#like this is not ship hate but it’s just??

[hya-ichor]

upon newly wading into a media’s fanfics— I search the pairing(s) I’m interested in, sort by kudos, remove unfinished works— and then I read summaries.

if the summary sounds interesting I glance at tags and chapter/word count — some summaries will be 3 paragraphs and then the fic word count is 80? not 80+K, 80 total? also if a fic is 6K but 42 chapters… idk it’s a turn off for me.

in smaller wading pools (old guard, megamind) I’ll work my way through every single fic. in larger lakes (boku no hero academia, star wars) I’ll swim out as far as the hyperfixation takes me, and circle back with less discernment for summaries in the future —and then I start sorting by date updated and refresh the tab every other day like a heroin addict chewing on a table leg.

now: sometimes tags will jump out and grab me; I’m a sucker for time travel, time loops, fix-it, BAMF!characters. curiosity will get me pretty far; I am more than willing to read a ‘never interacted, never in the same room in canon, what crevice of your brain did this fall out of’ rarepair just to see if I can be convinced. crack and crack treated seriously also fall under the realm of curiosity.

BUT. the biggest loophole to summary/tags/word count is if I like an author. if I like an author I’ll read whatever. I’m reading ships I hate just to see their take on it. I’ll read huge epics or the drabble collection they started in middle school. I’ll read for medias I don’t know a single thing about. fics I Would Not Click on will get a full steam ahead if I see the names colubrina or shanastoryteller or deniigiq.

so ig just keep writing?

By this I mean, what is the most influential on your decision? E.g., for me it is the summary because I rarely pay attention to the title or stats, and only read the tags after I've liked the summary enough to want to give the fic a go.

[bumblingbabooshka]

There should have been a cold open where everyone on the ship woke up in the middle of the night to a red alert and everybody's half out of their minds panicked and half asleep (shown by a chaotic all-in-one-take type shot as we sweep through Voyager's halls) but they manage to get it together and make it to their battle stations only for the bridge crew to find Tuvok standing there with a stopwatch in one hand, Janeway and Chakotay to either side of him, eyebrow raised. It took you eight minutes to reach the bridge...five minutes or less is the goal. (Janeway looks amused and Chakotay is literally asleep.)

[deswhomst]

Can someone please just rant with me about the people who hate on Jegulus LMAO? And I don’t mean people who don’t ship them (it’s fine that’s your choice), I mean the ones who make posts about their hatred of the ship. And on top of that, why are they tagging their posts Jegulus? I literally don’t want to see it. Keep it to yourself.

Like—first of all, why do they act like it’s such a hot take or an unpopular opinion? I see one person daily say that Jegulus “doesn’t make sense” and they pretend like it’s such a new thing to say?? And why do they act like they’re victims when they’re the toxic ones?

I swear I see so many toxic Jily stans openly hating on Jegulus like it’s their birth right but I have literally never seen it the other way around. Like no I’ll be brave and ask the real question—what is so interesting about Jily? Why does liking that ship make you superior? And I’ll just say—even Harry wondered how Lily ended up with James so your arguments that “they probably hated each other” / “doesn’t make sense” literally applies to Jily as well. And this is not hate to Jily in any way, but rather to toxic stans who spread hate for no reason. You are not better than someone else based on your shipping preference, but you are worse when you act a certain way.

Also I love all you non-toxic Jily stans out there! <3 I promise this is not directed at you at all.

And don’t give me the reasoning that they created Harry. Frankly if your argument for a ship is their off-spring, it’s already weak.

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

I think the major disconnect is actually just people who believe caitvi are in love and people who don’t.

Without the context of their being in live with each other, not much of what they do makes any sense. I believe Caitlyn and Vi are in love based on their whole arc from s1 and I think s2 seriously banks in that fact. People who don’t understand why Vi would love Cait and Vi versa wouldn’t get any of that and I guess technically there’s nothing wrong with that.

