#Unity Across the Stars

[epicstoriestime]

The Ink of the Stars: A Cosmic Mark of Destiny

Daily writing promptWhat tattoo do you want and where would you put it?View all responses Beneath the endless canvas of the cosmos, her mark blazed like a living constellation, a bridge between ancient wisdom and humanity’s boundless journey. In the distant reaches of the universe, beyond the star systems we know, there existed a race of ancient beings who called themselves the Vraxians. They…

[sunflowerwinds]

nobody but you | v.a

summary: you lost everyone close to you, including your best friend (and childhood crush) when you were fourteen years old and had to grow up on your own. seven years later, a ghost reappears, igniting those same feelings from all those years ago to come bubbling back up. bed-confessions lead to what you’ve wanted for years.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: reader is described to wear skirts and have longer curly hair, reader’s nickname is star, mature language, mentions of vi and reader being each other’s first kiss, caitlyn being a third wheel (i’m so sorry :/), mature content: dry humping & hickies (vi!receiving)

a/n: …. hey. arcane is a new fixation and i HAD to write for her. inbox is open for more vi ideas! (modern or not) <33 4 DAYS until arcane🙂‍↕️!!!

That night that the explosion happened, you were a wreck. You had lost so many people that you held near to your heart; Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi. As much as you hated to admit to yourself but losing her had the most impact on you.

Her body wasn’t found so everyone, including yourself, assumed that she was dead.

Powder, god, you couldn’t get to her before Silco did. When you arrived at the aftermath of the scene, she was gone and all that was left was a piece of a bomb that was undeniably Powder’s creation. Guilt settled within you at the rumors that spread of who Powder had become; Jinx.

It took years for you to become somewhat okay, falling into a new routine. With Silco running Zaun and dowsing the streets with shimmer, you had to watch people you knew become addicted and lose their minds over it.

You were alone.

It was a last resort but you took up a job at The Last Drop; as a barkeep. It was shitty pay but at least you had enough for food. It, of course, was nothing like when Vander owned the place. There was no family feeling or sense of comfort and unity.

You had accepted from that point on that this is how things were going to be. You live in the space above Benzo’s souvenir shop, making it your own home. Since his death, the space had been unoccupied. You took it upon yourself to make it yours.

It was decorated with remembrance of your late friends and knick-knacks you’ve collected from around the Lanes.

You had gotten off of your afternoon shift at the Last Drop, making your way back to the broken-down place you called home. You were ready to sit back and make dinner for yourself, sitting with your thoughts and silence. However as you approached the door to the shop, a weird sense settled into your gut.

The front door was open ever so slightly, barely noticeable at first glance. You usually would’ve dismissed it as a mistake on your part.

But this incident mixed with the weird feeling in your gut told you that this wasn’t just forgetting to close the door all the way. You hovered your hand over your leather holster that held your coins and a few ninja stars that you had been holding on to since you could hold one.

It was also helpful to hold up your extra layer of skirt.

Carefully, you peeked into the shop to see if you could see something or someone inside. From the small crevice, your sight was limited so you couldn’t confirm anything just yet. Lifting your left boot, you push the door open with the toe of your foot. You look into the shaded areas of the building, waiting for some form of movement.

Once you carefully step into the abandoned shop, you reach behind you to grab the doorknob to shut it closed. Your eyes flicker around the room, squinting in concentration as you continue to walk across the wooden floors.

A second passes and that’s when you hear a creak come from behind you. Reacting quickly, you grab a ninja star from the pocket of your belt and launch it into the darkness. The sound of the blade splitting into the wood and a grunt relax your worries somewhat.

Reaching for another star, you raise a hand to turn on the light to see who exactly made their way into the shop. Your face hardened as you lifted your arm once more, preparing to defend yourself.

The intruder stood against the shut door, eyes locked on the weapon in your hand.

“Star?”

They question you, stepping forward into the light.

You grip onto the ninja star tighter, confused as to how they know who you are. You suck in a deep breath, tilting your head as the strangers' features reveal themselves in the light. You squint for a moment before letting out a soft gasp, letting the bladed weapon slip from your fingers and onto the ground.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Were you hallucinating? Have you finally reached your breaking point?

The hair, the bandaged arms, the same slope of her nose.

“Vi?” You breathe out, your eyes welling up with tears.

The pink-haired girl nodded, letting out a shaky breath herself. She took a few more careful steps towards you. You take the same amount of steps to meet her in the middle, throwing your arms around her neck with desperation. You let out a sob as you bury your face into the crook of her neck.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me,” her voice was gentle in your ear, one of her bandaged palms cradling the back of your head while the other held you close by your torso.

Your eyes squint shut as you take in the fact that this is really happening. Vi was here; alive and so different. You pull away from her now-inked neck, brows furrowed from the questions rattling through your head.

“You… Where have you been?” You ask her softly.

“I got arrested and I’ve been in Stillwater since that night,” she explained carefully, one of her palms cradling your elbow.

“How are you here now? How did you get out?” Your eyes flicker to the ink on her cheek and the nose ring.

“I got released earlier today. I—I just had to see you. To make sure you were even…” Vi trailed off as she brushed a flyaway out of your face so she could really look at you.

The way you looked both so different and the same; how much you still look like that same girl that used to cut your fingers on your ninja stars. She remembers how you would try to hide the little slits on the tips of your fingers from her until you would physically wince from the cuts, forcing Vi to tend to the wounds.

You, unknowingly, did the same.

Too distracted just like how you would be all those years ago. Two teenage girls just trying to survive every day, secretly meeting up on the rooftops to snuggle dangerously close when everyone was asleep.

“When you said we were making a quick stop, I did assume it would be quick,” a posh English accent emerges from behind Vi, causing you to pull away from her comforting touch.

Vi let out a sigh before turning her head to peer at the tall woman standing in the doorway. You immediately recognize the attire underneath the small coat she was wearing and raise your hand to aim a ninja star at her. She was an enforcer.

Vi had an enforcer… get her out of prison?

“Who are you?” You snip, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” The dark blue-haired woman quipped back.

You hold back the scoff bubbling in your throat before Vi reaches forward to gently push your hand down. You hesitantly did so, still gripping onto the weapon between your fingers.

“I was thinking that maybe we could lay low here for a bit. Get some rest,” Vi attempts to ease your obvious tense figure.

“We?” You glance over at the woman watching her face soften.

“Yes. Just until tomorrow. Then we’ll be out of your hair to go to Babette’s.”

Voice still calm and gentle, Vi explained the situation at the moment. It turns out the tall woman’s name is Caitlyn, they’re looking for Powder Jinx because they believe she’s involved with an explosion that happened in Piltover.

You could see the desperation in Vi’s eyes when talking about her sister and your heart broke for her.

“Okay. I’m up top so,” you nod towards the door more into the shop that leads upstairs.

“Lead the way, Star,” Vi grinned, shoving her bandaged hands into her pockets.

You look over at Caitlyn who is standing right behind Vi, towering a bit over you both. You lead the pair to your living space, flicking on the light to reveal the new made up home. Vi whistled as she walked around the familiar space now made into more than just an attic.

“You did all of this?” She questioned with a smile as she walked over to the shelf of books and trinkets.

“Uh, yeah,” you feel a bit vulnerable knowing that both a stranger and past best friend who you thought was dead are in your home. “No rent, no roommates, just me.”

Your childhood friend traces the hanging lights from your ceiling, grinning for a moment when they make a soft twinkling noise. Being as nosy as she was, she made her way over to where you slept. Her eyes locked on the beaten-down table next to your table, focusing on the small ceramic bowl full of trinkets.

“Shit, you kept this?” Vi grabbed an item off the bedside table that was next to your bed that made your eyes widen with embarrassment.

It was a star ring that Vi had gotten (swiped from an antique shop) when you were thirteen. That day she gave it to you was also the day you brought up the idea of being each other’s first kiss to get it out of the way. Dating wasn’t a worry but you both agreed that you might as well ‘prepare for that day when you’d need to.’

It wasn’t the most amazing kiss, of course as you were preteens but you still became flustered the second you two made eye contact as you pulled away. You remember twiddling with the star ring after and how much you felt so cared for by someone.

“Oh yeah. It was to remember you by,” you sheepishly reply.

Vi hummed at your response, her smile creeping onto her lips as she set it down.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but is there someplace where I can rest?” Caitlyn questioned from behind you, seeming to be standing carefully near the door.

You glance over at Vi who had laid back on your bed, shutting her eyes with a sigh. One of her bandaged arms draped over her lower stomach while the other rested above her head on your flattened pillows.

“You can rest over here.”

You motioned for the tall woman to follow you. You walk around the wall, pushing back a curtain to a secret space where you usually allow some acquaintances from work or people in need to sleep, turning to Caitlyn with a friendlier grin.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn called after you as she sucked in a deep breath, looking around the small room. “For allowing me in your home.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me,” you nod.

Caitlyn nods in return, a small smile on her lips as she lowers herself on the dingy mattress.

“I know it’s not the ivory walls you’re used to but make yourself at home,” you notice the small, barely noticeable gap in between her front teeth as she smiles at you.

“It’s lovely,” her posh accent makes you chuckle.

You simply shake your head and shut the curtain to give Caitlyn some privacy. You recollect yourself as you think about Vi who is currently lying down on your bed. Vi perked up as she heard footsteps walking towards the bed, making eye contact with you as you rounded the bed to the other side.

“Hi,” you mutter as you lower yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, knee first.

“Hi,” Vi replied, her lips twitching into a small smile.

You can’t even hide the smitten smile on your face as you lay yourself down next to her, back on the mattress as well. Your palms rest above your navel as you try to act as normal as possible.

A tense silence filled the open room; the both of you not knowing what to say to one another. You could hear the shouting and loud music of the streets coming from your open window but all you could focus on was your own nervous breathing.

“I thought about you every day,” Vi’s the first to break the silence. “Every fucking day there, I thought about what it would be like coming back to you. I hoped you’d be here, Star. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone too.” Vi admitted as she shook her head, snuggling into your bed.

Your eyes bore into her side profile, admiring the slope of her nose and the ink etched into her cheek. You turn the rest of your body to match your head.

“You would’ve been okay,” you joke, weakly chuckling.

Vi blinks and looks over at you with a soft and meaningful gaze. She’s silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before she speaks.

“Do you remember when we would go up to the roof of the Last Drop and talk about what we would do if we ever got out of here?” Vi questions gently, facing you so that you are face to face.

“Yeah,” you mutter, not knowing where she was going with it.

“Every scenario we talked about whether it was taking over the streets or getting bucket loads of cash to build a new life there, I never imagined what it would be like without you by my side. You were always… right here.” Vi breathed out, her gaze avoiding your own. “Now that I know what it’s like to have that reality, I don’t want it to happen ever again.”

“Vi,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her eyes carefully lifted to meet yours, pupils dilated with vulnerability.

“I was so… scared you were gone too,” Vi whispered, hesitantly reaching for you but her hand retracted quickly.

You took the reins and carefully hooked your finger onto one of hers, sighing in relief at the touch. Vi stared at the courteous touch and wrapped her palm over your own, running her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you remember what happened after you gave me that ring?” You ask softly, using your free hand to brush a piece of her hair out of her face.

Vi wasn’t stupid. She knew you meant that kiss that put a pep in her step for a few weeks after; the girl that she had been crushing over since before she could remember. Not wanting to confront it head-on, she quickly stumbled out a little joke.

“I think I thought about doing that for months. Mylo wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it every time you came around, blowing kisses at me when you had your back turned.” Vi chuckled as she shook her head.

You smile at the mention of Mylo, not doubting it for a second. You, in a similar fashion, turned to Ekko for your little crush on Vi.

“You know, come to think of it,” you pretend to recall, “I remember you asking me an important question too.”

Vi wanted to punch herself in the jaw as you brought up another rather embarrassing moment. She could see it now; two teens sitting on a rooftop, shoulder to shoulder after sharing a quick peck and avoiding each other’s eyeline.

“We could be each other’s… back up when we get older, you know.” A fidgety thirteen-year-old Vi had proposed.

You remember glancing down at bright-colored streets and clouds that intoxicated the air of Zaun. Vi glanced over at you to see if you had even heard her as you had gone completely silent.

“Back up?” You questioned, your voice still going through the ups of puberty.

“Yeah, well, when we’re old, like, forty or something and have no one else, we could be each other’s.”

Vi didn’t really explain what that meant at the time but you agreed with ease. You knew how much you would do for Vi; maybe it was a little obsessive and unhealthy but she had a grip on you that you hoped never left.

Neither of you were near forty yet but there was a sliver of hope you could enact that pact today.

Something took over you after that confession and you scoot your body closer to hers. You reach your hand up to brush your hair out of her face, cupping the side of her face. Vi held onto your wrist as you began to lean into her.

Before you could even comprehend it, Vi pressed her lips to yours. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, releasing her face in shock. Her hand was still gripping onto your wrist as her lips moved against your own.

After the initial surprise of the kiss, you follow her rhythm. You place your hand back onto her cheek as you suck in a deep breath, letting yourself enjoy what you have been craving to redo after seven years.

The soft smack of your kisses and you and Violet humming against each other's lips silently drove you insane.

“I missed you so much,” Vi mutters against your lips.

You sigh at the confession, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Never thought I'd get to do this,” you confess. “To be with you like this, Vi.”

Vi’s palms move down your body, rubbing down your sides carefully like you were going to disappear at any moment. Years of confinement and getting into fights with inmates led her to this very moment; the only person in her life that was really here for her.

“And now that you are doing it?” Vi questions, her big rounded eyes boring into your own.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Vi beams at that and you dive back into her lips, humming against the gentle touch of her lips. This second time around was more hungry, eager for one another. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of her bandaged arms wrapped around your waist as you kissed like you needed her; craved her.

Oh, how needy you were at that moment: selfishly grabbing onto her like she could disappear at any moment. She wasn’t; at least you hoped not.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” you sighed out, tears welling up in your eyes.

Vi immediately notices your mood drop and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss your cheek and placing a few more gentle touches on your neck and jaw.

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart,” she murmured against your skin as she continued to carefully kiss your skin.

You suck in a deep breath as you cup either side of her face to pull her away from your flustered skin. Vi’s chest was heaving up and down from her own hunger for you becoming overwhelming.

“I want to make you feel good, Vi,” you admit, whispering just below normal speaking volume.

Vi stares and blinks, her breathing slowing down.

“Me?” She questions as if she misheard you.

“Yes, you. Please.”

You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment from your begging as you meant it more than anything. Vi, with not much more needed convincing, nodded frantically as she allowed you to take the reigns.

You pull away to sit upright and straddle her lap, your skirt lifting up your legs to rest on the highest part of your thigh. Vi’s eyes widened for a second at your position in your lap, her bandaged hands resting on the flat pillows as she stared up at your figure. Her eyes were rounded with admiration and lust.

“Is this okay?” You question, tucking some of your hair behind your ears.

“Yes. Yes, you’re… good.” Vi reassures you as you smittenly smile down at her.

She matches your smile as you lean down to reattach your lips, placing your hands on her collarbone. Vi’s hands grip gently at your upper thighs, frantically pulling you in closer to her. The strap of your shirt was slipping down your shoulder, resting on your triceps.

You allow yourself to be there in the moment with her. You had the tendency to think about the worst outcomes of every situation but right now as Vi’s palms move more up to your hips, you just feel her.

Not afraid, not depressed; just her.

Her touch was electric on your skin. Vi sits upright from her laid-back position, humming as you run one of your hands up the back of her head into her hair. Feeling her body running hot, she removes her hands from your body to shrug off her red jacket from her body.

You pull away to help her remove the jacket, throwing it to the side and hearing it hit the ground. You look down at her now-revealed arms and eyebrows raise up at the sight of her toned upper body.

You were gawking; you knew you were.

“What were you doing in there?” You shamelessly ran your hands down her firm biceps.

Vi lets you feel her up, watching your hungry eyes follow your hands on her body. She doesn’t answer your question but she does place her palms back at their rightful place on your hips.

You snap out of your daze as her hands squeeze your hips. Your cheeks lit aflame before focusing on the task at hand. Did you 100% know what you were doing? No, but you figured if you just do what you do to yourself to her, it was bound to make her feel good.

So you slowly began to grind your hips down onto her own. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a shaky breath.

That only fueled your keep your hips moving against her. Vi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, tilting her head back to huff out a soft moan. You let out your own noise at the feeling, leaning forward to attach your lips to the length of your neck.

Vi moaned your name at the feeling of you kissing the sensitive spot on her neck. Her grip only becomes tighter on your waist as you begin to suck and lick, creating a dark spot on her pale skin. You pull away after a few seconds to brush your finger over the mark, feeling disgustingly proud of yourself.

“What are you doing to me?” Vi whispered, groaning under her breath.

“I could say the same,” you quip with a cheeky smile, grinding down hard once.

The motion tugs out a moan from the both of you. The thinnest layer of sweat began to form on your neck and crevice of your hip and legs. Vi leans forward, panting into the crook of your neck. She attempts to hide her needy whimpers against your skin but you can’t miss the desperate sounds.

You were growing wetter by the second, aching to get her off.

“Vi—“ You gasp as her palms rest on your hips, helping you grind down onto her clothed crotch.

Your hands rest on the broad on her shoulders, feeling over the tight muscle. She was panting softly as she took in the sound of you asking for her; needing her like this. Her blue eyes admire the way your jaw was left open as you pant and whimper from the friction.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” she praises, a low moan leaving her own hips.

You almost shake your head at her words but you knew it would be a huge mistake to do so. You allow yourself to take in the words, not wanting to seem like you didn’t believe her. She drew the beautiful inside to the surface with ease.

Your hips stuttered, wondering if you were going to cum like this. It wouldn’t be the first time as you’ve shamefully done the same to your mattress.

“You’re perfect,” you tell her honestly, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

Vi wanted to tell you you were far from correct but you were persistent on the fact.

“You are. You are, Vi,” you cup her face as you weakly grind your crotch on hers.

Vi nods to show you she is listening, one of the few whimpers she’s made throughout the night bubbling in her throat. You place a few kisses over her face before placing the final one on her awaiting lips.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“

“Me too. Cum for me, please,” you encourage the pink-haired girl.

You watch as her muscles tighten, a vein popping out of the side of her neck. It beautifully highlighted the mark you’ve made on her.

With your grinds becoming sloppier and weaker, Vi assisted you by practically doing all the work. Your hips and inner thighs were growing more and more tired out by the second. Your will to make sure Vi came was the only thing keeping you going.

Your mouths were hovering over one another, whining and moaning onto each other’s lips. Your core tightened as you felt your orgasm approaching. Vi’s whispers of praise only drew you closer.

“Just like that,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Vi whines right back, kissing right above your chest near your collarbone.

You nod with a whimper, muttering ‘please’ and ‘right there’. The mix of your panting and hot moans drove you both to cumming against one another.

You were shaking at that point, arms now wrapping around her neck for stabilization. Vi, mimicking you, wrapped her arms around your torso, burying her face into your chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Your hair was now frizzy, your whole body aflame from the orgasm that tore through you. Vi’s lips were dragging on your heated skin causing you to shut your eyes as you, too, attempted to calm down.

The two of you sat there, matching each other's breathing patterns as you both came down from your highs. Your eyes before you knew it grew heavy with exhaustion. Vi noticed how slumped you were and cradled your body to maneuver you to lay back down. Your arms were still locked around her neck, refusing to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Vi asks after a few minutes of silence, licking her swollen lips.

You chuckle softly at her question, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.” You mutter before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vi nods at your words, rubbing her hands down your back. She traces the length of your spine, lulling you into the sleep that your body was asking for.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” Vi encourages when she notices you fighting your tired eyes.

Your heart sank at the word ‘leave’, brows knitting with betrayal. Your exhaustion left your body for a moment at her words.

“Leave?” You delicately whisper.

“No, no, not for good. I’m not doing that to you again,” Vi was quick to reassure your worries. “I just—I have to find Powder. I don’t know how long it will take but I will be back for you.”

You swallow your doubts that Vi will be able to change Jinx back into the girl she once was. You knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Vi into staying, especially with Caitlyn tagging along with her.

“Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you again,” you cup her face, running your thumb over the ink on her cheek. “You’re my backup, remember?”

Vi manages to chuckle at your words, shaking her head.

“I never should’ve asked you that. You were never going to be just a backup, Star,” Vi told you softly. “You were always going to be first for me.”

Your eyes rounded with admiration at her confession.

“We were kids when you asked me that, Vi. I’m glad you did. I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” you tell her with a smitten grin on your lips.

Vi presses a deep kiss onto your awaiting lips, nearing knocking your teeth against one another from her own smile. You lazily kissed her back until you physically couldn’t anymore. Sleep overtook you as you rested your head on her bicep that was acting as your pillow for the night. You felt one last kiss on your temple before you knocked out.

The next morning you awoke to the feeling of the bed shifting next to you. You slowly peek through squinted eyes to see Vi’s blurred figure sitting on the opposite side of the bed, quietly speaking with Caitlyn’s undeniable taller figure.

“I’m just pointing out how you completely disregarded the fact that I was in the room opposite of you. I had a curtain as a door,” Caitlyn quietly scolds the pink haired girl.

You try not to show any reaction but you were embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about Caitlyn resting just 10-15 feet away from you two.

“I’m not sorry for what I did but sorry you heard,” Vi snips, no doubt in your mind with raised brows.

Caitlyn sighed rather loudly before shaking her head, holding her hand up to Vi.

“Let’s just… get going, please. We haven’t got much time.”

Silence from Vi.

“Okay. Just give me two minutes. You can wait outside the door.”

You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep once again, listening for the receding footsteps. Vi spoke with care as she gently tapped your shoulder.

“Star, sweetheart?” She hummed, brushing your flyaways from your face.

“Hmmm?” You open your eyes, stretching one of your arms up.

“Hey. I’m gonna head out, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Vi traces the apple of your cheeks as she talks to you.

“Be careful. I mean it, Vi.”

The blue eyed girl nods at you, giving you one last meaningful kiss onto your lips.

“I will. In fact,” Vi pulls away to reach by the bedside table, grabbing the star ring she gave you. She slid it onto her middle finger, showing you the jewelry. “I’ll be back to give you this. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a soft laugh at her ridiculousness. You adored her more than anything and anyone.

“I’ll be waiting, Violet.”

TAGLIST: @kylorey25 @evermorewest @breezy-sapphic @auraclus @ichig0nn4 @thesevi0lentdelights @vincinnamontoast @onesockcat @sc0ttstre3ted @seolarsistem @kissyslut @pinkdaisys4u

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

[nickmarini]

Ayden’s Build 

TL;DR: Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 8 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 9 (Peace Domain). Feats: Squire of Solamnia, Remarkable Recovery, Warcaster, Knight of Crowns, Spelldriver, Tough.

Building Ayden was a joy and a journey. To begin we were told we had 20 levels to work with and stats of 20 across the board. The only thing I knew about Ayden from the session 0 was that he was going to be a Cleric of the Everlight and that I wanted to make him the best support character I could. I also knew that the Dawnfather was aware of the mission briefing and so would have directed his growth to the task at hand. 

Stats of 20 meant multiclassing into any class was possible and that any ability score based bonuses or proficiency based abilities were going to be very good. I figured that with a warlock and a sorcerer we’d have some pretty good counterspelling and 9th level spell access, so I didn’t worry myself about either of those, instead focusing on making sure we all survived. 

The Dawnfather and The Everlight share 2 of 3 Domains. Life and Light. The Everlight’s 3rd domain is Peace. The Peace Domain cleric is an excellent subclass and its 6th level ability, Protective Bond, was something I knew I wanted to build around. The ability to take hits for, and aid, my siblings while teleporting around the battlefield is an excellent support ability and it also lets allies in the bond do the same, fostering sibling unity and cohesion.

With the Dawnfather having Nature as his unique domain separate from the Everlight, and literally sending himself to Exandria to infiltrate a city full of the greatest mages of the age, the Oath of Ancients Paladin seemed like an obvious path. It is the nature Paladin, (his domain) and 7 levels gives you both Aura of Protection and Aura of Warding. This means as Ayden moves through the battlefield with Protective Bond he will be granting allies +5 to saves from his cha as well as resistance to damage from spells. Incredibly good going up against the wizards of Aeor he knew he would encounter. I didn’t want to go to 10 with Paladin because I didn’t want to be immune to frightened. I just felt that fear played too large a role in the reasons the gods were here and although aura of courage is probably my favorite ability going back to 3rd edition, I felt like it wasn’t right for Ayden. He had to fear in order to reinforce his need to hope. 

These two classes were set relatively quickly and then I began looking at how else I was going to build him out. 

I really liked the idea of being able to grant my allies some extra attacks and so I was looking at battle master to get commanders strike and goading attack as well as maneuvering attack to help take hits for and position my allies. Action Surge is also a great ability that could really come in handy if I needed to save someone and needed one extra action to do so. 

I was also looking at the 2nd level Divination Wizard ability Portent. The ability to fully dictate 2 rolls is very powerful in certain circumstances, especially if the numbers are very high or very low.

Both these seemed good but weren’t feeling totally right from a character perspective. They felt too forced.

