#will never get over it until it's resolved

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[kngrose]

could u possibly do dom/soft sevika head cannons ?😋

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀

• steamy shower with sevika

WARNINGS: established mommy kink, lots of praise, petnames, knee riding, fingering, brief mention of squirting, orgasm denial, spanking, implied dacryphilia, mean! sevika but i swear it’s subtle, don’t we all want sevika to dote on us

from roselí ᡣ𐭩: i know this was supposed to be hc’s but ialwaysgetcarriedawayimSORRY. very minimal plot, we dive RIGHT into it. i miss you guys! been busy with work and school lately, trying to find more time for this blog. xx

Somehow she’d managed to convince you to shower with her again— which was always a mistake. You’d never get to show on account of her touchiness, and insistance on doing everything but showering. Pure insanity, that you thought you’d have a different outcome this time around.

Sevika grabs you by the hips, pulling you against her body as she closes the shower door and traps you right up against her. She's significantly taller than you, having to tilt her head down slightly to look you in the eyes.

"You're so pretty, you know that?" She murmurs almost mindlessly, holding you tightly against her as the hot steam from the shower fills the room. Her large hands wander your body, appreciating your soft skin.

She takes a moment to just hold you, enjoying having you in her arms. Her bare skin feels nice against yours, arms firmly wrapped around you as she just takes in your presence for a moment. She gently begins to rub your back, giving you a small peck on the forehead.

Sevika looks down at the loofa and soap in your hand before taking it from you, beginning to lather the soapy cloth. “I can do it myself, you know.” You smile up at her sweetly, but she shushes you, shaking her head dismissively. “Nonsense, baby.” Her eyes never once leave yours as she works, her other hand still continuing to massage and run over your body.

Once she decides the loofa is sufficiently sudsy, she begins running it over your bare skin gently. Her gaze finally leaves yours as she looks down at your body that she is now softly scrubbing, making sure to get every inch.

She doesn’t miss the gasp you let out as she scrubs in between your legs, huffing when you grip her arm softly.

She pays you a soft chuckle, hand moving a little rougher and faster. "This good, baby?" She inquires, eyes flicking up to meet yours. Her other hand continues rubbing your stomach gently, large fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.

“Sevika—” You only let out a airy moan in response, gripper her arm a little tighter. It was enough for her to understand. “We can’t do this— fuck— everytime—” You try to hold a firm ground but the way she’s looking at you— you resolve can’t help but crumble. “We need to shower.”

She hums softly in response, the loofa now dropping completely from her hand so she has both hands to work on your body. She begins to slowly push you further back until your back hits the shower wall, hands never leaving your skin. Her left hand massages your hip as her right hand makes firm, slow movements in between your legs. "But you look so gorgeous for me, pretty girl..." She murmurs, eyes once again glued to yours as she watches your expressions with an intensity that can’t be matched.

Impossibly so, your body seamed to heat up, even noticeable under the hot water.

"So sensitive for Mommy." She praises, hand beginning to work faster. She leans in, kissing across your cheek to your mouth. Her lips brush against yours, and then move down slowly to your neck. She starts to suck and lick lightly at your sensitive skin, nibbling and biting gently at the spots that have you moaning.

She sucks her teeth briskly, shaking her head when you— ridiculously— try to move her hand away from your pussy.

Sevika pulls away from your neck, grabbing you by the wrists and pinning them both against the shower wall above your head. "Oh no you don't, darlin'." She drawls, lips attaching back to your throat as her fingers press firmly and rub between your folds. "You're gonna take what Mommy gives you, yeah?" She murmurs against your skin.

“Mommy!”

She continues rubbing roughly between your thighs, pressing firmly into your clit as her other hand moves from your wrists to hold your waist again. "Yeah, just like that, pretty thing." She praises. "I know you’ll take it for Mommy…” She coos with a light nip to your earlobe.

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, clinging to her loosely as you feel that familiar coil bubble up in your stomach, bucking your pussy back into her hand feverishly.

“I’m gonna cum, mommy!”

And just as you feel yourself on the edge, Sevika pulls away, ceasing her movements immediately. "Look at me, babygirl." She says firmly, wanting your eyes to meet hers. "There they are." She murmurs softly at your eye contact. "My pretty girl." She coos, pressing her forehead against yours.

She chuckles as you whine at the loss of friction, your orgasm effectively ruined. "Oh, C'mere, darlin'." Sevika murmurs, gently moving you with her hand still firmly planted on your waist. She sits you down on the marble shelf in the shower, pushing aside your large assortment of soaps and salts she’d bought you. She turns you around so she can stand behind you. "Bend over." She orders, voice a mere whisper.

“Yes, Mommy.”

She runs a hand through your hair, admiring how you were so ready to comply with her. "Good girl." Her praise comes in a low murmur as she pushes you down so your upper body rests against the shelf.

Sevika's hands begin to explore your back, gently massaging and caressing any skin she can touch. Her face lowers to your neck, pressing light kisses at the back of your neck and your shoulder. "Such a pretty girl." She murmurs against your skin.

“Mommy, please—”

She hums against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your shoulder before standing back up properly. One hand is placed on the nape of your neck, the other moving to hold your waist.

She leans forward a bit, pressing her hips up against you, her pubes brushing softly against your ass her knee rubs back and forth against your core. She stared down at your bare back, watching the water roll off— almost in a trance. She wants to mark you, she thinks, and she wants to make sure everyone can see it.

You let out a choked moan, inching onto your tippy toes to better meet her knee. Your eyes roll shut at the feeling, the friction hitting your clit perfectly. She grins at the sound "How is it, hm? Tell Mommy." Sevika murmurs teasingly, leaning down to press her lips softly against your back.

“S-S’good~” You can’t help the way it drawls out of your mouth, the friction of her knee, the kisses down your back, the heat of the water, the cold marble— your senses are in a whirlwind and she isn’t helping.

She hums against your skin as she moves her lips to a different spot, starting to kiss and suck there too. "Can't have my pretty girl walking around unmarked, now can I?" Sevika murmurs teasingly, pressing her lips softly against your new bruise as presses her knee into you more firmly.

And there it is again, right at its peak. That knot in your stomach ready to snap. Your legs shake on your tippy toes, hands gripping tightly at the marble. “Ah—! Mommy, I'm gonna—”

"No, darlin..'." She denies you, knee ceasing its movements as she goes still. "Not just yet.” You whine in frustration, huffing softly and kicking your feet. It was childish, yes, but you wanted to cum so bad, and you knew when she got into moods like this it would be a while before you did.

"Behave, yourself." She orders firmly, hand leaving your hip as she delivers a firm slap against your ass. You let out a yelp, your feet stilling at the harsh sting. Her hands were so large and heavy, it was never a treat to be spanked by her.

"That's better." She purrs in praise, her knee beginning to press against your core again, slowly this time. "Gonna behave for Mommy, pretty girl? Fussings’ not gonna get you what you want, you know that."

“Yes, Mommy… m’sorry… jus’ wanna cum.”

Sevika coos sweetly at your tone, picking the pace back up. "Look at you, being a sweet little thing... you make it hard to say no." She murmurs, moving her lips back to your nape as she begins to kiss, bite, and suck at the sensitive skin.

It doesn't take long for your orgasm to build back up, her knee rubbing against your clit at a steady pace. She could tell, of course she could. She noticed the way your eyes shut close in concentration, your hands starting to grip the marble shelf tightly once again. Sneaky little thing you were.

And she brings you right to the edge again, meticulously this time, before pulling her entire body away from you, ceasing all contact.

"No." She warns, voice firm. "You aren't allowed to cum yet. Her tone is teasing as she watches your frustration build back up. Your eyebrows furrowed, your pouty lips set in a firm frown. It was cute. You audibly cry out this time, your body flustered and hot. “God!” Small tears pebble in the corners of your eyes.

Her hand comes back down hard on your bottom, spanking you once again. "What did I tell you?" Sevika warns, leaning down so her lips are level with your ear, "Be. Good."

You sniffle, tears blending in with the water from the shower head “Yes, Mommy...” You say, albeit a little reluctantly.

She offers a curt nod at your obedience, though you can’t see it. She looms over you again, pressing light kisses all over your wet skin. "Go ahead, grind your hips against me, darlin'." She encourages, knee moving back between your thighs.

You reach your hands under you and between your legs, grabbing at her thigh, trying to lock her in place while you buck your sopping pussy against her knee. You’re positive you looked somewhat pathetic, but it’s neither here nor there.

Sevika watches you grind against her knee for a moment before letting out a low groan. "Look at you… poor thing." She coos, the hand that she has planted on your hip aiding you, helping to push your body against her knee faster. "So desperate, aren't you, babygirl?" She questions with wide, lustful eyes.

She feels you shudder, moaning shakily, the build up seemingly intense. You continue to rock your hips into her knee rhythmically, your mosns growing shorter and shorter until they start to die in your throat. “Momm— Mommy! Can I please cum?”

You hear her hum considerately, and you just now she smirking down at you behind your back. “Hm… I don’t know. You've been awfully impatient…" She murmurs condescendingly, beginning to help you move your hips faster against her thigh. She hums once more, a short, guttural sound.

"Go ahead."

She freezes momentarily as you push her away, unsure of your next move. You sit up, turning around to face her. Her eyes widen as you spread your legs lewdly, showing off your pretty cunt. “Fuck me…” The most fuckable expression etched on your pretty face. “Please… I want your hands, Mommy.”

She quickly makes a move of pushing you backwards, your back pressed flush against the cool tiles of the shower wall. "Shh, shh, shh." She coos at you, gently wiping your baby tears away. "It's alright, darlin'." She presses her lips to your cheek, and then your lips. "I got you. No more whining. Mommy's gonna take good care of you." Sevika murmurs, left hand moving down your body.

Your eyes follow her hand in anticipation, breathing become a bit more labored in the steamy shower. “Y-yes, please…” It was said more to yourself than anything, you weren’t even sure that you had said it out loud.

She shushes you again, the teasing expression from before replaced by a soft, sympathetic one. "I know, sweet thing. I know." Sevika whispers as her hand reaches your soaked pussy. "M’gonna make you feel good, baby'." She says softly, looking you directly in the eyes as she rubs your aching clit.

Your hips meet her hand almost instantly, bucking clumsily against her fingers. Your wrap your arms around her shoulders again, grounding yourself.

She leans down and presses her lips softly against yours before letting her eyes leave yours to look down at where she's touching you. "Pussy’s so wet for Mommy." She murmurs, eyes wandering back up to yours as she watches your expressions. "Look so pretty when I rub your pussy..." Sevika coos, leaning down to press her lips to your throat.

“Fuck! Mommy— I’m coming!”

She watches you as your eyes grow in size, mouth gaping open, chest rising and falling quickly as you pant. “Good girl… That’s my good girl.” She stops rubbing at your clit to plunge two thick fingers into your cunt, curling her fingers meticulously and rubbing against your g-spot in a steady rhythm. Your pussy’s letting out lewd squelching sounds, just barely heard over shower.

“F-fuck!” You throw your head back, leaning weakly against the wall. "Looks like someone just hit the jackpot." She says teasingly, smirking against your throat. She groans feeling your pussy tighten around her fingers again. "She’s so eager." Sevika murmurs against you before attaching her lips to your neck.