I know many believed it in s1 but didn’t like how s2 was executed and I cant necessarily get angry at people for how they receive something. I just wonder what could have been believed in the first place? Like, what did you want from the narrative specifically?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[eleanorcrane]

thank you guys so much for 1k notes on this!! it took me forever and I'm super proud of it, so it means a lot that so many of you liked it too :') here is something short as a token of my appreciation :D 

*

Mornings on Terror were all Jopson knew of quiet. He used to hate rising so early, but the more time he spent at sea, the more he grew to relish those moments before the noise. They gave him the opportunity to care for his appearance as meticulously as he liked and prepare for the day ahead in as much detail as he could.  It was so rare to find oneself alone on a ship. Though he enjoyed his fleeting solitude, what he’d truly come to savor every morning was his captain. Francis Crozier was far from helpless, but Jopson would serve his every need, no matter how fleeting or arbitrary. In return, his captain cared for him. 

This morning was as special as those that came before it. He dressed Captain Crozier in his fine uniform, taking care to make sure he looked dignified and handsome. Jopson often felt a jealous twist in his gut when he realized others would think the same, but he supposed that meant he was good at what he did. As long as it was a glance, he was willing to share.

This morning, like every morning, Crozier’s eyes tracked him up and down. The captain confided in him about his worries, and the two spoke back and forth about the expedition.. About the threat that was “close.” Thomas certainly knew the danger of closeness; it stood here before him, strong-willed and broad-shoulders.

Jopson worked carefully, taking note of every seam in his clothes to make sure nothing was awry. When he got down to the captain’s shirtsleeves, he noticed a loose string around the cuff. He lifted Crozier’s wrist to his mouth, tearing the straggler off with his teeth. He looked back up to his captain, knowing full well how he fluttered his eyelashes. Crozier sighed, cupping Jopson’s face in his hand. He stroked his cheek, petted his hair. 

“You are a beauty, aren’t you?” Crozier murmured. Jopson fought off the twitch of a smile. His hands relaxed around the captain’s wrist. 

“Oh, you really think so, sir?” Jopson teased. Crozier chuckled, his thumb gliding over Jopson’s lips. His jaw slacked ever so slightly, lips falling open. Crozier thumbed the inside of his lower lip and over his teeth. The look in his eyes when he was in Jopson’s mouth was worth anything he had to give. 

Crozier pressed his thumb onto Jopson’s tongue. He closed his mouth around it, sucking gently as he could manage. Crozier inhaled, eyes never leaving Jopson, whose upturned gaze had shifted something fiery. 

“Easy, now,” Crozier said, his voice low. Jopson slid his tongue along the captain’s finger, wishing for nightfall. Cast in shadow, they could do what they pleased. He resigned himself to pulling off slowly, letting his spit drip. 

“Whatever you desire, sir,” he said. Tonight, he’d give him just that. 

captain’s quarters

[dear-ao3]

Okay I have binged the f1 posts (pulled up the archive when I finished the write ups proper) and like, I don't like rpf. I think it's invasive and selfish usually. I don't want to make people stop writing it because I hate censorship infinitely more than rpf but I tend to go "Mmh. Wish you wouldn't." when I see it. Which has led me to a state of being extremely ticked off at Brocedes. Because like. Who gave them the right to have that level of dramatic symbolism. You're telling me that in his desperation to win Nico scraped off the paint of his helmet for just the slightest speed boost? THE PAINT COLOR AN HOMAGE TO WHEN THEY WERE YOUNG AND IT WAS MOSTLY JUST THE TWO OF THEM??? HE SCRAPED OFF THAT PAINT THE PAINT OF THEIR CHILDHOOD SO THAT HE COULD GET CLOSER TO BEATING LEWIS????? That is... this is real life why was it like this. I'm holding off the thought "I wish you guys were fictional so I could ship" with a freaking squirt gun why is/was Brocedes like this I don't think any other rpf ship will ever go this hard and I think that very few fictional ones do wtf I'm having a crisis of faith over here.

my brother in christ. accept the crisis and read through the brocedes tag. it happens to be the best of us.

[yoyleberry-eater]

sonadow hate is a little silly.../NOT POS...

As a multishipper, i get that there are several ships that are really nice on the fandom, sonadow being my favorite.

BUT THE HATE ON SONADOW IS CRAZY... "Shadow is 50 years old!" he was FIFTEEN and FROZEN for fifty years little vro.

"They're rivals." has that stopped ANYONE BEFORE? life, its baby's first ship dynamic. don't yap.