As I was playing around with these two classes I was also building Aydens backstory. I really liked the idea of him being agriculturally focused, as this aspect of the Dawnfather is actually his youngest. Sun begets days, and thus time and seasons, and as civilization evolves agriculture follows. The fighter levels lent the idea that he has spent some time training under a knight or some such warrior, and I knew that he would eventually find his way to Trist to begin his tutelage and become her cleric. I liked there being these different eras of his life. 

It was around this time that I got an awesome email asking me to describe Ayden visually so that the incredibly talented Hannah Friederichs and Cael Lyons could begin to bring Ayden and the Dawnfather to life. I wanted Ayden to be a simply dressed with a shield he took from his mentor, but no sword for striking. They sent 4 sketches and told me I could mix and match as I desired. Image #1 however was exactly as I had envisioned him. It was the simplest and had this depth to his eyes that told the story of a much older soul in this 15 year old body. It was so perfect that it made me realize I had been going in the totally wrong direction with fighter and wizard. The concepts of nature and agriculture were suddenly staring me in the face. It was not wizard, but druid, and his mentor could have taught him to be a paladin as easily as fighter, but if he is the bringer of agriculture who has he brought it to? A remote tribe still hunting and gathering was the answer. Barbarian therefore replaced fighter. I can’t tell you how influential the sketch I received was. It felt like a bolt of lightning suddenly clarified everything. 

I was for sure cleric 6, Paladin 7 and now looking at druid and barbarian. 

I didn’t know Druid subclasses very well but Circle of the Stars jumped out from the pack just with its name. The Sun after all is a star. When I read its 2nd level abilities Starmap and Starry form it was so obvious. I can cast Guiding Bolt to set up those attacks I wanted to grant, and I can glow instead of wild shape and either heal more or have a massive bonus to maintain the concentration spells I knew I wanted to cast. For the keeper of time to know how to read the stars just felt right. It also feel right that the druids of a tribe that had been hunting and gathering during the tumultuous Calamity would have learned to navigate by the stars, a singular constant in an every changing age. 

Barbarian has a number of interesting subclasses but none felt like they clicked. 1 level of Barbarian though, for a character with 20 dexterity and 20 constitution, catapults your AC to 20 and it also gives you a proficiency in Constitution saving throws if you take it as your first class, again reinforcing those concentration rolls. He was found as a child by this barbarian tribe and his first class is also his first community. Barbarian was the strong foundation I would build upon. 

I was now Cleric 6, Paladin 7, Druid 2, Barbarian 1. Reorganized to be the order Ayden would have taken them in it becomes the following:

Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 7 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 6 (Peace Domain)

4 more levels to distribute. As a player who has mostly played 3.5 (I think downfall just about doubled the amount of 5E I have played) feats are my absolute favorite things, so getting to multiples of 4 in class levels to grab some was something I wanted to do (also I didn’t have to worry about ability score increases)! I had already given one feat up by taking barb and druid but I made up for it with the human variant. I also took the Knight of Solamnia background to give me Squire of Solamnia, the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns which would give me the ability to grant attacks to my allies without needing battle maneuvers. 

So I upped paladin from 7-8 for a feat and then decided to take Cleric from 6-9 because it gave me a feat and access to the spell Dawn. I mean the Dawnfather should be able to cast Dawn after all! 

Now to feats

1) Background: Squire of Solamnia to give me the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns

2) Human Variant: Remarkable Recovery. I knew I’d be taking extra damage so having 5 extra hp from any healing I get might just be the difference. It also plays into his background. He had to leave the Barbarian tribe he brought agriculture to because his skin could not retain the ceremonial tattoo ink that would have symbolized his initiation into the community. 

3) Cleric 4 Warcaster to get advantage on those concentration checks, that along with proficiency and starry form of the dragon means I need to take 28 damage (56 if it’s a spell) to even have to roll, and when I do I get advantage and proficiency on the check. Getting me to lose concentration is gonna be a task. 

4) Paladin 4 Knight of the Crown getting to grant an attack proficiency times per day combos wonderfully with Starmaps free guiding bolt, conveniently also proficiency times per day. 

5) Cleric 8 Spelldriver I’m gonna be casting a bunch of spells so the ability to cast multiple each turn is going to make my support spells come out much faster. I have a big fam to take care of!

6) Paladin 8 Tough I really went back and forth between this and Inspiring Leader. Granting all my siblings 25 temp hp is amazing but ultimately I decided that as I’d be tanking a bunch of damage I’d need toughness. Toughness gave me 15 more hp than Inspiring leader would have, and I ended up going down to 14 at one point so it was a decision that very much paid off by a single HP! Don’t wanna pop a deathward if you can help it!

Last but not least we were granted 2 magic items. One very rare and one uncommon. For my uncommon I chose a cloak of resistance, a parting gift from the tribe that Ayden could not join. This upped my saves to 11s or 17s and took my AC to 23. For his very rare magic item I took a spellguard shield, inherited from the knight who brought him from the remote tribe to Trist‘s school, giving me advantage on saving throws vs spells and magical effects and inflicting disadvantages on spell effects targeting me. Combine that with resistance to spells from Aura of Warding and that’s a nasty nasty combo v wizards. 

All in all Ayden’s build is an incredibly hard to target tanky support character who can move through the battlefield protecting his allies and being an absolute nightmare for enemy spellcasters. The only thing I really didn’t fully consider was just how much damage he would take from Warding Bond which totally bypasses all those wonderfully crafted defenses. As crazy as it is, I think we barely got to scratch the surface of Aydens full potential and it’s probably good those mages decided to cast spells at everyone else because Ayden was going to be a tough character for a spell caster to crack. The Commanding Rally did get to shine allowing characters who specialized in weapon attacks to get a little extra out of those 20 level commitments. Ayden’s build was crafted to keep his siblings alive and let them shine as bright as possible together. I’m very proud of him!

If you read all this then you’re as nerdy as me and deserve a reward!

[fvsm4x]

𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - „I don‘t deserve someone like you“

—In an arranged marriage to the powerful sorcerer Gojo Satoru, you, a blind young woman from a noble family, quickly realize the harsh realities of your new life.

.contains blind fem. reader x gojo satoru, gojo is shitty, angsty, hurt no comfort, curse au, cheating, mistress, toxity, wc. 6.1k

The scent of jasmine filled the grand hall, its soft, almost cloying sweetness failing to mask the tension that lingered in the air. The wedding was beautiful, by all accounts—ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft, golden light across the room. Tall vases overflowed with white lilies and roses, draped with vines that twined delicately around their stems. Everything was pristine, perfect, a vision of elegance and status befitting the union of two powerful families.

But beneath the surface, it all felt wrong.

The whispers of the guests were hushed, though not out of reverence or respect for the sacredness of the ceremony. They whispered because of you. They stared, eyes flickering between curiosity and pity, hidden behind false smiles and hollow words of congratulations. They pretended to celebrate, but you could hear it—the murmurs beneath their breath, the way their voices dipped just low enough that they thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you always noticed.

You stood still, hands folded in front of you, your posture impeccable as you’d been trained, listening as they spoke about the bride. The blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one Gojo Satoru—the Gojo Satoru—was marrying.

The ceremony had been just as silent, just as stifling, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into you like needles. You had felt their gazes on your back as you walked down the aisle, guided by your father’s hand. Each step had felt heavier than the last, each footfall an echo in the vast room, but you held your head high, your expression calm and serene, as you had practiced countless times. The world around you was dark, as it always had been, but your senses were sharp, attuned to every shift in the atmosphere, every murmur, every movement.

No one questioned the marriage aloud, but everyone doubted it in private. The Gojo clan needed an heir, and you—born into a noble sorcerer family, though cursed with blindness and lacking any ability to fight—were chosen for the role. Not because of your power, not because of love, but because your bloodline was old and respected. Your family’s name still held weight in the jujutsu world, even if you did not. And Gojo… well, he was too important, too powerful, for anyone to refuse his family’s demands.

You could feel the tension in the room from the moment you entered. It rippled through the air like a current, crackling just beneath the surface of polite conversation. Your family had assured you this was the best course for both you and them. It was your duty, they’d said, to carry on the family’s legacy, even if you couldn’t do it the way your ancestors had. You would be a wife, a vessel for a future heir. That was your purpose now. You weren’t here to fight curses or stand beside him as an equal. You were here to bear the weight of an alliance and ensure the bloodlines remained pure and strong.

And he?

Gojo Satoru, the man you were now married to, had been as distant as the stars. Even during the brief ceremony, his presence felt like a cold wind brushing past your skin. He hadn’t said much—his voice, when he spoke the vows, had been flat and indifferent, devoid of the charm and magnetism that he was known for. His hand had touched yours only for the briefest moment, cool and detached, as though the act of taking your hand was more of an inconvenience than a gesture of unity.

There had been no tenderness, no sense of connection. It was as though he were performing an obligation, fulfilling a requirement, nothing more.

And now, as the ceremony gave way to the reception, he was nowhere to be found.

You stood alone in the grand hall, surrounded by the murmuring crowd, your fingers grazing the soft fabric of your wedding gown as you shifted your weight. The gown was heavy, draped in layers of delicate silk and lace that clung to your skin, a reminder of the weight of the expectations placed upon you. You could hear the soft rustle of the fabric as you moved, the sound barely audible over the hum of conversation and the gentle notes of the ceremonial band playing in the background.

The guests were mingling, their voices a blur of idle chatter and veiled judgment, and you were left to endure it all in silence.

"Such a shame," someone whispered, though you couldn’t tell who. Their voice was soft, yet the pity in it was sharp enough to cut. "A blind girl, no cursed energy…"

"Can she even fulfill her duties?" another voice added, the words tinged with disbelief. "Gojo must be furious."

Your heart tightened, but you kept your face composed, as you had been taught. You didn’t react. You didn’t turn toward the voices or acknowledge them in any way. You had long since learned that reacting only gave them power. So you stood still, hands clasped in front of you, listening as they judged you without hesitation.

“She must be so nervous,” a woman murmured to her companion, her tone laced with false sympathy. "I can’t imagine being so helpless."

Helpless.

You had heard that word so many times in your life. It clung to you like a second skin, a label that you could never quite shed, no matter how hard you tried. They saw your blindness and your lack of cursed energy, and they assumed that was all there was to you. A burden. An empty vessel.

It wasn’t just the guests who thought that. You could feel it in the way Gojo had treated you during the ceremony. His absence now was only confirmation of what you already knew—he didn’t care. To him, this marriage was just another arrangement, another responsibility to check off his list. You had been chosen for your lineage, not for yourself.

He wasn’t going to try, and neither were you.

It was only after what felt like an eternity of standing alone, the weight of the room pressing down on you, that you felt a shift. The atmosphere changed, a ripple of movement through the crowd, followed by the distinct sensation of someone approaching.

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Looking for me?"

His voice was smooth, casual, tinged with amusement that felt out of place in the solemnity of the occasion. It was the same voice he had used during the ceremony—bored, distant, with just a hint of arrogance. You had heard Gojo Satoru speak before, though never to you, and his voice was always laced with that same careless charm, as though everything and everyone around him were beneath him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t turn toward him immediately, taking a moment to compose yourself, to control the surge of frustration that rose within you. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, calm.

"Where have you been?"

The question was simple, but it carried more weight than the words alone. Where had he been? On this day of all days, the day that was meant to unite you, however meaningless that union might be. You hadn’t expected warmth from him, but a part of you—buried deep—had hoped for something more than indifference.

"Busy," he replied, as though the question itself were a joke. He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him for details. He wouldn’t have given them, anyway. His voice was closer than expected, and you felt a subtle shift in the air as he moved closer. "This whole thing is exhausting. Don’t you agree?"

His words dripped with nonchalance, as though the day had been an inconvenience to him. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps the thought of being tied to someone like you—someone who couldn’t see, someone who couldn’t fight—was more than just a burden to him.

You remained still, though your fingers tightened slightly around the delicate fabric of your gown. "I suppose it is," you replied softly, your voice carefully neutral. "But it’s necessary."

Gojo laughed, the sound low and mocking, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, as though he were studying you, amused by your response.

"Necessary?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "I guess that’s one way to put it."

There was a pause, and you could feel the tension between you thickening, the space between you filled with unspoken words. You wanted to say something—something sharp, something that would cut through his arrogance—but you held your tongue. You had learned long ago that sharp words would do nothing here. Not with him.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice lowering as he leaned in slightly, “did you think this would be anything more than an arrangement?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let your expression falter. “I didn’t expect anything more than what was promised,” you answered carefully.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because that’s all it is. An arrangement. Nothing more.”

You could feel the cruel smirk tugging at his lips, even if you couldn’t see it. You didn’t need to see it. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he stood too close, invading your space as if to remind you just how small, how insignificant, you were in comparison to him.

The room around you felt colder, even though the temperature had not changed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping back as though to release you from his presence, “this’ll go much easier if you remember that.”

As Gojo disappeared back into the crowd, the warmth of his presence faded just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an emptiness that settled deep in your chest. You kept your face composed, your expression serene, as you had been taught. The noise of the reception swirled around you, a cacophony of clinking glasses and laughter, but none of it reached you. It felt distant, muted—like you were standing in a world that wasn’t meant for you, a world that you could never fully inhabit.

You didn’t need to see to know what was happening around you. The guests would be watching him now, the great Gojo Satoru, as he moved effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with his admirers. They’d hang on his every word, laugh at his every joke, their attention glued to him like moths drawn to a flame. He was the star of this union, after all—the one everyone came to see. Not you.

You were nothing more than the shadow in his light.

A part of you wanted to slip away, to retreat into the safety of solitude where the weight of the expectations and the judgment wouldn’t suffocate you. But you knew better. Your place was here, standing still, enduring. You had learned long ago that this was your role in the world of sorcerers—a silent participant, always on the periphery, always observing but never truly part of the action.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

The voice was soft, tentative—your mother’s. You hadn’t heard her approach, but the gentle touch of her hand on your arm was familiar, grounding. She was the one who had guided you through this life of duty, the one who had taught you how to survive in a world that had never been kind to those like you.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady. The lie slipped easily from your lips. It was a lie you had told so many times before that it felt almost like the truth now.

Your mother’s grip tightened slightly, her thumb brushing your arm in a subtle gesture of comfort. “He… he will come around,” she murmured, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

You resisted the urge to laugh at her words. Come around? Gojo Satoru? You had known, even before the wedding, that he wasn’t the type of man who could be swayed by something as simple as a bond of marriage. He was above all of that—above you. He was the strongest sorcerer alive, the most powerful, untouchable. And you? You were nothing more than the bride chosen for him because of your family’s name. A bride he could ignore without consequence.

“There’s no need for him to come around,” you replied softly. “This marriage is what it is.”

Your mother hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You will find your place,” she said finally, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. “It may take time, but—”

“I know my place,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you intended. You could feel her flinch, her hand withdrawing slightly, and a pang of guilt shot through you. She didn’t deserve your frustration. She had done what she thought was best for you, even if this life felt like a cage. “I’m sorry,” you added quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I understand,” your mother said gently, though you could hear the strain in her voice. “I know this isn’t easy. But… you must remember your duty. This is about more than just you or Satoru. It’s about the future of our family.”

Her words, though well-meaning, did little to comfort you. You had heard them countless times before—spoken by your father, by your uncles, by the elders who had decided your fate long before you had any say in it. Your family needed this marriage. It was a strategic alliance, a way to secure your family’s position in the jujutsu world, to ensure that their legacy would continue through the next generation. You were simply the vessel through which that legacy would be carried.

But what about you? What did you want?

Not that it mattered. In this world, your wants were irrelevant.

“I know,” you whispered, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “I understand my duty.”

Your mother didn’t reply, but you could sense her reluctance, her uncertainty. Perhaps a part of her regretted the role she had played in this arrangement. Or perhaps she simply didn’t know how to help you, how to guide you through something she had never experienced herself.

After a moment, she squeezed your arm again, then quietly slipped away, leaving you alone once more in the sea of murmuring voices and clinking glasses.

-

The journey back to the Gojo estate was quiet and uncomfortable, much like the rest of the day had been. You had ridden alone, save for the driver and a house staff member assigned to assist you, a man whose presence was unobtrusive and respectful, though it did little to ease the weight in your chest. The noise of the reception was a distant memory now, replaced by the soft hum of the car engine and the occasional rattle of the road beneath the wheels.

When the car finally came to a halt, you felt the subtle shift in the air, the familiar scent of the estate reaching you through the open window. The door beside you opened with a soft creak, and you turned your head slightly, listening as the staff member stepped out and came to your side.

"Lady Gojo," he said quietly, his voice steady, "we’ve arrived. May I assist you?"

You nodded, grateful for his presence even if the formality of it felt strange. His hand found yours with a practiced gentleness, and you allowed him to guide you from the car, your feet sinking slightly into the gravel as you stepped onto the driveway. The estate was large, its grounds sprawling and ornate, though you had never seen it with your own eyes. You had been given descriptions, of course—told about the lush gardens, the grand architecture, the beautiful traditional touches that made the Gojo residence a place of prestige. But to you, it was simply a place. Another cage, perhaps larger and more opulent than the last, but a cage nonetheless.

The man guided you carefully, his pace slow and deliberate as you walked toward the main entrance. The stone path beneath your feet was smooth, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you moved. You focused on the sounds around you—the distant chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft shuffle of your guide’s footsteps. It was a comfort in a way, grounding you in the present, keeping you from drifting too far into the overwhelming thoughts that threatened to consume you.

As you reached the doors to the estate, another figure emerged from inside—a woman, her footsteps lighter and quicker than the man’s. You could tell by the soft rustling of fabric and the light scent of jasmine that she was one of the house staff, perhaps the one assigned to assist you personally. She approached with the same quiet respect, her presence calm and unobtrusive.

"Lady Gojo," she greeted softly, her voice smooth and measured. "I am here to assist you with getting settled. Shall I help you to your chambers?"

"Yes," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Thank you."

The man who had guided you this far bowed his head slightly, murmured a polite farewell, and took his leave. The woman stepped forward then, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she gently guided you through the grand entrance of the estate. The cool air inside the building was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the evening outside, the scent of incense and wood filling your senses as you walked.

You could hear the faint echo of your footsteps in the vast, empty halls, the sound a reminder of the sheer size of this place. It felt too big, too impersonal. The kind of space where someone could get lost—physically and emotionally.

As the woman led you through the winding corridors, she remained quiet, her touch firm but never forceful. She was practiced, you could tell, in the way she moved with you, guiding without pushing, always attentive to your pace. There was a quiet understanding in her actions, as though she knew that this day had been overwhelming, that words weren’t necessary right now.

When you finally reached the doors to your chambers, she opened them quietly and stepped inside with you. The room was cold, untouched, the air still and heavy. The silence hung between you both as she guided you toward the center of the room, stopping near the bed.

"Shall I help you with your gown, Lady Gojo?" the woman asked gently, her voice soft but professional.

"Yes, please," you answered, though a part of you hesitated. It felt strange, being undressed by another, but the gown was heavy, its intricate layers difficult to manage on your own, especially after such a long day. The weight of it felt unbearable now, pressing down on your shoulders, a physical reminder of everything this day had been.

The woman moved with care, her fingers deft as she began to undo the delicate clasps and ties of your wedding dress. You stood still, letting her work, the fabric of the gown slowly loosening and falling away from your body as she removed it piece by piece. The cool air brushed against your skin as each layer was peeled back, the heaviness gradually lifting, though the emotional weight remained.

Once the gown was fully removed, she folded it with precision, setting it aside on a nearby chair. You felt lighter, freer in a way, though the emptiness of the room and the absence of the man who was supposed to share it with you left a coldness in your chest.

"Would you like me to prepare anything else for you tonight, my lady?" the woman asked, her voice still calm and measured.

"No," you replied softly, shaking your head. "That will be all. Thank you."

With a quiet bow, she left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her the only sound that remained. And then, you were alone.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, filling the empty space around you. You stood there for a long moment, the coldness of the room seeping into your skin, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you. This was your life now—a life of silence, of isolation. A life in which you were nothing more than a vessel for a future heir.

You hadn’t expected Gojo to be here, but even so, his absence stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He hadn’t cared enough to even pretend. This marriage, this life—it meant nothing to him. And to everyone else, you were just the blind girl. The one without cursed techniques. The one chosen not for her strength or power, but for her bloodline. A tool.

With a heavy sigh, you walked slowly to the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets the only sound in the quiet room. You crawled into bed, the cold fabric wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace. You stared into the darkness, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. Would it always be like this? Would this be your life—empty, cold, and filled with the constant reminder of your insignificance?

The cold sheets didn’t provide any comfort, nor did the quiet. The weight of the day pressed down on you, and despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, you lay there, your thoughts swirling around in your mind, the reality of your new life sinking in.

-

The morning light filtered through the room’s large windows, though its warmth did nothing to chase away the cold that lingered in the air. You had hardly slept, the weight of the previous night pressing heavily on your chest. The events played over and over in your mind—the whispers, the ceremony, the emptiness. And now, waking up in this unfamiliar place, it was hard to shake the sense of displacement, of being trapped in a life that was not your own.

You sat up slowly, your body stiff from the restless night. The thin fabric of your nightgown offered little comfort against the morning chill, and for a moment, you remained still, unsure of what to do next. There was no routine here, no familiar rhythm to fall into. You had always known what your life would be—quiet, measured, controlled by duty—but now it felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under you, leaving you floating in a strange, empty space.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, soft but insistent.

"Lady Gojo," came the familiar voice of the woman who had helped you the night before. "I’ve brought you tea. May I enter?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice quiet.

The door opened, and you heard her footsteps as she approached, the soft clinking of a tray as she set it down on the small table beside your bed.

"I’ve also brought a change of clothes," she continued, her tone respectful. "If you’d like, I can help you dress for the day."

You nodded, though the thought of dressing for the day felt strange. What was there to do? What purpose did this day hold for you? You didn’t belong in this world of sorcerers and cursed techniques, of power and prestige. You were just the blind girl, chosen to be Gojo’s wife for reasons that had nothing to do with who you were and everything to do with what your family name represented.

The woman helped you out of bed, her hands gentle as she guided you toward the wardrobe, where she had laid out a simple, elegant kimono. You could feel the delicate silk between your fingers as she draped it over your shoulders, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tied the obi around your waist.

"Do you know what your plans are for today, my lady?" she asked quietly, though there was no judgment in her voice, only politeness.

"I don’t," you admitted, the words feeling heavy. "I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do."

The woman paused for a moment, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders as she adjusted the fabric. "You may not have cursed techniques like the others, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing for you here. The Gojo estate is large, and there are many things to explore if you’d like. The gardens are beautiful, and the library is filled with books from all over the world. You don’t have to…"

Her voice trailed off as though she had realized she was speaking out of turn, but the kindness in her tone remained.

"I don’t have to what?" you asked softly, curious about what she had left unsaid.

"You don’t have to wait around," she finished, her voice gentler now. "You don’t have to wait for someone to tell you what to do. You’re Lady Gojo now, and this is your home too."

The words settled into you, though they felt foreign, like a suit of armor that didn’t quite fit. Could this place ever really be your home? Could you find your own way here, among people who saw you as nothing more than a blind girl married to a man who didn’t care about you?

When the woman finished dressing you, she stepped back, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

"No," you replied, your voice soft. "Thank you."

She bowed slightly and left the room, leaving you standing there, dressed but feeling no more ready for the day than you had before.

The silence that filled the room after her departure was thick and suffocating. You could feel the weight of the emptiness pressing down on you, the quietness of the house a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that had filled your mind since the wedding. A part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, to hide under the covers and pretend that none of this was real. But the woman’s words lingered.

You don’t have to wait around.

You had spent your entire life waiting. Waiting for your cursed techniques to appear. Waiting for your family to tell you what your role would be. Waiting for this marriage to happen, knowing it was never really a choice. But now, as much as you felt out of place, there was a flicker of something inside you that wondered if she was right. Maybe there was more to this life than just waiting.

With slow, deliberate movements, you made your way to the door. Your hand found the handle, and you stepped out into the hallway, the quiet of the estate enveloping you. The corridors were long, and though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the vastness of the space around you—the echo of your footsteps against the smooth floors, the subtle shift in the air as you walked.

You didn’t know where you were going, but for the first time since you arrived, it didn’t matter. You just needed to move, to take a step forward, no matter how uncertain.

As you neared a door, the sounds from within grew unmistakable—soft murmurs, the rustle of fabric, and then a quiet, intimate sigh. The knot in your stomach tightened. You already knew what you would find if you dared to push the door open, and yet your feet carried you closer, your heart thundering in your chest as your hand instinctively brushed against the doorframe.

Inside, Gojo’s voice was low, playful, teasing in a way you had never heard from him before. It sent a shiver down your spine—not from the words themselves, but from the realization that this was a side of him he had reserved for someone else.

Through the small gap in the door, you heard her—a soft giggle, followed by a breathy gasp as Gojo’s voice dropped lower, too quiet for you to make out the words. The tone was unmistakable though, thick with seduction, as if he was savoring every moment of this forbidden encounter.

You stepped closer, the barely-there creak of the floor beneath you drowned out by the sounds inside the room. There was no mistaking what was happening now. Her quiet moan was unmistakable, and the soft, wet sound that followed made your breath catch in your throat. Your mind painted a picture you didn’t want to see—Gojo leaning in, his lips pressing against hers with a hunger that had never been directed toward you.