She begins to suck a large mark on your skin, that primal urge of hers to mark shining through once again. She bites and nips at you, making little noises against your skin. Her fingers keep their steady rhythm, pressing her palm up against you to hit your clit simultaneously.

“You gonna come undone again, sweet thing? Gonna grip Mommy’s fingers with your pretty pussy?” You pant lightly, mustering the energy to weakly nod your head, it was becoming harder to stand in your own two feet.

She hums softly, running a free hand back through your wet hair. "Good girls ask for permission first." Sevika coos lightly, pressing teasing kisses to your jawline. "Can you be a good girl for me?" She whispers in your ear, rubbing her nose against your cheek.

“Please,” You let out weakly, “Please let me cum, Mommy.”

"How could I say no?" She coos, slowly and smoothly slipping a third fingers into you, stretching you deliciously. "Mommy's got you, pretty girl." She presses gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose, anywhere on your face she can reach. "You're so good for me." She murmurs, pressing her forehead to yours.

The pace of her fingers quicken, thumping against that spongey spot in your walls. You let out moans like a mantra, bucking your hips where her palm meets your clit. "Go ahead, darlin'." She encourages you, watching as you tense up.

You let the build up snap when she gives you permission, squirting a mess all over her fingers. “Shhiiiiiiiit—” It comes out as a tiny whimper, but she hears nonetheless.

"Aren’t you just the cutest thing, my sweet pretty girl." She coos, pressing a kiss to your throat. She breathes out on a heavy exhale, fingers sgill curled against your g-spot, rubbing and stimulating it continuously. "Think you can give Mommy s’more?" You haven’t even showered yet.

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[kdollikesthighs]

Take what you want and go: part 1

Itzy Ryujin x m reader This part is all fluff, no smut here yet. Later parts will have smut, so stick around for that? I'm starting projects and working on them piece by piece. If I don't post them, I end up revising them ad infinitum. Word count: 1,664 words.

This isn’t your usual Friday night. Music pumping loud, a relentless beat that fights against the one in your chest. The air in the club is thick with sweat, perfume, alcohol and disgusting desperation. Some of those stenches belonging to you. People grinding into each other like they’re trying to forget something. Or Everything. You’re not here to forget, though. Not tonight.

You’ve been working the same old fashioned for an hour now. You’re not here to get wasted. Your eyes are skimming the room, catching glimpses of silhouettes. Shadows dance, giving way to partially revealed faces, none of them familiar— Until they are.

Ryujin.

She’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, her light skin reflecting against her dark clothes. She’s dressed in a black waving top that drapes over her matching black shorts, clinging to her like they were made for her body, a faint sheen of sweat glinting on her exposed abdomen under the neon lights. Her hair falls in sharp, intentional waves, and her lips curl into a smirk as she tilts her head towards someone leaning too fucking close. 

It’s been weeks since you last saw her. Weeks since she walked out of your apartment and left you staring at a closed door. You tried getting over her. So far, no success. Seeing her now, with that same effortless confidence and thrilling presence… it was no wonder you kept failing.

She hasn’t noticed you yet, or maybe she has and just doesn’t care. Her attention is on the person next to her. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re not here to intervene. You’re just here to see her, to remind yourself you're better off without her.

At least, that’s the lie you keep repeating to yourself. If you repeat it enough, you might end up believing it.

When Ryujin finally does look your way, it feels like the music is going on mute. Her eyes lock on yours, and for a single moment, the chaos of the club seems to fade into nothingness. Her smile drops, just barely, before returning to its original state, this time sharper. Calculated.

You know what’s happening. You should look away. You should finish your drink, leave the club, and never come back. But you don’t. You can’t.

Her dancefloor parasite says something, and Ryujin laughs. But her gaze keeps flicking back to yours, a challenge in her expression. “You’re here, aren’t you? Are you going to come to me, or are you going to keep pretending you don’t care?”

You’re hesitant, but her eyes always spur you on toward things you can’t control. You’re pushing through the crowd, the music getting louder and more obnoxious with each step to the dancefloor. Lifting your feet gets harder and harder as you close the distance between you and her.

When you’re finally close enough to appreciate the way her clothes are hugging her curves, she turns to face you fully, dismissing her companion with a clear gesture. They linger for a moment before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving the two of you standing face to face.

“Well, well,” Ryujin says, her voice smooth and teasing, clearly lying. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She’s already getting on your nerves. She left, why is she being so casual? You should be screaming at eachother. Somehow, you manage to keep your calm. “Didn’t think you’d be here either.”

She shrugs, leaning against a nearby pillar with the kind of casual grace that always made her feel untouchable. “Seems you don’t know me that well after all.”

There’s a challenge in her words now. You’ve fallen for it too many times before. She’s baiting you, testing your resolve, and you hate that it’s working.

“Looks like you’ve been keeping busy,” you say, glancing toward the dance floor where her companion disappeared. The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t take them back.

Ryujin arches an eyebrow, her lips transforming into an amused smile. “Jealous?”

“No,” you lie. A bit too quickly. You can’t even convince yourself.

She steps closer, the space in between you gradually disappearing. You can smell the faint trace of her perfume. It’s familiar. It’s the one she used to wear when she was desperate for a night of fucking you.

“You sure about that?” she asks, her voice dropping low, her mouth getting closer to your ear as the words exit her mouth and enter your brain.

You don’t answer. You can’t. For a moment, you let yourself take her in—the sharp line of her jaw, the glint of mischief in her eyes. She’s everything you’ve been trying to forget, and seeing her now, you can’t help but want her back.

Your next words lack conviction. As if not daring to say it to her, but talking to yourself about her. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say finally.

Her smile softens, just barely, and you see something vulnerable in her expression. But then it’s gone, as quickly as it appeared.

“Neither should you.”

“I missed you,” she says suddenly, the words low enough that you almost don’t catch them.

For a second, you wonder if she means it, or if it’s just another game. But the look in her eyes—the way they soften, just slightly—tells you it’s real. It feels mean, her admitting something like this. Spiteful.

You missed her too. You want to say it too. You want to reach out, pull her close, and forget about everything that’s been keeping you apart. It’s impossible.

Instead, you take a step back, the weight of her words settling heavy in your chest. “You don’t get to say that,” you struggle to accuse her.

Ryujin straightens facing you, vengeance painting her smirk. “Maybe not,” she says, her tone rich with defiance. “But I said it anyway.”

Does she want you to laugh? To cry? She’s always been like this… unapologetic, reckless, and impossible to pin down. It’s what drew you to her in the first place. That’s what makes her so damn hard to let go of. It’s… unhealthy.

“Enjoy your night, Ryujin,” you say, turning around and getting ready to move.

But before you can take even a single step, her hand catches your wrist, her grip firm like she can’t allow herself to let you leave. “Wait,” she says, her voice pleading. “Don’t go.”

You freeze. You want to run. You want to stay. You're torn between the two. You can’t help but turn back to her, against better judgement. There’s something in her eyes you can’t ignore. You could never ignore. It’s enough to make your resolve crumble.

“What is it?” you ask. There’s concern, but a hint of apprehension strains your voice.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she comes closer. Her hand brushes against your wrist again, lingering as though she’s unsure whether to pull you back or let you go. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, she looks like she’s struggling to find the words.

“Why do you make this so hard?” she murmurs. You can barely hear the exact words, but you understand their meaning.

You blink, caught off guard. Was this a joke? “Me?”

Her lips pressed together, forming a tiny thin line, and she shakes her head, exhaling a sharp sigh. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But her hand doesn’t pull away. Her hand grips your wrist harder, a speechless contradiction to what her words were saying.

“Say it,” you inquire, her hand convincing you that you simply must know. The frustration she’s causing you impossible to ignore. “Whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to say, just spit it out, Ryujin.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s tired of this?” she says, biting back at your demands. “Of this endless back and forth? Like you’re the only one who’s hurting?”

Before you can even respond, she lets go of your wrist and takes a step back, the distance between you growing for the first time.

“You could’ve walked away a long time ago if you wanted to,” she continues, her tone colder now, defensive. “But you didn’t. So don’t stand there acting like this is all on me.”

“Ryujin—”

“No.” She cuts you off, her gaze narrowing down on you. “You keep showing up. Every single time. And then you get angry at me when I don’t give you what you want.”

Your jaw clenches at her provocations, her words pushing the exact buttons you’d hoped to avoid. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” she counters back to you, crossing her arms. For a moment, she looks like she’s about to say more, but then she takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Her voice softens a little, like she’s tired. “You can’t have it both ways. You don’t get to act like you care and then walk away whenever I get messy.”

You feel like you’re about to boil over, but you subdue it. “And what about you? You keep pulling me back in just to push me away again. What do you even want from me, Ryujin?”

Her lips part, and she looks like she might answer. Her eyes soften, and her eyebrows turn upwards in the center. Her expression is almost vulnerable. But as soon as she catches herself, she reverts it all. Re-establishing her guard.

“Forget it,” she says abruptly, turning away. “It doesn’t matter.”

And just like that, she walks off, leaving you standing there.

You watch her disappear into the crowd, your fists clenching at your sides. She always does this—gets under your skin, says just enough to make you question everything, and then leaves before you can get any answers.

But this time feels different. You’re not the same you were weeks ago. You won’t turn away. Just storm out in the other direction like you always did. You are getting a resolution today. You are not walking away this time.

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + three

authors note: the spiral continues....

masterlist

warnings: angst and inebriation

words: 3.9k

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue how she got home. Nor does she exactly recall what last night entailed specifically. She just knows that she feels sick. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.

Laying in bed, still in her clothes from the night prior, upon waking up, one of the first things she notices is the soreness between her legs and some aspect of it with her jaw. Squinting, she goes to wipe her eyes while also realizing that she can’t because her makeup is somehow still on her face. But, the most aggravating of her symptoms is the throbbing headache. 

It’s that last symptom, as well as common sense, that helps her remember the copious amount of drinks she’d had followed by glimpses and flashes. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking.

Sex.

It’s that last one that has her stomach drop, makes the ill feelings intensify. She hooked up with someone. She hooked up with more than just someone. That much, she can recall, and it’s that that has her eyes watering.

She went out last night wanting an escape, and she got one, for sure, but it’s not providing the sort of relief and satisfaction at playing her husband’s game that she thought she would receive.

In fact, in some ways, she feels worse than what she was feeling before.

Needing to get out of bed, especially needing to check on Dulce, Solana drags herself to the bathroom, ignoring her overall aching body. 

She moves over to the sink and works to remove her makeup, a relatively easy task given it practically melts off seamlessly with the help of her face wash. But, it’s when Solana peels off her dress and realizes that her underwear are missing that it hits her. That she becomes fully aware of what she’s done. 

But, it’s really stomped into her consciousness when a glance down reveals dry, white patches almost on the space between her thighs, on her belly, and on the small of her back. Her eyes water.

She knows exactly what that is. 

The tears break through her already crumbling resolve, Solana crying into her hands.

She wanted to do something different, wanted to have fun, wanted to just feel something other than hurt.

Drinking was supposed to be it.

Getting under someone else should have been it, but it wasn’t, and now, she just feels even more awful but even more than that.