AND THE FACT THAT SONTAILS IS LESS HATED. LIKE I GET THAT THERE ARE PLATONIC SHIPS BUT TAILS IS..JUST LOOK AT HIM. HE IS A BABY <3

can we normalize not hating on ships unless its actually vile or whatever? (as in proships, family x family, adult x child, etc, all of that.)

sonamy is pretty nice btw, besides on how it was depicted very early on.

amy shouldn't have had that kind of hate vro.. :(

oh and shadamy is pretty epic too anyways. that was my epic rant. please ship sonadow, sonamy, and shadamy more.

[blakebreaker]

I was talking to people from BioWare Austin when EA took over. (Won't say who.) And while, yes, there were some things big daddy EA declared that were utterly shit, The Old Republic project was well and truly fucked and a massive drain on resources when EA came in and started bankrolling.

For context, SW:TOR was still in development at the time, but here's a list of some of their truly brilliant fuck ups that started before EA:

They took a very early version of HeroEngine and fucked it up so bad it gave the poor engine an undeservedly bad reputation for a while. That shit was so poorly optimized they decided to ship SW:TOR with Bubble Captions disabled to improve performance.

They hired a brand new team of in-house writers who either most of or all of had never worked on any video game before. This was actually somewhat of an open secret, but I think the podcast where Hall Hood talked about having never worked on a video game before is long gone. Technically, the project was headed up by Daniel Erickson who wrote for Dragon Age but it is questionable how involved he was in the story.

SW:TOR still stands as the largest voiced project of all time. For which they spent a lot of money. A. Lot. Of. Money. And reminder of point 2, this was all off the backs of small name writers. I hesitate to say the vocal cast was A-List, since ya know, A-List voice actors are not exactly the same as hiring Hollywood A-Listers. But they had so, so many voice acting studios that could've been some guys already on the project with a shitty mic in the basement.

They put Tatooine as a full fledged explorable planet in their game. Okay, maybe this shouldn't be on the list but honestly hate it when people look at the planet who's defining trait is being a barren wasteland and think that is a hotspot destination. And it also helps establish my actual main point.

SW:TOR was a hot mess of corporate decision making. And like, from a financial perspective I think it might've done alright? I don't have EA figures in front of me lmao. But from the start it was a massively bloated project that helped force the sale to EA. And BioWare managed to fuck up that way all on their own.

And look, it really fucking emphasizes the point made by the OP that BioWare favored gameplay over their writers that they thought for the biggest video game writing project in history they could hire just about anyone with a book or two under their belt. But at the same time, before EA came in, they were proudly boasting about how they would be so different from the rest of the MMO market bc of the "Fourth Pillar" for MMOs, Story. Oh hey guys we have story? Who's writing that story? Uh, don't worry about it lmao.

no offense but i genuinely can't help but wonder if most of this community is aware that bioware is a triple a gaming corporation and is perfectly capable of creating a toxic and unstable work environment without ea's help

[aro-culture-is]

aro culture is PLEASE when i say "those two characters fucked" that does NOT mean i ship them. those two characters are friends, and they fucked. and they have never even considered each other in any romantic context at all. they're friends and they've fucked. okay. how is this difficult to understand. i just hate that, for example, on ao3, the way to tag shipping is "character/character"...but that's also the way to tag smut. like what if the characters are having sex in the fic, but they're not romantically involved at all? how am i supposed to convey that. what if i just think these two are the bestest of friends and they also fuck, and that's just. an aspect of their friendship with no further implications. what then

anyways. shippuden era naruto and gaara are fwb 2 me

.

[murasaki-cha]

One thing that has always pissed me off is when people call the Enemies to Lovers troupe toxic romance and say it's abusive. Like I don't know what was advertised to you as enemies to lovers but babe that is so not what this trope it's about.

Now listen I'm a fantasy reader, so my normal level of enemies to lovers is "they have tried to kill each other at least once" or "they have definitely physically fist fought" at like the minimum. Anything below that is rivals to lovers to me. Just wanted to make it clear I'm not sugar coating anything here when it comes to my ships.

Enemies to lovers was never about the abuse or the fighting and the attempted murder, that's not what makes the trope.

