#part 1 of 15

[badest-writing]

This story is written by me, @badest-writing (aka @dead-immortal). The following is all my intellectual property and may not be used by anyone for any reason without permission except for review purposes. This is a fictitious work; any similarities this has to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

(trigger warnings: homeless child/teen, big emotions, doctor, panic attack, needle mention (for immunizations), social services, passing mentions of the fears caused by systemic racism, probably more tbh)

the story of MY life (by Ethan Daniel Roberts)

The gull stared me down, a murderous look in its eyes. It slowly took a step towards me as if I wouldn’t notice its approach after it had pinned me against the wall. It took another step forward. Then another. Then— BAM! The gull lunged at my hand with its sharp beak. I moved out of the way at the last possible second and only narrowly avoided losing my finger. My timing had been perfect; the gull SLAMMED into the wall it had cornered me against!

“Not today man, I’ve got a math test today and I can’t have everyone hear my stomach growling.” I slung my backpack off one shoulder and tucked the bag of chips I’d risked my life for into the big pocket.

[iztea]

୨୧ The apple of my—

[kokodrawings]

Artober day 3!

[theokusgallery]

Why, hello there, Virgil. Long time no see!

[abybweisse]

Ch215 (p1); The supposed dalliance

Dedicated to his one and only... what, exactly?

Modri is a Slavic word that essentially means watching vigilantly, and Vladis is a Slavic name meaning rule or glory.

Dalliance is often used to refer to a short or casual romantic or sexual relationship, but it can also mean any encounter that's brief and/or casual.

This doesn't rule out the possibility he's the mystery person from ch137, but why would that person expect Sebastian to actually remember him by sight, let alone by name?

Sebastian isn't feigning ignorance, since he cannot lie in front of his master.

I'm not sure why this guy thinks he can remind Sebastian by cutting himself. He's not releasing cinematic records, and it wouldn’t make sense for Undertaker to have the body of someone from Sebastian's time before his current contract.

Is he delusional?

And what's in that infusion? I'm thinking it might not be blood, after all. This guy has tattoos on his neck, which Polaris didn't have, so if it's the mystery person from ch137, then that's not Polaris. I'm starting to wonder if his memories have been altered, since the chapter is called Faded Memories. We are being led to believe Sebastian's having a memory lapse, but it might be this guy's issue, not Sebastian's. Perhaps he's been given false memories in order to have him confront Sebastian and cause confusion.

More to come....

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part fifteen: creature of habit

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smoking, mentions of smoking as an unhealthy coping mechanism, talks of quitting(?)

fourteen | fifteen | sixteen

The moment she slid into the passenger seat of the now familiar car on Wednesday afternoon, she wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t too obvious—not like she meant to do it—but Lando caught it immediately. Her face didn’t quite scrunch, but her lips pressed together, and she shifted slightly like she was trying to put some distance between herself and the lingering scent in the car.

It had been a bad night. A bad fucking night. Lando had barely slept, the nicotine still sitting thick in his lungs after going through nearly half a pack while trying to cool off. He thought he’d aired the car out enough, but apparently not.

“You smoke?” she asked, her voice light but laced with something he couldn’t quite name.

Lando barely flicked a glance her way before putting the car in drive. “Not really.”

She gave him a look. The kind that made it clear she didn’t buy his bullshit but wasn’t going to press him on it either. “Oh,” she murmured.“It smells like smoke in here.”

Lando barely paused as he shifted gears, glancing at her with a blank expression. “Does it?”

She sniffed again, like she was double-checking, then nodded. The thick scent of tobacco hit the back of her throat with every inhale, forcing her to breathe it in through her nose instead. “Yeah.” 

He played it cool, turning his attention back to the road. “Must’ve been the guy who had it before me.”

She frowned slightly. “You let people borrow your cars?”

Ah, fuck.

“Not usually,” he said smoothly. Lando played dumb, shifting the car into drive. “Why?”

She shot him a look before waving a hand slightly in front of her face. “Because it reeks in here.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he was considering it. “Huh. Must’ve been the guy parked next to me then.”

Not that I own my own private three-story garage or anything.

She didn’t look convinced.

He kept his expression neutral, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed. She wasn’t stupid—he knew that. But he also wasn’t about to sit here and talk about why he had needed a cigarette so badly after what had gone down the night before.