She feels disgusted with herself. 

This isn’t who she is. Never been who she is, and it’s not even the fact she had a one night stand that bothers her. She’s 25. There’s nothing wrong with having sex, with a hook up, of sorts. It’s the fact that she let two men she didn’t even know do that with her, that she got so drunk that she allowed herself to do that.

It’s a toss up if it’s better or worse that she can’t remember everything. Judging by the state of her body, especially the soreness, it might be better that she doesn’t.

She must spend a good 45 minutes in the shower, scrubbing her body until her fingers are pruned, the mirror is fogged, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat across her forehead due to the humidity. But even stepping out, she still doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel good. 

A truly unfortunate thing as she was hoping and expecting to feel just that. To feel good.

But standing there, having wiped a clear section of the mirror, Solana isn’t sure she’s ever felt so not good about herself.

—------

She’s in his head.

There’s no other explanation. 

Nothing else Roman can identify as being the reason why every time he closes his eyes, he’s almost instantly hit with an image. An image of her. Sometimes, she’s smiling. Other times, she’s frowning. Regardless of the emotion or expression, she’s still there.

She’s always there. When he’s asleep, he thinks of her, dreams of her even. When he’s working, negotiating a deal or sitting in a boring meeting, he wonders what she’s doing.  When he’s in the midst of torturing a confession or information from a prisoner, he imagines the crime has been committed towards her, and it ups the ante. Raises his violence to a completely different level.

And when he’s balls deep inside of a woman, any woman, he imagines it’s her. So much so that it’s Solana’s name leaving his mouth and not the woman under or on top of him. 

She’s haunting him.

And, she doesn’t even fucking realize it.

The same way her stabbing, penetrating words from her phone call he overheard have damned him to this perpetual cycle of suffering. He wants to talk to her, but he avoids her. He wants to return home and sit down and figure things out, but he makes it a mission to take every travel opportunity that comes his way. Even if he has to make something up.

He wants her, but he can’t have her.

Roman doesn’t know what the fuck it would even look like if he allowed himself to actually feel and act on his feelings for his wife. Because not doing so is already hard enough. Actually doing so just might destroy him. 

If she hasn't already.

Roman turns off the shower, stepping out and securing a towel around his waist. He grabs another to dry off some of his hair before reaching for his phone. Lifting up said phone causes it to light up, granting him the view of the same woman who won’t leave him alone.

It’s a photo from their wedding day, something he’d requested. He’d asked for all the photos to hide the fact that he really only wanted the ones with and of Solana. And, he’d gone through every single one of them, seeking out which one he wanted for himself. Wanted to make his lock screen and wallpaper. And, he’d settled on one of her in mid laughter, her head thrown back a little, that beautiful, big smile on her face. He can’t remember who she was talking to, nor did he care, hence him cropping them out the photo.

He just wanted her.

He still does.

But, it’s tracing her face with his finger, Roman knows that ship has sailed. He’s hurt her, hurt her in so many different ways that it’s caused her to go from maybe willing to give this marriage, give them a real chance, to her expressing her hatred of him on the phone with zero guilt.

She meant it when she said she hated him, and Roman can’t even blame her.

Because he was too cowardly to confront and deal with his feelings in an appropriate, healthy way and instead opted for the worse of the worse alternatives.

He turned on her.

Subjected her to cruelty and aloofness that have always defined his character to most people. He just never wanted her to be in that same category of most people, but it’s exactly what he’s done.

He did it. No one else. He can’t put the blame on anyone else for this situation, because it’s one of his own making.

Roman shuts his eyes, taken back to that moment in the kitchen, the moment where she almost broke him. Because seeing the extent she went to to make them dinner, the way she was still trying, despite all of his cruel actions toward her. And, that really fucked with him. 

She just wanted to give them a chance. 

After everything, she was still trying. 

It kills him, it killed him, because he didn’t deserve it then, and he really doesn’t deserve it now especially with how he fucked up that one chance he had. He could have pushed all this avoidance shit away, sat down and actually talked with her like the grown ass man he is.

Instead, he lashed out at her, said every cruel thing he could think of in that moment that completely contrasted everything he actually feels toward and about her. To push her away. He realizes now that’s exactly what he did, what he’s done.

And, it feels like there’s no coming back now.

Roughly ten minutes later, Roman steps out of the bathroom only to be filled with instant irritation.

“The fuck……”

The Tribal Chief doesn’t hesitate to walk over to the large bay window that faces the bed and snatch open the curtains, welcoming in all the blinding sunlight.

Satisfaction starts to fill him seeing the scowl on her face, the way her nose turns up in annoyance. Her eyes start to blink open. “W–wh—”

“You need to leave.” She should have been left. Roman doesn’t know how he let himself fall asleep without making sure he did so alone. See. More evidence of her. “Get out.”

The woman whose name he doesn’t remember and doesn’t care to remember, continues to look confused, which only pisses him off more. What is so goddamn confusing about get out? “Why?”

Roman scowls. “Because I fucking said so.” And, he’s never been and never will be a man to repeat himself. “I’m not gonna fucking tell you again.”

He would never forcibly remove a woman from his hotel room. No. Putting his hands on women and children has always been a line in the sand, largely due to the man he was forced to call father for so many years.

Getting the shit beat out of him by his own father and his emotionally unavailable mother never doing shit to help him taught Roman a lesson he'll never forget nor do away with.

It also fucked him up in ways he's never been able, and might not ever be able, to acknowledge.

All that being said, it doesn't negate the fact that he's not above having security come get this bitch out his space.

She scoffs, kicking the sheets off, nude, curvy body completely exposed. 

It’s only then he realizes why he’d picked her for the evening. Solana. In some ways she reminded him of Solana, similar builds and complexions. Even heights.

She was as best the option he could get to his wife, even if that resemblance still paled in comparison to the real thing. And, it always will. 

Because no one could ever come close to his wife in all of the ways that count.

And, that’s a fact.

“You fucking come all over me, call me some other bitch’s name and now you’re kicking me—”

She stops in the midst of dressing herself when Roman flips over the nearby coffee table at the word bitch. Fear flashes across her face as he says, so dangerously calm but still somehow menacingly. “Get…..out.”

It’s an effective thing, because she’s barely finished zipping up her dress and strapping her heels when she’s rushing out the room, all signs of irritation washed away and replaced with fear.

In some ways, he cares. In most ways, he absolutely does not give a fuck.

Now left alone, Roman runs a hand over his face. The isolation is helpful in some ways, but not others. Because the quiet paves way for the overthinking. Because once again, Roman finds himself thinking about his wife. 

Missing her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Just her.

It’s a longing and craving that has him doing the unthinkable, has him reaching for his phone and navigating to her contact. Checking the time, he does the math, factoring in the 6 hour time difference between home and Italy, his current location. Around noon, he’s more than confident she’s awake.

Regardless of her being awake, it’s a silly thing to do. To just call her out of nowhere when the last time they spoke is when he surprised her with her dog, her reaction to seeing her pet emotional and telling. 

Her reaction to him, unemotional and also telling.

He could see how done she was with him.

Could almost feel her hatred. So, it's a dumbass thing to do, to try and call her.

But, it’s exactly what he does.

Roman paces across the floor of his opulent hotel suite, each ring of the phone another weight added to his chest.

And, then he hears it. 

The best and worst thing.

“Hello?” Her voice is laden with sleep, like she’s not fully conscious, something that surprises him given the time back home. 

Still, he swallows and replies, “hey.” Roman swallows, feeling the need to identify himself for some reason. “It’s....it's me.”

A beep and then nothing. 

Roman pulls the phone back from his ear to see Solana’s contact.

She hung up the phone.

He closes his eyes. A completely fair reaction, one he can’t blame her for. At all.

Still, he finds himself unable to accept this as he switches to their text thread and tries an alternate route.

It’s when his messages turn green that something similar to dread fills Roman. He’s not very tech savvy, at all, but he’s pretty sure he knows what it means when texting someone with an iPhone and the messages suddenly change colors.

He tests it out, going to call her again when instead of a ring, he’s instantly hit with the sound of her voice.

“Hi! You’ve reached Solana. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number……”

Roman’s look is distant, his emotions elsewhere as he distractedly hangs up the phone, letting it fall in his lap as he slumps back into his chair with the undeniable confirmation.

She’s blocked him.  

—-----------

Solana was already having a bad day. A bad week, even. Starting out with her unspoken, salacious actions with Tama and Zilla, the latter of which ended up being an asshole just like her husband. Tama, however, seems to be sweet. Seems more genuine.

Unlike her husband.

Roman….

Just the thought of him has her blood boiling.

Audacity. 

That’s the first and best word to come to mind. After everything he’s done, after everything he said, he has the fucking audacity to try to call her and act like everything’s okay. To act like nothing happened when everything happened. 

It messed with her, for certain. Messed with her enough for her to finally reply to Zilla’s texts, needing a distraction, only for that to be a shitshow. Thankfully, communication with Tama helped a bit. Even her stepping out of her comfort zone to take those photos, to send them, was a nice, different thing.

There’s a small part of her that wonders if she should have sent them to him, but he was so supportive, so kind, and she needed that in that moment. 

She needed that kind of attention to distract from her awful, evil husband.

Solana downs more of her drink, ignoring the burning and unpleasant taste. So far, she’s yet to see what people find so great about the taste of liquor. She’s been every bit unimpressed.

Granted, not enough to bypass going out tonight. A different club. Because while Tama has been nice, she doesn’t want to risk running into him and especially Zilla.

That….that was a one and done. 

A hook up is…..okay, but hooking up with two men at the same time is just….it’s too much for her, personally. 

And an hour later, she's back at it. Drunk, sitting at the bar in some random, nameless bar, having danced with a couple different guys but yet to find one she "likes" enough to hook up with.

Finishing another shot, Solana requests one more before squeezing her way through the crowd of intoxicated, dancing bodies and finds the restroom. She can feel it, feel the way Dre watches her every move, how he keeps a comfortable but not unsafe distance. It makes her want to both smirk and roll her eyes. He’s so serious. 

Had a bit of an attitude with her when she told him she wanted to go out again tonight. Had the audacity to tell her he didn’t think it was a good idea. Solana had to quickly remind him that he works for her. Not the other way around.

She already has one asshole in her life she can’t get rid of. 

She doesn’t need another.

After emptying her bladder, Solana flushes the toilet and stumbles a bit over to the sink to wash her hands. 

Damn heels.

“Oh em gee.” She looks up in the mirror to see two women looking at her. One tall and raven haired with an unreadable expression, her arms crossed. The other is short and blonde with a broad smile that seems too big for her face, like her mouth is too big for her face. “I love your dress,” she compliments, looking over at the woman next to her. “Isn’t it so cute, Raquel?”

The tall woman, this Raquel, simply nods. “It’ll do.”

The blonde woman scoffs, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair. She looks back at Solana. “Ignore her. She’s not big into fashion like I am.” She moves over, offering her hand. “I’m Liv, and this is my bestie, Raquel.”

Solana is only staring dumbly for a good few seconds, partially confused where these two came from as well as the almost strange encounter. But, as soon as she gathers her bearings, she shakes her hands dry and reaches for a paper towel to complete the drying before accepting said handshake. “Nice—nice to meet you. I’m Solana.”

