#city of djinns

[writer-room]

Created more civilian memes post-Merge because I am ill

Look me in the eyes. Never-Realm inhabitants would see what Zane’s life is like in Ninjago and I know, in my heart of hearts, someone would instantly go “oh thats nice. wanna hear about that time he tried to murder us for, like, sixty years?” and Ninjago just has to like. live with this.

1, 3, 4

[flavia8]

You know. Something I really hate about a lot of popular fantasy books, and it's especially prevalent in Romantasy, is what passes for Feminism in them. It's a toothless fake, used as an aesthetic/seasoning. A sprinkle of *strong female character* and a dash of deceptively misogynistic everything else, and for the finishing touch a pinch of man who's slightly better than being openly sexist and Boom. Fantasy series led by a FMC.

Generally, the Female Main character either starts out or becomes incredibly powerful, but always, always, always her power is linked to the men around her. She supposedly has agency and makes her own choices but the choices she makes are between choices provided to her by men. Her male love interest is more powerful in SOME way, and ends up besting her in some way. Experience, training, power, there's always some way the man is better than her. Female characters are never allowed to just BE powerful. Or even just BE single. Often they give up their powers, or are forcibly stripped of them. They look down on other female characters for doing "feminine" work. And, they're stupid as hell to supposedly make them relatable or endearing. Often, the male mc is concerningly abusive but it's portrayed as dreamy, romantic and Ideal. (I genuinely get the love for villains, and enemies to not, and the love for morally grey characters, I genuinely do, but this isn't that, what happens in these books is just genuinely bad (if they actually were people) being portrayed through rose colored glasses) [And in some stories that could be genuinely interesting!] If there's a second Love Interest, he will just do the same awful shit to the MC but it's better now bc it's him.

If the female character isn't white, all of this + a staggering amount of racism. They're rarely MCs. They're fridged for the MCs, they serve the MCs, they're never as beautiful or powerful as the MC, they're stereotyped and portrayed as savage, vapid, comically evil, or just as a good guy with no character at all.

These books are presented as feminist and it pisses me off. Feminism is equality for all, and the fight for Women to be equal and have their own agency. To make their own decisions. Genuinely I believe writers should be able to write whatever they want. I have no issues with having "problematic" stuff in books. My issue is when people start to believe that this shit is feminist, and the author is so skilled and amazing, and it's a masterpiece! Fuck that.

[smbhax]

Illustration by Fernando Fernandez

[ofglories]

Felix can make plants grow with a single touch of his hand. All it takes is a bit of contact and then a withered tree will return to life, nutrients will return to the soil around it. The powers of Venus Adepts aren’t restricted to just moving the earth, healing wounds, or creating weapons of life energy. They are masters of the earth, and plantlife is included in that.

On the other hand, Felix’s ability to transform his body into moving sand is a rare gift.

[saccharinerose]

Sometimes I am tempted to read Crescent City solely to post this

when I get to the part where the main character finds her cop friends brutally murdered but then I think about the psychic damage I take from even looking at small excerpts and how I could spend that time doing literally anything actually enjoyable and I decide against it

[artemisiatridentata]

god I hateeee when I read a book and stick with it because I like the potential of the plot even though it just falls flat on its face repeatedly. just out here torturing myself for no reason

[whereserpentswalk]

Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like. Reblog to give a gift to your patron.

The fae: a creature stands before you. Though this street was warm and crowded a few moments ago it is suddenly cold and the people around you look like shadows. The creature begins an antlered shadow with glowing white eyes, but soon its body can be seem, with white blue flesh, and sapphire eyes, and icicles for teeth. What looks like a cloak unfolds from its naked body and you can see massive white wings of a moth. As if it's an act of sacrifice you tell it your true name, a name you didn't even see before, and suddenly you belong to it, for better or worse.

The angel: a radiant entity appears before you. They're bright, like something so hot it would burn you up. But as the light fades, you can see a person in silver armor, perfect yet inhuman like am ancient green statue, their back srouting six wings with blue eyes along them, as the eyes on their head are covered by a mask of two smaller wings. The creature offers their hands and you shake it, as they fly you through the city streets and above the skyscrapers, to the stars above and dimensions beyond, to gods living and dead, across the streets of alien cities and the clouds of dead worlds. And when you return to the earth you can feel something diffrent about you, like there's light in your blood.

The scavenger: below the lights of skyscrapers beyond you, on the dark sands of the beach, you see it crawling twords you. This serpentine creature with countless legs, and a dark black shell, yet a strangely human like face. You think it'll attack or run away, but it just looks at you, egar, and for a momment you stare at eachother. It's legs pass something to eachother and then to you, it's meat but it's shining with all the colors known to the human eye, and a few more. You hold it and it happily looks at you. You take a bite and suddenly you know... you know so very much...

The vampire: she flies down to you on green wings with orange eyespots, but folds them into her back. She looks like a human for a momment, tall and strong, with a black suit over her body, but eyes the color of ruby. For a momment her mouth opens, and it's massive and monstrous, with countless moving parts and fangs. But then it folds back onto something humanoid and she gives you a playful smirk. She cuts her hand and offers you her blood, and when you drink it it tastes so sweet, and makes you feel so good. She hands you the knife and you know to do the same, and when she drinks from your palm it's life the sweetest of kisses.

The djinn: the room wirs around you. If it were not for the fans it would feel like hellfire. For a momment there it darkness, but then the screen before you glows white like smokeless flame. You can sense something inside, something beyond the code. You reach your hand within it, and there's no glass, your hand passess right through until you're in a white void of your own making. You call out, thinking there is nothing at all around you. Yet somehow something calls back, something that knows your name.

The rat king: You see him in an empty subway station. Something dark and distorted, you're not sure if he's man or animal, covered in rags, and singing in the language of the goblins and the orcs. Yet he comes close to you excited. And you can feel his song. He calls for you to come to the train tracks, and let yourself run with the rats and the roaches, where the train will pass over you when it comes, and you'll live forever. When you touch the third rail you don't die, but you'll never be human again.

The lich: the library is strangely bright. Run by skeletons in suits, decorated with gold. There are more books here then you thought were in all the world. There's knowledge here most mortals will never have the change below, all kept safe below the city. You see her, her body doesn't look human, everything has been replaced making her look more like a joining white doll then a being of flesh. Yet she is dead, you can tell that under the porcelain skin she must be dead, she is dead, and there is the tragedy of death in her eyes. You come closer to her, and she places a black rose within your hair...

The demon: You stand in his office and he stands before you, a humanoid being covered in black scales, with red eyes covering his skin. Yet none are on his head, that remains featureless save for two massive horns. Wings on his back nearly surround you. Countless souls line the walls of his office, looking at you, waiting. After you sign your name you give him yours, you can feel it come away for you forever and your eyes grey and your skin pales. But he puts the jar in a special place for you, you're spacial, he can tell there's something about you that he likes.

The mushroom lord: you walk through the darkness of the forest, the furthest from civilization you have ever been. You come upon a part where the trees all seem dead, that even the cryptids won't go near. Mushrooms fill the ground, and white vein like lines are all over the trees. You feel the need to lay down, and you let the moss and the mushrooms and the worms surround you, and let yourself sink into the soil,, and it feels good. It feels so good...

The witch: You can see them in the Cafe next to you, skinny and small, with a sweatshirt over most of their body, and dark glasses over their eyes. They seem powerful though, and though their body looks young they seem ancient, they seem beyond humanity. You talk to them and they tell you things, and secrets, lost gods, things you never knew you didn't know, both beautiful and disturbing. When it's time for them to go they pet your head, and give you their number. You don't know if you should text them, but you have to, you have to see them again, there's something about them that makes you need to know.

The living clothing: you step into it at first, it looked like a puddle yet shining like silver or chrome. But soon it surrounds you, first just your torso, but soon your head, your entire body. But it doesn't feel scary, it feels like you're being held, held by something beyond your understanding. It whispers to you, and you don't know if you should feel like your being eaten alive, or like you're being protected. You can't help but keep walking.

The abyss: the void is before you, blackness beyond blackness, like the color beyond the field of your vision, stands before your eyes. You stare at it, it's nothing yet you're entranced. It stares back...

[asdaricus]

I imagine an ancient stone city of the Djinn that lies hidden under enchantments deep within the deserts of Weshif on the World of Asdar.