Enemies to lovers was always about seeing the worst in each other first, being unafraid to show someone the ugliest part of yourselves and them still managing to fall in love with you. It's about realizing that the only person who has ever truly known you is the one person you cannot stand, it's about them being an outlet to each other the one person they are not afraid to be negative towards because that's your dynamic all the time.

This is also why people enjoy the fighting and the bickering between the enemies, because it's the one time when these characters are not holding anything back, they are unafraid of showing each other cruelty because why fear being disliked by someone who you already hate, that also hates you back?

It's about this chemistry these characters have, how they are somehow always pulled towards each other, how they can recognize each other in a crowded room immediately because they are annoyed by each other's presence obviously. It's about them always somehow ending up in a situation together even though the last thing they want is to be near each other.

They start noticing more about each other, they realize their habits, they know little stuff about them that almost no one else has ever noticed and maybe along the way they realize that maybe they're kind of different from what they thought at first and maybe they're not so different from each other.

It's about name calling turning into pet names, verbal sparing turning into old married couple type of bickering, going from dreading each others presence to searching for each other in a room, sneers turning into smirks, it's about keeping the same dynamic you had but making it more lighthearted, warmer.

And this is my personal opinion, but I truly believe there is no way to make a good enemies to lovers story without it also being a slowburn. It makes absolutely no sense why these characters that hated each other until now are suddenly falling in love so quickly. Enemies to lovers was never just Enemies -> Lovers, There needs to be some forced proximity thrown in there, a begrudgingly friendship, actual friendship, unexplained feelings, realization of feelings, secret pining because we barely became friends there is no way they would ever feel the same way, confession and by the end lovers. It just makes sense since they have a very complicated relationship and they need to grow as people and need to get used to familiar feelings first before actually getting together.

And this is what enemies to lovers is all about, these characters knowing every part of themselves, from the worst to the best, hiding nothing and being free around each other. It's about truly knowing every single piece of your partner's heart and soul, from their anger to their joy and loving them not just despite it, but especially for it.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 128 (Aspirations and Life Lessons)

The mood at the campsite the morning after Elsa Bjerg-Watson's death was strange. They were still in shock, and Conrad headed for his tools as soon as he woke up. He needed to channel this guilty feeling into finishing the upgrades on the treehouse, especially since no one else could do it.

But the imaginative young boys had turned the playhouse into a pirate ship overnight, which just made Conrad think about Rafa. He knew, thanks to Oliana and Leila, that Melissa had made her way to Sulani, but he hadn't heard from her or Rafa since.

Ash woke up smiling after spending the night in the treehouse. Officially a Creative Genius, his mind spun with a thousand ideas from the minute his eyes opened!

River made breakfast while Conrad checked on Jett. "I'm okay, Mr. Gordon. My dad said death is just a part of life. I just have to be there for my friend Jada."

He was impressed with Jett's cool-headed nature, but the event was tough on Conrad and he kept a close eye on the kid. He knew Jett was Heather's biological son, but that made no difference. He was a kid who'd seen something traumatic, and Conrad knew how grief could change a person.

So did Jett's father, Everett, who'd lost his mother in a housefire as a child. The town priest kept a close eye on his son, too, but Jett surprised everyone with how quickly he seemed to accept death.

Cassandra called River after breakfast and broke the news of Bernadette's passing, encouraging them to stay with their friends. Michael was out for a bike ride around the ruins when she phoned, but when he learned of the death of the family dog on his return, he was heartbroken.

Having dealt with pet death a few times himself, Ash was the first to open up to his cousin. Despite their differences, Ash was maturing, and today Michael needed a good friend.

"Bernadette's in a good place now," he said, playing with one of Greyson and Jett Pancakes' Omiscan dolls, brought back from one of their mother Spencer's trips to Selvadorada. "Bernie was in a good place before, but this other place is just as good. My mom says so, and she's a vet so she definitely knows."

"But Aunt Heather couldn't even help her," said Michael sadly.

"Sometimes animals are too old and too sick. Like people. But Bernadette remembers you just like you remember her, so you can think about each other all the time."

Ash's advice helped his grieving cousin, and later, River chatted with Conrad while he continued the upgrades and the boys ran off to play.

"Michael loves him again - says Ash has him convinced they could build a shovel large enough to dig to the other side of Simlandia. It's a good thing he has you, or he might turn out like Malcolm."