She turned to the window, clearly put off by the lingering scent, and he caught the way she subtly pulled at the collar of her sweater, like she wanted to block out the smell completely. She fidgeted with the collar of her shirt before deciding it’d be rude to show her distaste so blatantly, instead opting to fidget with her fingers in her lap. Her fingers curled against her thigh, her shoulders tensed just the tiniest bit.

Interesting.

The next day, he brought a different car.

He didn’t acknowledge it. She didn’t bring it up. But when she got in, there was no wrinkling of her nose, no slight shift of discomfort. Instead, when she noticed the scented dangling tree ornament hanging from the rearview mirror, there was a twinkle in her eye.

This car was swirling with the artificial scent of french vanilla – much warmer and sweeter than the overwhelming haze they’d had to inhale the day prior. Instinctively, she smiled.

Huh, it smells nice in here.

Warm scents always had been her favorite, with her always stopping to smell candles that smell like vanilla or snickerdoodle or s’mores whenever she found herself at the mall. And now, her lips curled in a subconscious display of approval as she sat beside him, before she began to delve into all the details of her day.

It was stupid how much that pleased him.

A week later, his boys started noticing.

“Alright,” Max Fewtrell said, arms crossed, watching Lando fidget with something in his hands. “Enough of this shit. You’re fidgety as fuck, mate. What the fuck is going on with you?” He eyed Lando, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly on the table. “You good?”

“What d’you mean?” Lando muttered, scowling as he flicked an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the table. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Twitching. Tapping. Clenching his jaw. Running his hand through his hair. All the fucking things he used to do before he ever picked up a cigarette.

Max Verstappen raised an eyebrow. “You’re miserable.”

“I am not miserable!” Lando snapped, then hesitated, rubbing a hand down his face.

Deep breaths. Get your shit together Norris. For fuck’s sake.

“Okay, maybe a little. But nothin’ more than usual, you muppets.”

Carlos Sainz paused in the middle of their game of pool, watching his boss like the kid was a puzzle missing half its pieces. “Didn’t you just buy a fresh pack the other day?”

Ah, so there’s a brain in there after all.

“Yeah,” Fewtrell agreed, his analytical gaze scanning Lando from head to toe and back again. “And then I saw you throw it in the bin an hour later.”

Can’t you ever mind your own fuckin’ business?

Lando snarled in nor particular direction, twirling the unlit cigerette between his fingers while he stared at it as if it had personally offended him. If he stared at it any harder, the poor thing would likely disintegrate.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the opportunist, grinned wide and knowing. Mirth danced in those warm brown eyes. “I mean, hey, if you’re quitting, you could just say so.”

Lando let out a sharp breath, leaning against the counter. As soon as he pocketed the stupid cigarette, his fingers twitched like they wanted something to hold. A moment later, he had his lighter out instead, flicking it on and off in repetitive motions. “It’s not quitting.”

Fewtrell narrowed his eyes. “It looks like quitting.”

Daniel snorted. “Bullshit. You’ve been chewing gum like it’s your last meal and looking pissed off for the last three days.”

Fewtrell narrowed his eyes. “You are quitting.” He grinned. “What, you on a sudden health kick? Givin’ up joints for spring rolls?”

Lando sighed through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t even like smoking—never had, not really. It was just something that came with the job, something that filled the space between the cracks.

But now? Now it was annoying him. He found himself thinking about it in a way he never had before.

Max Verstappen lifted a brow, actually looking up from his phone. “Since when do you give a shit about that?”

Lando scowled. “It’s just—” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well– Erm, it’s– It’s just not right, y’know?”

Silence.

Carlos exchanged a glance with Fewtrell. Verstappen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Daniel just looked amused, using every once of self control not to burst out laughing in front of everyone. Oh, this was hilarious.

The guys exchanged glances.

Not right? Since when did Lando give a shit about right and wrong?

Carlos raised a brow. “Since when do you care?”

Lando didn’t answer. Instead, he flicked the lighter shut, shoving it into his pocket.

Fewtrell tilted his head. “Not right… how?”

And since when? He wanted to ask. You’ve been smokin’ a pack a week since you were old enough to reach the checkout counter at the corner store, so what’s this bullshit?

Lando pushed off the counter, grabbing his car keys. “Don’t worry about it.”

Daniel grinned. “Ohhh, I see.”