Liv’s jaw drops. “Oh my goodness, what a pretty name!” She tilts her head to the side, asking, “is it like Spanish or something? It sounds Spanish.” She places a hand over her chest, a dramatic gesture. “Are you Spanish? I love Spanish people.”

Solana isn’t quite sure what to make of Liv or this whole encounter. “I’m—I’m Black and Mexican.” Even answering such a question, the way it was posed, the whole thing, just feels weird. But, that could also be the three shots she’s had so far tonight.

Liv starts to clap, looking at Raquel. “Raquel is Mexican, too! Maybe you two are like related or something.” Solana can only blink. “Anyway, you wanna hang out with us?”

Not really. 

That’s the first thing to come to Solana’s mind. It’s a bit of an instinctual thing. Something that Solana would normally, if not inebriated, would abide by and heed to. But, she’s not sober, she’s drunk as hell, lonely as hell, and partially eager to have some companionship from someone other than men who want to fuck her and men paid to protect her.

Especially as she’s found herself not engaging as much with her family and friends back home for reasons she’s not ready to acknowledge.

Solana’s loneliness is just too powerful a drug to resist. “Sure.”

Liv claps, and Raquel rolls her eyes, grabbing Solana’s hand. “Yay! I’ve gotta introduce you to the gang.”

Solana frowns. 

Gang?

Still, she remains quiet and wordless as Raquel serves as a sort of guide, navigating them through the crowd like an unofficial bodyguard. They arrive at one of the VIP sections, Solana instantly coughing at the overwhelming smell of smoke and weed.

She clears her throat, Raquel looking back and rolling her eyes. “Too much for you to handle, chica?”

There’s a hint of mockery to her tone coupled with the sly smile on her face.

Liv pouts and hugs Solana from the side. “Raquel, be nice to our new best friend.” She then gestures to the group of men Solana is just now noticing. “Guys, this is our new friend, Solana. Solana, this is the gang.”

The gang is made up of four men. Two white men on the shorter side, heads almost too big for their bodies, one looking almost indifferent, the other hitting a blunt. The other two look like they could be Hispanic, one significantly older than the other, than all of them, his wide eyes matching his wild, wild afro. He gives her a nod, while the other with a mustache that doesn’t make sense no matter how one frames it, smiles broadly.

He walks over, tall and lanky build also slanted, greeting suggestively, “very nice to meet you, mami.”

Solana doesn’t see it, too busy being distracted by the aroma of marijuana, the alcohol in her system, and the almost discomfort with the set of eyes on her. She doesn’t see the jealous, almost sinister gleam in Liv’s eyes watching the interaction.

Liv quickly shoves it away and clears her throat, forcing a big smile as she skips over to mustache man. “Oh, daddy Dom, stop it.” She giggles, reaching up giving him an eskimo kiss before looking at Solana. “Solana, this is my man, Dominik.” Solana offers a closed mouth smile as Liv continues with the introductions. “That’s Carlito, JD, and Finn. Don’t worry too much about Finn. He always looks like that, and JD is always high.”

“Fuck you, Liv.”

Liv responds by lifting her middle finger, still focused on Solana. “Hey, do you want—”

“Solana!”

Dre’s urgent voice immediately evokes an irritated countenance. Solana felt him following her and the other two ladies but hoped he would just quietly observe and not interfere. Clearly. That’s not the case.

Sighing, she turns around, rolling her eyes. Solana reaches for the nearest bottle of alcohol and downs some, ignoring the burning before mustering an insincere smile. “Yes?”

He looks every bit as pissed as she expected. “Look, I let you have your fun, but this shit is getting out of control.” He gestures to the group behind her, all now watching the scene unfold. “The Judgment Day? Do you even know who they are?” No, she doesn’t, and sober Solana would absolutely care to ask, to know more, and once she knew more, she would run like hell.

But, drunken Solana is controlled by the emotions she can’t control and the hurt she can’t seem to shake, so she doesn’t care who they are.

“Would you just leave me alone?” She sneers, looking around to see if she can score another shot or some type of alcohol. The bottle in her hand is nearing on empty.

Dre, however, stands ten toes down. “No. The Tribal Chief wouldn’t—”

There’s something about that, about hearing his title, anything about him, that’s triggering. So much so that Solana snaps and throws the bottle at the nearest wall, prompting cursing and laughter behind her.

Solana’s voice drips with all the venom as she asserts, “I don’t give a damn what he wouldn’t want.” At one point, she did. At one point, she cared. At one point, she maybe started to more than just care. And, it only led to disaster.

Never again.

The inebriation shows its full face as Solana scoffs, “you may be his bitch, but I’m not.” 

Dre’s jaw clenches, his ability to remain professional crumbling. “You’re drunk. You need—”

“What I need is for you to leave me the hell alone.” Honestly. Truly. He can take the Roman approach and get the hell out of dodge for all she cares. And then a thought crosses her mind, something so unlike her, but so aligned with this self-destructive path she’s found herself on. “I would hate for a certain someone you work for to find out about those pictures I sent you.”

Dre’s eyes widen ever so slightly, Solana sensing the brief panic. He steps forward, lowering his voice. “I never asked you to send—”

“You think that’ll matter to him?” Solana’s response is sharp and challenging. Her smile is almost malicious, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Think that won’t make him kill you any less painfully?” Dre’s silence as well as the look of defeat on his face is all she needs to know she’s most definitely won this round. “yeah….that’s what I thought.”

Turning away, the satisfaction that fills her is about what and what with the deep feeling stirring within that a dire mistake was just made.

One of many more to come.

[glass-apothecary]

Abby Baby

Chapter 1 - The Proposal

AO3 | Masterlist

Note: Abby is a is a veteran of the coast guard and has a little PTSD. Can be read as Abby/Reader either being married or not married.

You and Abby have a baby <3

Abby was acting weird.

The whole week she was avoiding you. Getting up early and coming to bed late. In the evenings, when you would usually cuddle on the couch and watch Round Planet, Abby was excusing herself to her office to type away on her laptop. A dark part of you wondered if she was cheating. But Abby wouldn’t, right? And besides, it felt like she was getting calls from Nora and Manny almost every day and neither of them would abide by infidelity. 

As you plated dinner – a side of brown rice for her and white for you – you resolved to ask her about it.

Abby didn’t lie to you. When she was hiding something, she kept quiet. Lying by omission, maybe.

As you approached the table you saw that Abby was on her phone again, swiftly tucking in away as you set down the plates. 

“Food looks beautiful, darling.” She smiled sweetly at you.

God the things that smile did to you… but no, focus .

“Abby, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” You said, fidgeting with your silverware.

“Oh?” She looked at you suspiciously. 

“I feel like you've been acting different lately. You’re spending less lime with me, you’re on the phone all the time, I… I’m just worried.”

You looked up to see Abby had paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down and cleared her throat. There was something, you thought.

She took a moment before replying. You forced your hummingbird heart to settle. You trusted Abby for a reason, it would all be okay.

“You’re right.” She said simply, taking your hands in hers across the table. “I’ve been working on something. Something good! I promise. I was going to tell you tomorrow. Is there any chance you can just trust me until then?” She rubbed her thumbs soothingly across your knuckles, gazing at you with those god damned puppy eyes.

You folded, because of course you did. She could convince you to rob a bank if she wanted.

“Fine, but this better be good.” You raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, it is.”

~♡~

The next day, you woke to Abby gently brushing her thumb against your cheek. When she saw your eyes start to open, she smiled. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” She kissed your forehead and laughed when you wrinkled your nose. 

Once you were fully awake and sitting up, you noticed a tray on your table. 

“Abigail Anderson, did you bring me breakfast in bed?” 

“Why yes I did.” Abby replied in an overly formal manner, to poke fun at you for using her full name.

“Is this what you’ve been ‘working on?’” You asked skeptically.

“No,” she replied. Moving the tray over your lap. “This is just a thank you for putting up with me.”

You chuckled. Putting up with Abby was your favorite pastime.

“Always.”

~♡~

Once you were dressed, Abby let you know she would be heading out. Much to your dismay.

“Darling, I have some errands to run, and then I’ll be having lunch with Manny. I’ll be back around four for your surprise” She wiggled her eyebrows like an adorable idiot. 

You resisted the urge to frown, holding Abby’s face in your hands while she wrapped hers around your waist. The last thing you wanted from Abby right now was more space.

“You and Manny going to Group today?” You asked.

Abby had completed her Coast Guard service seven years ago. She hadn’t told you everything, but she didn’t need to, all you knew was that she came home with a fucked up shoulder and a medal hidden in the back of her closet. 

Once she was home, her government issue therapist recommended she go to veterans anonymous meetings at the community center. She met Manny there, and they bonded over their complicated feelings about their service. The meetings really seemed to help her, she always seemed more at ease afterwards.

She turned her head and kissed your palm. “Yeah, is that okay?” She asked sincerely.

You playfully glared at her. “Abbs, you never need my permission to go to Group, or anywhere for that matter.”

“I know… it’s just, I feel bad for being distant recently. I think I was under the impression that I was being more stealthy than I actually was.”

You chuckled. “Abby. I love you and I trust you.” You dramatically pushed her to the door. “And stealth has never been one of your talents.” You playfully patted her on the ass to send her on her way. She had a dramatically over-the-top look of betrayal painted across her gorgeous face as you chuckled at her. 

You were standing over the threshold of your front door, with Abby standing on your welcome mat.

But oh, god! When she stuck out her bottom lip in a melodramatic pout, it took every fibre of your being not to pull her back in the house and ride her face until the only expression she could make was exhaustion.

You settled for a lingering kiss.

~♡~

By the time Abby’s car pulled into the driveway, you were beyond bored. You had deep cleaned the oven, finished painting the attic that also served as your office/studio, taken a nap, and watered the garden. You were laying on the couch reading when she opened the front door. She set her bags down by the door and laid on the couch with you, wiggling her head between your book and your face. 

“You smell like outside.” You complained. A small price to pay to cuddle with your lover.

She buried her face in your chest. “This is the part where I was supposed to convince you to go on a spontaneous date or something so I could bring you to the thing.”

“You want me to go get dressed?“ You asked as you scratched softly at Abby’s scalp.

She looked up at you with eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Mmm...” After another moment of head scritches, she continued. “Yes. Cocktail attire please.” 

You rolled your eyes, Abby and her dress codes. As you disentangled yourself from Abby and set off toward the bedroom, you said “Fine but only if you wear that gay ass suit I like.” You half-shouted back at Abby.

She saluted you and said, “yes, ma’am!”

~♡~

Abby took you to Montressor, a beautiful – if grimly named – winery. The building was beautiful. With natural wood floors, solid oak tables and chairs, and a beautiful exposed beam ceiling, The place smelled like the inside of a damn barrel. Giant floor to ceiling windows let in the warm light of a setting sun and the candles and chandeliers gave the place a welcoming charm. One side of the building had a more casual wine bar, and the other side functioned as a restaurant. It was small, no more than six tables on each side. And it was the perfect place for a date.

And yes, she was in that suit you liked – perfectly fitted trousers and a loose button shirt that was unbuttoned just enough to see a hint of breasts.