Conrad laughed. "Malcolm's not so bad. In my line of work, I've met worse."

"Like George Brindleton? You said his son hated his guts, right?" Conrad nodded. "That's a pretty good life goal: Raise your kids so they don't live in an abandoned lighthouse or go to prison just to get away from you."

"I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Riv. Michael and Sammy got the best."

"Mike told me once he wished I had a cool badge like you instead of a yellow hard hat," he said with a laugh. "Broke my heart."

"You love that hard hat."

"It makes me look taller."

As the upgrades slowly neared completion, they cut their conversation short when Greyson joined to direct Conrad's hammering. "Is that how you're supposed to install the lights? Where's the socket go in the middle of the forest?"

The sun had set by the time Conrad finally hooked up the fairy lights, but with this they called it a day. The community treehouse was complete, and the boys made up some cardboard decorations to change the pirate ship into a castle - more befitting of a town like Henford-on-Bagley with all its medieval ruins. They'd sleep in the treehouse or their tents for one more night, and in the morning they'd all return home.

Ash would be picked up by Ray Pierce and taken to San Myshuno for an extended Easter Break with the Landgraabs, but before then, Conrad finally found a way to talk with him about Ben and his dog.

"You were really good with your cousin today, and you were really nice to Jett after what he saw last night. I'm proud of you."

Ash smiled. "Thanks Conrad. But I was telling them the truth. Death isn't so scary, and ambrosia brings anyone back who doesn't want to be dead!"

"Ambrosia shouldn't be used that often. It's really difficult to make for a reason."

"Why did you and Mom learn to make it, then?"

"The ghosts who do want it are few and far between, but those who need it usually need help, so your mom and I decided to help ghosts like Felix together."

"Are you helping any other ghosts?"

He spoke carefully. "We are. We're going to help Ben and his dog."

Ash stared at him, wide-eyed. "I thought Ben might be a ghost! But his dog doesn't seem like one. I couldn't see through them like Felix Psyded. And Captain Whitaker let me pet him."

"Captain Whitaker wasn't see-though?"

"No, and his fur was wet because it was so snowy! Was he see-through when you saw him?"

Conrad nodded. "Why did you think Ben was a ghost?"

"He was surprised I could see him. But you've seen him, so it's not that weird, right?"

"Ben said I can see him because he's a great uncle or something, several generations back." But Ash wasn't related to Ben...

The young genius thought carefully, his mind undisturbed by these ghostly revelations in a way Conrad scarcely understood. "When I was really young, I had a bad accident," he said. "I don't remember it, but Nan (Nancy) said I died before doctors and the Watcher brought me back..."

Conrad's stomach dropped remembering that awful day, Heather's guilt-ridden hysteria, and her belief that a curse had come for her son. "That's not a bad theory," he reasoned, and Ash smiled proudly. "I'll ask Felix what he thinks. You're really okay with all this? Elsa's death? Bernadette? Seeing ghosts?"

He shrugged. "If the ghosts I see look like Ben and Captain Whitaker, I don't even know they're ghosts. Just sims who need help, right? How are you helping Ben and his dog?"

"Ben says he wants us to give ambrosia treats to Captain Whitaker and adopt him so he can finally cross over."

"Is crossing over for ghosts who don't want to float around anymore?"

Conrad nodded. "It is."

"I think it's a good idea to adopt Captain Whitaker! Mom loves strays; why haven't we adopted him already?"

Conrad laughed. "We've been a little busy, and now that your Aunt Hazel lives with us, the house is pretty full!"

"Yeah, but...it's rude to make Ben wait to cross over!"

He couldn't argue Ash's logic and smiled. "Tell you what. After you get back from spending Easter with the Landgraabs, we'll go out to Deadgrass Isle together and bring Captain Whitaker home."

"Yeah! Let's do it!"

Despite the theme of death running through their weekend in Isle of Volpe Park, they had a community treehouse, improved friendships, and life lessons to show for the experience.

In the grand scheme of things, the weekend project was a smashing success! ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

I want you guys to help guide Ash's future now that his aspiration is complete, so look out for a poll VERY soon!