Lando barely looked up from where he was flipping a lighter between his fingers. “Dunno what you’re talking about. Y’don’t see shit,” Lando muttered, flipping him off as he walked out the door.

Daniel’s grin widened. “Whatever you say, boss.”

a/n: if this feels too filler again, i'm sorry. i'm just trying to build their dynamic a bit, but hopefully the upcoming chapters will be more interesting for you guys. thank you for reading!

[glenpowelljr]

[doctorsiren]

I’ve been thinking about Miles as Serizawa quite a bit 😁

[basiltheta]

its actually beginning to annoy me that whenever anyone even mentions the 13th doctor all you hear is "she was a good actress but the writing was awful". it just gets old bc theres no actual discussion there and honestly i dont think the writing was anywhere near as bad as people are saying. are there issues w her seasons? definitely. but it's the same w every other season of dr who this is a very goofy show lmao. but it feels like people dont even want to give her a chance and are just blinded by nostalgia (or misogyny). its the same w 15- dr who has been branded as "woke" so no one gives it a chance. pisses me off bc you cant even have a proper constructive discussion about the show’s flaws because weirdos who dont even watch the show will spin it into some weird narrative abt the gay agenda. im so tired man

[humhowellujah]

i'm drunk off two lavender martinis what the fuck do you MEAN dan and phil went on a step by step recreation of their japan trip as a part of a HONEYMOON episode for their sims. be so fr rn be so serious please. dan howell you have 4 minutes to respond . phil, keep it up babygirl. lavender martini recipe in the tags

[shiroselia]

I have just finished the section with the garden party. And I have so, so many thoughts.

First of all, I'm so glad I'm reading the light novel because that section with Jinshi after Maomao and Gaoshun discuss the poisoned soup was Sexy. I love Jinshi so much what a fucking loser <3

Second of all. POLITICS. I LOVE POLITICS. I'm deliberately spoiled on a decent amount of things because I'm terrible with biological relations and keeping track of family trees so I know ehm. most things about the royal family so to speak. But all of that is already starting to be really interesting.

What I give more of a fuck about though is just how much lady-in-waiting politics there is. Like we're introduced from the VERY moment we meet Gyokuyou that she was "too few" ladies in waiting and that it's honestly a little bit obscene for her to only have 5 with Maomao. BUT EVERY SINGLE TIME. SHE'S PROVEN RIGHT TO HAVE THAT FEW. It shows how intelligent Gyokuyou is, how aware she is of her own position, and the position a lady-in-waiting is in. AND it immediately prepares us for just how. downright cruel a lot of the others are.

It's honestly a bit jarring how genuinely nice and honest and inherently good-natured about their job Gyokuyou's crowd is when we see Lihua's ladies-in-waiting almost kill her. How Lishu's food-tester intentionally give her food she is allergic to because. it's fun to humiliate a child I suppose. Like I don't know the contrast is stark, it's obvious, and it's supposed to be. And it's Fantastic.

Honestly I cannot emphasize enough how good this series is about discussing feminism and womanhood. The politics of women of all walks of life, especially the specific challenges women of high status that should "have it all worked out for them" face. It's so fucking good actually. It really is that fucking easy huh.

[zepskies]

Dream With Me - Part 1

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your asshole ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.

AN: Here we go, a three-part story for the Espresso-verse! This is set in the dreaded 15x20 (or the time gap within In Bad Weather.) There are implied references back to Devour Me and Show Me.

Word Count: 4.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, some spiciness, past body insecurity, references to body shaming, references to smut, PTSD, peril, blood and violence.

Start from the beginning of the series: ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: “On the Drop of a Dime”

Silence reigns as you and Dean get ready for bed. Tonight, it’s your boyfriend who’s watching you closely. 

Something’s off, he thinks, even as he checks you out in the little sleep shorts you just put on. It’s not the spandex ones he likes, but he still gets to see your familiar curves.

It's been a minute since he's gotten reacquainted. He and Sam just got back from a long hunt yesterday. You stayed home this time, for reasons Dean still hasn't totally figured out.

But his eyes trace over you, from thick thighs and tempting ass, to all of what you’re hiding under an old Def Leppard shirt. The rest, he can trace from memory alone.

You notice him watching you from his side of the bed. Your lips tug upwards.

“What?” you ask. Dean nods over, beginning to smile as well.

“Come ‘ere already.”