You whispered to Abby as the host led you to the wine bar, “I was gonna say you need to buy me a drink to get in my pants, but it seems like you have that covered.” 

She chuckled softly at your joke as you were seated. Instead of menus, they brought out a very fancy bottle the two of you had been meaning to try. When you looked at Abby with raised eyebrows, she replied sheepishly.

“I picked it out ahead of time” 

The impatient part of you wanted her to spill her whole plan immediately. But if there was anything you learned from Abby, it was that patience was rewarded. So with great difficulty, you settled into an easy conversation with the woman you loved. 

About a half hour later, as you poured your second glass, Abby’s energy changed. Anticipation, maybe? Something softer?

“So I, uh.” She cleared her throat and reached into her coat pocket. She held something small in her lap as she continued. 

“I know we’ve talked about this before. And I know that there might never be a perfect time, but I’ve been doing well recently, we’ve been doing well, and I… I love you, and–” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Fuck, I’m doing this out of order.”

She was flustered. Sometimes Abby wound herself up so much that all you could do was anchor her while she untangled her thoughts. You reached across the table and took her hand. 

She took a deep breath. Resetting. “There is a reason I brought you here. ” She looked at you. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. 

“I brought you here because if this goes well, It’ll be a while before I can drink again.” She said. You cocked your head.

She produced a small velvet box. Bigger than a ring box, but too small to be anything but jewelry. 

Abby looked at you with nothing but love and admiration in her eyes and said the most romantic thing she could think of at that moment.

“Put a baby in me.”

Both you, and the waiter passing your table sputtered at the unexpected turn of phrase. Abby winced in embarrassment and rushed to correct herself. 

“ With me! Fuck. Have a baby… with me.” Her face flushed scarlet, no doubt helped by the wine.  

You laughed good naturedly and stood from the table as Abby held her face in her hands. You rounded to her side and took her chin gently in your hand, turning her to face you. Her eyes searched yours, but she wasn’t left waiting for a response for long. “Oh, my love. I would be honored to have a baby with you.” You pulled her up to standing and you kissed her. 

You and Abby must have kissed a thousand times before. Some short and fleeting, some with passion so intense you thought it might end you, some awkward and giggly. But this one, this one was one for the books. You kissed away her embarrassment, her fear and anxiety. With each press of your lips you told her that you would always be hers and yet, you couldn’t wait to share her with someone. 

The kiss went on for far longer than was decent in a public space.

When you finally separated yourselves, Abby had the most endearing smile on her face, one you knew nothing could erase. As you seated yourselves back down, you shot apologetic glances at the waitstaff. Abby had her fingers pressed to her lips as if she was still reeling from the kiss and you were just watching her. 

“Um, in the box. It’s a gift.” She gestured for you to open it.

Inside was a breathtakingly delicate gold pendant. The centerpiece was an ornate, yet simple, setting for a single gem. A gem which was not currently present. 

“It’s beautiful, Abby–” You said, an unspoken question in your words.

“It’s incomplete, I know. It’s for the baby’s birthstone, whatever it ends up being.” She pulled another, smaller box out of her pocket. “I have a matching ring.” She pulled out a white gold ring with a similarly missing stone. 

Your Abby. Your beautiful, creative, thoughtful Abby. The mother of your theoretical child.

~♡~

One text and a few minutes later, the whole gang arrived. Manny and one of his partners, Leah and Jordan, Nora, and Mel and Owen. The latter couple seemed like an invite of necessity. They were your friends but it was the tiniest bit awkward. Mel and Nora owned a medical practice together and Owen was Abby’s high school boyfriend. At the end of the day it was just easier to invite them. 

They all showed up dressed impeccably, and at your questioning look, Abby explained they had been waiting for the signal. It had all been planned out. The host moved your group to the restaurant side of Montressor. It was somewhere between an engagement party and a baby shower, as a few friends brought you small baby gifts. 

It was perfect, celebrating with your friends. Watching Abby receive congratulations and getting a few yourself. You had to pinch yourself a few times just to be sure you weren’t dreaming. As the night went on, the table opened another couple bottles. You cut yourself off at the third glass when you heard Manny suggest he and Abby do shots. Abby didn’t drink often, except for an occasional glass of wine, for one very good reason. She was a lightweight. Despite her heavy frame, she could not hold her liquor. It was usually with Manny that she ended up less-than-sober. Now it couldn’t be said that Abby wasn’t a fun drunk, between her third and fourth drinks she got giggly and sweet, an interesting contrast to her usual shy and reserved exterior. Between four and five, she got bold. Singing karaoke and proposing outlandish schemes. Anything past that, Abby got hungry and/or sleepy. You had a very fond memory of her curling up in the corner of a house party at Nora’s with half a loaf of bread.

By the end of the night, Abby was saying something about a ‘scape room,’ which Nora helpfully translated into ‘escape room.’ She was disappointed that you wouldn’t let her until you helpfully reminded her that you had girl scout cookies at home.

In the back of the cab, with Abby curled up at your side, you wondered if it was even possible to be happier. If it was, you knew it’d only happen with her. 

You weren’t going to sleep with her when you were at different levels of intoxication but there was no harm in a little teasing. God knows Abby sure teased you as often as she could. When Abby laid a crooked kiss on your cheek, you turned and whispered suggestively in her ear.

“Abbs, I can’t wait to put a baby in you.”

She did that thing drunk people sometimes do, where she widened her eyes in surprise but at the speed of a turtle on Xanax. It was the funniest thing you’d seen in a while.

You were still laughing when the driver pulled onto your block.

[swtsupernatural]

S.W || SILK & SHAPESHIFTERS: PT2

Sam Winchester x Thick!Fem!Reader

Content Warning reader being shorter than Sam, reader desc as having thick thighs, dean being annoying, swearing, reader wanting to fuck sam, a bit of sexual tension that is not yet resolved (pls be patient with me)

Summary Fluff, (Sexual tension lowk) strangers to acquaintances to lovers(?) - Posing as Sam Winchester's girlfriend at a charity ball for a hunting case isn't so bad, that is until you have to do actual work. You might kill Dean when you get out of here, and hopefully get your hands on your fake boyfriend.

W.C. 2k words

(Original) Ask anon: A: Hello hello! I'm back again; I'm going to change my request style a bit, how about a female reader with thick thighs? Make her with Sam please

Playlist: ♫ Blue Jeans - Lana Del Rey, Body - Megan Thee Stallion, She's My Collar - Gorillaz

A.N. part 2 finally ! was not expecting winter break to be so busy...more to come so so soon my loves. Also, so sorry to make this into 3 parts I swear im not trying to torture yall - xx claire

Taglist: @callsign-ember @kaiserpoo @lovelymax10

Inside the estate your once flushed face grew even warmer — this time from the heaters, not Sam’s undeniably sexy voice. Past the elegant entrance and wide, old doors was a large ballroom type area with an intricate ceiling that you had to crane your neck up to look at. The thick banners hanging around the room were a deep blue, showing images of marine animals in a chilling climate, most looking disheartened or sad. In swirling letters on the top of each banner read: “Marine Life Fundraiser: 2025” 

“How much you wanna bet they don’t even know half of the animals they’re donating to?” Sam piped up.

“Not a lot. These events are more about having a nice evening in a way too expensive outfit, showing off your very rich, sexy boyfriend/husband or very pretty, young girlfriend/wife, and doing that rich person laugh.”

“I don’t know if we’re being very convincing then.”

“What do you—

Sam snaked his right arm around your waist, the soft velvety fabric of your dress ruffling under his sleek suit. He gripped your firmly but not tightly, his hand gently digging into your soft flesh through your thin dress. He smiled…no, smirked (you weren’t sure) down at you.

“That better, pretty young girlfriend?” Your eyes dilated in seconds and you fought to keep your eyes off of his. 

“Y-yea...” You wanted to groan at how small and bashful your voice sounded, you never stuttered. 

“Can you guys feel up each other after we finish this?” Dean’s husky voice sounded in both of your ears a bit muffled but it startled both of you, making you feel almost compromised. Sam loosened his grip on you only slightly, letting out a sigh from his throat that went over your neck and left an intense tingling feeling.

“You wanted us to play the part,” You muttered to Dean after you flipped on your ear piece, a gentle hand on Sam’s chest as you made your way to the bar. 

“yn, can you put on something over your tight ass dress so Sam can frickin focus?” Your mouth dropped open, scoffing and tilting your head to the side in fake offense. 

“Can you stop looking at me and do your job?”

“I am, but it's hard when you two keep eye fucking eachother. Get your drinks, socialize, and distract the remaining family grill ‘em if you can. And please, listen to your ear piece.” Before you can reply, your eyes land on Dean in the crowds of suits and dresses, who is looking at you unamused. You smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. You knew he wasn’t actually mad, but you also knew you did need to focus. You ordered a drink, Sam looming very close to your back, ordering after you. He slides the bartender his card, taking your drinks and leading you to the back of the room.

“So…you seen them?” You shook your head, knowing he was referring to the family. You scanned the room pointedly, tuning out the music, chatter, and all the bright lights and costly chandeliers in the room, finally spotting the youngest member of the family, Victor Brady, sitting with his mother. His mother had gone ‘missing’ but he never had. Based on your research, you knew the Bradys were rich of course, but you weren't sure the motives of the group of shapeshifters yet. Why were members of the family disappearing then coming back as if nothing happened? Had they really kidnapped some of them? Were the mother and son in front of you really them? How many of them were there?

“Hey, don’t worry,” Sam muttered in your hair, seeming to sense how wired-in to the family your mind was, “Let’s go talk to them. Remember, I am,” he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, flashing the fake ID Dean had handed him earlier, “Ron Fogerty, son of a wealthy businessman from Canada. And you…” he pointed a finger at your face, then moved it to direct at your purse where your fake ID resided. You pulled it out. 

“Elaina…Clifford? Really? You guys are still using the rock names?” Sam gave you a pointed look, as if saying, it wasn't my idea with his face. 

“No idea how you both don’t get in trouble more often. Anyway, I’m girlfriend, correct? We’re here to support the Brady’s Fundraiser and get to know their youngest.” 

“Bingo. Let’s go before Dean gets on our asses again.” 

Strolling arm in arm to the Brady’s table with fake smiles, you and Sam greeted his mother first, then him

In the Impala, you had told the Winchesters about recent photos of them that had been published in the local paper. The family was known for being wealthy but not unkind; and was regarded highly among those in the city. But, in the photos from the week before, the youngest, Brady, was seen holding a number of odd documents leaving the bank, then making his way in the opposite direction of his family estate. Of course, the photos did not show the small printed lines of whatever secrets he was holding…but his angry, crude expressions in the photos did not match those of the graceful man sitting in front of you.

“This is Elaina, my girlfriend. She’s very interested in wildlife and insisted she spoke to those running the fundraiser.” Sam smiled, his voice calm and collected. You nodded, and Mrs. Brady tapped Sam’s shoulder, asking him something you couldn't make out because her son’s voice was louder, closer to your ears. 

“My name is Victor. Please, sit. It is nice to meet others with a passion for doing good with what they were blessed with.” You turned to see Sam was speaking civilly with Mrs. Brady, seated across from her, and you decided to sit as well. 