[waynes-multiverse]

Ooof, finally back! 😮‍💨 I've been thinking about this series way too much in the last couple of weeks. I'm so excited to dive back in 😍

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too? You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

I'm so in love with their little bonding sessions. Being stuck inside a cabin and playing games? I want that 😍

And lol it's gotta be so awkward for true mates when they're still strangers. I absolutely adored her thought process throughout 😆

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Yes please 🫠🫠🫠

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards. “That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?” “My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

Love how Dean doesn't realize he's oversharing and that his whole childhood might not have been normal 😂

And oh God, all those journal entries 😭😭😭 I know they're from the OG journal, but it just rips my heart right out again rereading it 😢 Those portray John's despair and heartbreak way better than the show did...

In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

Ooooh, let's think about it, shall we? 😏 Her dad might have totally been snatched by something supernatural. Considering their location and how it happened in her memories, it might have been a Wendigo?? 🤔

WENDIGO Cree: Evil that devours. Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests. Perfect hunter.

YEEEESSSSSS

Dude! Goosebumps! Wendigos scare the shit outta me 🙈 It's still why The Descent is the scariest movie for me. I die from a heart attack every time 😂 🫣

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking

No, no, no, stop it! That description made me shudder 😶😶

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?” You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house.

No! Alex!!!! YOU KNOW THIS IS WHY I HATE SNOOPING

Girl, you're killing me here... 😆😆

“I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

Love her explanation for reading his stuff. Reminds me of Smoke Eater 😄

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.”

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Oh no... Please tell me you didn't bring the Wenidgo back 😳

Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

I'm guessing this one ain't gonna be cute tho 😆

It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray.

Do not attack a Grizzly with bear spray! Just lie down, girl, and stop moving lol

Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar.

She never heard of the three bears rule, has she? 😅 Well, hopefully Dean feels her distress and comes running soon 🙏

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

N'aw, I know it was necessary but poor bear – wrong place, wrong time for the fella 🥺💔

But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

My heart is full 😭❤️❤️❤️ (Also, I doubt he can ever stand to let her go her own way after this lmao)

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow.

Holy... That came out of the blue and completely whipped me across the face! 🫠🔥

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you.

Huh. Never eaten bear before... Never even thought about it before lol Also seems like something the Shaws would've done 😂

Omg I love that ending! Dean's finally coming around, and she's putting the puzzle pieces about her dad together. I wonder what Dean will do when he hears the full story? Would he go hunt the thing? Is it even still out there??? Questions upon questions... 🤔

So excited for the next part!! I'm loving this story and everything you've put in it, and the dynamic between them is amazing. So well done, friend 😍🩵🩵

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[arixella]

Unspoken Words

╰┈➤ pairing: Shanks x female! reader

a/n: send request if you have any <3

summary: After a long and unexpected reunion with Shanks, the two of you share a quiet, intimate moment on the deck of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship, where Shanks finally confesses that, despite all the years and distance, he’s never stopped loving you.

wc: 900

contains: fluff, tiny angst

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as the sea lapped gently against the hull of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship. The sounds of the crew bustled in the background, but up on the deck, away from the ruckus, the air felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

You hadn't expected to be here—on this ship, with him.

It had been years. Years of wondering, waiting, and hoping that one day you’d see him again. Shanks. The man who had left without a word, disappearing into the vast world, only to reappear like a distant memory brought to life. You had kept the promise you'd made to yourself: to move on. Life had taken you down its own winding roads, yet deep down, a part of you had always carried him with you.

Now, you stood beside him once more. Your heart ached with emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. His fiery red hair caught the light of the fading sun, and that trademark grin played across his lips, but there was something in his eyes—something softer—that made you wonder just how much time had really passed.

"You’re quieter than I remember," Shanks chuckled, turning his gaze toward you.

You blinked, breaking from your thoughts. "I guess I’m still processing this whole... reunion."

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, but there was a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath. "I didn't expect you to be speechless. Was I that bad of a captain to make you nervous?"

The teasing tone didn’t reach his eyes, though. His grin faltered for a brief second, and you noticed the subtle way his fingers tightened around the railing. He’d always worn that easygoing facade, but the longer you looked at him, the more it became clear—there was something on his mind. Something he hadn't told you all these years.