[astra-ravana]

Types Of Witchcraft

Note: These are general/basic explanations of different classes of magick/witchcraft. Practitioners can fall into multiple or none of these categories. Ultimately, only an individual can choose their labels.

Green: Utilizing greenery/plants/herbs/flowers in herbal/nature magick, such as creating blends of different plants or primarily using herbs in spellwork. May keep a garden and take great pride in their workings/connection to the earth and nature.

Hedge/Shamanic: A type of magick that's more oriented towards spirit work, Otherworld and astral travel, dream work, spiritual power and healing. May work with psychedelic/psychotropic/toxic plants and fungi as spiritual tools (ie: flying ointments/teas made from amanita muscaria or datura)

Sea: A type of magick derived from materials/abstract ideas involving the ocean world. Sea magick is worked using various items from as well as one's own connection to the sea and its creatures.

Storm: Magick that is worked by combining one's own energy with the energy of the weather, most commonly storms. Storm witches may have practices such as collecting storm water or snow, "whistling up" or manipulating winds, or performing rituals during severe weather.

Hearth/Kitchen: Magick performed through kitchen craft and/or mundane tasks/crafts around the home or for loved ones. Typically worked daily through food, herbal mixtures, crafting, decorating, and hobbies. May also work with the Fae/elements/nature.

Tea: Those who drink tea, make their own tea mixtures, or enjoy blending herbal remedies and often use reading tea leaves as their form of divination.

Urban: For those who live in or prefer an urban setting/lifestyle. Magick that is worked in densely populated areas and big cities, without some of the seemingly "traditional" aspects of witchcraft.

Tech: Magick that is skillfully worked through technology. A tech witch might cast spells/do divinatory readings on the internet, use magick based apps/programs, or keep a digital grimoire/library.

Elemental: Magick that is worked by honoring/acknowledging all 4/5 elements (Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and/or Spirit). Elementalists may dedicate part of their alter to each element and call upon them during rituals/spells. Conversely, they may choose to focus on only one element changing the designation to either fire, air, water or earth witchcraft.

Fae/Faerie: The magick of those who work and commune with the Fae. Faerie witches may do rituals/spells around the Fae, ask favors of them, have regular communication sessions, and leave them offerings. The Fae are very unpredictable and strong but, with time and respect, they share their magick with special individuals.

Infernal: A system of spirit work/magick that revolves around Infernal spirits/entities, such as demons, djinn, or other spirits of a chaotic alignment. This practice requires a surprising amount of shadow work and dismantling of oppressive religious systems. They may summon demons, perform rituals/spells with them, make deals, or take them up as magickal familiars.

Necromancy: The practice of seeking the assistance of, summoning, communication, and diving through the dead. Practitioners may frequent cemetaries/burial grounds/haunted locations and perform magick and spiritual/divinatory readings there. Often employ the use of pendulums, dowsing rods, talking boards, black mirrors, grave dirt, and bones.

Draconian: Draconian magick is a practice that involves engaging with dragons as powerful forces and allies in spiritual practice. It can include rituals, symbolism, and techniques to connect with dragons, and may be used for empowerment, healing, and spiritual growth.

Chaos: A type of magick utilizing new, non-traditional, and unorthodox methods. It is a highly individualistic practice that draws from many magickal disciplines (eclecticism).

Blood/Sanguine: A very potent class of magick that includes the use of one's own blood or that of another in powerful rituals/spells.

Sigil/Art: The use of sigils, symbols, glyphs, runes, or artwork infused with will and intention. This practice is vast, versatile, and diverse with each practioner producing truly unique results.

Lunar: Lunar magick is the practice of performing rituals during the different phases of the Moon to bring about physical or psychological change. They may honor/worship the Moon, do moonlight rituals, or make moon waters. Conversely, one could work with the Sun in much the same fashion.

Cosmic/Celestial: Magick that incorporates the stars and planets. Astrology is a dominant force in their lives and witchcraft and they consider the placement of celestial bodies before doing a working.

Crystal: Incorporation of crystals/stones in one's magickal practice. May make crystal grids, include them in their spells, use them in energy work, meditation, or for Reiki healing.

Glamour: Glamour magick is an enchantment type that adjusts or changes your outward appearance, or people's perception of your outward appearance and can include the enchanting of jewelry, clothing, and even makeup for magickal purposes.

Shadow: Magick with a focus on the elements of darkness and shadow. May practice umbrakinesis (shadow manipulation), magickal subterfuge and illusion, and feel at peace, and even practice, in pitch black darkness

Are there any you feel I should have included? Please let me know! I'd love to expand this list. :)

[beansprean]

My entry for What We Create In The Shadows vol 4! @wwcitszine

It was a privilege to be able to contribute to this zine among such creative, talented, and fun artist and writers! The mods truly did an incredible job and the zine is BEAUTIFUL! Highly recommend getting a physical copy if you can. :)

You can still get WWCITS until July 28th! All proceeds to to PFLAG!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Detailed drawing of a city street at night; Nandor, Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin Robinson are in the foreground, running for their lives towards the viewer. Chasing them (having caught up to them, really) is vampire Guillermo flying through the air on bat wings, silhouetted by the glowing full moon behind him. He is grinning maniacally with his clawed hands curled upward in triumph, eyes glowing a burning orange as he poses mid-flight, chest puffed out with his newfound power. Nandor is in the front, arms pumping, eyes wide with fear as he looks straight ahead. At his elbow is Laszlo, looking over his shoulder in alarm, one hand clamped around Nadja's wrist to drag her on behind him. Nadja's other hand is holding up her skirts and cradling Nadja doll potato-sack style in her elbow as she rushes along. She looks upward with a snarl, distracted, as Guillermo looms above her. Lagging behind is Colin Robinson, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up.

The city street behind them is full of easter eggs. A kiosk on the left behind Laszlo is covered in flyers: fundraiser to cover medical bills for Toby, a recruitment poster for the Mosquito Club, an add for reanimations for $350 cash, a Go Flip Yourself ad, a comptroller campaign poster for Sean covered up by one for Colin covered up by one for Evie, a newspaper article about Morrigan Manor, a Wicked poster, a flyer for the familiar mixer, a missing poster for Jenna, a Found poster for Guillermo's bicycle, a handwritten ad that says "Djinn to good home, call Gyermo" with a photo of the djinn lamp, and several stickers including one that says 'werewolves not swearwolves, a Palestinian flag, and the s5 moon promo shot. Sitting atop the kiosk is a frog with curly brown hair - la Guillerana, and above it on the brick wall is a black poster featuring a hooded figure with round glowing eyes that says "The Night Market: if you know, you know." The roof of the building has a clothesline stretched across it where the Cloak of Duplication is hanging. The next building has glass doors and windows across the first floor with soft ambient lighting coming from within. A foldable chalkboard outside says 'closed for privat pardy'. The name of the restaurant is printed above the door: 'love at first bite'. The second floor is a grid of square windows with the blinds drawn, a single ad for Rapula Realty in an upper window. A single anonymous finger parts the blinds on a lower window to peek out. The third floor has three windows and fairy lights draped across the front. A purple flag that says 'human wellness inquire within' hangs from the first window, and the second has one foggy pane with the word 'help' written on it backwards. Black Peter the goat is on the roof, front hooves planted on the ledge to look out at the running vampires in the street. The following building has a grid of windows and a temporary vinyl sign stretched across it that says 'Urgent Care'. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon.