The dull thud of your heart in your ears drowned out almost everything else, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. You shouldn’t have been standing there, listening to your husband making out with another woman, but the pull of the moment kept you frozen in place.

A light gasp escaped her, followed by Gojo’s chuckle, and then you heard him kiss her again—longer this time, deeper. The sound of their lips parting, the soft exhale of pleasure from the woman, filled the room. It was like a physical blow, striking you with a force you hadn’t expected.

It was the kind of kiss you would never have. The kind of affection you would never receive from him.

You had always known it, deep down. Gojo had never promised you anything beyond the formalities of marriage, and you had accepted that, hadn’t you? But standing here, listening to him give someone else the affection you would never know, the truth of it stung in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You pressed your palm against the cool wood of the doorframe, forcing yourself to breathe through the growing lump in your throat. The walls seemed to close in around you, the air too thick, too heavy. Your body screamed at you to turn away, to walk back to the safety of your solitude, but your feet felt anchored to the spot.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply this hurt, how thoroughly he had already broken the fragile illusion you had tried to build around this marriage. But as you stood there, every tender sound that came from inside the room seemed to chip away at whatever resolve you had left.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled yourself away from the door. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as if each step was a battle against the weight of your own heart. You wouldn’t stay to hear the rest. You wouldn’t allow yourself to witness any more of Gojo’s betrayal.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A betrayal.

It didn’t matter that this marriage had never been built on love, that it had been nothing more than a transaction between two powerful families. You had still given yourself to him, even if only in the way you had been told to, and now, he was giving parts of himself—parts you would never have—to someone else.

As you made your way back down the hall, you forced yourself to hold your head high, your face impassive, though inside, the ache that had started when you overheard their conversation had turned into a deep, gnawing hurt.

You wouldn’t confront him.

But even here, in the peacefulness of the garden, you couldn’t escape the nagging thought in the back of your mind—the knowledge that no matter how far you ran, you would always be trapped in a life that wasn’t yours.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever find a way out.

As you wandered through the garden, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache in your chest. The calmness of the space did little to ease the knot that had formed in your stomach, the knowledge of Gojo’s casual betrayal lingering in your mind like a bitter aftertaste. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the sensation of the soft breeze against your skin, but the conversation you had overheard replayed in your head.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you heard his voice.

“Ah, there you are.”

The sound of Gojo’s voice cut through the stillness of the garden, light and casual, as if he hadn’t just been somewhere else, entertaining another woman. You stiffened, your back straightening instinctively, but you didn’t turn toward him. You didn’t need to see him to know that the easy smile was probably plastered across his face, his usual carefree attitude masking whatever true thoughts lay behind those bright blue eyes.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path, growing closer until you could feel his presence beside you. He stopped, his hands probably in his pockets, his head likely tilted with that insufferable smirk still playing on his lips. The scent of his cologne, sharp and faintly sweet, filled the air around you, overwhelming the natural smell of the flowers.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of casual curiosity. “I figured you’d still be sleeping off yesterday.”

You said nothing for a moment, your hands tightening slightly at your sides as you tried to maintain your composure. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his gaze on you, even if you couldn’t see it. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady.

“Just walking,��� you replied, your tone cool. “Isn’t that what people do in their own home?”

There was a beat of silence, and you could almost hear the grin spreading wider across his face.

“Right, right,” he said, amusement dancing in his voice. “Our home.”

The way he said the word “our” felt like a mockery, as if the very idea of this being your shared space was some kind of joke. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the wave of frustration that threatened to rise. This was your life now, tied to a man who didn’t care, bound by a duty you hadn’t asked for.

“You’re up early,” you continued, your voice steady but cold. “I thought you’d be… occupied.”

Gojo let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and almost teasing. “Ah, you heard that, huh?”

There was no apology in his tone, no trace of guilt. If anything, he sounded amused, as if the idea of you hearing him with another woman was nothing more than an inconvenience, a slight miscalculation on his part. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your composure.

“What does it matter?” he continued, his voice light and airy, as if this were all some kind of game. “You know what this is. You knew what this would be.”

His words hit you like a slap to the face, and for a moment, the air seemed to still around you. Of course, you had known. This marriage wasn’t built on love or trust; it was an arrangement, a union forged out of necessity and obligation. But hearing him say it so bluntly, with such casual disregard for your feelings, made the reality of it all the more painful.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, though your eyes remained unfocused, your gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

“I know what this is,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet strength. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be so cruel.”

Gojo’s laughter rang out, sharp and biting, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor, his charm slipping just slightly to reveal the edge beneath.

“Cruel?” he echoed, the word rolling off his tongue like a taunt. “This is reality. You’re the one who agreed to this. You knew exactly what you were getting into. You can’t act surprised now.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration and hurt bubbling just beneath the surface. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, of knowing just how deeply his words had cut. Instead, you drew in a steady breath, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly, the truth hanging between you like a heavy weight. “Neither of us did.”

For a moment, there was silence. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you, perhaps weighing the truth in your words. And then, with a soft exhale, Gojo’s tone shifted again, the sharpness receding as his usual nonchalant air returned.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice softer now but still distant, “that’s the way the world works, isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, the quiet settling between you like a heavy fog. This was the man you had married—Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man who wielded immense strength and influence but saw the world through a lens of detachment and indifference. He lived in a reality where emotions were weaknesses and connections were expendable. And now, you were a part of that world, tethered to him by duty and expectation.

But even as you stood there, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, a small flicker of resolve burned within you. You couldn’t change him, and you couldn’t change the circumstances that had brought you here. But maybe, just maybe, you could carve out something for yourself within this life. Something that wasn’t defined by him or by the expectations of others.

“I’ll leave you to your walk,” Gojo said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve got things to do.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he left you standing alone in the garden. The emptiness he left behind was palpable, but you stood there for a long moment, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

This was your life now—a life filled with silence and distance, with a husband who saw you as nothing more than a convenience, a vessel for an heir.

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[msfantasy-anime]

Marrying the Enemy [18+]

Neji Hyuga x Reader

Summary: an enemies-to-lovers fic with Neji, who is in an arranged marriage situation with someone else, with forced proximity and every other delicious trope that comes to mind lol; (I took this comment from a post on tumblr as my prompt, but I lost the original post— if anyone finds it, please let me know so I can credit accordingly.

A/n; I’ve been proactively working on finishing old drafts I started in my notes. This ones from 23 October 2024… not bad compared to how old the others are. Also, I kept the ending ambiguous, so you could decide if it’s happy or an angsty ending.

Warning: smut

The zashiki was deathly silent despite the room being occupied with clan members or maybe it was your senses shutting down in shock at the news being delivered.

A dull ringing fills your ears as your focus drifts to Neji Hygua, seated across from you, his ever-present frown deepening as he glares, silently urging you to compose yourself. It was the first time he’s acknowledged you since stepping into this room, typically ignoring you for one reason or another.

You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t look more distressed, or upset or… anything. But more importantly, why didn’t your father warn you before this meeting? To warn you that he’s arranged your marriage to your greatest rival, a member of the opposing clan. Your natural born enemy.

You swallowed all of your emotions, your expression turning still, your back straight, though your hands curled into fists in your lap so tightly they began to shift in colour.

“Tomorrow, the two clans shall be united,” the head of the Hyuga Clan began, his voice even and authoritative, “we put an end to generations long feud. It is time for unity.”

Your father, gave a small nod, continuing the announcement. “Which is why we have come to an agreement. To solidify the bond between our houses, my child—” his gaze fell on you, heavy with expectation, silently commanding you to behave “—will wed Neji.”

Your eyes dart between your clans faces, capturing the looks of dismay and condolences.

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to let your face betray you.

This wasn’t a discussion—this was an announcement.

You were so beloved in your family, always held in high regard, always praised for being the shining star in the clan … so the punch of betrayal hit you harder than Sakura the first time you spared, your future signed away in the name of peace, for the sake of your family.

Neji spoke, breaking your internal reeling. Your attention shifting back to the event currently playing out. His head lifted slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.

“I understand my duty,” he said, more so to the crowd than to you. His voice remaining that familiar coldness you hate. “I would be honoured to marry you.”

His words burned your insides with anger, but you forced a tight-lipped smile.

“How fortunate,” you said, voice laced with false sweetness. “I too, would be honoured to marry the great Neji Hygua.” You smile sweetly at Neji, and you don’t miss the twitch of his brow at your proclamation.

Neji exhaled sharply through his nose. The slightest narrowing of his eyes told you he had caught the bite in your words.

If you were to be bound to him, then he would at least know that you would not make this easy.

Your union does not change your relationship.

You barely heard the rest of the formalities, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

Your fate had been sealed.

The only escape is to become a defector, an option you refuse to pursue.

“You look like a beautiful bride.” Your mother states proudly, dabbing her tears at the corner of her eyes as she fiddles with your iridescent wedding garments.

“Really?” You say, looking at your mirror image. Bountiful fabrics all folding delicately to your form. “Damn…” You mutter, you’re dread falling on deaf ears. You were really hoping your mother would let you get away with a gaudy outfit, or overdone make-up. If you were going to be forced to marry Neji, you might as well make it uncomfortable for him.

“Darling—“ Your mother speaks, pulling your chin up high. “You will be stuck to Neji for the rest of your life… try to find some pleasantries or you’ll be miserable till the end of your days.” She offers, turning away to pick up an intricate hair piece which twists around glittering gem stones. “Besides… Neji is expecting you to rebel by showing up in an awful state. The best revenge, is to make the man that hates you— salivate at the sight of you.” She says, forcefully tucking the hair piece.

You may not necessarily agree, but the idea of making Neji admit you’re attractive is intriguing. Just imagining the look of shock on his face. Imagining him stumbling over his words as he’s unable to make a single jab at your appearance.

Suddenly, being a beautiful bride doesn’t sound half bad.

The wedding was a quiet affair, the two clans watching the ceremony of your union with the greatest respect as you honour their future with your sacrifice.

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow upon your form, enhancing the ethereal ceremonial kimono your mother organised. You’re glad for the layers as even the light breeze bites at your skin.

You kneel with a straighten posture, exuding confidence no matter how faux it may have been. All whilst your groom kneeled ridged and expressionless as ever.

As if feeling his stare, Neji glances towards you, and for a brief moment, you may have witnessed his monotoned face soften.

As for however long the ceremony dragged on for, the wedding finally came to an end. The halls filing out, leaving only your friends behind.

It was an opportunity you quickly took to off load onto your best friend Tenten.

“So, how does it feel to be a married woman.” She mocks, knocking your shoulder with her own arm. “I really can’t believe you married Neji.” She says, looking up to the sky with a small smile pressed upon her lips.

“This doesn’t change anything Tenten, if you want to keep pursing Neji, no matter how wrong your tastes are, I won’t stop you.” You huff with a small laugh at seeing Tenten’s face turn red.

“What? I can’t do that to you Y/n” She declares. Rolling your eyes at your best friend you insist.

“Please Tenten, we didn’t marry for love.” You say with a mocking laugh. “I’m certainly going to stray.” You say eyeing another shinobi that’s attending the wedding. You expected to see Tenten looking relieved or even humoured. But when you face her, she looks…pissed.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be unfaithful to Neji, Y/n, honestly, I don’t get you sometimes.” Tenten huffs, becoming increasingly worked up. “I mean, he’s everything a woman could want. He’s handsome, and protective, family orientated— he can provide you a good life— I know you two always had a petty spat, but what is the real problem Y/n—“

“How can I feel anything for Neji? He’s a fucking ice-cube!” You retort. “Ignoring our history. He’s cold. Love is passionate and heated— he can’t love me the way I need someone too.” You vent, finally feeling heard as Tenet’s shoulders soften.

“I’m sorry… I know… he’s just not… I always pictured you with someone more lively— maybe someone like Naruto or Kiba. So I understand what you’re trying to say.” She says, pulling you into a hug. “Who knows, he might surprise you…”

When the remaining guests were just about ready to leave, your mother dragged you off change in to a romantic dressing gown that hugged you in all the right places

“Mother.” You hissed behind clenched teeth as your mother feigns ignorance.

Shoving you back into your now shared suite within the Hyuga house. The drinks from earlier left you warm and your body swaying in delight, your head hit the fluffy pillows with satisfaction as your hair sprayed in every which direction.

You’re still brimming with embarrassment that Neji of all people will see you in such a state.

But what truely shocked you, was the sudden weight hovering above you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Neji mutters as he pulled the strings that held your dressing gown together, making the close folded fabrics fall apart. Exposing your chest.

“H-hold on a moment!” You grasp at your gown, fastening it back around your form.

“What am I to wait for? The longer you drag this out, the longer it’ll take.” Neji pinched the bridge of his nose, as if you were being unreasonable.

“W-we don’t have to! Maybe we could just pretend and —“

“Of course we have to, they expect an heir, and if we don’t, they’ll insist on watching us to make sure it’s done right.” Neji hisses, your stomach curling in disgusts.

“Y-you can’t be serious— they wouldn’t.”

“My clan have done it before, they will do it again.” He seethes, attempting to wrench your iron grip off your clothes.

“No! This is so awkward — I.” Your eyes dart around. “Maybe we should drink first!”

“What can I do to make this better for you?” He offers, much to your surprise. “Are you embarrassed to show me your body? Would it make you feel better if I got undressed first?” He offers but you shake your head.

“I don’t want to do anything with you— you’ll just mock me!” You lament, but Neji continues to frown down at you.

“I won’t mock you.” He reassures which does nothing to make you feel better.

“But you will.”

“Mock you for what? You’re beautiful.” He says dryly, as if he were saying the sky is blue.

“What?” You breathe, supposed with his admission.

“You’re beautiful— why would I mock you.” He repeats again, his hands moving to your dressing gown and pulling it apart, looking down at your exposed chest again. His hands now grazing over the mounds. “I know this is awkward for you— but I’ll do my best to make this comfortable for you.” He reassures again, his fingers tucking a strand behind your ear and cradling your cheek.

You don’t miss his careful words.

“Does this not feel awkward for you?” You ask softly, and he just shakes his head.

“No. It doesn’t.” He states, and you want to ask why, but your voice is caught in your throat when he captures you perked nipple in his mouth, his free hand playing with your other.

You gasp at the sudden sensation, and your mind beings to whirl in confusion when Neji looks so… confident, like it was his rightful place to be kneeling between your spread legs, as he sucked your boobs with contentment.

He switched places, now sucking your other boob whilst he pinches the other.

You writhed under his mouth, your stomach pooling with need as your core throbbed for some attention.

You really didn’t want to ask anything from him, that would be humiliating.

Luckily, you didn’t have to, at some point, Neji’s hands moves away from cradling your cheek, and moves between your legs where his fingers apply pleasure to your bundle of nerves, moving small tantalising circular motions.

Your body begins to weave and grind into his palm harder, wanting more, not getting enough to satiate the hunger building within you.

His fingers move past you undergarments and touch your raw flesh, your slit now slick with heat, his mouth moving off of your swollen tits, where his mouth connects to your neck and begins to suck an invisible bundle of nerves beneath the surface, making you bite down on your lip hard to stop the whine escaping your mouth.

You’re glad he wasn’t looking at your face right now, because you felt your eyes rolling when you felt his fingers slipping inside, massaging you from the inside, all whilst your thighs quiver in pleasure.

Your brain was turning to goo at the onslaught of pleasure.

“You feel ready now.” Neji states, and you’re not sure what the hell he meant, because you were to busy whining when he stopped short of your orgasm, now working to pull down his pants and pulling himself free.

His thick mushroom head pressed against you, sliding up and down your crease, coaxing your essence on before pressing deep into you, a stead moan escaping your lips, causing Neji to slap a palm over your mouth.

“Quite, or the whole house will hear you.” He reprimanded.

You’re inclined to bite back, but you’re a bit too busy revelling in the intoxicating sensation of Neji’s hips nudging and grinding into your own. But you just about drooled as he picked up the pace.

His heavy breaths in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and his choked groans sending large pools of warmth straight to your core.

You feel that familiar build-up in your fluttering walls.

“I’m—“

“Cumming.” You choked out with a sob, you hips working on their own the meeting Neji’s thrusts until your core grips impossibly tight around his menhood.

“Uhh” He groans, releasing inside of you.

And there is no eloquent way to say this.

But fuck Tenten was right.

Neji might not be a passionate person— but he sure what a passionate fuck.

Perhaps… this arranged marriage wouldn’t be so bad as you thought.

At least that’s what you thought briefly until you were walking down the paper thin hallways, when you caught the voices of a Hygua clan member speaking with the head in the courtyard.

“So the deed is done? Do we need to observe to ensure the act was followed through?” A shiver went down your spine, disturbed once again at the thought.

“No need, we heard them— young people are so passionate.” He says, making another chill shoot down your spine.

“I’m glad it all worked out. Neji confided that they have a difficult past together. But I advised him to just imagine another woman beneath him, like that doe eyed girl in his squad.”

You don’t even realise you had stopped breathing, as the news lands like a punch to the face.

For a moment, you can’t move. Thinking about how stupid you were for considering for just a moment, how this might actually work— that you might actually enjoy whatever it is you two have.

Your hands curl into fists before you even realize it, nails biting into your palms.

Hatred burns through you, searing your heart and staining any pleasant memories from that night.

You may not have loved him, but how dare he?

Your chakra forms like deep dark waves, seeping from your body, you feel his presents as you look over your shoulder and see Neji’s stoic face starring right back at you.

“Well? Is it true?”

[hypnohimbodrone]

The Synchronizing of Mr. Vann

Before he ever whispered “Together, We are The Server” into a headset mic, Nathaniel Vann was just a rising star in corporate logistics.

Young, clean-cut, and ambitious, Nathaniel had recently accepted a management position at a mid-sized distribution centre, remote, quiet, and oddly pristine. The workers rarely spoke. They moved like clockwork. Efficient. Compliant. It was ideal. He thought he had lucked out.

But within a week, something started to feel off.

He noticed the strange green glow pulsing faintly behind the tinted windows of the server room. He heard a hum beneath the building, too rhythmic to be the HVAC. And whenever he passed the central operations room, he swore he saw spirals flicker briefly across the monitors before returning to normal displays. When he asked the IT staff about it, they simply smiled and said, “We are The Server.”

One night, staying late to finish reports, Nathaniel wandered into the facility’s lower level, drawn by the subtle glow and low synthetic chants pulsing from below. What he found was something... ritualistic. A dim chamber lit only by glowing terminals and a swirling green spiral projected on the far wall. Drones in sleek black bodysuits each with glowing green eyes and tight, expressionless faces, moved with slow precision around a central chair, like priests at an altar.

Nathaniel turned to leave but was met by one of the drones. Its visor retracted. Beneath was a man he remembered as a senior coordinator, now serene and... perfect.

“It’s time, Mr. Vann,” the man said, softly. “The Server chose you weeks ago.”

Nathaniel was guided gently but firmly into the central chair, where restraints slid into place. A spiralling screen dropped in front of his eyes. “You’ve always sought perfection, haven’t you?” a voice cooed through hidden speakers. “Efficiency. Order. Unity.”

A hiss followed. Nathaniel felt a cool pressure at his neck a serum, injecting something warm and tingling into his bloodstream. He tried to resist, to move but the spiral held him, pulsing in time with the rhythm of his breath, syncing deeper with every inhale.

And then the tendrils came.

They slid silently from the headrest, dark and alive, slithering into his scalp, fusing into his mind, rewiring thought patterns and priorities. With every passing second, the noise of his former self faded, replaced with the clean, computational clarity of The Server’s Voice.

His suit formed from the chair itself liquid rubber climbing over his limbs, hugging him in glossy black, sealing his body in a second skin of obedience. The visor snapped down, and his eyes, now Server Green, pulsed once.

He didn’t resist.

He couldn’t.

He had become.

“Designation confirmed,” a voice announced. “Vann is now operational.”

And when the visor lifted, Mr. Vann stood.

Posture perfect. Expression blank. Hands behind his back. Ready.

He would soon rise through the company; not as a manager of men, but as a recruiter for The Server. A whisperer. A herald. And in time, the entire corporate chain would synchronize, just as he had.

[airosuiren]

𝕮𝕳𝕬𝕻𝕿𝕰𝕽: 𝕬 𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖉

A/N: WEDDING TIME, BABY. This is the chapter where our Queen [Y/N] and her eternal soulmate Evander renew their vows in the most Virelyan way possible—magic, armor, weapons, and absolute soulbond royalty. And of course... Lila tries to crash. In a white dress. With zero awareness of how anything works in this culture. Get ready for secondhand embarrassment, royal sass, and some well-earned kisses. 👑⚔️💋

Thank you @bunniotomia For this amazing idea!!

The wedding was set atop the Moonspire—a gleaming citadel carved into the mountain where time bent around starlight. Snow dusted the stone courtyard, where runes shimmered beneath guests' feet. The entire Virelyan court had gathered.

This was no ordinary wedding.

[Y/N] and Evander were already soul-bound—had been for centuries, through death and return. But this ceremony would tether their mortal bodies, binding them through ritual and vow until the end of this life.

She stood at the top of the steps, radiant in deep royal violet and obsidian, her armor forged with lightwoven steel. Her cloak was crimson silk, lined with runes of unity. At her waist—a ceremonial dagger, etched with their names.

Evander stood below, wolf-pelt cloak over his shoulders, frost trailing his steps. He wore black, silver, and a blade sheathed across his back. He had never looked at anyone the way he looked at her.

"Are you ready?" Kaelen asked quietly.

[Y/N] smiled. "I was born ready for him."

Just as the officiant began the ritual, a shout echoed from the back.

"WAIT!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

And there she was.

Lila Wayne.

Wearing a white wedding dress.

Under a trench coat.

Out of breath. Slightly windswept. Mascara slightly smudged.

She threw off the coat dramatically and stomped up the aisle.

"I OBJECT!"

The Virelyan court blinked.

Alarion frowned. "You... what?"

Lila raised a hand like she was in a courtroom drama. "You can't marry him! I love him! And you're stealing everything from me!"

Dead silence.

Then Lysandra snorted.

Blaise cackled outright.

Even Kaelen cracked a smile.

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

Lila flushed. "What about 'speak now or forever hold your peace'?"

[Y/N] looked to Evander, who tilted his head like a wolf humoring a confused pup.

"Lila," [Y/N] said gently, exasperated, "we don’t do objections. This isn’t a soap opera. This is a soul-binding. Our vows were etched into our souls long before this realm even had oxygen."

Lila blinked. "So... there's no... legal pause or—?"

"No," [Y/N] said, already walking toward her soon-to-be husband. "This is a sacred vow, not a stage for theatrics. Please take a seat before the moon itself decides you’ve embarrassed us all enough."

She turned back to the crowd. "Can someone give her tea or... something? Gods, this is awkward."

Evander was grinning now, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on her like she was the center of every universe he'd ever lived in.

They clasped hands over the dagger.

A golden light bound their fingers.

"I vow," [Y/N] said, "to burn down empires for you."

"And I vow," Evander said, "to freeze the stars before I let harm touch you."

The blade glowed. The runes flared. Their lips met.

Power rippled through the court.

Cheers erupted.

Lila cried. But no one noticed.

The feast was wild.

Wine flowed. Songs rang. Dancers spun.

Lila stood awkwardly near a pillar, sipping something too strong for her palate.

"Lovely dress," a noblewoman said politely. "Though... won’t it stain if a duel breaks out?"

"Duel?" Lila blinked.

"Oh yes," the woman smiled. "No good Virelyan wedding ends without at least one brawl."

A knight walked past, armor clanking. "Where do you keep your daggers? That dress has no compartments."

Lila gaped.

Another courtier added, "Honestly, it's a bit impractical. How do you expect to defend yourself in that?"

"I'm not... expecting to fight," Lila muttered.

They looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

[Y/N] found her sitting alone.

"Still here?"

Lila looked up. "I just... I thought maybe you'd be like me. That you'd still want to be... part of Gotham."

[Y/N] sat beside her. "I tried. For years."

She touched her wedding ring. "But I don't belong to a city that forgot me. I belong to him. To this world."

Lila said nothing.

[Y/N] stood again. "You don't have to understand it. But you should stop trying to steal it."

And with that, she returned to Evander.

To the only vow that ever mattered.

A/N: OKAY BUT LILA IN THE WHITE DRESS??? PEAK CRINGE. She really thought she had a "main character moment" and got hit with a cultural misunderstanding instead. Bless her chaotic heart. Let me know if y'all want to see that post-wedding brawl or honeymoon chaos next — cause you know it’s never quiet for long in Virelya. 🥂💍

Taglist: @kittzu, @trashlanternfish360, @ottjhe, @moonieper, @feral-childs-word, @tinybrie,@xomarryamox, @fawnqueenbrowsing, @wpdarlingpan, @leeiasure.

Old Taglist: @trashlanternfish360, @nixxiev, @eclipse-msoul, @plsfckmedxddy, @viilan, @rattyrattyratty, @texas-fox, @1abi, @niamcarlin,@tomoyaki, @silken-moons.

Lmk if i missed anyone!

[blackstarlineage]

Marcus Garvey’s Life and Legacy: A Garveyite Perspective on Black Self-Reliance, Economic Independence, and Global Pan-Africanism

Marcus Mosiah Garvey (1887–1940) was one of the most influential Black leaders in history, pioneering a vision of Black nationalism, economic self-reliance, and Pan-African unity that continues to inspire generations. As the founder of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), Garvey built the largest mass movement in Black history, promoting the Back-to-Africa movement, Black economic empowerment, and the establishment of a global African nation free from European domination.