“Yes, I…also must say I find this place beautiful. Your family has lived here a while, I hear.”

Victor’s face dropped, his mouth forming a thin line. “We have. But you shouldn't believe everything you hear.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, trying desperately to play the part of a kind, naive woman, when all you really wanted was for him to tell you something, anything that might get you closer to what was going on. 

“Of course not, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He sighs as you trail off, and that's when you notice the dark crescents of purple under his eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. People have been saying some things, lately, about us, about my father particularly. I do not appreciate men who spread false information.”

“And I do not either, I am actually a journalist back home, Victor. I know the importance of telling a factual story.” That made him relax.

“And I am glad to hear it. My parents don’t understand that whatever they’re doing is making me look like a fool as well.” You furrowed your brows. Whatever they’re doing?

“I’m sorry. It's hard to separate from your parents' identity, especially if they're as well known as yours.” 

“Exactly. I love them, and I love these events, truly, but just because I’m young doesn't mean I won't understand all the things they keep from me.”

“I know wha–

Your words stop stuck in your throat as you feel cold liquid streamed over your legs, your mouth dropping open as the wine made you get goosebumps. You tilted your head up slowly to see…Dean; empty wine glass in his hand, the alcohol now all over your velvet dress. You look up at him with daggers in your eyes, and he already knew he was going to get it later. But the look he gives you after he apologizes and offers you some napkins suddenly makes you aware of his plan.

“So sorry again, miss, here, I’ll take you to wherever the bathroom is and…” Sam is up now, moving closer to you before you widen your eyes at him, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion before Victor speaks up.

“That won't be necessary, I will show her.” You thank him and quickly mutter a, “I’ll be right back, honey,” to Sam, who nods, finally getting what Dean was thinking. You walk away, you hear a few security guards telling Dean rather loudly that he is cut off from the bar. 

You follow Victor, hearing his expensive shoes clacking on the dark wood stairs past a number of guards, ascending until you reach a long, grand hall. He walks to the second door on the right, and you understand that this is his parents bathroom. You can feel your heart beating at a speed you didn't think possible, thanking God that you still had your purse, and the special items inside you needed for a case like this. Victor offered you a few different stain removers, finally offering you a blow dryer for the bottom half of your dress where Dean had probably spilled a hundred dollars worth of wine on you. 

“Excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom.” Victor points to the very far corner where you see a door at the end, which is around the corner from where you stand. Your plan tumbles around your brain, keeping the blow dryer on the loudest setting as you turn on your ear piece. 

“Alright, I’ll be here,” You say to Victor with a polite smile. He nods, turning the corner as you smirk, your heels already off, hand reaching into your bag as you go through the connecting door to his parents room. It had been a fucking hassle to get the layout of this stupid estate, but if this was the main building, that meant you were in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. Bingo. 

“I’m in the bedroom,” you whisper, nearly out of breath with how fast your heart is beating.

You held your device up to your eye, sending a silent thanks to Bobby for helping you with it. You were booksmart, not handy. You weren’t a great physical hunter and didn’t have a knack for making things; but Bobby did. A couple years ago when you had both worked on a case with Shapeshifters, you’d kept some of the…sheddings, is what you agreed to call it, of two of them when they transformed. The ooze smelled awful and almost glowed once you brought it home. You’d expressed how helpful it would be to detect such ooze, almost like night vision goggles, for hunting shapeshifters. He’d agreed, and after a dozen phone calls and hours searching through his piles of junk and scrap from various cars, created a shedding detecting circle that looked like a single binocular eye.

“The parents? Holy shit, I’m a genius,” Dean’s muffled voice came in your ear.

“You got lucky. And I’m expecting a form of apology when this is over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have some ideas. Sure you’d rather get my typa’ apology from Sammy, though.”

“You know I can hear all of this, right?” Sam said, his voice low and quiet in your ear.

“Can you both shut up so I can focus with the two minutes I have up here?”

You quickly spotted a heap of shedding glowing in the far right corner of the room, swiftly going over to see a pile of the ooze, skin, blood, and teeth. You scrunch your face at the smell, but put your left eye through the detector again. It took you a lot longer than you wanted it to, but you found a small trace of it on a cabinet near their bed. Inside, documents with faint traces of the shedding were in your hand in minutes.

“I got something, I’m coming back down,” you mutter, folding the pieces of paper as much as you could, shoving them not so gracefully in your purse when you heard the bathroom door open. 

“Sorry! Wrong way out. I think I’ve nearly had as many drinks as the wine spilling guy.” You giggled, smiling at Victor like he was God’s gift to Earth, hoping he’d buy it. And he did. He smiled politely, washing his hands before leading you out of the bathroom commenting on how, “The stain remover worked quickly, it almost looks as good as new.”

[go-to-two]

In the Dark - CPD 9x04 Triptych

Hello! I mentioned recently that I had an old one-shot from season 9, episode 4 that I was tinkering with again. I landed here, with what are essentially three different scenes that make up the bulk of the story. They take place in the district bathroom after the panic attack scene, when Jay gets home after confronting Voight, and at home in the middle of the night. In that order. This might not ever see AO3, so we'll consider this a Tumblr special for anyone still hanging around this place. Under the cut. No warnings beyond what would apply to the Roy Walton storyline.

PART 1

"Hey..." Jay's voice is soft, pleading. He locks the door and crosses the women's bathroom towards her. The shower she never got to step into is running while she stands motionless in her jeans and sports bra. His eyes track over her frail frame, worry lining his every feature. "Hailey, talk to me. Please." Jay takes a gentle approach, hoping this will be the one that finally works. 

It almost did, minutes ago. Before Voight walked in the room with a stone-faced glare, she was about to tell him everything. She is out of strength. For weeks, it came and went in waves. One minute she had the resolve to take this to the grave, and the next she was gripping his hand until both of their knuckles turned white just to keep herself together. 

Now, Hailey can't speak. The words have been pushed so far back from ever escaping her mouth that she can't find them anymore. Even if she decided to tell him everything right here, right now- her brain goes blank. She is beyond exhausted and the steam from the shower is still filling the room. She thinks her vision might just go black and for a moment, she feels relief. It would give her an out from standing in front of him at a loss for words while he begs. 

She gets her wish. Her vision does go black, just for a split second. She feels his arms around her when she stumbles forward, and he reaches into the shower stall to turn off the water. "Alright, you're alright," he assures. Jay walks her over to sit on the long benches in front of the lockers, and he takes a seat next to her. "It's okay. It's just us here. Just me. I want to make this better for you, but you have to tell me what's going on."

"Jay-"

"-Don't." He cuts her off before she can say "nothing." He knows that tone. That dismissive tone he has let slide for weeks while he gave her the space to figure this out. "Don't you dare try to tell me there's nothing going on." He turns to straddle the bench and leans closer to her. "Not after all this. I know this started the night Kim went missing. I know it involves Voight." 

He lists off the pieces he does have. It's enough to paint a bad picture, but he's missing the details that fill in the blanks to explain why his fiancée is falling apart in front of him. 

"What am I not seeing here?" He pleads.

With her last bits of resolve, Hailey puts her hands over her eyes and shakes her head. 

"What are you so afraid of?" Jay pushes backwards on the bench, away from her, and smacks his hands down on the hard metal. The gentle approach wasn't working. Frustration, helplessness, pressure. Nothing worked. The only thing he has left is anger. "Do you think I won't be able to help? I won't understand? I'll stop loving you? Do you really think I would lock myself in the bathroom with you like this if I didn't love you with everything I have? I do, Hailey, I do." 

Jay's voice breaks on the last words, and his posture crumbles. He is supposed to be making that promise to her at an altar, but he can't see them walking down an aisle with something like this between them. "How can we get married, if you can't talk to me?" He finally whispers.

The voice in Hailey's head always warned her that she'd lose Jay somehow, but she never guessed she would be the one to tell him to go. She'll do it. She'll cut him loose before she drags him down with her. "Is that an ultimatum?" She finally asks. 

"Would it really take one for you to be honest with me?" His voice is thick, heavy with the realization that she's keeping everything from him. It's not just that she's keeping something from everyone or she's covering for Voight. She's keeping it from him, and that's when he understands how bad this really is. "I'm going to find out," he says simply.

"Jay, don't." 

He stands from the bench and shakes his head. "I'm done asking you. I'm done pretending I don't notice you getting up in the middle of the night. I'm done watching you push the food around on your plate enough to make it look like you ate something." Jay has made his decision, and they both know he'll find what he's looking for if he looks hard enough. He could have done this weeks ago, and the only regret he'll have when he gets his answers is that he didn't do this sooner. "You can be mad at me, that’s fine. At least you'll be alive. I'm going to find out." 

PART 2

It didn't take long for him to find his answer. Hailey isn't surprised at that, but she is startled when she wakes from a restless sleep to find him standing in their bedroom doorway, staring. Heartbreak is written all over his face and she knows then, everything she was trying to avoid is there on her doorstep. They say no good deed goes unpunished. She still isn't sure if her deeds have been all that good, but she's being punished at every turn so it doesn't seem to make much difference in the end. 

She doesn't move for a few seconds. She knows that he knows, but she waits for him to make the first move. In her waiting, Hailey forgets to breathe. She is like a bottle with its lid screwed tight, shaken and ready to implode at the first release. 

Quietly, Jay crosses the room. He picks up the half-empty glass of whiskey she had left on the nightstand, studies it, and sets it back down. Time stands still, until he sits on the edge of the bed and wraps her up in his arms. "Take a breath," he says evenly. "You can take a breath now." 

Her first breath is a gasp buried in his shoulder, and everything speeds up again, making impact after impact against her chest as she releases everything she has been holding in for so long. He holds onto her for several minutes- five, ten. She loses track. It's dark in their bedroom and for as long as he'll let her, Hailey cries in his arms.  

She cries until she can't anymore. She has exhausted all the emotion she can, but she doesn't dare move first once she has calmed down. He feels when her breathing evens out and the tears stop, and Jay lets go to scoot away from her. He eyes the glass on the nightstand again. "Are you drunk right now?" He asks calmly. No accusation. 

"No."

"Okay. Then let's go out there," he nods his head toward the kitchen, a more neutral space. "I don't want to do this all in here." 

They end up at the kitchen counter. Hardly neutral- it's where they signed the paperwork making this place home, where he lifted her up onto the hard granite to celebrate, where they ate, talked, laughed. There is no neutral space at home. He sits on one side and she pulls a stool around to sit on the other, and she finally tells him everything. 

Every last detail. She starts with figuring out that they were given bad leads, then making Adam leave to care for Makayla, and finding Voight and Roy Walton in that warehouse. He knew the basics already, but his eyes get darker with every detail Hailey assumes Voight left out. 

She gets through it through stutters and long pauses, and Jay sits quietly. If Hailey were a betting person, she would bet on what his first response is, because it was hers too. 

"We have to tell the team," he says.

Hailey understands his motivations. His guilt. It was the first decision she had to make in the wake of Roy Walton's death- to walk away and not radio the team- and she'll spend the rest of her life playing out every scenario in her head, wondering if she made the right one. "We can't," she answers him. 

"It's the right thing to do."