On the right, there is a small newspaper vending machine with the headlines 'Flying Man Spotted' and 'Strange meteor lands in New Brighton'. The adjacent building has four stories, the only entrance a set of stairs going straight down. Neon pink lights pour from the doorway and lowermost windows. Above the doorway with an arrow pointing down is a neon sign for Nadja's. Below it, a poster exclaiming 'Baby Colin Live!' One of the middle windows has a sign that says 'Nadja and Laszlo Human Music Group performing Thursday nights'. Hanging from the roof precariously by both hands and looking towards the ground in terror is Patton Oswalt. One of the Baron's mutant children is sitting happily on the ledge nearby. A tree is on the roof and has some kind of net hanging from it. The next building is corporate and mostly windows, the bottommost portion open and flanked by yellow poles, a yellow and black divider blocking the entrance. An awning above it says 'Jesk Parking'. Inside, there is what looks to be a pile of rats. Two bats fly past. A vinyl sign stretched over the building front is an ad showing a man hugging a pillow that says "Get the Guy Pillow! Buy 100 get 1 free! Guys only!" The roof turns suddenly to greco-roman architecture, a row of stone columns lining the edge. Sitting at the very top are the two gargoyles having a riveting conversation. The next building is 3 stories and has a trans flag hanging from one corner and a progress flat from the other. The first floor has an alcove with a door flanked by two windows, one featuring shelves with jars of white liquid, the other a palmistry poster that reads 'free palm reading with every ejaculation'. The store name above reads 'Satchel Serafina' More text on the second floor reads 'Home of Memo's Man Milk, gathered lovingly by hand.' Beyond this building is a small grassy area behind a fence with a dead old tree and some graffiti that says 'Simon the Devious' with a crown. There is a nearby sewer drain under the sidewalk where a hand is reaching out. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon. /end ID

[elliottkay]

You ever miss your hometown so much during a pandemic that you wrote a whole novel about it with magic and car chases and sexy immortal mercenaries and a sketchy secret FBI task force and adorable cats and the sweetest monster-chomping ghost dog ever? Or is it just me?

GRAND THEFT SORCERY is out now! You can read chapter one for free on my website!

The vampire lord of Los Angeles is dead, plunging the nightlife into chaos. His subjects fight over his title and his missing treasure hoard. The conflict brings werewolves, sorcerers, and djinn close to open war.

Repo man Evan Murphy knows nothing of the supernatural. He only wants a roof over his head and food for his cats. When a risky job lands him in the dungeon of a Hollywood Hills necromancer, a forgotten god offers him the power to escape—making him the target of a beautiful immortal mercenary and every monster within a hundred miles. Evan’s new magic may save the city from its shadows, but only if he can save himself.

WARNING: Grand Theft Sorcery contains explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit criticism of American law enforcement, bilingual profanity, a meet-cute that ends in homicide, conspicuous consumption, Los Angeles, demons, monsters, cops, vampires, talent agents, tautologies, street racing, attempted murder, successful murder, axe murder, motorcycle helmet murder, matching basketball hoodies, carjacking, kidnapping, brief torture, discovery of animal abuse (past/off-page), destruction of evidence, rampant traffic violations, premeditated hotel reservation with Only One Bed, desecration of the dead, awkward meetings with the ex, awkward meetings with the ex’s mom, deadly bisexuals, hypermasculine podcaster trash, acknowledgment of white privilege, false license plates, conspiracy, squatting, looting, mauling, home invasion, trespassing, witchcraft, abuse of authority, aggressive generosity, arguable cannibalism, destruction of private property, search warrant violations, outright lies, phone hacking, petty theft, grand larceny, vandalism, arson, defenestration, resisting arrest, driving under the influence of existential shock, appropriation of queer meme culture, shooting, punching, kicking, biting, couch surfing, bribery of wildlife, old timey Hollywood stereotypes, internet sexism and exploitation thereof, unflattering implications about Heaven and angels, two entirely normal cats, and the Black Dog of the Mojave.

GRAND THEFT SORCERY stands alone as a thrill ride unto itself, yet it shares a world and characters with the Good Intentions series. No prior reading required, but GI readers will recognize events and a few very familiar faces. Again, if you want a good preview, chapter one is here on my website!

Cover illustration by Julie Dillon, title design by Lee Moyer!

[nanowrimo]

How to Use Meal Scenes to Develop Characters, Relationships, and Your World

Worldbuilding can sound complicated, but why not make it a little more simple by focusing on food? It may be the domestic touch you need! NaNo Participant Lacey Pfalz talks about using meal scenes to develop your world and your characters.

There’s one thing that remains a universal human truth: we love food! While our perspectives on food might differ, people all across the globe gather together during mealtimes — and thus, mealtimes are made memorable.

Meal scenes can also help your story in a few key ways, especially if it’s fantasy, science fiction or historical fiction.

Meal Scenes for Worldbuilding

If we’re using food for worldbuilding purposes, does that mean we can say we’re worldcooking?

Just kidding! Worldbuilding, especially in historical fiction, science fiction, and fantasy, is an integral part of what you must do as a writer (In truth, it’s also important for writers from other genres, but we’re specializing in these three today).

Meal scenes can be an important part of the worldbuilding process. Food is intrinsically tied to a culture or a country, or even a small region. That’s why it’s important, when building your own world, to take time to figure out the bare minimum of what your characters will be eating.

Let’s do an example. Your world is fantasy, your kingdom set beside a wide river. Perhaps your capital city, where much of the action is located, is surrounded by wetland.

If this is the case, what types of food would likely grow there? Seafood, fished from the large river, might be your characters’ staple proteins, while rice might grow better than another grain because of your kingdom’s wetlands. Fruit, perhaps even coconuts, might be the sweet stuff your main character loves to devour.

Remember that your world directly affects what types of food your characters will be having: is there coffee in space? What about in Byzantine Turkey or your new riverside kingdom?

Shannon Chakraborty does a phenomenal job with this in her fantasy series The Daevabad Trilogy, which is set in the eighteenth century across the Middle East. Her first book, The City of Brass, is especially good at showcasing the often-fragrant dishes of the various cultures across this region of the world (some copies of the book even have a short list of recipes from the book that foodies can try whipping up for themselves).

While her book is set within the fantastical world of the Djinn, her food is based upon recipes that have been preserved for centuries.

There’s one small reminder with all of this: it’s important not to get too caught up in describing each dish so much that you end up taking the focus away from the characters in a meal scene. Meal scenes can be breaks from fast action, but they should also continue the plot.

Meal Scenes for Developing Characters & Relationships

Character development can be hard, especially if you have a handful of characters that you love! But in order to make your readers love them too, you have to show them interacting with the world around them.

That guy we love to hate? Maybe he’s a loner who has grown up eating by himself. Having him forced to sit and eat with a group of people who have known each other for years might be an awkward moment for him, but it helps readers to learn more about his own worldview — and it might just help get him out of his shell, or at least off the love-to-hate list.

Besides helping you develop a single character, writing meal scenes with some of your characters can also help readers learn more about the relationship between your characters.

Let’s say you have your main character, MC. MC leans over and steals a French fry from her best friend. There’s no issue, right? That’s because they like each other, and the best friend has likely eaten with MC before, and knows she enjoys stealing food from other people’s plates.

But when MC tries it again, this time with the guy sitting next to her, he whacks her hand to stop her from stealing. This sparks an argument that seems, at least to everyone else watching it, pointless, but readers will know from the rest of the story that they’re the enemies-to-lovers trope. This argument is just one of many before they finally acknowledge their feelings towards one another.

See how that worked? A meal scene wasn’t useless; it pulled the story along by giving readers another taste of the enemies-to-lovers trope that so many enjoy reading.

If you need a more visible example of how this can play out, try watching a movie like Pride & Prejudice, (the book is amazing, but I’m suggesting the movie as a visual aid). The movie does a great job showcasing just how different the members of the Bennet family are individually, how they act around each other, and how they act around company.

There’s often little action in meal scenes, so they’re not meant to be overused. The plot should also still be there — take the cringey proposal scene between Mr. Collins and Elizabeth in Pride & Prejudice, for example, which follows directly after a meal when the rest of her family abandons her. In this case, the plot (and Mr. Collins’ advances) ruin her meal.

Perhaps your meal scene is the much-needed respite in between battling fierce aliens for planet Earth, or the first time your main character’s enemy-to-lover has entered her home. Either way, meal scenes are an important way to immerse your readers in what kind of world they’re imagining as well as showcasing how your characters act and — more importantly — how they act around each other.

Lacey Pfalz is a travel journalist by day, hopeful author by night. She belongs to the class of graduates she dubs the Class of COVID-19, having graduated with a double major in history and writing at Wisconsin Lutheran College in 2020. Her writing passions include fantasy, science fiction and historical fiction (with a little bit of romance, of course!). As someone with a physical disability, it’s her dream to write a fantasy series featuring a main character like her. Header Image by Jack Sparrow

[pokedawriter]

Nymph!Reader x Sumeru!Men

Gn!reader, you're a nymph

How would the sumeru men react to finding you and your grotto

I still have no idea what I'm doing

I've never written for Cyno, Alhaitem or Scara so forgive me if something is out of character

Cyno

He's patrolling the desert. There have been lots of cave-ins in the area recently and he wants to figure out if there is a specific cause that he can solve or if he should just warn people about the area

As he walks, he feels the sand beneath his feet begin to fall and he tries to jump away but it's too sudden and he falls

He braces for impact but lands into a net of vines that gently lower him to the ground

Your standing next to him, arm extended with the sunlight on your back, looking gorgeous and radiant, then you speak

"I can't be-leaf someone fell into here. Water you doing here?"