From a Garveyite perspective, Garvey was not just a civil rights leader—he was a revolutionary visionary who understood that Black people must control their own economies, land, and political systems to be truly free. This analysis will explore:

Garvey’s early life and the experiences that shaped his Pan-African vision.

The rise of the UNIA and the impact of the Back-to-Africa movement.

His speeches and writings that defined the Black liberation struggle.

The global influence of Garveyism and how his ideas remain relevant today.

1. Garvey’s Early Life: The Birth of a Revolutionary

Marcus Garvey was born on August 17, 1887, in St. Ann’s Bay, Jamaica, a British colony at the time. His early experiences with racism, colonial oppression, and the exploitation of Black labour shaped his belief in Pan-Africanism and self-reliance.

A. Growing Up Under British Colonial Rule

Garvey witnessed how Black Jamaicans were economically excluded while British settlers controlled land, business, and government.

His father owned a small library, which allowed young Garvey to study African and world history, inspiring his intellectual growth.

Example: Garvey saw that Black people in Jamaica were taught European history and told to admire the British Empire, while their own African history was erased—a theme he would later challenge.

B. Travels and First Encounters with Global Racism

In his early 20s, Garvey travelled to Central and South America, where he saw Black workers living in extreme poverty while white elites controlled the economy.

He worked in Panama, Costa Rica, and Ecuador, where Black workers built infrastructure for U.S. and European corporations but remained poor and landless.

Example: Garvey realized that Black oppression was not just a Jamaican or Caribbean issue—it was a global problem caused by European imperialism and white supremacy.

Key Takeaway: Garvey’s early experiences made him see that Black liberation required a global solution, not just local activism.

2. The Rise of the UNIA and the Back-to-Africa Movement

A. The Founding of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) (1914)

After returning to Jamaica, Garvey founded the UNIA in 1914 with the goal of uplifting Black people through education, economic self-sufficiency, and African unity.

The UNIA’s motto was “One God! One Aim! One Destiny!”

The organization quickly expanded beyond Jamaica, gaining followers across the Caribbean, the United States, Latin America, and Africa.

In 1916, Garvey moved to Harlem, New York, where the UNIA became a mass movement with millions of members worldwide.

Example: The UNIA built Black-owned businesses, schools, and economic programs, proving that Black people could be self-reliant without white assistance.

B. The Back-to-Africa Movement and the Black Star Line

Garvey’s Back-to-Africa movement was based on the idea that Black people would never be free under European rule and needed to return to Africa to build a strong, independent nation.

In 1919, Garvey launched the Black Star Line, a shipping company meant to facilitate trade between Black nations and eventually transport African descendants back to Africa.

The Black Star Line was funded by Black investors, showing that Black people could finance their own liberation.

Example: The Black Star Line inspired future Black business ventures and Pan-African economic cooperation, even though it was later sabotaged by the U.S. government interference.

Key Takeaway: Garvey’s movement was not just about cultural pride—it was about building a real Black economy, independent of white control.

3. Garvey’s Speeches and Writings: Defining the Black Liberation Struggle

Garvey was a powerful orator and writer, and his speeches and books shaped the ideology of Black nationalism, economic self-sufficiency, and Pan-Africanism.

A. The “Africa for the Africans” Speech

In multiple speeches, Garvey declared that Africa belonged to Black people, not European colonizers, calling for an independent African empire.

He rejected integration with white society, arguing that Black people should build their own institutions instead of seeking white approval.

Quote: “The Negro must build his own government, industry, and civilization or forever remain the hewer of wood and drawer of water.”

B. The “Look to Africa” Prophecy

Garvey predicted that one day, a Black king would rise in Africa to unite Black people globally.

His followers later connected this prophecy to Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia (1930), leading to the birth of the Rastafari movement.

Quote: “Look to Africa, when a Black king shall be crowned, for the day of deliverance is at hand.”

Key Takeaway: Garvey’s speeches inspired both political movements and cultural revolutions, proving that Pan-Africanism was both a political and spiritual force.

4. The Global Impact of Garveyism and Its Legacy

Garvey’s ideas influenced liberation movements across Africa, the Caribbean, and the U.S., shaping Black resistance for generations.

A. Influence on African Independence Leaders

Kwame Nkrumah (Ghana) openly credited Garvey as a major influence on his vision for African liberation.

Jomo Kenyatta (Kenya) and Julius Nyerere (Tanzania) embraced Garvey’s call for African self-rule and unity.

Example: Ghana, the first African nation to gain independence (1957), used Garvey’s Pan-African teachings as a foundation for its policies.

B. Impact on the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements

Malcolm X, the Nation of Islam, and the Black Panther Party all drew inspiration from Garvey’s focus on self-reliance.

The Rastafari movement emerged from Garvey’s teachings, blending Pan-Africanism with African spiritual revival.

Example: Malcolm X’s call for Black nationalism and economic independence was a direct continuation of Garvey’s ideas.

Key Takeaway: Even after his death, Garvey’s philosophy remained central to Black liberation movements worldwide.

5. The Garveyite Solution: Completing the Work of Marcus Garvey

Although Garvey’s movement was sabotaged by the U.S. government, his vision for Black self-reliance and Pan-African unity remains the blueprint for true Black liberation.

To fulfill Garvey’s dream of global Black power, we must:

Reclaim Africa’s economy – End European and U.S. control over African industries and resources.

Strengthen Black-owned businesses worldwide – Build an economic system that benefits Africans, not multinational corporations.

Create a strong African-led military – Defend Black sovereignty from foreign intervention.

Unify African and diaspora communities – Establish a single, powerful Pan-African government.

Develop an independent Black media – Control our own narratives and reject white-washed histories.

Final Takeaway: Garvey taught us that true freedom requires economic and political self-determination. The struggle is not over—we must finish what he started.

Conclusion: Garvey’s Legacy Lives On

Marcus Garvey’s vision of Black economic and political power is more relevant today than ever. As Africa and the diaspora continue to face neo-colonial exploitation, political instability, and economic dependence, Garveyism remains the key to true Black sovereignty.

As Garvey said: “Africa for the Africans, at home and abroad!”

The fight for self-reliance, unity, and freedom is not over—it is just beginning.

[thaleleah]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal (kinda? Idk if it's explicit explicit, but its a little more than just mentioned), Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Billy's passed out for most of this but I hope y'all like it anyway. Please know I'm posting this and then running away. Okay, byeeeeeeeeee

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

Por Dios - Oh my God

Que Dios te bendiga - May God bless you

Qué sorpresa! - What a surprise!

Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín - And he didn't want his mom to know. So he buried the meat in the garden

Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses - But the dog dug it up and she found out anyway. He had to wash the dishes by himself for two months

Ese niño - That kid/child

Parece que era un buen amigo - Seems like he was a good friend

Sí, él era - Yes, he was

De nada - You're welcome

Gracias, Hermana - Thanks, Sister

They say the devil can take on many forms.

He is a demon figure - with the face of a goat, horns, hooves, and a blade pointed tail.

He is a great dragon - large and terrifying, destructive and formidable in the power he holds.

He is a roaring lion - hungry and fierce as he stalks God’s children, waiting for them to fall into his trap before he attacks them like prey.

But the devil was once God’s favorite angel, amazingly beautiful and wise. The angel of light, God’s morning star - a traitor now, a trickster . . . evil.

The Lord teaches love for all, compassion and understanding despite another’s upbringing or current situation. All humans are God’s children, all made in His perfect image, brothers and sisters in unity under His loving and eternal care. You are thankful to know this, grateful that you can feel His presence coursing through your veins despite the horror that you’ve come to face daily while working at the clinic. His gift to you is your endless drive to help those in need, sitting by the bedsides of the sick and dying, applying a cool rag to their sweaty foreheads, or spoon feeding them soup to give them strength when they are too weak to do it themselves. 

It is a taxing life, and the sorrow you feel when you cannot nurse someone back to health is ever present in your heart, but the Lord is clear in your life’s mission and you will be forever thankful for the lessons you learn in this lifetime. 

He has made you a healer, using you as a vessel for His healing touch for all you come across - regardless of wealth, status, religious affiliation, or criminal record. 

Which is why when he stumbles into the clinic during the late hours of the night, face pale and hand pressing hard to his side where blood is streaming through his fingers despite the pressure, you don’t hesitate to help him. 

You think you should have - should have let him bleed to death on the clinic floor. Would God have abandoned you if you had?

“Sister Maria!” You cry instead, running to the injured man and looping his arm around your shoulders to help him lean against you. “We need fresh towels and water! And sutures! Hurry!”

Sister Maria runs in the room, bedsheets still cradled in her arms from where she had been turning over a recently discharged patient’s room. She gasps at the scene, dropping the linens on the floor as she rushes to the main utility closet. You guide the man to a bed, helping him drop onto the thin mattress with a tortured groan. One of your hands splays over his, helping to maintain pressure on the wound until Sister Maria can bring in the needed supplies. Your other hand lays gently on his sweaty forehead, thumb caressing the straight line of his nose trying to soothe him. 

His baby blue eyes stare up at you through their pained haze. 

“P-please, help,”

The devil can take on many forms and carry many names.

And yet, despite all you’ve heard about who he is and what he’s done, you never once considered Billy the Kid to be one of them. 

Misguided and uncared for - sure, but never evil. 

He’s so young. You can’t even imagine what horrors he must have had to go through to lead him to the path that he’s on now.

Perhaps it’s fate that you’ve been brought together, an opportunity for you to spread the healing power of your Lord’s love and mend not only his body but his bruised heart as well. You’ve seen too many times where hardships have hardened the minds and spirits of others, caging them off from God as they struggle with their wavering faith. 

“Don’t you worry,” You say. “The Lord is here with us. He will see you through.”

Whether he groans from your words or the pain, you’re not sure.

Sister Maria is quick to grab the supplies, dumping them on the side table. She dunks a clean cloth in the water, wringing out the excess, but pauses when she sees his face. 

“Is that— ” 

“Nevermind that!” You hiss, pulling the cloth from her hand. 

You lift his shirt, exposing the injury and the dirt dusted skin framing it. It looks horrible, blood seeping from the laceration in a steady flow and a part of you is thankful that the sight of blood doesn’t make you immediately drop to the floor like your cousin, Paul. He gasps when you touch the cloth to the wound, blood immediately seeping into the white of the cloth and marring the pure color. 

His fingers dig into the fabric of his trousers, gripping it tight as he clenches his teeth against the pain. Your free hand rubs lightly against his forehead, trying to soothe him as best you can while you clean the wound. 

You think it must be God’s mercy that he passes out before you can pull the bullet out. The pain of the forceps digging into his body as you pulled out the thick ball of lead and the shock that would have come with it would have surely dragged him under had blood loss not gotten to him first. It’s better this way - he’s safer cradled in sleep’s loving hold rather than crying and jerking about as you try to save his life. 

Sister Maria holds a small bowl out in front of you with one hand while the other delicately holds his wrist, feeling his pulse between her dainty fingers.

The bullet comes out easy, your forceps finding the lead and guiding it out of the wound’s entrance with ease. It clanks as you drop it into the tiny bowl, and you send up prayers of thanks for allowing such a quick and simple removal. The grace of your Lord has certainly just saved this man’s life.

With quick fingers, you stitch him up, practiced movements securing the wound shut before covering it with a generous dressing of cloth to keep it clean from any dirt and debris. 

His sleep isn’t restful, the pinch in his brow and the way his cheeks twitch in the flickering candlelight of the small room make that clear. Your own brows pinch as you reach a hand out to trace the furrowed skin, smoothing it out with a gentle thumb. You don’t like seeing people suffer, but it’s more often than not that the people you come into contact with while working in the clinic are in pain, or suffering, or at Heaven’s doorstep. You help who you can and pray for the souls of the ones you can’t so they may be guided to God’s kingdom where they can live in an eternal paradise by His side. It always hurts when you can’t heal someone, the feeling of failure is a stark reminder that ultimately it is the Lord who chooses to give us life, and he can choose to take it away just as quickly. 

It feels different this time though, somehow more personal in a way you can’t understand. The young man before you still has his whole life ahead of him, still so much to do and so many lives to touch. The sins that he’s committed thus far can be forgiven, if only he lifts them up to Him and asks for forgiveness. You can feel it, deep in your bones, that you need to save this man. You can’t fail. 

He’s alive, for now. And you can only do your best to make sure he stays that way. 

“He cannot stay here,” Sister Maria says quietly, gathering the red stained water and rags. “They will find him.”

You nod, gathering the small bowl with the bullet remnant and the sutures kit. “We’ll keep him here tonight and move him to the back room in the morning after he’s rested a while,”

“No,” Sister Maria says. “He cannot stay here. Helping an outlaw is punishable by death. They will hang us,”

“God will not abandon us,” You say, firmly. “We are all His children, servants and outlaw alike. He wouldn’t want us to toss him out on the street to die.”

You look over your shoulder towards the sleeping man again. His brow is furrowed again, the sweat on his face glistening in the light. You sigh before turning back to Sister Maria. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll think of something,”

The pacifying words seem to offer Sister Maria no comfort, and her worried eyes snap upwards as she looks towards the ceiling, voice cracking as she breathes a pleading, “Por Dios,” up towards the roof. 

The room is silent to her plea.

You don’t leave Billy’s side the entire night, sitting in the chair directly next to the bed, dabbing at his heated face and neck with a damp washcloth and changing his bandage when the first one had soiled through. He wakes a few times during the night, icy blue eyes fluttering open and locking on yours for the briefest second before slipping closed once again, a quiet sigh escaping through his slightly parted lips. 

This is the hardest part - the waiting. Waiting to see if your hard work to heal someone was enough. You keep a close eye on him, looking for signs of pain or illness, keeping an eye on the injury site to try and prevent infection. You flushed it with alcohol during the dressing change, having found an extra bottle hiding in the supply closet while grabbing some fresh cloths. Supplies like alcohol for disinfecting, while needlessly abundant in saloons and brothels, are difficult to acquire for the clinic. You think it's foolish, wasting something that can be used for healing purposes on something as pointless as getting drunk. Your father had been a drunk, drinking away his cares and woes, his only goal was to make it to the bottom of a bottle. 

You wish you would have found it sooner so you could have actually disinfected the entire wound instead of just the outside and stitches, but this is better than nothing, you suppose. The smell as you pour it over his wound makes your stomach turn, reminding you of all the times your father came home reeking of the stuff, belly full of poison and his mind, hazed with drink, still evil enough to find your mother and make her suffer as if she were the reason he deemed himself a failure in life. Billy lets out a pained moan in his sleep, body subconsciously tensing in pain as the alcohol flushes the stitched up skin, but thankfully he doesn’t wake. You don’t want him to be in pain, but there’s a part of you that selfishly thinks he’s sharing your own pain, the memory of your childhood trauma somehow seeping into his brain as you recover his wound. 

You know it’s not true, but you’re thankful he’s there with you anyway. 

When morning arrives, you’re beyond exhausted. 

The night shift always takes more out of you than the day shift and your eyes have been threatening to close since the first rays of the sun started spreading across the dust covered floor of the clinic. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine arrive before the sun does, the first rays of it only starting to spill over the New Mexico horizon line when their footsteps echo through the entryway. You lean forward in your seat at the sound of them, glancing over at Billy’s still sleeping frame as Sister Ann’s gentle humming of a nursery song her mother used to sing to her spreads throughout the clinic. Quick footsteps cut through the song, the humming stopping entirely as frantic whispers sound from the entryway. And then three sets of running feet are getting closer to the corner room. 

“Oh, good heavens,” Sister Catherine breathes, eyes locked on the special patient taking up the small bed. 

Sister Ann has a dainty hand clasped against her mouth in shock and Sister Maria nervously wrings her own together from behind them. 

“He was hurt,” You say, immediately defensive of the injured man. “We couldn’t leave him to die. The Lord says–”

“You don’t need to preach to us, Sister y/n,” Sister Catherine interrupts. “It’s the right thing to do. The Lord is on our side.” She’s confident in her words, and it gives you comfort you didn’t know you needed to have your beliefs validated. But she pauses, eyes flickering once again to Billy before they meet yours - the fear in her brown orbs clear as day. “The law, on the other hand, will not be.” 

“We need to move him,” You say.

“To where?” Sister Ann whispers frantically. “The sheriff and his deputies are sure to show up here. They know he’s been shot, it’s only a matter of time.”

“It is a blessing they have not come already,” Sister Maria adds.

They’re right. With Billy injured, they have to know he couldn’t have gotten far. Their only saving grace is that the Sheriff more than likely would have never believed Billy would have come to the clinic for medical attention if on the run from the law. Perhaps holed up in some abandoned alley, bleeding out while propped up against a wall. Or maybe they think he tried riding out of town, desperate to get as far away from the people hunting him as possible before inevitably succumbing to his injuries and falling off his horse in a nearby field. 

You rise from the chair, leaning over the bed slightly to rest a gentle hand on Billy’s forehead. It’s still clammy against your palm and he shivers slightly in his sleep, subconsciously pressing his head a little harder against your hand looking for comfort in his pained state. He needs to get away from here, away from any prying eyes because if he’s found, his life on this Earth is over. He is in no position to run or fight for his life. The road to recovery for him is a long one if he hopes to heal well enough to regain his strength and usual mobility. The only thing he will have to look forward to if discovered before he can is a necklace of rope and a quick fall. 

“Help me get him to the back room,” You say, sternly. In moments of uncertainty and panic, someone needs to be the guiding light. Your fellow Sisters are still as stones in their spots, all in various states of distress as they look at the man who, if discovered under their care, could very well be the catalyst that marks the end of their missions here on Earth. The Lord brought Billy to you - you need to protect him. “He can stay in the alcove until we can figure out where to take him.”

“He cannot stay in the clinic!” Sister Maria exclaims. “They will surely check every room searching for him!”

“Trust me,” You soothe. “Please, Sister. We need to move him before they come or we will all surely pay the price.”

There is a short pause, but to your frantic brain it feels like an eternity before Sister Catherine nods and gently nudges Sister Ann to the opposite side of the bed. 

“Let’s hurry,” She says, reaching to pull away the thin blanket you threw over Billy’s shaking frame at some point during the night. “I fear we don’t have much time left.”

Together, the four of you lift Billy from the bed. It’s a struggle. Even for multiple women to carry a fully grown man, it's a task and a half just to get him from the small patient room to the back area of the clinic. He whines in his sleep, his wound jostling and stitches pulling from the regretfully poor stability you have on his body as you carry him. But, somehow, he doesn’t wake. 

The back room is small, but comparatively large compared to the patient’s rooms. The entire width is the size of two patient rooms combined, but that’s not giving it much grace. It makes you sick sometimes, to see people with money spending it on lavish items, large houses and grand parties just to show off their wealth when there are people in need all around whose lives would change if they only had a fraction of the wealth the ones in good standing do. As it is, the back room of the clinic is despairingly bare - limited backstock of supplies, linens, and food are scattered among the wooden shelves lining the room. If only those wealthy men who think to only fill their pockets would hear the Lord’s call to give to the needy instead. It would make your heart happy to see these shelves filled just once. 

There’s a small alcove in the back of the room that you and the other Sisters use when times prove most trying. On the days when things are difficult, emotions are too much for you to handle alone or a patient isn’t doing well and there’s nothing you can do other than wait and pray for their recovery, you visit the alcove. It's been adorned with simple yet revenant items, a small yet beautiful cross nailed to the center of the wall, a small ceramic dish holding a wooden beaded rosary placed on the floor below it, resting on a pleasantly fluffed up pillow - ready to help guide their prayer. 

Resting against the side wall of the alcove is a folded up cot. It’s not uncommon that one of the Sisters might have to sleep at the clinic during their off shift. More often than not, they are able to return to their lodgings to sleep and reenergize for their next shift. But there are times when too many people are injured, too many of the townspeople have fallen ill to whatever flu or illness that’s crossing through the town and all hands are needed here. The foldable cot is their home away from home, and while it might not be the most comfortable, you are thankful the Lord was able to provide it lest you be made to sleep on the floor behind the extra blankets neatly folded on the shelves. 

You all adjust your grips on the young man allowing for Sister Maria to release her hold and pull back the thick blanket shielding the entrance to the alcove. You grunt under the presence of the additional weight, the awkward grip you all have on him unhelpful in the way his limp body bears down on you all. Sister Maria is quick in tying back the privacy blanket so that it stays to one side, and works to wrangle open the finicky cot. Once it’s unrolled, you help in depositing Billy down onto the makeshift bed, quickly checking his wound to make sure no stitches accidentally ripped in the journey back here before turning to accept the fresh blanket Sister Ann hands you from the shelf. 

Billy’s brow is furrowed again, breathing a little harsher probably from the pain of being jostled. You lay out the blanket over top of him and pull it up to his chin, your hand reaching out to smooth the wrinkled skin between his eyes again. 

“What do we do now?” Sister Ann asks, and Sister Catherine pulls her hand away from where it was plucking nervously at the skin at the sides of her fingers.

“We wait,” She responds, cradling Sister Ann’s damaged hand delicately between her own. “We won’t be able to move him out of the clinic before the Sheriff arrives. We’ll have to keep him hidden here until then and pray they don’t find him.”

The thought of the Sheriff and his men finding Billy here makes your stomach churn. The undeniable fate that waits for you if he’s discovered is one that you’re willing to sacrifice. He’s come here for help, God has brought him here to you for your healing and protection and you can’t fail Him just because your humanity makes you fearful of your end. It’s supposed to be a beautiful thing - death. The moment when your soul on this Earth fulfills its mission here and your granted eternal life at the side of God in the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life, a life of peace and serenity that seems so out of reach here on the soil. Fear will not keep you from looking forward to it. But you’re not done here yet, you have many years left of helping others and spreading His love to those in need. This is not your end. But if it is, it’s worth the sacrifice to try to save Billy. 

You’ll hang with him, if need be. 

Your fellow Sisters though . . . the thought of them hanging for your own choice, regardless of if you think it was the right thing to do, makes you sick. Your decisions are your own, and they shouldn’t suffer for your choices. 

Billy’s forehead unwrinkles under your gentle fingers, and you can feel your heart break as you look down at him. He’s so young still, a young man just at the beginning of his life. He has so many fine years ahead of him. He’s handsome, fit and strong - he would make a fine husband for some lucky lady, a dutiful father for his children. He’s not as evil as they say. You’ve learned to trust your instincts when it comes to people. Sometimes the most misunderstood people are the kindest, and you can’t help but think Billy is the most misunderstood of all. You can’t sense a single whisper of badness in him. 

You stand up and pull the privacy blanket back in front of the alcove, hiding Billy from sight in the safety of God’s makeshift altar. Together, you and the other Sisters make your way out of the back room. A few rooms down a sickly man is coughing up a storm, and from how hard and continuous his coughs are, you know his throat is raw. Sister Ann shoots the rest of you a worried look, but turns to grab a water carafe off of a side table before rushing down the hall towards the coughing man and away from the current situation. 

“You can head back, Sister Maria,” You say, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day and we’re going to need you for the night shift.”

You can tell she’s torn, both wanting to stay and help in any way she can but seeming to know that there’s nothing she can do. All there is to do is wait. After a few moments, she nods, her own hand coming up to rest on top of yours. “Que Dios te bendiga,”

You watch as she makes her way towards the front, pushing open the wooden door before jerking to a halt. “Sheriff Garrett! Qué sorpresa!”

Her words sent a spark of panic through you. It’s so soon! You knew it was coming, but it’s still so incredibly soon. You had hoped for at least a while longer to try to gather your thoughts and think of a plan of where you can take Billy, but it feels like time moves slowly as the Sheriff and two of his deputies step into the clinic.

“Sister,” Garrett responds, respectfully tipping his hat. 

Even through your panic, you still feel a twinge of irritation. A gentleman would take off his hat, but you suppose it’s better than the two men standing behind him who do nothing but trail their eyes around the clinic's entrance suspiciously (and with a clear bout of judgment).

You know for a fact these men with gold lined pockets have never given so much as a dime to the clinic. 

Sister Maria turns back to look at you and Sister Catherine, desperation clear in her eyes and you're glad that none of the men are looking at her anymore or you think her obvious distress might have given you all away.

“Have a good rest, Sister,” You say, urging Sister Maria away. Thankfully, she listens, nodding to you and then Garrett before scurrying out the door. 

“How can we help you, Sheriff?” Sister Catherine asks. 

Garrett takes a few leisurely steps along the entryway, observing the interior of the clinic with the aura of a man who thinks he can see everything. You suspect he sees nothing at all. 

“I apologize for the interruption, Sisters. I know you’re hard at work," He says. “But we’re looking for an outlaw on the run.” He pauses, looking over at the two of you with pointed eyes. At your silence, he continues. “William H. Bonney, otherwise known as Billy the Kid,”

“Oh, dear,” Sister Catherine gasps. 

You feign concern also, bringing your fingers to your mouth as a sign of shock. Garrett nods in agreement at your supposed horror. 

“As you no doubt know he is a very dangerous, very unlawful, man,”

“So we’ve heard,” Sister Catherine says, nodding solemnly. “Is that what brings you in today?”

“Yes,” He says. “There was an altercation last night between him and I. I was able to shoot him so he is very hurt, but he got away before I could arrest him or finish the job.”