"Jay," she says slowly. "I have wanted to tell them time and time again, but this case is already too far ahead of us. They didn't ask for any of this." She wipes her eyes and rakes her fingers back through her hair. "If this gets out- and we both know it could- we'd all be implicated. We could all lose our jobs, all go to jail. We would have ruined their lives and robbed Jordan, Vinessa, and Makayla of the only family they have. I couldn't live with that. I don't think you could, either. At least this way, if it comes to it, I can sit on a stand and say they had nothing to do with it." 

He sits back and scrubs his hands over his face in frustration. Voight once told him he was wired through the heart. He jumps head first into what he thinks is right without looking at the consequences the truth can really have. 

"You wanted to know," Hailey says, "so now you have to think about the realities of it all." 

"I did want to know," Jay says coldly, but she didn't tell him. She was going to let them fall apart before she did. "So what about me? I did ask for this, and I still had to find out on my own because you wouldn't talk to me. Do I not deserve a better answer as to why?"

She looks up at the ceiling, tears and the bright kitchen lights blurring her vision. That's a much more complicated answer than simply giving him plausible deniability. "You watched me struggle for months," she admits. "I crossed lines that I said I'd never cross. I was lost. But then the one time I finally found my way again... this one time I did the right thing- this is what I got. So, if I had come home that night and told you I shot Roy Walton, would you have doubted me?"

"No."

"I did. I doubted." Hailey shrugs with tears tracking down her face again. "I see it all play out again every time I close my eyes, and I wonder if maybe I pulled the trigger too early. If that were anyone else other than Walton, would I have waited a few more seconds before firing?"

"Were his hands on Voight's gun?"

They were. She knows without a doubt they were, but it's easy to let black and white blend into grey when that is all they've known for years. 

"Were his hands on the gun?" Jay repeats, expecting an actual answer. "Close your eyes if you have to, and tell me. Did Roy Walton have his hands on Voight's gun?"

"Yes."

"Then it was a good shoot, Hailey. It's a shot every single one of us would have taken. I don't doubt that, okay? I don't doubt you."

"Would a jury?" She challenges. "If you gave this case to the right prosecutor who looked into Intelligence's history and spun the right story, I'm not so sure it'd go my way."

Hailey leans forward with her arms crossed on the kitchen counter. Jay still looks at her like he's waiting for an answer that will satisfy him, but there will never be one. "You're looking for a simple answer where there isn't any, Jay. There was never one moment that I decided not to tell you. There were a lot of individual moments, and each time I'd find a different reason, something I hadn't considered before, that told me it was better if you didn't know." 

She pauses, and she tries to come up with the words that she thinks might give him the most peace. "The way you look at me matters. So yes, I was afraid you'd never be able to look at me the same way, but more than that- I figured that if I didn't tell you... maybe you'd hate me, maybe you'd leave me, but you wouldn’t lose everything you've worked for. I could sit on a stand and say you didn't have anything to do with it, either. And now..."

Hailey trails off as an all-too-familiar weight settles in her chest. She was willing to lose him to keep him away from this, but they're here all the same. She has to worry about his fate like she worries about hers, and somehow their hope lies in Hank Voight's ability to bury a body.

PART 3

Hailey wakes up at 1:30am, barely a half an hour after going to bed. Jay isn't next to her anymore, but she figures maybe he needed some more time to wind down. She wakes up again at just past 2am, and he still isn't there. She doesn't see him, but his watch and phone are still on his nightstand, so she gives him space. She doesn't wake up again until almost 4:45am, and his side of the bed is cold and empty. 

She sits up while her eyes adjust to the low light. Hailey finally spots his silhouette far across the apartment in the living room. He sits on the hardwood floor facing the glass balcony doors, his legs drawn up to his chest and his fingers hooked around his knees. Shadows cover his face so Hailey can't see if he is angry or crying or just staring off ready to walk out into the night and leave all of this behind. 

She slides from the bed. She doesn't bother trying to be quiet since he is up anyway and she wants him to hear her footsteps to know she is coming. His chin dips in her direction as she gets closer- not fully looking at her but at least acknowledging that she is there. 

Hailey sits in front of him with her back to the window. "What are you looking at?" She asks weakly. 

Jay shrugs. "Just thinking." 

She nods, biting her lip to keep from responding. She feels like she has forfeited her right to ask what he is thinking about tonight. This is uncharted territory for them. They've always been each other's person, and now they sit across from each other in the dark wondering if any two people have ever felt this far apart before. 

Jay finally meets her eyes. "The night..." he has to clear his throat after being quiet for so long "...the night everything happened is when you said we should get married." 

"Yeah."

"Did you mean it?"

There is only so much guilt she can take, and the hollow look in his eyes might be the thing that finally breaks her completely. She pushes off the floor and walks closer to him on her knees. Gently, she unclasps his fingers and moves his hands to make room between his legs. He doesn't reach for her like he usually would, but he lets his legs fall flat on the ground when she kneels between them. 

Hailey reaches out to hold his face. There are one million ways she loses Jay in all of this, but it won't be because she let him doubt how she feels or because he feels like some hail Mary on her worst night. Not when he is the best part of her every day. His stubble is coarse under her fingers, and his jaw works when he swallows thickly. 

"I meant it," she promises. "We can wait if we need to. If you want to ask again when this is done, when things are better- my answer will be the same. I meant every word I said to you." 

He sniffles sharply and nods, but the conversation ends there. He never reaches for her. "You were finally getting some sleep. You should go back to bed," he whispers. 

Hailey tilts her head and traces her thumbs over his jaw. "Why don't you come with me?" 

Just like before, he agrees wordlessly and follows behind her into the bedroom. He lays down facing her. Open, but still not reaching out. Hailey falls asleep again to the feeling of him close by but when she opens her eyes to her alarm at 6:30am, he is already gone. 

[moon--mama]

Onyx Storm Ending Thoughts

[Cut just because I don’t want to accidentally show anyone spoilers!]

This is a big list of thoughts I have about a variety of topics in Onyx Storm. Some notes contain theories about the next books.

Who’s Crazy?

In Iron Flame, it was definitely a plot point that dragons don’t choose riders in the same family because that can cause them to go “mad.” Vi gets all worried that Xaden bonded Sgyael, until ultimately he confesses about his inntinnsic ability. In Onyx Storm, this plot device never resurfaces. Instead, all rebellion children conveniently have a second hidden signet through their relics. What a massive gift from the dragons—and that seems to suggest that some members of the Emperyon are working against one another. How did the rebellion children get their relics, and which dragons marked them? When did they develop the secondary powers through their marks? I’m sure there couldn’t be a rune powerful enough to gift them all signets too. Seems unresolved currently, and maybe like a potential plot hole?

Infodump

One big complaint I have seen about this book is the serious barrage of names within the first 100 pages. I also noticed that there was a huge amount of work put into addressing or resolving issues the first two books left uncertain. The bit where Violet asks about channeling and why infantry soldiers wouldn’t do it more often definitely feels like a cork in a plot hole. There is also much more “world building” as they travel outside of Basgaith.

Dreaming

This is definitely something that seems obvious looking back. At the same time, it would have been more obvious if it had happened to more than one character instead of only Xaden in IF. Why are the Irids so horrified about this power? Not just because it can circumvent any defenses…if you die in a dream, do you die in real life? Can she change the way people think about things, like Cat’s emotional manipulation? Do dragons dream? Can Violet create nightmares?

Sloane

When Sloane channeled from Dain to Brennan, she was surprised by Dain’s extra power. More on that in a second. After Sloane’s channeling, the venin marks on Dain’s arm and the marks on the back of Brennan’s neck were gone. I suspect Sloane might be able to purify venin energy by restoring magic…she basically undrained both of them while exchanging their energy. This also clues us in that Brennan likely has some past dealings with venin that we don’t know about yet.

Dain

Violet went through all of that trouble to steal a gemstone that could magnify powers. In the recent bonus chapter from Xaden’s POV, Dain was huffing and puffing up the stairs. What if Dain took the amplifying gem for himself to level the playing field in terms of his relatively mismatched power? They said after the fire it looked different. Could someone have done a swap?

The Emperyon

The peaceful truth of the Irids seems to have something to do with magic and balance. Throughout this book, we saw that different areas of the world have been drained of magic and are inhospitable to dragons. When Andarna brings up Threshing to her kind, they respond with language that suggests it’s actually a sort of human reaping. My theory is this—the dragons, many thousands of years ago, were being threatened because humans discovered how to drain magic from the earth. To stop this, dragons turned humans against one another and shared their powers with the first riders. For the dragons, the riders become a weapon to protect them from the venin. But magic strikes a balance—once riders had powers, the venin had to draw more and more from the earth to compete. The Irids remain feather tails, which suggests that the other breeds of dragons are endlessly transforming themselves into war machines because of their untenable hold over humanity.

Why would the dragons go along with pretending that venin aren’t real for so many centuries, without telling their riders the truth? Because they don’t want riders knowing that they could be just as powerful without their dragons. Venin seem to be the magical balance to the dragons. I wonder if the Irids view the other breeds like the humans view the venin.

Or this could go in a completely different direction and we come to find out that beyond the edge of the map the “gods” are living away from the continent. What if Dunne, Amari, Malik, and all the other gods Vi likes to name drop are actually the first “venin”?

Why, Rhi?

Was the Rhiannon POV for extra tension as we waited for a squad member to die? It happened right at the moment that Violet was confronting T. I have to go back and look again—what happened in that passage that made it so important for that exact moment? The Imogen chapter, sure. It showed that our girl has a hidden second signet and also gave a reason that she might not be making the most sound decisions after the battle. But the Rhiannon chapter showed Ridoc freezing a wyvern to death. Was that so important right at that exact moment? Dain was also fighting throughout that chapter, which seemed like a great time to explain that “extra power” he was carrying.

Marriage

We knew this had to be a breakup book. It’s the third one in the series, and the next will be the evil Xaden arc before a big resolution in the last book. The only thing Xaden held onto in his POV is that he loves Violet, but T said that venin are incapable of love. That suggests to me that Xaden is somehow not fully venin. Or, if that’s too blindly optimistic, it suggests that all venin may not be as lost as previously thought. Jack does know something apparently, so Violet will need to interrogate him to find out. Whatever Xaden has planned, it seems that Sgaeyl is in on it and he asks Tairn to agree as well. Now, unless Sgaeyl broke the bond with Xaden, there will likely be some connection between the dragons at least. The real kicker is that Imogen tells Violet she did what Violet asked her to do—and why would she want her memories erased? So that she can’t remember a painful decision? Or so that she can’t leak a secret if interrogated? Or is that a lie, and Imogen is helping Xaden escape?

My theory is that Xaden has realized he won’t be free from the Sage unless he actually kills him, or someone higher up the chain of command. He’s going to try to play spy for a while and get information on the venin, like Panchek was leaking information about the riders. He marries Violet to give her Tyrrandor, since she sees it as home and has been imagining her life there. She’s never been good at shielding her intentions from him. He also gives her the political responsibility to keep her busy while he starts on whatever he’s doing. He doesn’t need her to “rescue” him because he’s undercover, but he also needs her to be absolutely convincing if they cross paths with any venin inntinnsics. He was planning whatever this was long before this battle—originally he was going to leave Bodhi with Tyrrendor, but Violet was his obvious second choice. That would be a scenario where I could see Violet asking Imogen to wipe her memory.