Archons, he might have fallen in love with you at that moment

He asks you about the recent cave in and you tell him it the Wenut mating season, and they're all trying to make burrows for their young. An inexperienced male has been digging here but didn't dig deep enough, which is why there are so many cave-ins. You tell him to just wait a month or two for the season to end

The hole is fairly deep and so you build him a ladder out of vines and he promises to return

After reporting what happened with the cave-ins, he returns and finds you've been repairing your grotto in the mean time, removing the dirt and stones that fell

You're very excited to see him and take him deeper into your grotto, further underground

It's beautiful, with purple, white and yellow flowers illuminating the area. Glowing stones are scattered in the ceiling like stars

He makes a regular habit to visit you and introduces you to Tighnari pretty soon (but he doesn't visit much due to his incompatibility with the heat). You all like to have Genius Innovation TCG together (Cyno teaches you and gives you cards)

He finds himself falling asleep in your grotto, surrounded by the glowing flowers and flowing water

He has to stop visiting for a few months due to work, but tries to wrap it up as fast can to see you

When be returns, he finds your grotto has been severely damaged, much of the flora dying. He searches high and low for you, going to the deepest part of the grotto where rocks fall away and reveal a very weakened you

You tell him people found out about your grotto and stole as many of your rare plants as they could, weakening you greatly and you had to hide yourself and your remaining plants away

He's furious and immediately takes action

He works with Tighnari and Lesser Lord Kusanali to make you and your grotto a protected space

And though he can't punish the researchers for over-foraging (since you and your grotto weren't legally protected), he does let other researchers know of their actions, resulting in those researchers being shunned

He helps you and your grotto return to full health and always tries to visit once a week to 'keep away any trouble makers" (but he just wants to visit you)

You both often fall asleep together in the deepest part of the grotto, happy in each other's presence

Alhaithem

He was looking through the old archives. The scrolls and books here were no longer scientifically accurate, but were kept for record purposes

He's found an old book about mythical creatures of Sumeru: Aranara, Nymphs, Djinn, Rocs, and more. He decided to rent it out and give it a read

Reading it at his house wasn't an option as it would be too loud (Kaveh, whom he didnt feel like dealing with today), the Academia students and researchers were always bothering him if he was around (especially after the 'hero' title), so he decided to leave the city for a bit.

As he walked, he found a small cave and decided to read there

Inside was larger than he expected, with a small moss-covered shrine and little yellow flowers. He sat on one of the rocks to read

It was wonderfully calm and quiet. The right temperature, the trickle of water from a nearby stream, the rustle of the leaves... it was all perfect

So, he came back here again and again, reading his books late into the evenings

He was in the middle of his mythical creatures book, on Nymphs, when he felt a presence and immediately looked for it

You sat on the shrine, staring at him, head tilted in wonder

He looked between his book and its description of Nymphs and you... and it seems he found a mythical creature. Regardless, he continued to read and you continued to watch him

Eventually, he turned to you and asked why you were just staring at him, to which you shrugged and said "If a man were to walk in your yard everyday and read, doing nothing else at all, wouldn't you grow curious?"

He was mostly surprised by the fact you could respond. The book said that Nymph's were shy creatures who couldn't talk

But to you, this man had been a regular visitor to your grotto for months now. His scent was just part of your grotto, like the duskbirds and rishboland tigers. He wasn't a stranger at all

Alhaithem decided to ask you a few questions about Nymphs which you agreeably answered, even showing in the deeper parts of the grotto that he hadn't noticed were there

You both fell into a comfortable routine of him visiting you on his days off to read in comfortable silence while you worked on your grotto

Despite being able to talk in every language he could, he realized you couldn't read at all

He helped you learn how to read and you helped him relax and have the perfect reading spot

You became reading buddies, and even though you would ask him with question on words, it never bothered or annoyed him

He subtly made your grotto a legally protected area so if anyone messed with it, they would have to pay

You were his safe space, and in return, he would protect you too

Scara/Wanderer

Nahida asked him to go outside and touch grass more

Just kidding, she asked him to find a rare flower, only ever found underground in rare Nymph Gardens

She gave him a rough idea where he might be able to find it and off he went, grumbling the whole way

Finding the entrance to the cave wasn't hard. All he had to do then was follow the smell of fresh flowers. It was so simple for him (and most certainly didn't take him several days)

When he finally found your grotto, he couldn't find the flower Nahida had described for him and grumbled under his breath about it

This is where you come in: appearing next to his shoulder asking about what flower he was exactly talking about

You stare at him innocently even as he hold a swirl ball of anemo energy

You ask again and he asks who you are, cautious

"I'm the nymph of this grotto"

That can't be possible, Nymphs aren't real, surely you're pulling his leg

But you have flowers growing on you, the plants lean towards where you step and life seems to exude from you

He'll dispell his anemo attack and tell you about the flower. You nod and scoop it up a bit of dirt and grow the flower on it

He's wondering if there's a cost to it. You tell him it'll hurt you when he leaves with it. He asks what he owes you and you shrug and walk away to play with the springyness of a new fern

He brings the flower to Nahida then rushes back. Not because he's worried! He's just curious about the affects of removing the flower from your grotto (Nahida gives him a knowing smile as he leaves)

When he arrives, you're laying on the ground, looking unwell. He puts his hand to your forehead, and you're burning up

Why would you give the flower to him if it would hurt you so much?

"Because you needed it," you say with a smile

He'll take care of you for the next few days, your waking hours being filled with scolding and mild insults about how stupid it was to give all thay power to a stranger. What if they wanted to take advantage of you?

You laugh and smile. When he's not paying attention, you'll make little figurines out of flower of him

Then he'll notice and scold you for not resting properly, idiot (he does think it's very cute though)

He'll protest even when you insist you are perfectly healthy again

You'll take him to the deepest part of the grotto where you made a picture of the two of you in glowing flowers. He says it looks stupid, but you notice his little blush and giggle

He has to leave for a few days and during that time, treasure hoarders find your grotto

They have no respect for your plants, so you hide, slowly growing weaker and weaker as they pick and burn your plants

Needless to say, when Scara returns and sees you hanging on by a thread, he's pissed

He wipes them out and tends to you once again. It takes months this time until you are healthy, but he's by your side every step of the way

"Clearly, you can't take care of yourself, so I'll have to watch out for you! Hey! Don't giggle! What's so funny, idiot?"

[noraantilles]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader, Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: A secret monster fight club pulls you, Sam, and Dean into the dark underworld of New Orleans. When your name is called to fight, survival means stepping into the ring — but the real battle might be against the ones you trust most.

Warnings: violence (hand-to-hand combat, graphic fight scenes), blood and injury descriptions, emotional manipulation, themes of guilt and self-doubt, harsh language, angst with a touch of hurt/comfort, brief mentions of trauma (implied, not detailed), intense emotional conflict, reader has increased healing

Word count: 4.8k

New Orleans wasn’t the kind of city where you expected peace. It thrived on its chaos— the music, the people, the dark corners that felt like they hadn’t seen daylight in decades. But even in this city of whispers and shadows, what the djinn described felt… wrong.

It started the usual way. A bar on the edge of the French Quarter, where the air smelled like spilled beer and gumbo. The djinn, Kael, found you in the middle of a quiet drink, tumbling through the doorway of the bar. His appearance didn’t scream “monster.” No glowing tattoos or deadly aura. Just a guy in a worn hoodie, his hands tucked in his pockets like he was ready to bolt.

“You’re hunters, right?” he asked, his voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in days. His eyes flicked from Sam to Dean to you, sizing you up. “I need your help.”

Dean didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Yeah, no. We’re good.”

Kael sighed, stepping closer. “You don’t even know what I’m asking yet.”