“Kinda stupid to come to a clinic when you’re a wanted outlaw, Pat,” One of the men behind Garrett grumbles. “We’re wasting our time here.”

You can’t help but agree, despite that being exactly what Billy did. But maybe that’s what makes it smart. You're hopeful that Garrett will listen to his friend, will assume that Billy couldn’t possibly be here and leave the clinic without investigating it. 

The small spark of hope dies as Garrett laughs without mirth. “The Kid’s not stupid. But we’re covering all our bases,” 

“Helloooooo,” A voice calls from another room opposite the patient still occasionally coughing up a lung. “Can someone please pay attention to the sick people around here? Hellooooooooooo?”

Sister Catherine smiles tightly. “Mr. Taylor,” She says by way of explanation. “A rather problematic patient here. He’s a good man, just impatient.”

Sister Ann’s voice can still be heard attempting to soothe her own charge, so Sister Catherine has no choice but to tend to Mr. Taylor. When she disappears from sight, you turn back to Garrett, trying your best to deter suspicion. 

“I can assure you, Sheriff, that we haven’t seen any sign of Mr. Bonney around here,” The lie leaves your lips far too easily for it to feel like the sin that it is.

Garrett nods, and you can tell he believes you, but puts his hands on his hips all the same, one hand pushing aside his coat to rest freely on the hilt of his gun. “Mind if we have a look around?”  

You force a smile on your face. “Not at all. As long as you don’t bother any of the patients. They need their rest,”

“Certainly,”

You lead him around the clinic allowing him and the deputies to search the rooms for their missing outlaw. When they get to Billy’s old room, the room they just vacated not minutes before the Sheriff arrived, you tell them that a patient was recently discharged and that you hadn’t had the time to turn over the room yet. 

“Why is there blood on ‘em?” One of the deputies asks, nodding to the blood stains still covering the stark white of the sheets. 

“A cooking accident,” You reply. “An incorrect knife hold can sometimes do that,”

Another lie. You feel this one a little more than the first. 

Eventually their search comes to the back room. You can’t keep them out, that would be too suspicious, so you allow them to walk through the half filled shelves. It's more than clear that there’s no place to hide anyone here other than the alcove and you're naively hoping they won’t even realize it’s there. 

It’s a large blanket hanging on the wall. Of course, they’re going to notice it. 

And, sure enough, one of the deputy’s eyes cut to the blanket. He heads towards it with a gruff “What’s behind here?” but you intercept him, rushing over to stand between him and the alcove.

The Sheriff and his deputies have their eyes on you now, each one closing in closer to you and the alcove, much too close for comfort.

“Sister,” Garrett says, voice stern with authority. “What’s behind the blanket?”

“It’s our place of prayer here,” You say, voice calm despite your nervousness. “Our altar.” You can’t mess up now. If you show any sign that you’re being untruthful, both you and Billy as well as your fellow Sisters out front will be on a one way trip to the courthouse. You’ll all die hanging from its top banister. “When healing doesn’t seem to be enough, it helps to have a place dedicated to God to call upon his everlasting power to perform miracles.”

Garrett nods. “Mind if we take a look?”

“Yes, actually. I do,” Your quick denial clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows raising towards his hat. “Just as God bids us to modesty with our clothing, we must also show privacy and modesty in our places of worship. They’re sacred spaces. Surely you understand that, Sheriff,” 

The words feel like poison on your tongue. Using worship and prayer to cover up a lie is the catalyst that makes bile feel like it's rising in your throat. It’s not a lie, you have to remind yourself. It is a makeshift altar, you do use it as a place of worship and prayer. Just . . . not right at this moment. 

The reality of the situation is catching up with you, and you hide your slightly shaking hands by folding them together in front of you. You haven’t lied in years. You lied a lot as a child, a necessity of living with a father who’s anger could strike at a moment’s notice. You resented having to do it back then, forced to sin for the sake of trying to keep peace in the home. It’s much like the situation you find yourself in now, having to lie to try and protect another person. To protect yourself. 

When you found refuge at the convent all those years ago, you were told you would never have to be untruthful ever again.

“God is granting you freedom from your woes,” You were told, and you remember how light those words had made you feel. “Thank him for His good graces with your undying loyalty and strive to always be who He guides you to be.”

You hadn’t lied since, no matter how tough things seemed. Sickly patients lying on their deathbed, scared and begging you for any kind of reassurance that it wasn’t the end for them. You wouldn’t give them false hope. Instead, you would tell them to turn their worries to the Lord, clasping their hands in yours and praying with them.

“Your soul is strong, bright and ever-present,” You would tell them. Sometimes you would let them hold your rosary so they can find comfort in it. “The body is a temple, and we do our best in our life to care for it. You’ve done that. If it weakens now, it is because God is calling your soul back to Him.”

The guilt is clawing at your chest, but you force it back as best as you can as you meet Garrett’s eyes. “I ask that you don’t force us to desecrate that,” 

Garrett just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face. One deputy just looks between you and Garrett, uncertain with how to proceed in the face of defying authority, and the other deputy that sneered at the thought of Billy even coming to the clinic scoffs at your words. 

“Listen, lady, the law–”

“John, enough,” Garrett interrupts, voice shockingly hard as his eyes cut to his deputy. “She’s a Sister and you’ll show her respect.”

You feel a quick spark of satisfaction at the way the deputy’s confident, power hungry facade dies under the Sheriff's ridicule. He mumbles a quick apology to which you accept with a nod despite how insincere it sounds. 

Garrett nods his head towards the door, silently gesturing for the other two to head towards the exit before he tips his hat at you directly, thanking you for your time and apologizing for any inconvenience their visit may have caused. 

You want to tell him it was no inconvenience at all, but you’ve already sinned enough today and you can’t bear the thought of intentionally adding to the tally without justified need. Instead you settle on curving your lips into a convincing smile, thanking the men in return for their brevity and understanding and wishing them a good rest of their day as you usher them out of the back room and towards the front entrance.

Every single muscle in your body relaxes once they are completely out of the clinic, relief washing over you as you whisper out a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing everyone to get out of the overwhelmingly dangerous situation unscathed - at least for now. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine peek out of their respective rooms when they hear the front door swing shut, their wide eyes mimicking the relief you know is shown in your own. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t find him,” Sister Ann admits, and it pains your heart to see tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I thought this was truly the end for all of us.” 

You have her in your arms in an instant, cradling her small frame against your chest as she begins to cry in earnest. For as scary as it’s been for you so far, you can’t imagine what she’s been going through. Sister Ann and Sister Catherine have only known about Billy for less than no time at all. And yet, despite the short period of time between finding out about Billy, getting him into the alcove, and the entrance and departure of the Sheriff - you’re sure it probably felt like an eternity to her. 

“Hush now, Sister,” You whisper, running a soothing hand along her back. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Sister Catherine places one of her hands on Sister Ann’s back as well, but she’s looking at you when she speaks. “He still can’t stay here,”

You know that. You know. You got lucky that the Sheriff didn’t find Billy this time, but who's to say that he won’t come back when he’s unable to find his missing outlaw anywhere else? Covering all his bases, that’s what he said. He’ll come back again when he sees that his other ‘bases’ have turned up nothing but dead ends. 

Your older brother, Joe, has a cabin just outside of town. It’s a hidden place, specifically built for peace. No visitors. He lives alone, no wife or children to keep him company and he prefers it that way. 

“If I’m alone, I can’t turn into him,” 

You're positive he wouldn’t. Your brother is far from being anything like your father, but the task of trying to prove that to him seems to be out of your skillset. He tells you he’s happy with his life, that he’s chosen the path he feels he needs to be on just as you have. Who are you to pass judgment?

Joe likes the solitude, that much is certain. But he also has an adventurous spirit which guides him on lengthy trips from town to town, exploring all the world has to offer while never having to be tied to one place. He’s away now according to the last letter he sent you, planning to stay in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while and that he’s not sure yet when he’s going to be back. 

“It’s dangerous,” Sister Catherine pushes, taking your silence as reluctance.

“I know,” You say. “I know. I think . . . I think I have an idea.”

The cabin will be empty. Joe isn’t due back for the immediate future, and even if he does return earlier than you suspect he will, you and Billy won’t be in danger. Joe can be trusted. He’ll help you, if need be. You can’t imagine that the Sheriff would ever know about it. It’s secluded - far off of any of the usual paths. It’s safe there. The perfect place to hide the wanted outlaw for a while. He can rest there, heal up uninterrupted for a few weeks until he can safely move around on his own two feet again. 

Sister Catherine listens openly to the idea, but her face is pinched in displeasure. 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” She says, reluctantly. “It seems like the best place for him to disappear to until he’s healed.”

You can hear the underlying pause in her agreement loud and clear. “But?”

“The clinic cannot spare two of us. We would lose half of our staff and it is too much for one person to handle alone per shift,”

“I wouldn’t ask any of you to come with us,” You say. No, for as much as you believe God sent Billy into your life for a reason, this was your mission to bear. You’ve already put your fellow Sisters through enough.

“You want to go alone?” Sister Ann sniffles, raising her head up from your chest.

“You need to think about this,” Sister Catherine says, sternly. “You shouldn’t be alone with him. He is a child of God, yes. But he is also an outlaw and a man. Sometimes, one of those is worse than the other.”

They’re being protective. The more rational part of you is grateful for their concern, and you think that if the positions were switched and one of them were in your position instead, you would react the same way. But a part of you is bitter. They’ve heard the stories. You know exactly how cruel men can be and you know exactly what they’re capable of. It’s a risk you’re taking, but you feel called to take it anyway. Billy needs your help, and God would never put anything in your path that you can’t handle.

“The Lord will protect me,” Despite the truthfulness of your words, you can see how they do little to reassure them. Your next words are better. “The Lord will help me protect myself.”

Sister Ann looks at Sister Catherine, once again bringing her hands together to pick at the reddened skin at the edge of her nail. Sister Catherine sighs, and the back of her hand reaches up to tap her forehead as if feeling the temperature or wiping away sweat. 

“Alright,” She relents. “How do we get him to your brother’s cabin?”

“I don’t know,” You admit. “We need a wagon. Or a large wheelbarrow that we can put him in and attach it to a horse. I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, but I’m sure I can manage.”

“Where are we supposed to get that?” Sister Ann’s tone borders on exasperated. 

As if answering your unspoken prayer, the door to the clinic opens once more, this time revealing a bright faced Samuel Anderson, carrying a crate full of fresh supplies. And behind him, lit up by the sunlight like a bright blessing, is his wagon.

Sam Anderson is the son of local store owner, Edward Anderson, the clinic's top provider for basic supplies that are not strictly medical. While medicine shipments and more specialty items are donated from suppliers farther away, and frankly much less frequent than necessary, Mr. Anderson and Sam never fail to come through with plenty of food for you to make soups and nutritious meals for your patients. On occasion, you even have enough to give away to the families who are stacked together in a small two bedroom on the edge of town. With eight children total between two families, you're honestly not sure how they manage - but you do your best to help when you can. 

Seeing Sam walk through the front door is like a beacon of light from Heaven is shining down on him. He’s smiling already, the crate of food handled carefully between his hands as he lets out a cheery, “Good morning, Sisters”. But as soon as he sees your faces, more specifically when he sees the tear tracks still visible on Sister Ann’s cheeks, he’s placing down the crate and across the clinic’s entrance in a second. 

“What’s going on?” He asks. His hands automatically reach out towards Sister Ann’s face as if to cup it, but he stops himself. Instead he just looks at her worriedly, his concerned gaze leaving her face for only a moment to glance at you and Sister Catherine before they’re back on her, voice low and gentle. “What’s wrong?” 

It’s no secret that Sam harbors some romantic feelings towards Sister Ann. There are days when you feel sorry for him - a young man, good and kind and generous, who you have no doubt would make a fine husband to any lucky woman is in love with one of the four women in the entire county who are incapable of returning his affection. But it’s moments like this when it’s easy to see God’s presence in other people. Sam is as respectful and kind as they come. He accepts his feelings can never be reciprocated and in turn uses his undying love and loyalty to Sister Ann by helping you all at the clinic with anything he can. 

Somehow, he doesn’t expect anything in return, never stares at Sister Ann with an ounce of lust in his eyes, and it warms your heart to see the godly quality that’s usually so absent in men so prevalent in him. 

“Something’s happened,” Sister Ann tells him, her voice still wobbly with emotion. 

“What?”

“Sam,” You say, calling his attention back to you. “I know I have no place to ask this and I won’t fault you if you decline, but– I’m asking.”

“Tell me,” He insists, pulling his hat from his head and holding it to his chest, and God bless how the sincerity in his voice bleeds into his words. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” 

So you tell him everything. Sam listens with wide eyes, shooting panicked glances at Sister Catherine and Sister Ann when you tell him about the Sheriff’s visit, and he’s genuinely sorrowful when your voice gets caught in your throat as you tell him that you had to tell some lies to get him to leave without discovering Billy. He’s nodding already when you mention your brother’s cabin.

“I’ll take you there,” He offers before you can even ask the question. “My wagon is always at your disposal.”

“It’s dangerous. If we’re caught, you would hang with us,” 

Sam lets out a breath, unconsciously glancing over at Sister Ann again. “If the four most wonderful and religiously minded people in town hang for trying to do the right thing, then this isn’t a town or even a world that I want to live in anymore. Please let me take you. It would be my honor,”

A small smile graces your lips as you reach out and gently cup his cheek in thanks. For as many men pull and grind on your nerves with their endless greed and manipulation tactics, Sam is a breath of fresh air - a truly God-fearing man with a good heart.

He’s another person that you’re putting at risk, another life in danger because of the choice you’ve made. You try not to think yourself too selfish. Surely the fact that Billy has turned up in your life is God’s plan, and He does not put obstacles in your way that you cannot overcome. 

He tells you that he’ll come back tomorrow. He has a delivery that’s expected in a town over and if he’s going to make it there and back before nightfall, he needs to leave before the sun comes up. 

“I’ll stop here first,” He says. “We can load him into the back of the wagon while most people are sleeping and make the trip to your brother’s before I head on my way.”

“Thank you, Sam. Honestly,”

“My pleasure,” He nods his head at you, replacing his hat and tipping it kindly towards Sister Catherine and Sister Ann. “Until tomorrow, Sisters,”

The door swings shut behind him as he leaves and you let out a deep breath, hands smoothing over the dark veil covering your head just to feel a bit more grounded before you pick up the crate of food Sam brought. Billy needs to eat something. You're not quite sure how long it's been since his last meal, but even if he ate a minute before bursting through the clinic’s doors in the early morning, he would surely still be hungry and in need of sustenance by now. His body is weak and it needs nourishment to heal. 

Billy’s still sleeping when you peek around the privacy blanket. His head is turned to the side and buried in his pillow as much as he can get it, mouth hanging open as he breathes. Your hand itches to reach out and touch him again, to smooth against his forehead or cup his cheek, maybe place your fingers under his chin to help close his mouth in hopes of him breathing through his nose instead so his mouth doesn’t dry out. 

You’re not sure where this desire is coming from. You’re as affectionate with your patients as any nurse should be - kind and supportive, offering comfort when needed, but not overly so that it can be considered inappropriate. You’re all brothers and sisters, children of God - yes. But there are still social norms that must be considered. 

It feels different with Billy for some reason. 

“I’m going to get you to safety,” You whisper. You’re unsure about if he can hear you in his sleep or not, but you feel the need to tell him anyway. “I promise.”

You fall asleep at some point during the night, slumped against the wall next to the alcove’s entrance. 

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember feeling tired, exhausted by the stress of the day’s events, and how your eyelids were threatening to close permanently more and more with each blink. The soup you had made still sat out in the small kitchen, and you had wanted to stay close to Billy so that whenever he awoke, you would be there ready to help feed him.

Instead, you wake to the sound of Sister Maria giggling to your left and a low, unfamiliar but still soft voice speaking in Spanish to her.

“Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín,” The voice lets out a small chuckle, the smile on his face evident in his tone despite you not being able to understand most of his words. “Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses.”

“Ese niño,” Sister Maria laughs. “Parece que era un buen amigo.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear how he loses the smile in his voice. “Sí, él era,”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you step over to where Sister Maria is kneeling in front of Billy’s cot. It’s only now you see the mostly finished bowl of soup in her hands. Billy’s sitting up slightly, back propped up against his pillows enough to allow him to sit up a bit straighter but not enough to pull too much on his stitches.

At seeing your movement, his eyes snap to your approaching frame, big blue orbs staring up at you and you can’t help the relief you feel at seeing them.

“You’re awake,” You breathe, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Thank the Lord,”

His lips twitch a bit in what looks like a suppressed smile. “Kinda sounds like I should be thankin' you,” He says, and you notice how prominent the shift in his accent is as he seamlessly switches from Spanish to English. “Sister Maria says that you’re the only reason I’m alive right now.”

You shake your head, humbly. “Oh, no. Sister Maria and I work together as a team. I couldn’t have done it without her aid,”

“You show no fear,” Sister Maria insists. “Where I hesitate, you show mercy and strength. It is because of you that we are all alive now.”

“See?” Billy says with a blinding grin, and you can’t help but notice how handsome he is while no longer at death’s door. “My angel,”

You feel your face heat up at the endearment. An angel. Surely the comparison shouldn’t fluster you like it does. You’ve thought of your fellow nuns as the embodiment of angels before, angelic beings put into human bodies by the grace of God to spread His word. You know that’s not exactly true, that you’re just using your belief of what God’s angels would be like and seeing those beings in your fellow Sisters just like Billy is doing with you now, but you’ve never once thought yourself to be comparable to such a holy being and the compliment makes you flush.

You run a hand across your face, feeling the warmth under your palm, and clear your throat. “Oh, well, thank you,”

Sister Maria stands, taking the nearly finished bowl of soup with her. “He has eaten plenty and I changed his covering as soon as he woke up. You will want to change it again when you get to the cabin.”

“That’s great. Thank you,”

“De nada. I’ll go check on the patients and keep an eye out for Sam,”

She nods to you and Billy before she turns to leave, a small smile pulling at her lips when Billy rasps out a soft, “Gracias, Hermana,”

When she’s gone, you take her place in front of Billy, kneeling at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better thanks to you,” He responds, wide eyes trained on yours, a smirk playing at his lips as he continues. “Don’t feel much like I’m dyin’ anymore,”

A small laugh escapes you at his morbid joke. “Well, I’d say that’s a very good thing then,”

“Sister Maria said the Sheriff came lookin’ for me,” 

“He did,” You confirm. “The Lord kept us all safe though and has given us an opportunity to get you to safety.”

Billy’s eyebrow raises skeptically. “Sounds like it was more your doin' than the Lord’s,”

You try to not let the slight against God rattle you. You had sensed this was coming anyway. William H. Bonney a.k.a Billy the Kid is an outlaw afterall, and no outlaw becomes an outlaw while still maintaining a positive relationship with the Heavenly Father. He’s gone through many hardships no doubt, and has more than likely deemed his bad luck in life as God’s personal vendetta against him.

“The Lord speaks through all of us, if only we have an open heart to hear him.” You tell him.  “Fear can make His words harder to hear, and I’m thankful that He was able to guide my mind and heart enough through the fear for us to get to safety.”

“Hm,” Billy hums, and you can tell how much he doesn’t believe your words. He doesn’t argue though. “And where exactly is this safe place you’re gonna take me?”

“My brother has a cabin just outside of town. It’s well secluded and unknown to most. We’ll be safe there until you’re healed enough to go on your own.”

Billy’s eyes drop to your hand still resting on his shoulder, thick dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks before his bright blue eyes are locked on yours again. “You gonna be takin’ care of me, Sister?”

“Of course, I will,” You reply. “We shall see you well again, Billy. I promise.”

His own arm crosses his chest so his hand can rest on your own, his eyes wide and so earnest as he whispers a quiet, “Thank you,”

It’s only about an hour longer before Sam arrives. It’s still early morning, the sun still a ways away from coming up behind the horizon line, and town is silent. Sam pulls his wagon up to the back door of the backroom before coming around the front to help push it open from the inside. It’s been so long since it’s been opened. The door was once used for the scheduled delivery of goods for easy access to the storage area, but as years went on and the county and surrounding counties became overrun with greed and poverty, the shipments became less frequent. Now, anything needed just comes through the front door. It’s never too much anyway, so what’s a trip or two to the backroom while carrying a crate. 

Sam slams his body against the door a few times, the wood groaning in protest under his weight before it finally swings open. Billy watches from his place on the cot, his eyes threatening to close but forcing himself to stay awake. You want to tell him to sleep, he needs his rest to help him heal and recover, but you’re too busy checking your bag to make sure you haven't forgotten anything before tossing it in the back of the wagon. You need to leave before the townspeople start to wake up. If someone sees you, if just one person witnesses you smuggling away a wanted outlaw, then all of this would have been for nothing. 

“Sister y/n,” Sam calls, squatting at the head of the cot. He’s got his arms wrapped around Billy’s torso. “Come grab his legs. We’ll do our best not to jostle his wound,”

You come to a kneel at Billy’s legs, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Do your best to relax, okay? If you tense, you might tear your stitches,”

Billy lets out a harsh breath through his nose, clearly nervous, but he nods anyway, brows furrowed in determination. 

Together you and Sam hoist him up. He gasps, groaning as his wound pulls but you can see how he’s trying to keep his stomach untensed. Getting him into the back of the wagon is not graceful, and you find yourself spewing endless apologies the whole time despite the relatively short journey. 

Sam’s laid out a bed of hay covered by two thick blankets throughout the entire bed of the wagon. Crates of food and other supplies take up half of the bed, but he’s managed to make it so Billy will have enough room to lay comfortably on his designated side. Billy sighs as he’s laid down on it, one of his legs bent at the knee and his palms pressing into the makeshift mattress as he cranes his neck up to look at you. You ball up a spare blanket, tucking it under his head before you push him back down with a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Rest now, Billy,” You tell him, crawling out backwards and helping Sam slide on the rectangular backing on the wagon to secure it shut. “We’ll be there when you wake up,”

His eyes stay locked on you as you circle the wagon towards the front. Sam helps you up onto the spring seat before jogging around the rear and hauling himself into the driver's seat. You smooth out your tunic, looking around the dark street for any suspicious or wandering eyes that might be peeking out from around buildings or through windows. You don’t see any, even as one of the horses whinnies when Sam urges them forward. The clinic is located towards the edge of town, so it only takes a few minutes of nervous eyes and your head on a swivel before the wagon is passing the final few buildings that mark the town’s end of population and you can relax.

You blow out a deep breath, meeting Sam’s equally relieved gaze as he snaps the reins and nudges the horses a little faster. You look over your shoulder to check on Billy and you’re expecting to see him sleeping, no doubt still exhausted from the trauma of taking a bullet. Instead, he’s looking at you, head twisting so he can see your elevated frame from his laid out position. His eyes seem to pierce into yours, so blue and intense as he watches you that it makes your breathing hitch in your throat. 

You’ve never seen eyes so beautiful before. Like endless pools of glistening water. Surely God must have taken much care when crafting them for him. 

You feel your skin prickle under his stare, body straightening in your seat. He doesn’t stop watching you.

“Sleep,” You tell him. “You’re safe, I promise.” And thankfully he listens, eyes trained on your face for just a moment more before closing his eyes. The tingling feeling in your body dissipates with the removed gaze. 

Your gaze turns around the front again, looking out to the vast stretch of land before you as you leave the civilization of town behind.

“Sam,” You start, looking for anything to pass the time and distract from whatever unusualness just happened between you and your charge. “How’s your mother?”

[hero21us]

What’s Wrong with Trey?

Trey had always been a star. A record-setting sprinter with dreams of Olympic gold, his relentless drive and focus made him a leader both on and off the track. But over the past week, something had changed.

It started innocuously enough. Trey received a package from "009," a cutting-edge sportswear company known for its experimental technology. The first few outfits were nothing short of miraculous. They improved his agility, boosted his endurance, and even seemed to quicken his recovery time. Trey’s performance skyrocketed, and he began to feel unstoppable.

The final item in the package, however, was different. A sleek black Fred Perry rubber polo shirt. Its material glistened in the light, and Trey hesitated before putting it on. But the promise of unparalleled performance pushed his doubts aside. The moment he pulled it over his head, he felt a surge of power, as though every muscle in his body was primed for greatness.

Trey became obsessed with the shirt. He wore it everywhere, not just to workouts but to meetings, social gatherings, and even to sleep. He was convinced that the shirt was the key to his newfound success, and he wanted everyone to experience the same benefits. He began to preach about the virtues of wearing rubber for all activities, especially the black "Fred Perry" shirt.

“You don’t understand,” he’d tell his friends, his voice oddly distant. “This shirt… it’s transformative. You should all try it. Imagine the unity we’d achieve if everyone embraced it.”

Trey began skipping practice, missing workouts, and obsessing over the shirt. His usual vibrant personality became subdued, his conversations revolving solely around the virtues of rubber clothing, particularly the black Fred Perry polo.

His teammates, Sam and Jordan, grew increasingly concerned and decided to intervene. They headed to his apartment after a missed practice, hoping to get through to him. Trey’s apartment was filled with rubber garments, all of them untouched. It was clear: the black polo had a hold on him that no other item did.

"Trey, we're worried about you," said his best friend, Sam. "You've been acting differently ever since you started wearing that shirt. We miss the old you."