You took a small step closer, letting the warm evening breeze sweep through your hair. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Shanks laughed softly, a sound you had missed so much. "I know," he admitted. "But... it’s been so long, I wasn’t sure where to start."

You gave him a small, wry smile, your gaze steady on him. "Start with the most important part," you said quietly. "Why did you leave without a word? We didn’t even get a proper goodbye."

His expression shifted, and for a moment, he was silent. He turned his gaze to the horizon, the fiery orange sun reflecting in his eyes. “I wanted to come back. God, I wanted to. But... I didn’t think it was right. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just get in the way of your future."

You were silent, processing his words. “So you left because you thought it was for the best?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and sadness.

Shanks nodded, his shoulders tense. "I’ve always been a man who lives in the moment. But I’ve never been good at thinking ahead. Back then, I couldn’t offer you anything solid. I didn’t want to drag you along with my reckless lifestyle... And I hated the idea of you waiting for me, wasting your life on someone who couldn’t promise you anything."

The weight of his words hung between you, but as you watched him—this man who had always been larger than life, full of energy and joy—you saw something that you hadn’t expected: regret.

"I spent all these years thinking about you," he continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "Wondering if you hated me, or if you had moved on with someone else. I tried to convince myself that it was better this way. But it’s been... hard. Every damn day, harder than the last."

Your heart clenched as you took a step forward, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Shanks, you don't have to apologize. You did what you thought was best... but I wish you’d known I would've waited for you."

He turned to face you then, his gaze locking onto yours. The playful spark was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I didn’t know," he murmured, his voice low. "But I do now."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the faint creak of the ship’s wooden planks. Shanks shifted, closing the distance between you, and before you knew it, his hand gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your chest.

“You’ve always been a part of me, Y/N,” Shanks whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Even when I was a thousand miles away, I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you.”

The words hung in the air, as if they were both a confession and a release. A truth he’d kept hidden for far too long. You stared at him, your heart racing, and a bittersweet smile curled on your lips.

"I don’t know what to say," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied, his grin returning but this time it held a tenderness that hadn’t been there before. "I just wanted you to know... I never stopped loving you."

Your heart swelled, and without another thought, you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, like a long-awaited reunion, and for a moment, the world melted away. The past, the years of separation, the pain—it all faded into the background as you kissed him, letting the emotions that had been hidden for so long wash over you both.

When you pulled back, breathless and with your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “I missed you, Shanks.”

He grinned, his eyes still soft but filled with that familiar spark. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

And for the first time in years, you believed him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, but the warmth between you both remained—quiet, unspoken, and enough to carry you both through whatever the future held.

♡♡♡

[thatdisasterauthor]

I have rearranged about half the house so far today, and I am liking the new layout of things MUCH better. My shipping station is actually organized now, now just a bunch of shit piled haphazardly in the corner, which makes my office/studio area feel soooooooooo much more organized even without doing anything else. Hated that corner of the room because of how cluttered it looked.

Moved the cat tower too and Rumble was DEEPLY annoyed for about five minutes, sitting in the old spot and yelling, until she figured out that hey, the new spot is in the SUN. Amazing. 10/10 in her little brain now.

[utdrmv-confession-box]

Transcript: I really, really, REALLY hate and despise when people make Spamton, Susie, Noelle, Alphys or Undyne, Mettaton or Roulxs straight. I also can't stand Alphton[Alphys x Spamton], *especially* not that one. Ew. I get it, you're straight, but stop trying to erase the gay characters from the shows we enjoy WHEN THE GAME SAYS IT ITSELF AND THE CREATOR WROTE IT THAT WAY!! Straightwashing is horrible and I will always vouch for gay ships in both UT and DR. It's just like, if you really want something straight so bad go make your own content to straightify or better yet, SHIP ACTUAL STRAIGHT SHIPS FROM THE GAME! It's so messed up when people do this.... almost as bad as when people purposefully label Kris, even though Toby explicitly stated they are a they. 🤮

I get the whole argument of "Spamton said he'd be like that if someone gave him money to be in a couple!" but no. His entire energy does not radiate hetero and he is a completely valid gay king. I sincerely hate when people do that I hate it so much I hate it more than anything else..... I really wish straights would stop erasing us.