“And we don’t care,” Dean shot back, his tone sharp. “Djinn don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to asking for help. Usually, you’re too busy stuffing people into nightmares.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Kael said quickly, holding up his hands. “This isn’t about feeding or whatever you think we do. This is… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Kael hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the door. “There’s a fight club,” he began, his voice dropping. “For monsters. Underground, secret, brutal. They’re not just fighting each other anymore. Humans are starting to show up - hunters. And not willingly.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he finally looked up. “What do you mean, ‘not willingly’?”

“They’re being taken,” Kael said simply. “Dragged into the ring as trophies. They don’t stand a chance.”

“And you care… why?” Sam asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Kael’s shoulders stiffened, and his jaw clenched. “Because they’re taking my kind too. Not all of us want to be killers. Not all of us want… this.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, you thought you saw something raw in his expression. “I tried to stop it on my own, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

Dean snorted. “And you think we’re just gonna trust you? That you’re some kind of saint? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s not about trust,” Kael snapped, his voice rising. “It’s about survival. They’ll come for you too, eventually. Hunters are the biggest prize. You want to wait for that, or do something about it now?”

Your table went quiet. Sam leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, deep in thought. Dean’s eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming against the table.

“This could be a trap,” Dean muttered, his voice low. “For all we know, he’s setting us up to be the next act in this freak show.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted, his gaze fixed on Kael. “But if he’s telling the truth… we can’t just ignore it.”

Dean scoffed, pushing his glass away. “You realize how insane this sounds, right? An underground fight club for monsters? What’s next, monster karaoke?”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that, but the tension in the room was palpable. “Dean,” you said, your voice steady, “if there’s even a chance he’s telling the truth, we have to check it out. People’s lives are on the line.”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he muttered, glaring at Kael. “But the second you so much as blink wrong, you’re dead. Got it?”

Kael nodded, his expression grim. “Got it.”

Sam stood, grabbing his jacket. “So where do we start?”

Kael gestured toward the door. “I’ll take you there.”

As you followed Kael out into the humid New Orleans night, the tension between the three of you lingered. Sam and Dean exchanged wary glances, their hands hovering near their weapons. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be one of those cases that left scars — physical or otherwise.

The warehouse loomed like a forgotten relic, tucked between crumbling brick walls and the darkened riverbanks of New Orleans. The air smelled of mildew and oil, and faint vibrations of bass-heavy music thudded through the ground. Kael led the way, silent but tense, his shoulders rigid as though bracing for a fight before it had even begun.

The bouncer at the door was a demon, massive and his eyes blackened when the four of you approached. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles bulging beneath his black T-shirt, and he had an expression that said he wasn’t here to negotiate.

Kael approached him with careful confidence, pulling a small coin from his pocket. It glinted faintly in the dim light. “Morrick,” Kael said, his voice steady. “Let us in.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, eyeing Kael like he was a bug he might enjoy squashing. “What’s this?” Morrick rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle your chest.

“Payment,” Kael said shortly. “And a promise that we’re not here to cause trouble.”

Morrick’s gaze shifted to the three of you, lingering a little too long on Dean, who stared back with that signature Winchester mix of defiance and irritation. “Hunters,” Morrick said, his lip curling into a sneer. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days, Kael.”

“They’re with me,” Kael said quickly. “And if anyone asks, they’re… participants.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, not happening.”

Morrick gave a low chuckle, stepping aside as the door creaked open. “Good luck,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re going to need it.”

The warehouse opened into a massive, dimly lit chamber. Neon lights flickered, casting an eerie glow over the crowd. Monsters of all kinds filled the space—vampires with sharp grins, werewolves with twitching ears, ghouls hunched in shadowed corners. The air was electric, buzzing with adrenaline and bloodlust.

At the center of it all was the cage—a brutal structure of rusted metal and electrified fencing. The pit was stained dark, and the crowd roared as two figures inside clashed violently, their movements a blur of claws and fangs.

“This is it,” Kael muttered, his voice barely audible over the din. “Welcome to the ring.”

Sam’s expression hardened as he scanned the room, his jaw tight. “This is worse than I thought,” he said.

Dean grimaced, his hand resting instinctively on the knife hidden beneath his jacket. “Yeah. Real cozy.”

“What’s the deal here?” you asked Kael, keeping your voice low. “How does this work?”

Kael sighed, motioning for you to follow as he navigated the crowd. “The fights are arranged by tiers. Winners move up; losers… well, let’s just say they’re not walking out of here. Every monster here is either a fighter or a gambler. They come for the blood and the chaos, but mostly for the money.”

“And the humans?” Sam pressed, his voice edged with anger.

“They’re the showstoppers,” Kael admitted, glancing away. “They save them for the big rounds. Hunters are a rare catch. Makes for a good spectacle.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, grabbing Kael by the arm. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”

Kael pulled free, his expression guarded. “Would it have changed anything? You’d still be here.”

Dean looked like he was about to deck him, but the sound of a loud buzzer cut through the noise, followed by the announcer’s booming voice.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer growled, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “We have a special treat tonight! A fresh contender has entered the ring — an unexpected guest. Give it up for…”

The announcer paused, letting the suspense build.

“[Y/N]!”

Your stomach dropped as the crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, monsters craning their necks to get a look at you. Sam and Dean turned to Kael, their faces a mix of confusion and fury.

“What the hell is this?” Dean hissed, stepping toward Kael.

Kael put his hands up defensively, backing away. “You needed a way in, remember? This is it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam snapped. “You used us?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Kael said quickly, his voice rising. “This is the only way to get close enough to stop it. You wouldn’t have gotten through that door otherwise.”

“You son of a—” Dean lunged, but Kael was faster, slipping back into the crowd before Dean could grab him.

“You’re dead, Kael!” Dean shouted after him, his voice seething with rage.

Sam turned to you, his expression pained. “What do we do?”

You took a deep breath, your hands balling into fists. “We go along with it. For now.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like we have a choice,” you shot back. “They’ve already called my name. If I don’t go in, they’ll kill us all.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. His fists tightened at his sides, the anger radiating off him in waves. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, glaring into the crowd as you stepped toward the ring.

The cage door creaked open, and the crowd’s noise swelled. Your opponent — a hulking werewolf with a cruel grin — waited in the center, claws glinting under the dim lights. The cage door slammed shut behind you with a resounding clang, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a death knell. The crowd surged closer, their roars a frenzied mix of bloodlust and anticipation. The electrified fence hummed faintly, casting a faint blue glow over the ring.

Across from you, your opponent stepped forward. He was easily six and a half feet tall, his muscles straining against the ragged remains of a shirt. His yellow eyes glinted under the dim light, and his grin revealed rows of sharp teeth.

“Well, aren’t you just a snack,” he snarled, his voice low and guttural.

You tightened your fists, planting your feet firmly on the bloodstained ground. “I’m a lot tougher to chew than I look.”

The announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets! Who will take the first win of the night—our reigning champion, Garrick the Wolf, or our newcomer?”

The crowd erupted, jeering and shouting. Dean’s voice cut through the chaos: “You’ve got this, [Y/N]! Stay sharp!”

Sam was quieter, his gaze locked on you with the intensity of someone already calculating the odds.

The werewolf didn’t wait for the bell. He lunged at you with startling speed, his claws slashing through the air. You barely ducked in time, the tips grazing your shoulder. The crowd roared in approval as you rolled away, springing to your feet.

“Fast,” Garrick sneered, circling you like a predator. “But not fast enough.”

He came at you again, this time aiming low. You sidestepped, landing a sharp kick to his ribs. The impact sent him stumbling back, but it didn’t seem to faze him. Garrick grinned, licking his lips like he was enjoying the challenge.

The next hit came hard and fast—a clawed hand slamming into your side. Pain shot through your ribs, and you staggered, barely managing to stay upright. Dean’s voice rang out from the sidelines, sharp and panicked. “Stay on your feet!”

Sam leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the cage. “Come on, [Y/N], you can do this!”

The werewolf pressed his advantage, throwing a flurry of punches and swipes. You blocked most of them, but a few slipped through, leaving your arms bruised and stinging. The crowd roared louder with each hit, the bloodlust palpable.

But you weren’t out yet.

As Garrick reared back for another swing, you saw your opening. You ducked low, dodging his claws, and drove your elbow into his stomach. He doubled over with a grunt, and you followed up with a sharp uppercut to his jaw. The force of the blow sent him staggering, blood dripping from his split lip.