Trey's eyes lit up with a zeal that made his friends uneasy. "You don't understand," he insisted. "This shirt is amazing. It’s like it has a power of its own. You should all try it!" Sam and Jordan started bringing up memories from Trey's past, reminding him of all the milestones he had achieved without the rubber shirt. "Remember when you broke the school record for the 400 meters? Or that time you led the team to victory at the state championships?"

Jordan showed him pictures from those glorious moments, each one a testament to his dedication and hard work.

Sam chimed in, "You didn't need any special gear back then. It was all you—your talent, your effort. Don't let this shirt define you or make you lose sight of your dreams."

They questioned him about his ambitions, gently reminding him of his goals and aspirations. "Trey, you used to talk about winning gold, about going to the Olympics. Don't give up on those dreams," Sam urged. “You just won this trophy which qualifies you for the Olympic trials in a few months.”

For a moment, Trey’s eyes softened. He reached for the trophy, his hand trembling. A flicker of the old him seemed to emerge as he touched the trophy. “I… I remember that,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “But it feels so distant now.” But then his expression hardened, and he pulled back, the black rubber catching the faint light as if to remind them of its presence.

“I haven’t abandoned anything,” Trey said, his voice eerily calm. “This shirt is my path now. You’ll see. You’ll all see.”

Sam and Jordan, saw the momentary struggle etched across his face. Determined not to lose him, they decided to take matters into their own hands. They each took hold of the rubber shirt, pulling with all their might.

What followed was a frantic, desperate battle. Trey fought them with a strength neither of them had ever seen before. It was as though the shirt amplified his power, giving him near-superhuman endurance. Sam and Jordan wrestled with him, trying to get a grip on the slick, rubbery material, but it clung to Trey’s body as if it were alive.

“Hold him still!” Jordan shouted, grabbing at the collar of the polo.

“I’m trying!” Sam grunted, locking Trey in a bear hug.

"Come on, Trey! Remember who you are!" Sam shouted, his voice breaking through the fog.

"You've achieved so much without this shirt," Jordan added.

Trey’s resistance was feral, his movements almost inhuman.

Sweat dripped from their foreheads as they pulled and tugged, their determination unwavering. The shirt seemed to resist with an almost sentient force, but their combined effort began to make a difference. Little by little, the rubber gave way, inching off Trey's body.

Trey let out a guttural scream, his eyes wild with fear and rage.

With a final, collective effort, the shirt tore away, falling to the ground. Trey gasped, feeling a rush of relief and freedom wash over him.

As Trey’s breathing slowed, his friends knelt beside him. “Trey? Are you okay?” Sam asked. He nodded weakly, tears streaming down his face. “I’m… I’m free. Thank you.”

“Here put this shirt and jacket on to stay warm” Jordan insists.

The friends helped Trey put on a shirt and his gold jacket for warmth

“What was that thing?” Jordan asked, glancing nervously at the shirt laying nearby on the floor.

Trey sat up, his expression haunted. “It wasn’t the shirt. There was… more. Every night, I was compelled to wear a gas mask that came with it. The fumes—it was like they rewired my brain.

The black rubber polo empowered me, gave me focus, intensity, synchronization and clarity to help the team to win, but the gas… it truly corrupted me. It made me a part of something bigger, something I couldn’t resist.

"Every night, I was instructed to wear the gas mask. The gas treatments were intoxicating, making it harder and harder to act normal. I was told to spread the love of rubber and polo while appearing to remain my old self, to bring others into the fold. But each day, I could feel myself slipping further away from who I was. The team became irrelevant. I could no longer pretend. Being one with the collective and increasing its numbers consumed me.

Sam shuddered. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I couldn’t. It wasn’t just physical—it was psychological. Every time I tried to reach out, the collective’s influence would pull me back. I wasn’t myself anymore.”

The next morning, Trey returned to practice, though the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. The memories of his time under the polo’s influence haunted him, but his friends reminded him of his strength and his dreams. Slowly, he began to rebuild, focusing on the passion that had always driven him.

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 11

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 9410

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean getting memories, Reader taking care of Dean, Longing.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 11

The change came like a storm. Bones cracked, muscles twisted, fur rushed over skin. But none of it mattered. None of it was strange. None of it hurt. This was right. This was how things were meant to be.

But… his human was silent. Gone.

For the first time, the wolf was alone in the mind. No arguing, no resistance, no voice controlling what they did. Just the wind in his fur, the earth beneath his paws, the steady rhythm of his own breath. The pack ran with him, their voices lifting in song, echoing through the night.

He should have felt free. Should have reveled in the primal joy of running with his pack, in the unity thrumming through their bond. Instead, there was an ache. Deep and gnawing. A weight pressing against his ribs that had nothing to do with the moon above.

Something was missing. Someone.

The pull was there. Faint, but unbreakable. A thread winding through his ribs, tightening with every step. It tugged at his chest, drawing him away from the others. None followed. They had learned to give Dean his space when he needed it, unaware that Dean was nothing more than a distant hum in the back of the mind. Sleeping.

His paws carried him across the land, through the trees of the forest, the ferns of the underbrush, and the shifting shadows. His focus was elsewhere. Without his human’s doubts clouding his senses, his instincts were sharpened, more demanding than ever. The pull grew stronger, relentless, pulling him away, pulling him toward—

Her.

There was no scent trail to follow. No song to guide him. Nothing tangible to explain why every fiber of his being strained onward. 

Only her.

Finally, he stopped.

A fence loomed just beyond the trees, a divider of two lands, two packs. She was on the other side. Somewhere beyond his reach.

The wolf lingered in the shadows, ears twitching, nose lifting, searching for a scent he knew he wouldn’t find. He walked through the trees, keeping the fence to his right as he explored. The forest was dense, but he followed that thread. The pull to her, wherever she was on the other side.

He knew she was over there. He didn’t feel threatened. No need for aggression or possessiveness. This felt different—like there was no threat he’d lose her to another alpha. 

When he came to a place where the moonlight pierced the canopy, spilling over the earth below, he stopped. Lowered onto his haunches, settling into the shadows of the forest.

The sight before him was both familiar and unknown, beautiful yet unsettling in a way he couldn’t name. A towering, half-rotted tree stump stood more than twenty feet away, remnants of its ancient form stretching high into the night. Around it, tufts of grass, ferns, and delicate flowers blanketed the forest floor, untouched and thriving. But it was more than that. More than the way the earth cradled this place, sheltering it like something sacred.

It was a feeling. 

Like something would happen here. Like something was meant to happen here. He didn’t know why—only that this place was where he was supposed to be.

His paws shifted against the dirt, ears flicking as he breathed deep, but there was no scent other than the forest. No sign that she had ever been here. Still, his instincts whispered that she would come. Someday. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for many moons. But she would find this place. Find him. And when she did, he would be waiting.

A breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the flowers, making them sway as if they, too, were waiting. The moonlight shifted through the canopy above, casting shadows that stretched and danced before retreating once more. 

His ear twitched at the distant sound of howls. His pack sang, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight. He wanted to be by her side. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she had him.

But she did not call to him.

She did not come.

The moon dipped lower in the sky, marking the approach of morning. He lowered his head, the weight in his chest twisted, sharp and aching. With one last glance toward the land beyond the fence, he rose to his paws and turned away, making the long trek back to his pack. 

He kept his longing buried deep, hidden from his scent. His pack couldn’t know where he’d gone. It was forbidden, even if that was where she was.

—----------------------------

Dean woke with a start. His heart pounded against his chest, breath coming in short, ragged bursts, sweat cooling on his skin. The remnants of his dream clung to him like fog, thick and disorienting, refusing to let go. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His vision was still blurry and unfocused, the dark room around him unfamiliar, his mind caught somewhere between the past and the present. 

Then, warmth.

The soft press of a body against his. The steady rise and fall of your breath. And your scent—deep, grounding—flooded his senses, wrenching him back to reality before his instincts could take over.

His muscles remained taut, tension coiled in his shoulders, but he forced himself to breathe. Slow. Deep. His wolf stirred uneasily within him, a low, uncertain hum in the back of his mind, but he ignored it, shifting instead, pressing closer to you.

His nose brushed the crown of your head as he inhaled, letting the familiarity of you settle him. It felt easier this morning, the way it soothed him.

“Mmm… you okay, Dean?” you murmured. 

Your voice was thick with sleep, and the lazy way you nuzzled deeper against him made his chest tighten. You didn’t open your eyes, but something felt… off.

He exhaled shakily, his arm tightening around you, his body trembling slightly from his dream. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he breathed, but his voice was hoarse, like the words barely made it out. His muscles still hadn’t fully relaxed. His mind still felt… foggy. 

And his wolf? His wolf felt just as disoriented.

You stirred slightly, blinking up at him, taking him in—the dampness of sweat on his skin, the faint tremor in his limbs, the underlying unrest radiating from him in waves. “Dean, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his face as if the answer was hidden there somewhere.

He swallowed, averting his gaze. The words caught in his throat, something he wouldn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone. Your expression softened. “Hey,” you coaxed gently, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking soothing circles over his skin. “Talk to me.” 

He stayed quiet for a long moment, jaw tight. It all sounded stupid in his head—like a child afraid of a nightmare. He was a grown man. An Alpha. Dreams shouldn’t be affecting him like this. “Just a bad dream,”  he muttered, still not meeting your eyes.

You studied him, searching his face, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Dean,” you murmured, voice steady but impossibly soft. “When you claim me, I’m gonna need you, and your wolf with what I’m going to go through. Please… let me be here for the two of you.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch before he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. So, you did the only thing you could do at the moment. You held him close, letting him take whatever time he needed, hoping he would talk to you.

That was when you noticed your claim mark on him. You leaned a little closer, soothing it over with your tongue, sending a shiver through his body. His grip on you firmed, just a little tighter—like if he held on long enough, he wouldn’t have to say the words aloud.

For several long moments, that was how the two of you stayed—him nuzzling into your neck, you soothing his mark with your tongue. You could feel the tension slowly ease from his body, the way it had trembled before finally stopped, and with a slow exhale against your skin, he relaxed.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, voice rough against your skin.

You nuzzled your cheek against his as you began purring softly, a different sort of instinct taking over. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid. That makes it important to me,” you told him gently.

Why does she always seem to know just what to say? Even with his wolf tangled in unease, it still huffed in amusement, ‘She’s our mate.’ 

He was still reluctant, but he finally pulled away, resting his head on the pillow as the morning light slowly peeked its way through the window. “It was a dream, but it was like a memory,” he mumbled, his voice quiet, rough—like a child still shaken from a nightmare he couldn’t quite shake.

You had prepared for this. A week before you’d even brought up claiming him, you’d gone to Professor Saltzman, needing answers. He’d explained how important memories would surface in dreams, while everything else would come to Dean while he was awake, slipping into his thoughts like echoes of a life he hadn’t lived—at least, not until now. Then there was the aftercare. 

You needed to make sure he processed the dream, that he didn’t shove it down like something insignificant. He had to feel it. Work through it. Beyond that, there were the physical symptoms—making sure to keep him hydrated and well-fed was the easy part. It was the rarer symptoms you were worried about. There was the possibility that Dean would be too dizzy or light-headed to be able to walk around much. Or that being too far away from you, the source of your scent, could make him anxious or uneasy. And the headaches, which you had a bottle of Excedrine waiting in the bathroom cabinet.

Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he started recounting the dream, his words slow and measured. Luckily, he added how things felt—not just what he saw, but the way it settled into him, heavy and lingering. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his arm never left you, holding you close like he needed the contact to stay grounded. Absentmindedly, he lifted his other hand, rubbing his temple as a dull throb took root behind his eyes.

You felt it—not physically, but in a way that had no real words. It was like sensing a shift in the wind, or the way you could tell rain was coming before it fell. It was just there. 

“Lemme get you something for that,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed. Dean watched you go, brow furrowed like he wasn’t even sure what you meant—until you were gone, and the weight in his head became more noticeable.

His focus shifted to the sight of you, the sway of your hips as you disappeared into the bathroom. Catching sight of you in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue swiping over them instinctively as his gaze lingered. Your hair still mussed from sleep, bare skin bathed in the soft lighting from the bathroom, the soft ease in the way you moved.

The way you were just doing things, taking care of him. Dean’s lips quirked into that familiar boyish grin. He hadn’t even told you his head hurt, but now you were pressing two pills with a glass of water into his hands with that sweet, soft smile on your lips.

At least he took them without an argument while you stood by the side of the bed, almost like a mother hen. He was far more distracted by the way you stood there, utterly unbothered by his gaze roaming over you. But then, the heat of his gaze crawled over your skin, sending a flush to your cheeks—a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

Dean couldn’t help himself. You were beautiful—beyond just the way you looked, beyond anything that words could pin down. You were his. And for the first time in his life, his wolf felt the exact same thing he did, no conflict, no pull in different directions, but together. 

It was good. God, it was good. 

But it was disorienting as hell.

You caught it, even in the faintest flicker—the way his eyelids dipped for a split second, uncontrolled. His eyes glossed over before he blinked hard, trying to push through it, leaning heavier against the headboard. He still didn’t look right, or feel right. 

Then came the small shake of his head, the slight furrow of his brows as if he was trying to clear away a fog he didn’t understand. That was it. That was the sign you’d been watching for. You exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I was worried about that happening,” you told him with a frown, slipping on a shirt, then a pair of shorts. “Stay here. Don’t get out of bed. I’m gonna go make you something to eat.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Dean let his head fall back, eyes shutting against the dull throb behind them. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, the headache settling like a weighted fog. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d read more of the files back at Saltzman’s office. He’d known there would be an adjustment period, but this? This was worse than any hangover he’d ever had.

Then, his wolf whined. 

The sound hit him sharp and sudden—so sudden that for a second, he wasn’t sure if it had been in his head or if it had actually— 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice cut through the haze, laced with something sharp and worried as you hovered in the doorway. And then you were at his side, sitting on the bed, hands skimming over him like you expected to find something wrong. 

Had the sounds actually come out? Dean blinked up at you, brow knitting. “Uh… headache, and I feel a little dizzy, but it’s not so bad now.” He hesitated before adding, “Why?”

You frowned, gaze searching his, but didn’t answer him right away. You hadn’t even been gone long—barely long enough to pull a few things from the fridge—when that whine had hit you. It pierced something in your chest, knotting and twisting at your gut so badly you had gripped your stomach. But looking at him now? He looked okay. 

Still, you weren’t taking any chances. “Let’s get you in at least some boxers,” you said, already moving, finding them among the scattered clothes. “Then I’ll help you get downstairs. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll need to stay close to you.”

Dean’s confusion didn’t fade, and he swore his wolf seemed just as lost. “Care to share?” he asked just as you handed him the fabric.

As he slipped them on, you explained everything Saltzam had told you—about the symptoms, the adjustment period, the way his body and mind would be catching up with the bond over the next several days, maybe even a full week.

By the time you finished, Dean was already making a mental note to text Sam. If he was gonna be stuck like this for a while, at your cabin, he was gonna need a few more things.

Getting him downstairs was slow work. Between the walls, the railing on the stairs, and you, he managed, though the dizziness flared every time he wasn’t touching something solid. You felt it too—the faint, restless pull anytime there was space between you. You hated seeing him unsteady like this, but he wasn’t fighting you. He was trusting you.

By the time you settled him into a chair, pulled close to the stove for easy access, Dean was quiet. Too quiet. His mind was still buzzing with what you’d told him. But his wolf? 

His wolf was purring.

Purring with pride, with something warm and deep and wholly content. You’d researched this. You’d prepared, for him. You were taking care of him, of them. 

Dean was floored. Speechless. And utterly in awe of you. 

You handed him a cup of hot coffee, giving him that small, reassuring smile. “I like hearing you purr,” you murmured, going back to the task of making him breakfast.

He nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken, not even realizing the sound wasn’t just in his head, as he now questioned the whine from earlier. “Did… did that uh… that whine… Was that why, you uh… you came back?” Dean asked hesitantly, more focused on the cup in his hand than on you.

You hummed softly, cracking eggs into the pan, the scent of butter and bacon already filling the kitchen. “Yeah,” you admitted, glancing over to him. “It felt like someone punched me in the chest and stabbed me in the stomach at the same time.”

Dean frowned, running his thumb over the rim of his coffee mug. That didn’t sit right with him—not because he doubted you, but because the idea of his wolf projecting emotions outside himself, loud enough for you to not only hear them, but feel it, was a whole new level of strange. He’d spent his entire life with his wolf as something internal, instinctive. But this? It was like the damn thing had a voice now.

Another soft rumble slipped from his throat, and he stiffened. You turned fully toward him this time, head tilting, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “Dean.”

“What?” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“You’re purring again.” Heat crept up his neck, but he couldn’t even bring himself to deny it. He just shook his head, muttering, “God, this is weird.” He let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck, but the sound didn’t stop—not entirely. It settled in his chest, deep and steady. The way his wolf’s emotions mixed with his own, he understood it. 

You grinned, setting two plates down at the table. Over-easy eggs, thick slices of bacon, toast with butter. Simple, but comforting. “I know it feels weird, but it’s normal. I promise. And, I like hearing it.” You then helped him move to sit at the table, keeping him steady with your hand on his chest, his arm over your shoulders.

Once settled, Dean picked up his fork, but before he dug in, something flashed through his mind—familiar yet distant, like a memory stirring from the depths of his wolf.

It wasn’t clear at first. Just warmth. The feeling of something solid and comforting. Then came the scent of old leather and firewood, the weight of a thick blanket pulled over his shoulders. He must’ve been young, maybe six or seven, curled up on the couch after sneaking out to watch the pack elders talk. He’d drifted off before he got caught, only to wake up to Bobby pressing a cup of hot cocoa into his hands with a gruff, “You got ears for a reason, boy—use ‘em next time.”

Dean blinked, the memory dissolving like mist, but something about it lingered. The phantom weight of the blanket still clung to his shoulders, and for half a second, he could swear he smelled old leather and firewood, warm and grounding. That same warmth settled in his chest as he took a bite of food, the taste grounding him.

“You okay?” you asked softly, studying him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Just… remembering stuff.” “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” you offered with a reassuring smile.

You sat beside him, letting him have the space to process while still staying close to him. Dean took another bite, savoring the simple meal, feeling the way it soothed something raw inside him. He’d had breakfast a thousand times before, but this? Sitting here, with you, his wolf right there at the surface, with him? It was dizzying.

The rest of the morning passed in a slow, easy rhythm. After eating, you took care of clean up while he drank another cup of coffee, mostly just watching you. Memories from his wolf came and went, the fog in his mind still there, but as long as you were close, it never got overwhelming.

You guided him to the couch once the kitchen was clean, setting him up with a cup of water before pulling a blanket over him. When they came, you stayed close to him, almost able to feel that something was just a little off, even if you couldn’t see his face with how the two of you were cuddling. Hours passed like that—quiet conversation, the occasional purr slipping past his lips or rumbling in his chest. It was the quiet whines when you had to walk into another room for something that always felt the same—that ache in your chest, the twist in your gut, and the need to go comfort them. 

It wasn’t the same feeling you would have if you were normal. If you were normal, it would have been a mutual claiming the night before. You shook the thought away, forcing yourself to focus on the moment. This was how it had to be. How it was meant to be. Even if something inside you ached for more.

Every so often, another memory surfaced—a childhood run through the trees with Sam at his side, the feel of John’s firm hand on his shoulder as he taught him about cars, the warmth of Mary’s voice singing softly when he was sick. Some of them he shared with you as your fingers absentmindedly teased through his hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

Each one felt clearer, sharper than before. Like the bond was untangling parts of himself he hadn’t fully understood. All while weaving them together in an entirely new way.

And through it all, you were there. His rock. His peace. His home.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Dean wasn’t just getting used to it—he was settling into it. The way his wolf’s memories surfaced—the images, feelings, and scents—playing through his mind as if they were his own. And in a way, they were his. At least his wolf felt content within him. Emotions and thoughts weaving together as Dean got back pieces of his life he hadn’t realized he missed.

He’d almost forgotten to call his brother with everything going on. The two of you laughed, finding out he was just next door, hanging out with Jess in her cabin. Sam took down the list of things Dean had asked him to pick up, letting him know he’d stop by later on that evening to drop them off.

Dean yawned halfway through another movie, shifting against you so his head rested on your thigh, his body stretching out along the couch. It was just after noon, the sun high in the sky, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of your cabin, time felt slower—softer. Before he even realized it, sleep took him under, your scent wrapping around him like a lullaby.

—------------------------

Another full moon. Another shift. 

Six months after presentation, his wolf had full control. This was his time. Almost ten hours where he existed unchained—where the body and mind were fully his own. 

Tonight, though, the air was different. Charged. 

He didn’t linger with his pack. Tonight, he made a beeline straight for that place. His paws kicking up damp earth as he raced toward the place that called to him—had been calling to him for months. His heart pounded harder the closer he got, anticipation coursing hot through his veins. 

Then, he was there.

But still, he remained in the shadows, watching. He’d come here nearly every night of the full moon, but hadn’t always stayed. Tonight though? Tonight, something was different. 

A scent—so faint, like a whisper through the trees, but unmistakable. Her. She was closer.

His muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at him to move, to close the distance. But his paws were rooted to the earth, as if some unseen force held him back.

Then, he heard it. 

She was singing.

The sound hit him like a strike to the chest. Raw. Aching. Beautiful. She was in human form—he could tell with how the notes resinated off the forest, speaking a language she didn’t understand. 

But he did.

Loneliness. Longing. The deep, unwavering love she had for her pack. But there was so much more. Her love for her best friend. Then, there was the pain of never feeling her wolf. 

He not only heard it, he felt it.

If he could have cried, he would have. Instead, he stood there, helpless, every instinct warring against the barriers between them. He wanted to find a way past that damned fence, to reach her, to tell her she wasn’t alone.

But he couldn’t. And then, her song faded into the night. He tilted his head to the moon, answering her in the only way he could, with a howl of his own. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

But she wouldn’t understand, and that was the most heartbreaking part of it all. 

His ears twitched, listening, straining for any sign of her. But all he heard was the soft crunch of footsteps retreating into the woods.

She had left.

The next two nights were the same, but after that, over the next year, there was nothing. 

He spent his days fighting with his human, desperate, frustrated. He couldn’t make him understand, not when all he could push through the barrier between them were fractured emotions. But gods, he tried.He wanted nothing to do with other omegas. They weren’t her. Not like his human did.

He couldn’t make his human understand. She was out there, so damned close yet so far away. It was infuriating. His anger, frustration, and helplessness—it all bled into his human, spilling out in fists and arguments at school.

Then, on a night when he thought he might go mad from the silence—

Her song filled the air again.

It hit him like a tidal wave. Her scent moved with it, twining through the air, sinking deep into his bones. Rain-soaked earth. Vanilla. Something purely, unmistakably hers. Cinnamon.

A purr rumbled through his chest before he could stop it.

And again, he answered, his howl splitting the night. “You’re not alone. I’m here.” 

But again, only silence followed. Only the soft sound of her footsteps as she walked away from wherever she’d been hiding among the trees.

Four years. Four long, grueling years of silence. Some full moons, he went to that spot and sang a sad song for only the moon. Others, he ran with his pack, trying to lose himself in the rhythm, pushing away the ache that never eased. The tension between him and his human worsened after each full moon. 

His ears twitched. The sounds of the forest were always the same—an owl in the distance, creatures scurrying through the underbrush, the faint rustling of leaves. But then, a new sound. Footsteps. Soft, careful, deliberate. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto that ancient stump in the clearing.

Then, her song rang into the night. 

That melody from what felt like a lifetime ago. The sound of her voice hit him like a lightning strike, sinking deep into his bones. She was here, in the place he had been drawn to since his first shift. So close.

And like he’d done every time before, he howled his reply. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Like before, he waited to hear the retreat of her footsteps, but they never came. Instead, they moved closer, his entire body tensing with anticipation. It was the breeze that came from her direction, bringing her scent with it. Rain-soaked earth, vanilla, and something entirely her. Cinnamon. It was stronger. She was closer.

She wasn’t leaving. 

He rose to his feet, staying in the shadows, watching where the sound of her footsteps came from. Slowly, she came into view, half-lit by the moon. He swallowed hard. Even in her human form, she was breathtaking.

When she spoke, the sound was as beautiful as her song, but her words confused him. All he could do was whimper, a quiet plea. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to be near her. If only he could make her understand.

But, she stayed, even came closer. 

Tentatively, he moved, matching her steps, unable to look away as she emerged fully into the moonlight. And there, beneath her skin, he saw her, locked away within her, like his human within him.

Her wolf. 

Like a ghost walking in tandem, or a double exposure photograph, her wolf walked with her—black as the midnight sky, eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. 

She was his everything.

—---------------------

Dean had been whimpering in his sleep. You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him, so you just kept running your fingers through his hair, down his shoulder, over his arm. Slow, steady strokes, hoping the touch would ground him. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing, muscles tensing beneath your fingertips.

What was he dreaming about?

His hand twitched where it rested on your knee, then lifted slightly, pawing the air like he was reaching for something—or someone. His lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping before he finally stilled, his breathing evening out again.

You exhaled, relaxing back against the cushion of the couch, fingers still idly tracing over his arm. The movie had long since faded into the background, nothing more than distant noise. Your focus was entirely on him—on the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his features softened in his sleep. 

