don't know what she's planning, but I wanted you to hear it from me."

Wanda's expression was unreadable, the silence in the room thick and suffocating. You watched as she processed the information, her hand unconsciously twisting the hem of her sweater. "Get out." she finally whispered, her voice shaking.

You stared at her, shocked by her sudden coldness. "Wands, please, let me explain."

But she was already on her feet, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "No, Y/N. I don't want to hear it." She took a step back as if you had physically harmed her.

You stood up, reaching for her, but she stepped back again, holding up her hand. "Don't," she warned, her voice trembling. "I can't believe this. Does Piet know you fucked his ex right after he left?"

Wanda's eyes searched yours, trying to find the truth in them, but you knew she was seeing the past, the lies and the pain that Val had brought to her brother, and by extension, her. "I'm sorry," you said again, feeling like the words were hollow. "I should've told you sooner."

"But you didn't," she spat, her voice filled with accusation. "You've been keeping this from me, and from Piet, from the start. What else are you hiding?"

You felt the sting of her words, knowing you'd hurt her by omitting this part of your history. "Wanda, I didn't keep it from you to hurt you," you protested, your voice cracking. "I told you that I had a rough go in Westview, and that's why I left. I had to get away. After I got with her, she destroyed everything."

Wanda's eyes narrowed, her hand still held up as a barrier. "She destroyed everything? Y/N, you slept with my brother's manipulative, psychotic ex-girlfriend right as he had stepped out of the house, and you have the balls to throw it all on her?!"

You felt the stab of her accusation, knowing you had a part to play in the chaos that had unfolded back then. "I know, I know, and it was wrong," you said, taking a step closer, reaching out to her again. "But you have to understand, I was hurt and angry. And Val...she knew just how to push my buttons. And she used that to get what she wanted. But that's over, Wanda. That was then."

"Jesus, Y/N! What else are you keeping from me? I know people have skeletons, but damn!"

"Wands, please." you beg, your voice cracking slightly. "These are things that I had to work on myself, first. That's why I hid myself away for so long. I have demons, Wands, we all do. There is a time and a place to bring these things up, and to do it in a healthy, constructive way. This is not that!"

Wanda's eyes searched yours, the anger slowly draining away, replaced by confusion and sadness. "What do you want from me, Y/N?" she whispered. "What game are you playing?"

Your eyes dimmed at her accusation. "Wanda, I am not here, with you, to play a game." You stepped closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, but she stepped back, folding her arms protectively across her chest. "I'm here because I care about you. And because I want you to know the truth before Val has the chance to twist it into something it's not."

For a moment, the air between you hung heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Then, with a sigh that seemed to deflate her anger, Wanda sat back down on the couch, her eyes never leaving yours. "Tell me everything," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I need to know."

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Someone insisting we don't learn language intuitively unless homeschooled...Did...did your parents put in you in school at 18 months of age? Did a teacher go around a room of toddlers with a dictionary saying, "This is what 'mama' means"? Because if the answer to that is no--and it is definitely no--you learned language intuitively, like everyone else. The finer points you learn in school, and later on your own, but even as you're doing that, you're still picking up words and phrases just by talking to people and reading.

[atalienart]

✧*:･ﾟArt summary 2024

2014-2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021

[diy-brain-surgery]

safiya nygaard is my favorite member of the bourgeoisie. she really just has the money to do whatever she feels like, whenever she feels like it. and trust, whenever she posts a new video, i will be seated. (currently watching her run a "custom croissant bakery" for a day)