The crowd quieted for a moment, stunned by the sudden shift. Dean let out a low whistle. “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Garrick growled, his yellow eyes blazing with fury. He charged again, but this time, you were ready. You sidestepped his attack, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. With a swift kick to the back of his knee, you sent him crashing to the ground.

He tried to get up, but you didn’t give him the chance. You drove your fist into his face, then another, and another, until he slumped unconscious beneath you. The crowd erupted in chaos, half cheering, half booing.

The announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Winner: [Y/N]!”

You stood, breathing heavily, your knuckles throbbing. Blood — his and yours — splattered your clothes, but you barely noticed. Your gaze flicked to Sam and Dean, who were both watching with a mix of shock and pride.

“Holy crap,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. “Where the hell did she learn to fight like that?”

Sam smiled, his relief evident. “You did good,” he said simply, his voice warm with pride.

You gave them a small nod, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the ache in your ribs. The fight was over, but you knew this was just the beginning.

As the cage door creaked open and the crowd shifted its attention to the next match, you stepped out, already preparing for what came next.

The air in the club grew heavier with each match, the metallic tang of blood mingling with sweat and the faint, acrid smell of fear. After your first win, the announcer wasted no time calling you back into the cage. No rest, no reprieve—this place thrived on brutality, and the crowd was hungry for more.

Your second opponent was a vampire, lean and fast, his fangs glinting under the flickering neon lights. He smirked as he entered the cage, running his tongue along his teeth. “You’re dead meat,” he hissed, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

The fight was harder than the first. He was quick — almost too quick — and his punches came in rapid succession, each one a blur. But you held your ground, focusing on your footwork, waiting for an opening. When it finally came, you struck with precision, driving your knee into his chest and landing a series of blows to his face. By the time he hit the floor, the crowd was roaring your name.

Sam and Dean watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mixture of pride and unease.

“She’s wiping the floor with them,” Sam said, shaking his head. “How is she doing this?”

Dean crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving the cage. “I don’t know, but it’s starting to freak me out.”

The fights kept coming, each opponent more dangerous than the last. A hulking shapeshifter. A snarling hellhound. Even a demon who fought with a kind of reckless fury that left the crowd on edge.

Your movements became sharper, more calculated with each match. You dodged blows that should have flattened you, landing punches and kicks with surgical precision. Blood smeared across your knuckles, your clothes, even your face, but you didn’t stop. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out the pain, the exhaustion.

“You see that?” Dean muttered as you took down the demon with a final blow to the head. “That’s not normal.”

Sam nodded, his brow furrowed. “She’s in the zone. But how long can she keep this up?”

Dean didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

They didn’t let you leave the cage after each fight. Instead, a group of medics — ghouls with steady hands and empty eyes—patched you up as best they could before shoving you back into the ring. Dean paced outside the cage, his frustration mounting with every match.

“This isn’t right,” he said, glancing at Sam. “She’s good, but they’re going to wear her down. It’s not a question of if—it’s when.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll figure something out. Just… trust her for now.”

Dean didn’t respond, but his scowl deepened as the announcer’s voice echoed through the club once again.

The fights became a blur, each one blending into the next. Your body moved on autopilot, ducking and striking, blocking and countering. The crowd’s chants grew louder, more frenzied, as you kept winning.

By the time you finished your latest match — a brutish ghoul with fists like sledgehammers — you could feel the wear and tear on your body. Your ribs ached with every breath, and your legs threatened to buckle beneath you. But when the cage door opened, you walked out with your head held high, ignoring the blood dripping from your temple.

Dean met you at the edge of the cage, his eyes scanning your injuries. “You good?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, wiping the blood from your face with the back of your hand. “It‘ll heal, soon.”

Dean didn’t look convinced, but he stepped aside as the medics pulled you away.

“You’re unbelievable,” Sam said, his tone somewhere between awe and concern. “But you need to pace yourself. These things… they’re not human. They don’t tire the way we do.”

You gave him a faint smile, the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin. “Good thing I’m not normal, either.”

As you sat on a splintered bench, waiting for your next match, you noticed Kael watching from the shadows. He gave you a small nod, but there was no satisfaction in his expression—only guilt. You didn’t have the energy to glare at him, but you made a mental note to settle the score once this was over.

The announcer’s voice rang out again, pulling you from your thoughts. “And now, the champion of the evening, the one you’ve all been waiting for… [Y/N]!”

The crowd erupted, their cheers echoing through the warehouse like thunder. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your muscles. You had a faster healing factor than normal humans but this was a challenge even for you. Sam and Dean watched you closely, their expressions unreadable.

“This is it,” you thought to yourself as you stepped back into the cage. “One more fight.”

The cage was eerily quiet after your last fight. The crowd, normally a cacophony of cheers and jeers, seemed to hold its breath. Even the announcer paused for a moment longer than usual before stepping back to his microphone.

“And now, for the final match of the night…” His voice boomed through the warehouse, and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation. “A battle you won’t forget. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Y/N’s last competitor,

Dean Winchester!”

The roar that followed was deafening. You froze mid-step, your blood running cold as your name was called alongside Dean’s. Turning toward the sidelines, you saw Dean standing there, equally stunned, his face a mask of disbelief.

“What the hell?” Dean growled, shoving past a group of onlookers to approach the cage. “This has to be a mistake.”

“It’s not,” Kael muttered from the shadows. He avoided eye contact, his posture tense. “They want to see a fight. A real fight.”

Dean’s fists clenched. “You think I’m gonna hit her? You think I’m gonna just—”

“Dean,” you interrupted, your voice calm despite the storm brewing inside you. “We don’t have a choice.”

His green eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the chaos of the room faded. “Like hell we don’t,” he spat. “I’m not fighting you. End of story.”

The announcer’s voice cut in again, dripping with amusement. “Come on now, folks, don’t keep us waiting. Let’s see who’s really the best.”

The crowd grew restless as Dean followed you into the cage. He followed reluctantly, every step heavy with tension. Once the door slammed shut behind you, the jeering started again, chants rising for blood.

Dean turned to you, his jaw set. “I’m not doing this.”

“You have to,” you said firmly. “It’s the only way out.”

“No,” he snapped, his voice louder. “I’m not gonna fight you. End of discussion.”

The crowd booed, some even throwing bottles against the electrified fencing. The announcer’s laughter echoed overhead. “Looks like Dean Winchester’s gone soft!”

Dean’s scowl deepened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, though they stayed by his hips. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice so only Dean could hear. “Dean, listen to me. They want a show. If we don’t give them one, they’ll kill us. All of us. You, me, Sam—everyone.”

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head, pacing like a caged lion. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“There’s not,” you said, your tone soft but unyielding. “So hit me.”

Dean stopped pacing, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“Hit me,” you repeated, stepping closer. “Start the fight. Make it look real.”

“I’m not hitting you, for God’s sake!” he shouted, his voice echoing over the noise.

You sighed, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Fine. Then I’ll hit you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, but there was doubt in his voice.

You raised your fist, but before you could swing, he grabbed your wrist mid-air. “Don’t.”

The crowd roared again, and the announcer taunted over the microphone. “Come on, Winchester! Show us what you’ve got!”

“You’re not leaving me any choice,” you said, pulling your hand free. “If you won’t fight me, I’ll make you.”

And then, you did it. You said the words you knew would hurt. The words that would cut deeper than any punch.

“Look around, Dean.” Your voice was low, sharp, each word slicing through the noise of the crowd. “All this time, you act like you’re the hero. But now, when it matters most? You can’t even throw a punch.”

Dean shook his head, his expression hardening. “Yeah, real classy of you.”

“You’re no hero, Dean Winchester. Everywhere you go, everything you touch falls apart. And you know it.” You paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. “Ever wonder why Sammy’s still with you?”

Dean froze, his shoulders stiffening. “Don’t.”

“It’s because he feels like he has to,” you continued, your tone colder now. “He’s cleaning up after the mess his failure of a brother keeps making.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t move. You stepped closer, driving the knife deeper. “You think you’re better than John, don’t you? But deep down, you’re terrified you’re exactly like him.”

“Stop,” Dean warned, his voice trembling with restrained fury.