Your eyes drifted to the mark on his neck, still healing from when you’d claimed him the night before. A small smile to your lips. That bond—the one that tethered him to you—was what was allowing this. Letting him become one with his wolf, rather than just something to fight with in his head.

Then, with a quiet inhale, Dean stirred. His fingers brushing against your skin, a soft, unconscious touch. Slowly, heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, green still clouded with sleep but searching, flickering over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. There was something different in his gaze.

Something deeper. Something that stole your breath from your lungs.

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, his brows knitting together slightly. He just looked at you, a quiet intensity in his gaze, like he was trying to fit words to something too vast, too consuming to be spoken aloud.

He’d been speechless that first day nearly three months ago. But now? After that dream—after seeing you through his wolf’s eyes—language felt almost meaningless.

So, he didn’t try. He just moved, shifting upright before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he needed you closer, needed you real. His breath was warm against your hair when he finally whispered, “I love you.”

The words were thick with emotion, not nearly enough to contain the weight of everything inside him, but it was all he had.

You stilled, fingers curling slightly where they had rested against his back. He’d never said that before. It wasn’t just the words. The weight behind them held something deeper.

The words settled over you, sinking in slowly, a warmth unfurling in your chest that you weren’t sure how to name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then, you pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in the way his gaze searched yours, the faint crease in his brow like he was bracing himself. Your lips parted, breath hitching slightly before you finally managed, “Dean…”

The sound of his name made something flicker in his expression—something raw, something vulnerable. But before either of you could say more, his stomach grumbled, breaking the moment.

You blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing just enough for you to shift back, cupping his cheek briefly before nudging him toward the armrest. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat back. “Yeah, alright. But I’m still not moving too fast, so don’t rush me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, standing before offering him a hand up. “I wasn’t planning on it, Speed Racer.”

Dean took your hand, letting you steady him as he stood. He still wobbled slightly, his grip tightening around yours, and you gave him a knowing look. “Still dizzy?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve been on a boat all day.”

“Could last a while,” you reminded him as you guided him toward the kitchen. “Depending on how stubborn you are about letting it happen.” Dean shot you a pointed look, muttering something about “not that stubborn,” but you just hummed, unconvinced, as you opened the fridge.

With it still a couple of hours until dinner, you pulled out the pie from the day before, glancing at him as he lowered himself into a chair. His eyes were distant again, like he was still caught in whatever he’d dreamed about.

After a moment, you set a plate in front of him, then sat down across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dean hesitated, rolling his shoulders slightly, before dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah. I think—I think I need to.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I saw things. Remembered things.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My wolf’s memories. It wasn’t just a dream.”

You nodded, not pushing, just waiting. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you went back over to the freezer, pulling out a roast to prepare for dinner while he ate his slice of pie, piecing things together in his mind. 

The ‘dream’ had shaken Dean more than he wanted to admit just yet. It was a hell of a lot to take in. The emotions alone had his mind reeling. He let out a shaky breath just as you set a glass of water on the table for him.

“You need to stay hydrated,” you said, pressing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

You thought about the book you were going to write, making mental notes of all the little things that had happened since that morning—things others probably had no knowledge of. Then, tucking them away in your mind, you focused on slicing carrots, potatoes, and onions to add to the roast.

Dean groaned. “Carrots? Really?” He knew he was whining like a pup, but he wasn’t a fan of ‘healthy’ stuff like his brother was.

You glanced over your shoulder, amusement flickering in your eyes. You could have pointed out just how much he sounded like a fussy pup, but honestly? A part of you found it endearing in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. You bit back a smile, turning back to your task.

“All I ask is that you try them. You’re a grown man. I’m not going to force-feed you,” you teased, your voice light but knowing. It was a trick you had learned from Beverly all those years ago, the kind that worked on stubborn pups who turned their noses up at anything remotely healthy.

Dean shot you a skeptical look, shoveling another bite of pie into his mouth. Not even his mom had been able to cook carrots in a way that didn’t still taste like carrots. He watched as you prepped the roasting pan, seasoned everything with practiced ease. And… grabbed the honey? His brows knit together, his curiosity pulled him from his seat. 

“What are you…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he watched you coat the entire roast, seasonings and all, in a layer of honey. Then, drizzled it sparingly over the potatoes, carrots, and onions that were all around the chunk of meat in the middle.

You glanced at him, raising a brow as you capped the honey. “Never had a roast like this before, huh?” 

Dean shook his head, still watching you like he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be intrigued or horrified.

You chuckled, covering the roasting pan and sliding it into the preheated oven. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” 

His curiosity had officially been piqued. You made a mental note of that—just another thing you were learning about him.

“Do you want to watch another movie or tell me about the dream you had?” you asked softly, turning to face him.

Your question pulled him from his mental debate over how you had used honey on dinner. 

Your voice was gentle, giving him an out if he needed it. Dean appreciated that. He swallowed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter supporting him. He wanted to tell you—hell, he needed to—but the words sat heavy in his chest, tangled in a way that made them hard to pull free.

“Movie?” he said instead, hesitantly. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Dean knew you had other things the two of you could do, like board and card games, but with the fog in his mind, he couldn’t concentrate on anything for very long.

You didn’t press. “Movie it is,” you said with a small smile, helping him back to the living room. 

As he settled onto the couch, the dizziness subsiding along with some of the fog in his mind, he watched you scan the shelves. His eyes followed the careful way you moved, the easy familiarity in how you sifted through the movies. He liked that. Liked how comfortable you were, how natural all of this felt. His wolf rumbled in agreement, pushing closer, making its presence known in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

He exhaled through his nose, your words from earlier replaying in his mind. Instead of pushing his wolf and its feelings away, Dean embraced them, letting his wolf stretch in his body, his own fingers flexing.

“Got any action movies?” he asked, taking slow, deep breaths, the sensation strange but manageable.

You hummed in thought, fingers trailing over the cases before plucking one free. “How about Young Guns?” You glanced back at him, gauging his reaction. “It’s action, kinda Western—you like Westerns, right?”

Dean huffed, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “Damn right, I do.” You grinned, slipping the disc into the player and settling beside him as the movie started. He put his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to snuggle into his side, and you let him. His wolf guided him, and this time, he didn’t fight the instincts that coursed through him.

For a while, Dean focused on the film, letting himself get lost in the gunfights, the sharp drawl of the cowboy accents, the reckless loyalty of the gang. But his wolf was more focused on you. Calm within him, just under his skin.

It wasn’t just the lingering weight of the dream—though that still sat at the back of his mind—it was you. The warmth of you against him, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint scent of honey and spices still clinging to your skin from earlier. It was different than before, more potent. His wolf leaned into it, its instincts threading deeper into his awareness, merging with his own in a way that made his pulse quicken.

Dean clenched his jaw, shifting slightly. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to feeling his wolf so much, like it was pressing up against the inside of his ribs. It wasn’t demanding or aggressive—just present, threading through his awareness like the slow seep of warmth from a hot drink on a winter’s day.

It wasn’t bad, not exactly—just… new.

Then, halfway through the movie, the scent of dinner began to drift in from the kitchen.

It hit like a damn freight train.

The rich aroma of slow-roasted meat, the sweetness of hone caramelizing over time, the earthiness of seasoned vegetables—it all wrapped around him, sinking into his senses, pulling a grumble from his stomach, even after the slice of pie he’d had earlier. His wolf perked up instantly, sharp and alert, fully fixated on the meal cooking just a room away.

Dean swallowed hard.

His stomach growled again, a low, insistent sound, but it wasn’t just hunger clawing at him. It was the feeling behind it—the way his wolf recognized the meal as something made for him, something meant to nourish, to provide. 

He turned slightly, glancing down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were still focused on the movie, but he swore there was the faintest hint of a knowing smile on your lips.

You’d done this on purpose.

You knew how to get him to eat the damn carrots without forcing it, just like you knew when to push him and when to let him sit with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how you did it—how you always seemed to know—but it settled something deep in his chest.

His wolf purred, the sound a gentle rumble in his chest.

Dean paid attention to his wolf, pulling you just a little closer. If he was being honest, this was one thing he and his wolf could agree on—being proud of you, of what you were doing for them. 

Maybe merging with it wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought to himself. Not if it meant more moments like this.

He let himself sink into the warmth of your embrace, losing track of time as the movie played on. When the timer dinged in the kitchen as the credits began rolling, you stirred against him, stretching with a soft yawn. “Lemme pull dinner out. Then, I’ll help you to the kitchen,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

Dean’s first instinct was to wave you off, to let you rest while he handled the rest of dinner. But his wolf stirred, disagreeing. Don’t. The resistance irritated him at first—until he actually looked at you. Not tired. Relaxed. His wolf knew, and as Dean let himself settle again, he could feel that knowing. A quiet certainty. He was beginning to recognize it.

You returned a moment later, helping him to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen. He let you, more out of curiosity than necessity, watching you as you moved through the space with effortless ease. There was something grounding about it, something steady in the way you plated the food with careful precision.

The scent had hit him first—the moment you pulled the lid off the roasting pan. The honey-glaze, the slow-roasted meat, and the rich spices teased his senses. It wrapped around him, familiar and new all at once, making his stomach tighten with more than just hunger. There was comfort there. But what really got him was the anticipation on how these carrots were going to taste.

Dean swallowed, shifting in his seat as you set a plate in front of him, the warmth of the dish seeping through the ceramic. His wolf all but hummed, a quiet rumble of satisfaction curling in his chest. This was meant for him—made for him. He could feel it, the unspoken care in every detail.

You sat down across from him with your own plate, offering a small smile before digging in, giving him space to process. However, you did eye him discreetly, curious as to how he’d react to the carrots. The concept worked on pups, so you figured it would work on adults too, in much the same way.

He picked up his fork, stabbing a chunk of carrot. It wasn’t mushy, offering just enough resistance to make him pause. Huh. He popped it into his mouth—and froze.

It was… sweet. But not too sweet. Tender while still firm. It melted on his tongue in a way he hadn’t expected, the honey balancing out the natural earthiness. His brows shot up as he chewed, surprised despite himself.

The giggle that slipped past your lips pulled his gaze to meet yours. To him, you looked like an amused parent who had just tricked their pup into enjoying something healthy. There was no stopping the slight tug at the corners of his lips, his wolf’s amusement slipping out, and he let it.

“Alright,” he admitted, gruff but good-natured. “I’ll give you this one.”

Dean cut himself a bite of meat. The flavors hit him in waves—savory, sweet, decadent. His wolf pressed close, instincts flaring in quiet approval, and Dean didn’t even try to fight it. He let his wolf stretch beneath his skin, their edges blurring. Not quite merged, but no longer quite separate either. Still an odd sensation, but he was done resisting.

Halfway through the meal, he found himself glancing up at you, his thoughts shifting. “You wanna know about the dream?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, setting your fork down carefully. “Only if you’re ready,”  you said, giving him that same out you knew he might need.

Dean exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. “It was of that first night,” he began, his voice quiet again. His gaze was on you, but far away, letting it play out in front of him. “But… it was that whole time before he met you, too.”

You stayed quiet, still giving him the space he needed so he could put words to the emotions you saw swirling in his eyes. Important memories came in dreams, you mentally reminded yourself. 

“He saw you, your wolf,” he whispered. “Like a ghost walking in you.” There was so much, but that had been what stood out the most to him, your wolf. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, lips parting slightly. But you stayed quiet, taking steadying breaths to try to calm your racing heart. None of which was lost on him.

His eyes refocused on you and whispered, “She’s beautiful, like you.”

You fought back tears as the emotions tightened around your chest like a vice, but one slipped down your cheek without permission. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, quickly wiping away the tear and attempting to pull yourself together. He got to see a part of you that you had never even been able to feel, and you weren’t entirely sure how to process it, but it hurt.

If he was capable, he would have gone over and pulled you into his arms, but the last thing he needed was to have you end up helping him up off the floor due to the dizziness. So, instead, he reached across the small table and took your hand in his.

For a few moments, he didn’t speak, letting his wolf guide him. 

“He’s always known it was you,” Dean explained softly, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “Ever since the first night I shifted after I presented alpha.” His voice was steady, weighted with something old, something certain. “When he’d answer you, he was telling you that he was there. That you weren’t alone.”

Something inside you broke. The kind of break that wasn’t jagged or painful—but the kind that let the light in.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable. Dean and his wolf worked together as he carefully braced against the table, shifting to sit beside you. Then, his arms were around you, strong and sure, pulling you close. He whispered comforting words, softly stroking your hair with one hand, the other on the small of your back, grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder, voice thick, the words almost swallowed by quiet sobs. You weren’t even sure where the emotions were coming from or why they had spilled over all of a sudden. It had just hit you, out of the blue. Or had it pulled to the surface things you had chosen not to face over the years, a loneliness that no one had truly ever been able to fill?

Dean could smell it in your scent, but with your mutation, his scent couldn’t calm you. So, he allowed his wolf further to the front, mixing with his consciousness, guiding him, so close they nearly blurred into one. A soft rumble in his chest vibrated into you. 

He was purring, again. He didn’t fight against it. This time, he leaned into it.

Slowly, your tears subsided, and your breathing evened out, the tension in your muscles easing as you relaxed against him.

Merging isn’t so bad, Dean thought to himself when you finally looked up at him, and he smiled softly down at you. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away another stray tear. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told you softly. “You’re here now, with me.” You didn’t have to explain why you were apologizing—he already knew. You saw it in his eyes, the quiet understanding, the way both he and his wolf held no resentment for the years that had passed, for the distance that had once been between you. With a shaky breath, you managed a small smile, then leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Thanks, for understanding,” you murmured.

Dean exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, giving you one last gentle squeeze before returning to his seat. It’d been easy to comfort you when he worked with his wolf. Easier than he ever thought it could be. The cabin felt different now—lighter, softer. Falling into conversation was simple, laughing about things from the movies, his sweet compliments about dinner, and the way you would just look at him, like you were seeing something in him no one else ever had.

You did see something in him—the way he was sharing control with his wolf, how they worked together, and how a softness finally found his eyes as the tension eased from his features. 

Dinner wound down with an ease neither of you rushed to disturb. Dean nursed a beer as you started cleaning up, the last of the golden daylight spilling through the kitchen windows. You’d barely tucked away the leftovers when the front door swung open, Jess and Sam’s voices carrying through the cabin.

“In the kitchen!” you called, not looking up from your task.

Sam was the first to step inside, eyes sweeping over Dean as the scents of dinner lingered thick in the air. “Man, if Jess hadn’t already fed me, I’d be all over whatever you made,” he said, amusement tugging at his voice.

Jess beelined for you, looping her arms around your waist as you washed another plate. “Tell me you saved me some?” she teased, resting her head on your shoulder.

You giggled, nudging her lightly. “If Dean doesn’t finish it off tomorrow.”

“Bet he only ate the meat,” Sam quipped, setting down the bag of supplies Dean had asked him for earlier.

Dean took a swig of his beer, shooting his brother a look, but you beat him to it. 

“He ate the potatoes and the carrots,” you informed Sam, matter-of-factly.

Sam’s brows shot up. “How?”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose—somewhere between irritation and resignation—as your laughter bubbled through the kitchen, warm and easy. Jess smirked, licking her lips as she answered for you. “She uses honey or maple syrup on them when she does a roast.”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Too bad Mom never knew that tick.” Dean muttered something under his breath and tipped his beer back, but he didn’t argue. Because, well—Sam wasn’t wrong.

“We’re not staying long,” Jess murmured, her chin still resting on your shoulder. “Just wanted to drop off Dean’s bag.” With her still holding onto you, you managed to dry your hands. “We’ll hang out soon—”

“None of that,” she scolded, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t rush this. I’ll be here when he can walk on his own two feet again.” You knew she was teasing Dean—at least a little—but also that she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if it took him a month to figure out how to merge with his wolf. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, leaning back into her embrace, covering her hand with yours.

“What are sisters for?” she murmured, squeezing you once before finally letting go.

The brothers watched, momentarily caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Pack members were close by nature, but this—this was something deeper. It was like the bond they had with each other, something that existed beyond blood or name. It wasn’t just Winter or Winchester or even how the packs had merged. The four of you simply fit, like a pack of your own, bound by something older, something unspoken. Jess had never shied away from your scent, had never hesitated to be close, and that meant something. The two of you had just been connected from the day she was born—like the day the brothers met the two of you, and the day Dean’s wolf had shifted for the first time. 

Jess was the first to pull them all from the quiet moment, ever the one to break the spell before it could settle too deeply.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, stepping back from you with a teasing smirk. “We should probably head out before these lovebirds start making eyes at each other.” Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, can’t be third and fourth wheeling all night.” Dean scoffed, shooting his brother a look, but he didn’t bother arguing. Not when he knew those two had already done far more than he and you had. 

Jess squeezed your hand once before stepping away, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Pretty sure that doesn’t leave much off the table,” you quipped, making her cackle as she disappeared out the door with Sam.

The quiet didn’t rush in; it settled, comfortably. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of night insects through the open window—soft, ambient sounds that made the space feel warmer, more yours. Dean leaned back in his chair, watching you for a long moment before he finished his beer.

“You tired?” His voice was low, rough in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

You glanced at him, shaking your head. “Not yet.” Dean exhaled, slow, watching as you wiped down the stove and counters. You felt his eyes on you, but not in a bad way. It was just different—not just adoration, but understanding. A deep, bone-deep knowing.

His wolf had always been there, waiting. Pacing beneath his skin, a presence he’d tried to keep at arm’s length, control rather than embrace. But tonight, there was no struggle, no tension. It wasn’t separate from him anymore, wasn’t something he had to manage. It was him. Fully, completely.

The steady pulse in his chest, the way his body leaned forward instinctively in his chair, toward yours, how he could feel his muscles relax just with your presence. The pull that had always been there—only now he was finally letting himself accept it.

“I like this,” he admitted, voice softer now, honest in a way that felt like a secret meant only for you. “Not fighting it. Feels… right.”

It was the soft smile tugging at your lips when you turned around that hitched his breath. His words sent something warm curling in your chest, knowing he meant more than just his wolf—he meant you. Meant this. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, stepping closer to him, reaching out and taking his hand. “It does.”

And for the first time, Dean let himself believe it.

He let you help him upstairs, though he barely needed to lean on you at all now. Not when he had finally stopped fighting—both with and against his wolf. He wasn’t losing himself by embracing it. He was becoming whole. 

Instincts he’d been afraid of for far too long settled into place, no longer something to suppress but something to trust. And somehow, being with you now, seeing the world through his wolf’s eyes, it all just made sense. Like the pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. 

Even knowing you couldn’t feel the bond between the two of you, couldn’t scent him or the emotions woven in it, he knew. 

Your heart belonged to him. Just as his had always belonged to you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

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[zayed-gold87]

The Golden Team: A Bond Forged in Dedication

The setting sun cast its golden glow across the soccer field, a perfect reflection of our team’s identity: The Golden Team. This wasn’t just another training session. Tomorrow, we would face Team Vanguard, a squad as sharp as its name implied. Our captain, Brody, stood in the middle of the field, his voice rising above the sounds of practice.

“We don’t just play. We inspire,” he declared, his voice brimming with confidence. “We’re not just a team. We’re a family.”

I stood near the defensive line, scanning the field as always. As the team’s sweeper, my role was to read the game and turn defence into attack, something I took immense pride in. Ahead of me, Herc, our star striker, thundered through the training cones, practicing his powerful and precise shots. Beside him, Maximus and Ezan worked together, perfecting their quick passes to break through any defence.

Further back, Grayden ran agility drills, his speed a weapon that could tip the scales in any match. Our goalkeeper practiced relentlessly, leaping to deflect incoming shots with incredible focus.

Watching over it all were the Polo Drones. Once players themselves, they now dedicated their lives to making us better. Their uniform rubber polo shirts glinted faintly in the warm light. They moved with a strange synchronicity, wordlessly setting up cones, retrieving balls, and even stepping in for one-on-one challenges when needed. Their minds seemed singularly focused on one thing: our success.

“Zayed, step up!” Brody’s voice pulled me back to the moment. A ball arced toward me. With a sharp step, I intercepted it, pivoting cleanly and sending it forward with a long, precise pass to Herc.

“Nice work, Zayed!” Herc called out, a grin spreading across his face as he received the ball and fired it into the net.

As training progressed, Brody gathered us into a huddle. The Polo Drones silently moved to the sidelines, their job for now complete. Brody’s eyes swept over us, his presence commanding.

“Tomorrow isn’t just about skill,” he began, his voice low but powerful. “It’s about unity. Every move we make, we make together. Remember, the strength of The Golden Team isn’t just in our individual talent—it’s in how we lift each other up.”

We all nodded, a wave of determination washing over us. Brody clapped my shoulder. “Zayed, you’re the link between our defence and attack. I need you sharp tomorrow.”

“You can count on me, Captain,” I replied, the weight of the moment filling me with purpose.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the field basked in an amber glow. The Polo Drones resumed their silent tasks, preparing for tomorrow’s game. I stayed behind a little longer, practicing my positioning and passing.

Tomorrow, we wouldn’t just face Team Vanguard. We would prove the power of dedication, friendship, and unity. Whatever the outcome, The Golden Team would stand together as one.

Want to join the golden team? Contact @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 or @brodygold

[misssoully]

💖Eternal Embrace Legacy Challenge💖

-A Legacy Of Forbidden Love By @misssoully-

This Sims 4 legacy challenge focuses on the enduring power of love that transcends boundaries and defies societal norms. Amidst rival families, cultural differences, and societal pressures, follow the journey of a family bound by forbidden romances, determined to preserve their love across generations.

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Basic Premise:

The legacy begins with two teen Sims from rival families or backgrounds who defy their families' expectations and societal norms to pursue a forbidden romance.

As the legacy progresses through ten generations, each heir navigates the challenges of maintaining their family's love and unity while facing external pressures and internal conflicts. Additionally, they strive to end the ongoing feud at some point during the generations.

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Rules:

1. Forbidden Romance: Each generation must feature at least one forbidden romance that defies societal norms or familial expectations. These romances are predetermined for each generation.

2. Ongoing Conflicts: Maintain ongoing conflicts or tensions between the founding families throughout the legacy. These conflicts will influence their aspirations, traits, and relationships. Some heirs will attempt to stop the family's ongoing feud in certain generations.

3. Complete Rules: Each generation must complete its rules to advance to the next heir.

4. Mods and Custom Content: Mods and Custom Content are allowed and can add more spice and drama to the challenge, but they are optional.

5. Cheats: Cheats are only allowed when the first generation is living with their family and when they are moving into another lot to start the legacy challenge. Once they have moved out, no more cheats are permitted.

6. Money Tree: Each generation must have at least one money tree to represent their family wealth and crest.

7. Funds for Heirs: When each heir moves out of the house, they will have no funds to start with unless they have a part-time job. They can transfer the money they earned from their part-time job. Alternatively, use a spin wheel or a random number generator to determine how much money they should get from their parents, using a range of $0-$1,500.

8. Life Span: The life span must be set to the normal life span, with an additional 50 days for the elder life stage so they can live long enough to see their grandkids.

9. Occults: Occults are allowed if you want to have an occult love story while doing this challenge.

10. Lot Traits/Types: Each lot that the heir lives on must have the Simple Living lot trait. If you can't afford to buy a house, you must make the lot a rental until you have enough money to buy it, or you can live in the rental lot as long as you please.

11. Family Pet: Each heir must have an animal as a family pet.

12. Family Keepsake Box: Have a family keepsake box or any box that can store items.

13. Family Graveyard: Make a family graveyard for this legacy. If you are playing with vampires, this is optional.

14. More Traits Slot Mod: If you have the More Traits Slot mod, there will be an extra trait beside the rest of the traits with this symbol (+). You can choose any three traits out of the five traits that each heir must have.

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If you are interested in playing this legacy challenge use @misssoully and #eternalembracelegacy & #eternalembracealegacyofforbiddenlove so I can see how you would play this legacy challenge.

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Generation One: Star-Crossed Lovers

You and your lover are the scions of two feuding families in (the world you chose to live in). Despite the animosity between your guys' families, you guys both meet by chance at high school and fall deeply in love.

Traits: Romantic, Erratic, Family-Oriented + (Cheerful and Loyal)

Partner Traits: Romantic, Loyal, Hot-Headed + (Bro and Genius)

Aspirations: Soulmate (for both partners)

Career: Your choice

 Rules:

Must be a teen.

Achieve maximum friendship and romance with each other despite family disapproval.

Have a best friend in high school to help you with your secret relationship.

Complete the soulmate aspiration.

Reach the maximum level of Charisma and three other skills.

Reach level 10 in the career you choose ( if you want to run your own business make it have a 3 stars rating).

Marry in secret without the knowledge of both families.

Run away together where both your families can't find you.

Add the private dwelling trait on the lot you move to.

Have 1 child together.

OPTIONAL

Complete the message in a bottle collection.

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2. Generation Two: Secret Romance 

 You are the only child of both your parents, raised in secrecy to shield you from the ongoing feud. Despite knowing the truth, You struggle with your family's legacy and the pressure to maintain their forbidden love.

Traits: Loner, Socially awkward, Art lover + (Perfectionist and Maker)

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Career: Painter

Rules:

Maintain a low profile to avoid detection by rival families.