Grandma

Mira went to visit Grandma, but Brennan thinks that is a bad idea. By going there, Mira was able to find out the truth about Violet’s magical hair. We found out that the other priestesses dye their hair with lye and herbs, but Violet’s is the real deal. Dedicating babies has been outlawed for hundreds of years. What happens when Violet visits grandma and finds out more about her father’s choice? Why was the grandmother so upset? It does seem like a horrible betrayal that her parents tried to “fix” her as a baby, especially as an infant. But they were extremely calculating people who knew the truth about a lot of things—perhaps Violet’s partial dedication to Dunne will give her some extra advantage or connection to the goddess in this next book. I’d imagine she will probably need to go back to the priestess who sent her the temple rock.

Aaric

A rider with true precognition…does that mean that Melgren has turned in some capacity, since there is one per generation for some of these signers? Or are there other riders out there predicting the future? It certainly seems like a troublesome turn of events for a potential future ruler to know the future. Is he seeing only one path? He could potentially identify villains or traitors, manipulate events to meet his private goals, or turn people against each other. And how can Dunne’s priestesses predict Violet’s future too?

Andarna

After being rejected by her kind, does Andarna choose to reject them in turn and rush back to Violet? Or is there another reason they don’t want an irid left on the continent? T says that Andarna was very valuable—is there another something we don’t know about her? She certainly wasn’t gone long enough for years of training unless she learns how to travel in time.

[psycho100blog]

Ok let’s get this over with.

This was intended to be a separate post but lazy strikes while i was struggling to draw a header image for it.

Tw/ bad english as always.

So the sorcerers arrived at the location right on time. Right before she was about to slit her own throat, someone kicked her hands hard.

The knife fell from her grasp, curse energy emitting from it. Even worse, it was covered in blood, it reeks so much that the stranger can’t help but crunch his nose, can’t believe she tried to use that thing to cut into her, though she will die in the end it’s still gross.

“I take that you did this?” the stranger finally look at her in the eye, she jolted as soon as they made eye contact and looked away, can’t bear to hear his thoughts of her disgusting self, she lower her gaze to his feet and keep it still. She answered his question “Yes, just as you suspected”.

Breaking eye contact was rude but in this case it’s considerate of her not to read his thoughts any further, he nods and take a few steps torward the knife, playing with it using his feet as more people start to come over. That’s the last thing she knows before blacked out and woke up in another temple.

It was more grand and well maintained than the last one, a small trial was held to decide if she’s guilty or not, if she deserve to live or not. Most of the people present there ranged from middle age to elders, the previous stranger look out of place for he looks just about her age.

She was informed that when she was unconscious, they sealed her powers away but the ability to read and manipulate minds remained, therefore they had to put a curse on her so she can never lie, and that makes the trial go smoothly.

Though she killed most of the villagers out of rage, it’s also out of self defense, the villagers suffered the influence of the kishin, the elders deemed her innocent and was willing to provide a place for her to stay.

But the youngster protested, she killed them on purpose, he saw her attempt at suicide, she wanted to pay for her crimes through death, why not just give it to her? She get the death she deserves, we get to give her power to our god though a sacrificing ritual, a win-win.

She didn’t need to speak up because the youngster spoke her mind out loud, like a lawer she never hired. She agreed with his every sentence, accepting her fate.

To both of their disappointment, she get to live for three more years, though still getting what she wanted in the end, she have to live on with the guilt for three more years. In the same house that the youngster was in.

The youngster’s name was Shimazaki Ryou, the house owner informed. Unsurprisingly she’s also a sorcerer, in her mid 20s, lives alone until the elders showed up with that red eyed brat at her doorstep because his parents died a month prior. Thank goodness he can look after his own just fine and the payment she receives isn’t that bad. With another kid in her care, the payment doubles.

The problem is that the two bickers like dogs and cats, so a creative solution was made: make them fight instead of arguing, who wins get what they want and then let the other take the win if they ever fight again and repeat.

The moment Noriko (the house owner’s first name) heard that the new girl never go to school, she knew where to spend her money in.

Ryou is in charge of looking afer her too, just in case of her ever changing her mind and run away, he always have an eye on her at all times voluntarily.

Kiyo is a hard working gal, she learned hiragana after three months of homeschooling. She’s ready to hit the school once april came around.

The thing about Kiyo is she’s a dead man walking. Like she might die tomorrow, Kiyo do whatever she pleased. Stick her nose in things, stopping bullies, resolving conflict, helping friends, go out late, chowing down on evil spirits, all that chuyện bao đồng shit. And he have to drop his things mid-way to look after her. Death really get people acting up.

About death, Ryou think of it as the end of everything, there’s no life after death, only regret, regret for things they could have done, things they could achieve before their life was cut short. People die around him all the time, his mother died gave birth to him, the old man died after years of fighting evil forces, fighting back the curse just to fail miserably and kick the bucket before making any bonds with his son.

Not a long time ago, Ryou sat there at the old man’s funeral, not to mourn but to think long and hard about how to die without regrets, he knew the answer was to live to the fullest, but how? Eradicate more evil spirits? Getting stronger? He don’t think so, but can’t think of anything else. So the question hangs.

Until he found the answer in the girl he found anoying so much. Do whatever you want, without a care in the world, that’s freedom.

You think part two is the end? Think again!!

Thanks for reading💕

(I drew this wayyyy back in 2023 so it doesn't look very good 💀 except for young Kiyo she's adorable)

Name： 川上希佳｜ Kawakami Kiyo

Age: 30

Birthdate: November 1st, 1982

Gender: female

Height: 163cm

Abilities/power: she can gain other people's or other entity's power if she could kill them. Most of her power is sealed off so she wouldn't go berserk. With that, she can only use the first ability that she stole: mind control, but without telekinesis she will need to rely a lot on her combat skills.

Affiliation: an organization that will not be named.

Personal info:

Personality: blunt, honest, say what she thinks, mean what she says, calm and collected. Do whatever she wants as long as it doesn't have negative effects, doesn't think much of how others would perceive her.

Likes: cool weather, music (especially heavy metal), venture into ominous places.

Dislikes: people who can't keep their distance when asked.

Pros: honest, loyal.

Cons: can’t lie, too straightforward, too blunt, doesn't hold back.

Lore dump:

Kiyo grew up in a remote village, located in Hokaido's mountainous region. There was a sealed kishin there, though weakened it can still cause real harm to the locals.

The chief unleashed the seal and fed it with cattles to ask for favors. All of his fiddle faddle wishes (like better health, stay young came true) but little did he know the thing is a master of mind control, none of his wishes actually came true.

The more greedy his wishes get, the more he's willing to sacrifice human lives to it. Gradually it gained enough power to made it’s way into other villager’s mind.

A few years after the seal was broke, a pair of twins was born and they possessed a good amount of spiritual energy. The kishin wanted their lives but it patiently waited for them to grow, observing and teasing them in the process.

When the time came, it harvested the older twin first, replacing her spot in the family. The younger twin was devastated, so did her parents, they tried to expose the impostor but everyone thought the family went crazy.

They were led to a temple only god knows when it was built since there was no such thing in their village. Her father, the strongest living man of the village attempted to fight back but was outnumbered and killed right then, her mother follow suit.

She snapped, her rage bursted and so did her power. The little girl got no idea how to harness it but she was good with a knife. Just like how her father had taught to cut a deer's throat, she pierced through the entire villagers and cut them all down. The more they tried to stop her, the more they fell, the more powerful she gets. All that left was the culprit left standing, the village chief, he tried to call for help but the line was cut.

Eventually her knife made it to the kishin. You can't kill a thing that's never lived, like when your were done preparing deer meat, you eat it.

The village chief's call for help was answered, though a little late. A group of sorcerers made it to the village and found only one remaining survivor.

That's all for now, thank you for reading 🙆‍♀️💕 have a thing i made not long ago.

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

rambled this before but MAN that riku is paralleled to terra who's dad was so extremely aligned with Light that he basically nearly fell to darkness/evil out of his /extreme/ intolerance of it??? Eraqus who totally doesn't remind me of MoM??? GUH RRAHH

[s0fter-sin]

what up it's been 12 years and i'm still pissed there was no consequence to dean being in constant survival mode and fighting 24/7 in purgatory

what do you mean he didn't become a god at hand to hand combat? what do you mean he could still be jumped by random ass demons?

he was - at best - in a constant in-between state meaning he didn't get hungry or tired but that also means he didn’t sleep for a year and was constantly being hunted by hundreds of thousands of monsters that want to eat him specifically, while actively searching for cas

OR he was in a completely normal state meaning he was constantly fighting starvation and exhaustion while all of that was still happening!! it's not like there's much to scavenge in monster heaven!! he would’ve been on the verge of dying for a year!!!

then he comes back and he's just exactly the same? the same level of fighting skill he's always had? if not slightly worse for some reason?? what do you mean he couldn't kill anything he came across with his eyes closed when it's what he's been doing EVERY DAY FOR A YEAR???

it's always been one of the flaws of a show running for so long that after like s6 they never seemed to be getting better? they still got the shit kicked out of them by demons and ghosts and what have you and instead of finding obscure rituals they just got A Better Gun™️

both sam and dean are the peak of what hunters can be; they've been trained to hunt and kill things bigger and stronger than them since they were children, so what do you mean they still get the shit kicked out of them so often? was it just to show how strong monsters are? that even with their level of experience and skill, they're still outmatched?

(or do you just need a way to keep up the tension cough cough what who said that)

but you can't have dean who's been trained to be an elite soldier Since He Was Four Years Old go into a 360 combat scenario for an entire year - a good chunk of which he was completely by himself - then say he didn't improve his combat skills At All

and not even just combat, his senses would've been off the charts!! there was nothing but ambient forest noise and growling, his hearing would've gotten so sharp, it was darker so his night vision would ve been insane and he should've been able to feel a monster coming a mile away after constantly being on guard

post purgatory dean had the opportunity to be a completely different beast to anything we'd ever seen before, to be a completely different kind of traumatised from all of his other trauma

hell broke him but purgatory should've broken and rebuilt him into something Terrifying

[noctlas332]

day three,,,, i would have had liked to work a bit more on this but alas, that did not happen,,

[alaskan-wallflower]

how my parents feel after always reminding me how much better my older brother is than me

[immortalsins]

might have fucked up so its going on the blog

[autixel]

honestly i don't think i'm satisfied with tdp s7

[quietwingsinthesky]

i dont think millie and pre-Got Caged Again lucifer could have gotten anywhere with each other. the context of her as sam’s little sister overshadows everything there: it’s why he has no reason to harm her and every reason to treat her well, the way you’d treat a guest in your house, to prove to sam that he’s capable of that. and it’s why she spends most of the apocalypse treating lucifer specifically as a non-threat, as compared to the actual threats of demons who might not have heard the memo right, angels from heaven who Do Not care about her when getting to sam & dean, and other shit, but also as like. not a person she can communicate with in any meaningful way. he’s a concept, a force of nature, a fairy tale with rules she can understand and survive if she follows them.

post-cage 2 lucifer is a bad roommate but she can talk to him. and he actually learns who she is beyond the context of sam. you know?