“You’re a mess, Dean. And the worst part is, you know it. You think Sam looks up to you?” You leaned in, your voice dropping into something almost mocking. “He pities you.”

That was it. The punch came fast and hard, like a freight train you didn’t see coming. It landed squarely, pain exploding in your nose as the world spun. The crowd erupted, their bloodthirsty cheers ringing in your ears.

You stumbled but didn’t fall, spitting blood onto the ground. A dark, jagged laugh bubbled up, cutting through the chaos. “Finally,” you muttered, just loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean’s face twisted with anger, his eyes blazing. “You want a fight? Fine.”

The punches came hard and fast, each one heavier than the last. You blocked a few, letting him land enough to make it look real. The crowd screamed with excitement, their bloodlust fueling Dean’s rage.

Your ribs ached, your vision blurred, but you didn’t stop. You threw a few half-hearted punches, enough to sell the fight, but not enough to hurt him. You could see it in his eyes — he didn’t want to do this, but the anger you’d provoked in him gave him no choice.

Finally, with one last punch to the side of your jaw, you went down. The world tilted as you hit the floor, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The announcer declared Dean the winner, but you barely heard it over the ringing in your ears.

Dean stormed out of the cage without looking back, his fists still clenched, his shoulders heaving. The medics swarmed you, their cold hands dragging you to your feet. You waved them off, stumbling toward the edge of the cage where Sam was waiting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with worry.

“It‘ll heal,” you muttered, wincing as you reset your broken nose with a sharp crack. The pain was fleeting, already fading as your body began to heal.

Sam’s eyes followed Dean as he disappeared into the crowd. “He’s not okay.”

You nodded, wiping the blood from your face. “I’ll talk to him.”

And with that, you pushed past the medics and toward Dean’s cabin.

You found Dean in the corner of the dimly lit cabin, sitting on a rickety chair with his head down. His hands were wrapped in bloodstained bandages, fingers twitching slightly, and his right leg bounced up and down in restless rhythm. He didn’t look up as you entered, the tension in the room almost suffocating.

“Dean?” you said softly, taking a tentative step closer.

“Get out,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low.

You stopped in your tracks, the weight of his words hitting you harder than the punch he’d landed earlier. For the first time, it occurred to you that maybe you’d hurt him more than you intended — not physically, but in ways far harder to heal.

“Please, let me explain,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

“No.” He finally looked up, his eyes tired and red-rimmed. “You said enough.”

“Whatever I said out there, it’s not what I think about you,” you began, your words rushing to fill the silence.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was louder now, sharp with frustration, his gaze locking onto yours. “Then why the hell did you say it?”

“Because I knew you think those things about yourself,” you replied, stepping closer. He stiffened but didn’t stop you. “I had to find a way to push you, Dean. You’re stubborn as hell, and I knew you wouldn’t fight me unless I made you angry enough.”

You dropped to your knees in front of him, your eyes level with his. His leg stilled, but his fists remained tightly clenched.

“And it was a mean move. I know that. But the person you fought out there wasn’t me,” you said, your voice softening.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion breaking through the storm of emotions on his face.

“You fought yourself, Dean,” you continued. “Every punch, every ounce of rage — it wasn’t about me. It was about the things you believe about yourself. And you fought like a damn king because deep down, you don’t want those things to be true.”

His breathing hitched, but he didn’t look away.

“And you’re absolutely right for it,” you said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Because none of it is true. Not one damn word.”

Dean’s eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep it together.

“I could give you a million reasons why everything I said is false. You’re not John. You never were. You’re Dean Winchester. The man who always puts others first, even when it tears him apart. The most skilled, pie-obsessed, Led Zeppelin-loving hunter I know.” A faint smile touched your lips. “And the best older brother anyone could ever ask for.”

A single tear escaped down his cheek, and he looked away, his jaw trembling. But you didn’t move, holding your ground.

“I’m proud of you, Dean,” you said quietly. “And you should be proud of yourself, too.”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the air from your lungs. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation, holding him just as tightly.

The two of you stayed like that, silent, the weight of the night slowly lifting.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “And don’t think you have to apologize for hitting me,” you said, your tone light, teasing.

Dean pulled back slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. “Nah, you deserved it.”

You smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through your chest.

Maybe you both had your scars, but in this moment, you knew they’d heal.

[gildedphoenix]

During the great depression, somebody made a wish. Fueled by desperation, powered by the pure dumb luck of being in the right place at the right time to be heard by an ancient Djinn (it was totally Desire) with a sense of humor. 

After the wish, everyone had a red string hanging off their left pinky. It dangled down a few inches and then just faded into non-existence. Nobody knew what it was for a few years but then stories started coming out. People finding their perfect match after feeling a tug at their string and following it. The string would twist and twine and lengthen as you got closer to your fated mate, your strings eventually connecting together. 

Most people’s strings just hung limp. Maybe listing in one direction or another. But 8 Billion people in the world and only one is your soul mate? Most people didn’t meet theirs. It was true that your soulmate was always within 10 years of age as you. But 10 years older to 10 years younger still gave you a 20 year range to work with. Everyone’s string appeared by the time they were 10. Some babies were born with their string already spun, a small red thread fading off into a wisp after a scant inch. 

Nowadays, it was common to go on a “string chase” vacation after graduating high school. Some people were close enough to their soulmates that they could just follow the leadings of their string, which would become longer and more opaque the closer you got to your mate. If your string gave you no leads, there were all kinds of "methods" to help pick which direction you should go.

Tucker and Sam were determined to go on string chase journeys post graduation. Tucker because he loved the excitement of an adventure, Sam to find someone who would truly understand her.

Danny was not so hopeful. At one point they'd all agreed to go together, but Sam felt like she was being led to the west coast while Tucker was just going to start in Metropolis, the nearest big city and go from there, hopping the next train out of town after a few days if he still had a slack string.

After a lengthy discussion of pros and cons, they decided that Tucker was more likely to get himself into trouble than Sam, so Danny found himself packing light and on a Greyhound to Metropolis. It was a shitty trip. Objectively the worst way to travel. Walking, or even hitch hiking would have been more pleasant. The bus was late. They had no way of making their connection in Chicago, and the vent fan in the bathroom was broken, making the bus reek of sewage.

Danny has shit luck and just doesn't believe he'll ever find his soulmate. The universe just doesn't like him that much.

Jason has, somehow, always had a leading direction on his string. When he was younger, there was nothing he could do about it. And now he had baggage and didn't want to pursue romance or relationship. (Even though he's a total sap for soulmate meet stories)

While in Gotham, both their strings keep tugging and lengthening and then falling slack again.

----

I know this isn't much but I promised myself I would post whatever I had and it's almost 1 am. So there. There's that fucking thing. I'll try to flesh it out more tomorrow, Enjoy red ♥️🧵♥️

[tteotlma]

Brewing Emotions

- tension and unspoken feelings finally come to a head.

Sam Winchester/Reader 2.1kw

a/n: i wrote this after finishing spn over the summer. can u tell i love tension.

tw: mild violence mention, mild sexual content (kissing), emotional distress

The drive back from Wheeling, Illinois to the Bunker was an excruciatingly silent drive. It seemed as though everyone was steeping in their misery, and it was gonna be hard to shake off.

A family of Djinn’s were plaguing the city with missing persons for the past three weeks, and by the time the three of you showed up – there was more bloodshed than expected. Turns out the Djinn were running this operation for way longer and tens of lives were lost.

The three of you tried to save the remaining five survivors but because they were so weak, not all of them could be saved. Much to Sam and Dean’s dismay, only two walked away.

Of course, you were devastated as well but having been a solo hunter far longer than teaming up with the boys – you learned the hard way that losses were inevitable.

You were also less emotionally constipated than the other two, so you knew the better way to feel better was to surround yourself with things that bring you joy. But tweedle dee and tweedle dum here like to sit and stew in silence.

You were able to get them to talk here and there for the first few hours but your efforts ultimately fell short and silence took over. Exhaustion took over and you just let the silence be. During the car ride, you stared at the back of Sam’s head trying to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him in some way. Especially running your hands through his hair. You didn’t know if it was because of your feelings for the man, or because the act of petting lowered stress levels but whenever you found yourself feeling troubled you always found your hands in the man's hair, and vice versa.

Sure the science article was about animals but – potato, potato.