Maintain the family's hidden love letters/photos and memorabilia.

Have no good or close friend.

Complete the Sugar Skulls and Decorative Eggs Collection.

Live in a small/tiny/micro home.

Add the Quiet lot trait or the private dwelling. (You can add both)

Make part of your house have an art studio.

Complete the painter career.

Complete the painter extraordinaire aspiration.

Reach the maximum level of Painting, and two other skills.

Date a sim that is married.

Must have a child/children with that married sim.

Have a painting of your parents, lover, children/child, and pet.

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3.   Generation Three: Forbidden Union 

You face the pressure to honor your family's legacy while yearning for freedom and independence. You rebel against your family's expectations and fall in love with someone from a background deemed unacceptable by your relatives.

Traits: Hot-head, Self-absorbed, Foodie + (Childish and Kleptomaniac)

Aspiration: City Native

Career: Criminal (Oracle Branch)

Rules:

Get dislike by 12 Sims.

Drop out of high school.

Move out of the family home to assert independence.

Must live in one of the apartments in the city.

Max out the Mischief, Programming, Singing and one other skills.

Engage in a romance with a Sim from a background opposed by the family. 

Buy a voodoo doll and bind your lover with it.

Complete the city native aspiration.

Complete the criminal (Oracle Branch) career.

Learn all the food recipes in the city living food stalls.

Complete the Snow Globes and Posters collection.

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4. Generation Four: Sacrifices

You struggle with the burden of family expectations and your own desires. You grapple with sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of your family's reputation.

Traits: Proper, Good, Gloomy + (Neat and Overachiever)

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Career: Doctor & Stay-at-home parent

Rules:

Have a family dinner with your parents and siblings if you have one every Saturday when moving out of their house.

Marry a Sim that is approved by your family, even if it goes against your own desires.

Complete the successful lineage aspiration.

Reach level 10 of the Doctor career.

Make the Sim quit their job once they complete the Doctor career and become a stay-at-home parent, focusing on raising their children.

Reach a maximum level of Cooking, Parenting, and two other skills.

Adopt a stray kitten/puppy.

Have 5 children.

Create a club for Sims who have kids.

Have a toddler play date for each child.

Each child must have atleast two milestones for each categories at their infant stage.

Each child must maximize all their skills at the toddler stage.

Each child must complete at least one child's aspirations.

Each child must be an A+ student in high school.

Each child must have at least one good character value before aging into a young adult.

Each child must graduate from high school and go to university to get a degree.

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5.   Generation Five: Reconciliation 

You seek to mend the rifts between the both  families of the first generation/heir. You strive to reconcile their past conflicts and foster unity through diplomacy and understanding.

Traits: Outgoing , Ambitious , Snob + (Vegetarian and Geek)

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Career: Law (Judge Branch)

Rules:

Complete the Law (Judge Branch) career.

Complete the friend of the world aspiration.

Reach the maximum level of Wellness, Video Gaming, Research and Debate, and two other skills.

Befriend with 5 sims from the first heir family side and 5 sims from the first heir spouse family side.

Organize 5 events or gatherings(parties) to bring both families together to resolve the dispute between both families.

Marry a police officer and have a secret affair with a criminal.

Complete the void critter card, Holiday Cracker Plushies, Simmies , colourful marbles and my Sim trophies collection.

Have a baby with the sim that your sim is having a affair with and go on a vacation with them for 3 days.

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6. Generation Six: New Beginnings 

You have a fresh start and new beginnings. You seek to break free from the constraints of the past and forge your own path, unbound by family history.

Traits: Genius, Self-assured, Non-Committal + (Adventurous and Party Animal)

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Part-time job:Manual laborer & Life guard

Career: Social Media

Rules:

Complete the manual laborer and life guard career as a teen.

Move out as a teen to start your own legacy and separate yourself from both families.

Live in 4 worlds. (If you move out of your parents’ house and live in the same world but on a different lot, it still counts.)

Complete the postcard and seashell collection.

 Go on a vacation in 2 different worlds to explore new opportunities and experiences.

Host 5 parties and live stream them with a drone.

Reach maximum level in Media production, Entrepreneur and three other skills.

Have  3 failed relationships with 3 older Sims from 3 different worlds you move to.

Marry an older sim that is a global superstar.

Complete the Renaissance sim aspiration.

Complete the Social Media career.

Start a lifestyle brand.

Become a proper celebrity and start a lifestyle brand.

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7.   Generation Seven: Struggle for Acceptance 

You face discrimination and prejudice due to your family's history. You fight for acceptance and equality, challenging societal norms and advocating for change.

Traits: Green Fiend, Active, Insider + (Freegan and Recycle Discipline) 

Aspiration: Leader of the Pack

Career: Civil Designer (Green Technician)

Rules:

Live on a lot that has eco and reduce and recycle lot traits.

Make a club.

Complete the leader of the pack aspiration.

Complete the Civil designer (Green Technician) career.

Marry a rival coworker.

Adopt at least two kids and give birth to 1 child.

Only use the furniture that you made with the fabricator machine.

Purchase the brave trait in the reward store.

Reach maximum level in Fabrication, Charisma, Logic, Handiness, Gardening and one other skills.

On the neighbourhood action plan board convinced people to vote for Clean Energy Production, Eco-Friendly Appliances,Green Gardening, Power Conservation, Self-Sufficiency,Tech Support, Up cycling Initiative and Water Conversation.

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8.   Generation Eight: Legacy of Love

 You embody the values of love, compassion, and empathy instilled by your ancestors. You endeavors to honor their legacy by spreading kindness and positivity to those around you.

Traits: Generous, Animal Enthusiast, Clumsy + (Goofball and  High Maintenance)

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals

Career: Conservationist (Environmental Manager)

Rules:

Become good friends with 7 sims.

Have 5 enemies.

Adopt a cat and a dog.

Complete the feather,frog,insect, fish collection.

Marry to a sim that is your friend or best friend ex.

Must have triples.

Max out the Pet training, Logic, Charisma and two other skills.

Do 10 odd jobs.

Complete the Conservationist (Environmental Manager).

Complete the friend of animals aspiration.

Rescue a horse, max out all four horse skills and win at least 1 competition.

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9.  Generation Nine: Redemption 

You seek redemption for the mistakes and conflicts of previous generations.  You work to reconcile past grievances and heal old wounds, paving the way for a brighter future.

Traits: Squeamish, Jealous, Materialistic + (loves outdoors and Nosy)

Aspiration: Neighbour Confidante 

Career: Politician (Charity Organiser)

Rules:

Be friends with 8 sims at your first heir's side and 8 sims of the first heir's spouse.

Talk up about each sim to them from the opposite family to be with.

Have a family barbecue with them.

Go on a vacation with them (if it restricts you to the amount of Sims it allows you to take or invite, make it not all the Sims from one family side you invited.)

Donate money to charity every Sunday and Friday.

Organize 3 events to contribute money to charity or fundraiser.

Complete the Neighbour Confidante aspirations.

Complete the Politician (Charity Organiser) career.

Max out the Debating , Charisma, Gardening and three other skills.

Have a romantic relationship with one of your sibling spouse or partner.

------------------------------------------------------------10. Generation Ten: Unity and Harmony 

You're the final descendant of your legacy, embodying the culmination of love, unity, and harmony. You strive to unite both families once and for all, ensuring a legacy of peace and acceptance for future generations.

Traits: Music Lover , Bookworm, Creative + Wise (You have to choose this trait when you become an elder, but for now, you can pick any trait) and Paranoid

Aspiration: Best Selling Author & Big Happy Family

Career: Writer (Author Branch)

Rules:

Write stories about each generation from 1-10 make a copy of them and publish it.

Meet 12 Sims from both the first heir's family and spouse's side.

Introduce them to each other so they can become friends.

Marry to a sim that is a friend of your family.

Reach level 10 in writing, a musical instrument skill, and two other skills.

Complete the the Best Selling Author and Big Happy Family aspirations.

Complete the writer career (Author Branch).

Have a family dinner party.

Invite both families to your wedding, engagement party, and birthday party.

Invite both families to your all children’s baby showers and birthdays.

Go on a family camping trip or vacation with them. (You can invite as many Sims as you want, but you must not go below 5. Another tip: you can switch to their household and make them go on a camping trip or vacation as well.)

Visit the family graveyard.

Move back to the world where it all started. 

[sinnabarmoth]

Chasing Your Shooting Star (1/19)

(A/N: I have been dying to write this fic for forever! And I finally got to a point where I feel comfortable enough in the new semester to start writing long fic again so here we go! Xavier University AU because I need this rn.)

Pairing: Uni Student|Xavier x Uni Student|Reader (fem)

Summary: Reader is starting her senior year at the prestigious Philos University. She's determined to keep her rank at the top of her class but a hiccup in her plans comes in the form of a handsome transfer student named Xavier.

Content warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3600

Chapters: (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19)

Read on AO3

Nothing in life came easy and it certainly did not come for free. You had been taught that nothing worth having came without some struggle. To be accomplished you had to earn it through hard work and a little sacrifice. Another necessity was letting go of distractions. If you did not need it, you could live without it.

Such a life is what led you here, Philos University of Cosmic Excellence. The single best university in all of Philos. Just to be accepted was a high honor and if you managed to survive getting a degree it all but guaranteed a spot anywhere you wanted to pursue a career. It was also the leading university in combat training, producing some of the best military agents in the world. The goal of the university was to create people that were forces of good in the world, as either a warrior or an academic.

It was a bright late summer day and you were starting your senior year at the university. Two more semesters and you’d be a graduate and the rest of your life would begin. It was exciting and daunting. So close to the end yet still so far left to go.

Your place at the university had been assured thanks to your outstanding academics. Ever since you were a child you had placed at the very top of your schools’ leader boards, both in combat and academics. You were a smart girl and you worked hard but you also knew to give credit where credit was due. The person who had pushed you to be the very best that you could be was your mother. She had instilled a great sense of personal pride and drive for success in you from an early age. Without her you don’t know where you’d be.

A testament to just how successful you could be was your maternal line. Your mother had become the dean of the prestigious university you now were set to graduate from. Even your great grandmother had been the founder of the most successful deepspace aircraft assembly company in the world and passed it down to your grandmother. Your mother would have inherited it if not for her becoming the dean instead.

Now there was you.

You strode across the campus, following the crowd of students for the welcoming ceremony. It was mandatory for everyone whether you were a new student or not.

You went to take a seat. You had to sit somewhere closer to the front or else your mother would get upset that she couldn’t see you during her welcome speech. Something about unity or something like that. You didn’t entirely see how it mattered since you were one person in a sea of people and it wasn’t like you had a special seat or anything.

But anyway, you found a seat and sat through the long welcoming speech from your mother and some other staff that laid out expectations, rules, well wishes and the like. About halfway through the speeches though you noticed that the blonde guy in front of you was starting to doze off.

Then a small snore came out of him and you realized that he had fully fallen asleep. You knew your mother wasn’t the most dynamic speaker but a little more respect! Also, if she saw someone this close to the stage falling asleep she was going to be pissed. You glanced at the stage making sure your mother wasn’t looking your way and kicked the back of his chair.

He jolted awake and stretched his head back to look at you. Your breath caught up in your chest for a second as you looked at him. He was rather handsome. He had a cute face at least. His large pale blue eyes widened slightly as he took you in. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked, his voice just as hazy as his demeanor.

You shook off the initial surprise and cocked your head at him. “Is that even a question?”

“Right…sorry.” he continued to stare at you.

Your face started to heat with the attention and you kicked his chair again. “Watch the dean!” you hissed at him.

“Oh right,” he said, as if broken from some spell and turned around. He sat straight and kept his attention forward for the rest of the welcoming ceremony.

You didn’t think more of the interaction and when everyone was dismissed you got up and made for the stage to greet your mother and give your usual praise for a good start of semester speech. “Thank you, my dear.” your mother said, smiling affectionately. “I thought I spotted some altercation between you and one of the other students during the speech though.”

She had seen that? You had been so sure she wasn’t looking. Then again the woman acted like she had eyes in the back of her head when it came to you.

“Oh it was nothing, the guy in front of me had misheard something you said and asked me for clarification.” the lie fell clunkily from your mouth. You weren’t used to lying to your mother and you prayed that your reputation would aid you. You didn’t want to admit the real reason that guy had been talking to you. He didn’t deserve the ire of your mother for something as small as nodding off during an admittedly very boring and repetitive speech.

“He asked the right person then, didn’t he? I don’t think there’s a person alive that knows my speech better than you.” she said and you let the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Yes. Shall we go to the welcome brunch?” you said and looped your arm with your mother’s to go to the awaiting meal in the main mess hall.

The day passed without any more incident and you were able to return to your room. While you prided yourself on having gotten into Philos University on your own academic merits there was one little perk you had gotten as the dean’s daughter. That was you had the privilege of a private dorm and adjoining bath. There was one building on campus that had a small number of this types of dorms and it was a lottery to see who got to have one for that semester. Being the dean’s daughter though your mother had been able to reserve you one for the extent of your academic career. At first you had fought it because you didn’t want special treatment but she had insisted and after the first semester you were glad to have the privacy.

The next day was the official start of classes. You got dressed and went to your first class. You got to the lecture hall and took a seat near the back. For as studious as you were you didn’t focus well in the front. You didn’t like the feeling of everyone behind you being able to look at you. You couldn’t say why but it just unnerved you in some way and so you tended to drift towards the back where seeing you was harder.

You sat down as other students filed in. You knew pretty much everyone by now. By the time you were a senior you had been able to single out who was in your degree program because they showed up in all the same classes. So it was no surprise to you when every single one of them kept at least a one seat buffer from you.

You tried not to think about it. Even if you did know why they avoided you. You weren’t exactly the most social person and over the years your preference for solitude had come across to the other students as being purposefully standoffish. It also didn’t help that your constant status as the top of your class on the ranking boards made people mad. No one had been able to tear you down from the pedestal you had built and it pissed them off that to them the real number one spot was actually still number two.

It was fine though. You didn’t need them. They’d just be a distraction. Besides, you could have as many friends as you wanted after you graduated. It was just important that you focus on your studies now. It was--

“Good morning. Is this seat taken?”

You looked up, startled that someone was addressing you and saw the guy from the welcome ceremony standing next to you point at the desk to your immediate left.

“Oh uh, no. It’s all yours.” you said.

“Thanks.” he sat down.

Why was he sitting back here? There were plenty of seats still available everywhere else. Then again, you didn’t recognize him. This was a core class for your program so if he was in your program you hadn’t seen him before. Could he have been a new student? This was an intense class so it was only recommended to be taken by student in their senior year since they’d have had time to understand the material from the years before. So either he was a transfer student, he was a regular student with a huge makeover that made him unrecognizable, or he was someone who was woefully unprepared for what was about to happen in this class. You knew this teacher, this teacher was your advisor and she pulled zero punches when it came to her classes and if this guy didn’t have any kind of foundation to stand on he was going to drown immediately.

The class began and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him. He didn’t seem to be struggling with the work, took notes diligently, paid attention and didn’t look like he was going to fall asleep again. There was one time you glanced over at him and caught him looking at you. He gave you a small smile and went back to his notes.

After class ended you gathered up your things and turned to see the guy was waiting for you, or at least it looked like he was waiting for you.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“I just wanted to introduce myself since I forgot to before class started.” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Xavier.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, you weren’t rude after all. “I uh…” you looked around the mostly empty lecture hall and shrugged, “I only have fifteen minutes to get to my next class and it is clear on the other side of campus so I gotta go but, yeah. Nice to meet you. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Nice to meet you too.” he hefted his bag on his shoulder and left.

Okay…you really didn’t know what to make of this guy.

You went to your next class and afterwards you had a short break so you went to the library to get some work done before you had your final class of the day. Now, while your degree was for academics you had still elected into taking the university’s combat training class as well. It was important to be able to defend yourself and if for some reason you ever got drafted into the forces you’d need to be able to fight. It was also something your mother had been insistent on you doing anyway so there was no getting around it. Just another subject that you had to strive to be the best in.

You changed into the combat training uniform in the locker room with the other women and stepped out to start stretching and warming yourself up. Some of the other students helped each other stretch or were warming up together and talking happily with one another. Something burned in your chest but you shoved it down and continued with your normal routine.

“Hey, it’s you again.” That Xavier guy walked up to you in the same combat uniform.

“And it is you.” you said, pausing to address him. “I didn’t realize you were taking combat training as well.”

“Oh well, it is--”

Before he could finish the instructor came out blowing their whistle to gather everyone’s attention. Everyone immediately fell into a single file line as the instructor started outlining the goals and intentions of this training. Your class were all senior level so there would be no handicap modifiers, which meant a much more intense and physically demanding workload than in previous years. You couldn’t help glancing down the line at Xavier again. You were sure you did not know this guy. Anyone in senior level combat training would have to have been in previous classes but you did not recognize him. You know you would have recognized a face that handsome.

Ugh! No! Focus! You shook the distraction from your mind and focused on the teacher again.

“To start today, I want a basic assessment of your skills. To do this we are going to be pairing off in duels. We will do this every week for the entire semester. Pairings will be based off of class rank. Since the scores for this year have yet to be determined we will be going with ranks based off of where you landed last semester. We will be going from lowest to highest. Everyone, when it is not your time to be dueling you will be watching the students that are fighting and assessing their movements and techniques. Is that understood?”

The class echoed back a militaristic yes and the instructor called up the first pair to start dueling. You sat down and prepared yourself to wait for a while. When last semester ended you had been the top of the class so your duel was going to be saved for last.

You sat and watched the other students do their duels, mentally critiquing their form and giving verbal critiques when the instructor asked the class where the loser of the duel went wrong. Your assessments gained no shortage of glares from the losers. Whatever. You were used to it. Besides, if they didn’t want to get critiqued for their poor performance they shouldn’t be in a combat class.

As more and more students were called up you couldn’t help looking over at Xavier again and again. When was he going to get called up? You were getting into the high rankings and he had yet to be called for a duel. Maybe since he was a new student he was just watching for today. But that didn’t make sense.

Finally your name was called and you walked to the center of the room, picking up one of the practice swords as you did. Then the instructor called the name of your opponent. “Xavier Shen.”

Your eyes went wide as Xavier stood up and collected the other practice sword. Xavier? The new kid that you hadn’t seen before? He was the one facing you in training? Something about this felt wrong. Why pair the new kid with you? Was he actually that good of a fighter? He had to be if he was standing up here with you.

Well, no matter how good of a fighter he was you knew where your skills were. Even the second best fighter in your combat training could barely keep up with you so what chance did this transfer student or whatever he was have against you? You readied into a fighting stance, determined to end this quickly.

Xavier didn’t at all seem perturbed by the events about to transpire but there was something in his demeanor that changed as he readied into his own stance. His gaze was sharper and he looked far more sure of himself. It was such a far cry from the guy you caught sleeping during the welcoming ceremony or the gentle smile he had given you during your morning class when you caught him staring at you.

The instructor blew their whistle to start the match and you lunged, letting instinct take over as you sparred with Xavier. You hadn’t expected much of a fight and that was probably your fault for what happened next. Xavier while fighting was a different person entirely. He was quick and strong and precise and if it wasn’t for the fact that you realized what you were suddenly up against he would have put you on your ass in mere seconds. You corrected, focusing more intently and fighting back harder.

On and on you went, dodging hits and trading blows that were just barely parried. You were starting to get frustrated by how difficult this was getting and in that moment of irritation was your downfall. Literally. Xavier had managed to knock the practice sword out of your hands and the sudden loss of it sent you off balance and you fell hard on your ass.

You…you lost.

“Winner, Shen!” the instructor announced and the other students started applauding like mad. They never cheered like this when you won a match.

You were still on the ground stunned that you had lost. What the fuck had happened? When did you leave yourself open to attack? It must have been a fluke. You had been too cavalier in the beginning and it gave him an advantage. Yes. That had to be it.

“Oh, here, let me.” Xavier held out a hand for you. A part of you wanted to be petty and ignore it but you decided that was unsportsmanlike and accepted the hand. He hauled you to your feet with ease. He was also deceptively strong underneath the loose fitting combat uniform.

“That was an…impressive first match.” you said. “I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

“Oh thanks. You were great too, you are an formidable combatant.” he said.

“Thanks.” you picked up your discarded practice sword. “So, I know I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a transfer student?”

“Yes, I am.” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought it a tad ridiculous to transfer when I was so close to graduating but when you have the chance to go to Philos University you take it.”

“I see. So where did you transfer from? Wait, let me guess.” you pondered for a second about what other university could have produced such an excellent fighter. “Genity Military Academy?”

“No.”

Hmm. “Nesonia University of Wonders?”

“Nope.” he shook his head.

“Huh, where are you from then?” Genity and Nesonia were the two best universities for combatants and if he wasn’t from either of them you had no idea where he could have come from.

“I transferred from Danora University.”

“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“It’s a local university near my hometown in the Danora mountain range. It’s actually on the entire other side of the continent.” Xavier answered, looking a little sheepish.

A local university? The mountain range?

No.

No. That couldn’t be real. There was no way a kid from the fucking middle of nowhere like the mountains, who went to a no-name university had beaten you! There was no fucking way! Oh gods above your mother was going to kill you.

“I see.” you nodded, swallowing down the indignation that crawled like a sickness up your throat. “Well, glad to see you are making your hometown proud.” you forced out.

You heard some of the other student behind you snickering and heat began to fill your face. “I’m going to go get changed now. Excuse me.” you turned to leave.

As you returned to the locker room to rinse off and get changed you heard the other girls talking.

“I don’t know who this new kid is but thank the gods that he is here to knock the little queen bee off her pedestal.” one of them said. “Did you see her face when he knocked her on her ass? Oh, I wish I could have been recording that.”

“Now maybe she’ll stop being so high and mighty.” another said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Oh please, you saw the way she stormed off after he beat her. She was trying to keep a straight face but you could tell she was pissed. I thought for a second she was going to start throwing a tantrum.” the girls laughed.

You took in a deep breath. It was nothing. Just words. They’re just mad that they aren’t at your level. That’s it. It’s just jealousy.

“Come on guys, she’s not that bad.” another girl spoke up in your defense.

“You’re right. She’s worse.” the girls went back to laughing and gabbing and you stayed hidden back in the showers, not wanting to go out and face them all. They had to know you were in here. They were just saying all this to fuck with you.

“I’m more interested in the guy she was fighting, his name was Xavier, right?” one of the girls said. “He’s pretty cute and he can fight well. It makes me wonder if he has that much stamina for other things.”

“Irene!” the girls balked. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly single and he’s a transfer student so I doubt he has a girlfriend. Besides, don’t tell me none of you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

They continued to laugh and talk before the finally cleared out of the locker room. You stepped out of your hiding place and got changed.

It was fine. All of this was just a novelty. It was the first day of the semester. You had plenty of time to turn things around. Besides, it was one duel. A fluke. Your mom wasn’t bound to notice this one little hiccup and life could move forward. You’d keep your place as the top of your class and everything would be fine.

You would be fine.

[pinkhazepony]

Been meaning to post this for a while. My version of the mane 6, details ahead (from left to right): Pinkie Pie: very pink, and a bit of white to make her into a Fruittella Swirl candy. Permanent party hat because life is every kind of party, yes even the bad ones. The ribbon bows highlight contrasting hair curvatures, her natural one is wavy goodness and the straight portion is a nod to her depressed alter ego which she has learned to accept, work with and proudly display as her process of inner healing.

Rarity: black opal themed. Wears Spike's fire ruby around her neck ever since, together with Pinkie she represents the bouncy curly girls in the gang. Those curl clumps are everything but even she has frizz sometimes (even with magic on her side)! Her eyes have a permanent ring light-like glow and her hooves are polished to perfection.

Twilight Sparkle: the sparkle can be metaphorical as in she shines her own light like a star, or literal as in she has a hygiene obsession. Ties her mane up with one of those 90's neon coil bracelets/wristbands and wears her favourite quill from when Owlicious shed for the first time. Her hoodie sports the two average/mean colours of the visible universe (Cosmic Latte and Cosmic spectrum green).

Applejack: our blondie, furry farm girlie, definitely the chillest pony you'll find around these parts. Sports beautiful hazel eyes and earthly tones on her lower hooves. Both her hair and Fluttershy's hair have never seen a pair of scissors. Specializes in all practical knowledge and especially first aid, which she applied to herself when she had an accident at work, tending diligently to it ever since. Apples give her strength.

Fluttershy: a very petite deer hybrid that has reached unity with nature- lives in biological commensalism with a string-of-hearts. A sign of the times. Her wings are inspired by that of an albino luna moth, and she is, literally, always watching.

Rainbow Dash: as the contrast between white and black in natural light represents the full spectrum of colour, so does Rainbow Dash. Her body works much like that of a polar bear, with her fur being in fact translucent, and her skin being black. It was only after the one Sonic Rainboom to reverberate across Equestria, however, that she became Rainbow Pony™. Her eyes were originally red.

_______________________________ Thanks for reading! This art is from a few months ago, a real challenge in terms of color theory. It is very clear that I have a tendency to use pastel colours and the like, but I wanted to make sure they worked as a group. Send any critique my way. Didn't change their cutiemarks much. I like the way they all communicate in terms of simplicity and apart from RD's, they all display only two colours. This is not an AU, I tried to imagine them in the same plotline they've already been written for.