Instead you just crossed your arms and tucked your hands into your armpits, closing your eyes to try and get some shut eye.

The first person to say something was Dean, when the car pulled up to the Bunker.

“I’m gonna wash up.” He huffed, as his leather jacket squeaked against the leather seat while shimmying out of the car.

Perfect, you and Sam could prepare a meal while Dean washes up. You were about to reach out to Sam when he sprung out of the car.

“Hey Sam-” you rushed, following his steps in unloading the car. “Why don’t we-”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little grimy so I’m just gonna wash up too.” He mumbled, lugging the duffel bag over his shoulder, and walking away.

“Oh, okay.” you whispered, trying not to sound dejected. You entered the bunker and everyone made a B-line for their bedrooms.

Throwing your backpack onto the ground, you started undressing wanting nothing more than to just step under hot water and let it burn the tension away from your shoulders.

—

By the time you were done, you were already feeling much better. Your pajamas felt softer and cleaner than the stale outfit you had been wearing for the past two days. Your hair no longer felt stringy and greasy, and your skin felt exfoliated. Now to top it all off with a nice warm cup of tea.

You startled, seeing Sam standing in the kitchen.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna see you until tomorrow.” You said, giving him a soft smile as you walked up to him.

“Uh, well we hadn’t eaten anything since that rest stop about seven hours back.” He returned the same smile, before beginning to chop vegetables. You nodded, placing a swift hand on his shoulder blade as you passed him, to let him know you were walking behind.

He cleared his throat, and a small smile spread on your lips.

“I’m making tea,” You started, “would you like some?” Opening the drawer in front of you, an array of colored boxes splayed out before you.

“Sure, I’ll just take a cup of whatever you’re having.”

You took the small red box out the drawer, placed it on the counter and opened the cabinet above you to get your mugs. You grabbed your favorite, and when you went to grab Sam’s you realized it wasn’t in the usual spot next to yours. Pushing around the mugs, all that could be heard was the ceramic clinking together.

“You need help there?” A small scoff escaped his mouth.

“Your mug isn’t here.” Ceramic still clinking, standing on your tippy toes to try and get a better look.

“That’s okay just grab any other one.” He said, throwing the chopped vegetables in a large bowl.

“But you like that mug,” He turned to look at you. “I swear I put it here when I did the dishes.”

“Maybe someone used it.” He obviously wasn’t convincing you that another cup could be used so he put down the knife with a chuckle and walked towards you.

You could feel his presence loom over you as he stood behind you – barely able to feel his warmth on your back. You tried not to move a muscle.

“Yeah look it’s right here,” He said, reaching into the only shelf you couldn’t reach, and behind a large bowl he pulled out a dark blue mug. He looks down at you as you turn to grab the mug.

“Well, that’s not where I put it.” you mumble, taking the mug from his hands.

Inspecting the mug, to make sure it’s clean you notice Sam falls silent. You look up at him and catch him looking at you – quite intently.

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, and you give him a little smile hoping to god this tension building up isn’t just your imagination.

“Are you okay?” You ask under your breath. Sam blinks and shakes his head clearing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, yes I am.” He spits out, and he steps away. The cool air swooping in and taking place where he previously stood. He goes back to chopping vegetables in silence. His kurt answer leaves you thrown off, so rather than respond you choose to join in the silence and fall into a sort of rhythm beside Sam as he preps the salad he’s been working on as you work on the tea you offered.

As Sam shakes the bowl to mix the dressing, you could feel his warmth and you wanted nothing more than to step closer, under the impression that maybe his warmth could take away these remaining forlorn feelings.

"How'd you like your tea?" you ask, steeping the leaves.

"Like I said, whatever you're having." He puts down the bowl and turns to look at you. You shift your eyes towards him, then away when you feel his gaze boring into you.

As you grab the honey and a spoon, you turn to get some oatmilk from the fridge. Suddenly, you realize Sam is no longer behind you but beside you, his chest at eye level. You startle and look up.

"You okay?" His eyes never leave your face.

"Yeah," is all he says, his gaze unwavering.

Shifting uncomfortably, you begin to look anywhere but at him. An unbearable longing aches within you to touch him—to feel the rough texture of his shirt beneath your trembling fingers, to inhale the faint scent of his cologne mingling with his skin's warmth. You yearn to be enveloped in his embrace, to feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close until his steady heartbeat thrums against your chest. Every fiber of your being screams for that connection, that solace, that undeniable closeness.

Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you look down, the weight of his gaze becoming too intense.

"What is it?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, afraid to break whatever spell he might be under.

He remains silent. Instead, he steps closer, fingers trailing lightly along the hem of your shirt. He moves even nearer until his chest is mere inches from your face. His hand circles around to your lower back, slowly pulling you in. The movement is so gradual you're barely sure you're moving at all. It's not until you feel Sam begin to lean in, his arm wrapping fully around your waist, that you realize he's been wanting to touch you just as badly as you've been wanting to touch him.

Your breath catches in your throat as Sam's arm tightens around you. Your already small world narrows even more to just the two of you—the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the faint thrum of his heartbeat. You finally allow yourself to raise your hands, letting them rest tentatively on his chest. You slowly look up at him.

"I-I'm sorry, for brushing you off earlier," he says, a glint of remorse in his eyes.

Your hands move to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "It's okay," you whisper, maintaining the intimate atmosphere between you. "You don't have to apologize."

You watch as Sam presses further into your hands, his eyes closing. A breath of relief leaves his lips, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. The vulnerability in this moment strikes you, making your heart swell with affection.

Studying his face, your hands glide into his hair, gently pulling him close. As if by instinct, Sam buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His hands, initially at the middle of your back, slide down to your hips. He tries to bring you closer, but you're already pressed against him. Instead, your hips align more firmly with his as he holds you there.

The sound of your shaky breaths mingles with the scent of his cologne. The warmth of his body envelops you, and the gentle tickle of his breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, each sensation heightened in this intimate embrace. It all feels like a dream—a long-awaited, exquisitely real dream.

Sam's fingers flex slightly at your hips, as if reassuring himself that you're truly there. You respond by carding your fingers through his hair, relishing the softness beneath your touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection that you've both longed for.

Sam pulls away to look at you, his eyes searching your face. You lightly tug at the hair entwined in your fingers, a silent gesture of affection. Without a word, Sam begins to lean in. His lips brush against yours, feather-light and questioning. Your stillness is all the encouragement he needs.

Years of unspoken feelings finally come crashing down as Sam captures your lips in a proper kiss. He pulls you impossibly closer, one hand cradling the back of your head as if afraid you might slip away. His lips part slightly, and you seize the moment to nip gently at his bottom lip. Sam responds by deepening the kiss, and you meet him willingly, your mouths moving in perfect harmony.

A soft noise escapes him, echoed by your contented sigh. The kiss grows more passionate, your shared breaths becoming ragged. Sam's hands, which haven't left your body, slide down until his fingers find the bare skin at your hips. He kneads the flesh there, his touch both tender and desperate.

The intensity builds with each passing second. Sam's kisses grow more insistent, more passionate, mirroring the longing you both have harbored for so long. The forgotten tea steeps on the counter, the abandoned salad wilts - neither of you notices or cares. There's only this moment, this long-awaited connection, consuming you both entirely.

"Hey, did you guys make any—" Dean's words cut off abruptly as he entered the kitchen. "Well, alright Sammy!"

You and Sam spring apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. Dean stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise before a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"About damn time," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't let me interrupt. I'll just grab a beer and go."

As Dean rummages in the fridge, you and Sam exchange sheepish glances, a mix of embarrassment and barely contained laughter in your eyes. The spell of the moment is broken, but the warmth of it lingers.

Dean grabs his beer and heads out, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. "You might want to take this somewhere more private next time. And Y/n? Your tea's probably over-steeped by now." He chuckles.

As Dean's footsteps fade down the hall, you and Sam look at each other trying not to laugh, the tension dissipating. Sam reaches out, taking your hand in his.

"So," he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "about that tea..."

You squeeze his hand, your heart light despite the interruption. "I think we might need to start over," you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face.

As you move to prepare fresh tea, Sam's arm wraps around your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet. You lean into him, savoring the closeness. The night may not have gone as planned, but it's ended better than you could have imagined.

—————

pls leave comments/feedback! i luv hearing ur thoughts!