Huffing a little laugh, you tie your hair up in a big scrunchie and slide your way into bed, and into the inviting space between his arm and chest. He wraps that arm around your waist, pulling you comfortably close. You expel a deep breath and rest against him.

And you smile. “He’s snoring again.”

Miracle, a shaggy mutt Dean rescued, is curled up in his doggy bed at the foot of the humans’ bed where he likes to sleep. And rumble through his nose. He always goes to lay down when he sees Dean venture to the sink to brush his teeth. It’s like he knows his parents are about to go to sleep, so it’s his way of joining you.

“Dogs snore. Who knew?” Dean remarks.

“Who knew you’d be the one to get us a dog,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees in amusement. “Taking home strays is more your thing.”

You smirk at him. “Worked with you, didn’t it?”

Dean scoffs. “Hey, you moved in with me. Which makes you the stray.”

“Hey!” You shove at his shoulder. He traps your hand against his chest and tugs you in to kiss into your neck.

“Aw, but a sexy one,” he says, humming in pleasure against your skin, where he inhales that alluring mix of floral soap and coconutty shampoo. “Mmm. Less Annie, more Pretty Woman. Like Julia Roberts, if she had a Latina ass.”

You have to laugh, despite the arousing graze of his teeth against your pulse point. You hold him close by his shirt. He takes the scrunchie out of your hair with a practiced hand, letting the wild strands curl around his fingers. You tsk at him. He can never just let your hair be.

“Are you really comparing me to a prostitute right now?” you retort. You feel the shape of his grin against your skin.

“What can I say, baby? You’ve got moves,” Dean teases, low and gravel in your ear. A shiver runs down your spine, but you’re both turned on and incredulous all at once.

Again, you hit his shoulder with a burst of laughter. It briefly lightens you from the funk you’ve been in.

It’s been a couple of months since Sam, Dean, and Jack ended Chuck’s reign of terror. Jack snapped the world back into existence and brought you back, along with everyone else…and the monsters.

It means your work isn’t over, even though that work is starting to wear on you. You haven’t let this on to Sam or Dean, however. It’s just been this thing, weighing on you for two months.

Unlike them, you don’t have as much experience with apocalyptic-level events, let alone dying. (And coming back, for that matter.)

Dean’s lips begin to break you from those thoughts, however, when he blazes a warm trail of sensuous, grazing kisses up your neck. Then along the curve of your jaw, as he holds your other cheek. Finally, he claims your lips.

You breathe into it, and into him as he almost succeeds in distracting your weighted mind. You give him a couple of sweet kisses in return before you slowly break from him.

“You have another long drive tomorrow,” you remind him, rubbing a hand across his chest. “Maybe you should sleep.”

Dean frowns as he looks on you. He tries to read whatever you’re hiding back there, behind your eyes.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” he asks, and not for the first time. “Could use your help on the case.”

Sam already found another one: a string of suspicious murders in Boston—potentially a cursed Red Sox collectible cycling its way through unsuspecting baseball fans. In the morning, he and Dean are going out to investigate. You’ve elected to opt out. 

“It’s okay. I want to give Jody a visit,” you reply. You reach for the bedcovers to cover yourself up to your chest. Dean strokes your hip underneath.

“We could always swing by Sioux Falls after the hunt,” he says.

“It’s okay, baby. You and Sam go ahead,” you say. You twist away from him to turn off the light, but Dean stops you.

“All right,” he says with a sigh. “What’s going on?”

You raise a brow at him. “What?”

“You what,” Dean retorts. “This is the second time in a row that you’re blowing off a hunt.”

He’s right, but you don’t have a good answer for him. Your lips purse.

“I don’t know, I mean…are you going through some kind of slump?” he asks. “‘Cause you know I’ve been there.”

It’s your turn to sigh. You sit up in bed, and you debate the words you want to use to broach this with him. It’s been percolating in your mind for a while now, but it seems like this is the time to finally let it out.

“Okay, here it goes,” you mutter, trying to ignore your trepidation. “Do you ever think about…retiring?”

Dean’s attention piques, along with his frown.

“Retiring?” he repeats.

You reach out to grab his wrist, and you draw your thumb back and forth across his skin. 

“You ever think of…a house,” you pose. “Maybe a cozy cabin, or a little cottage-style thing somewhere, with a backyard for Miracle. And like, at least three bedrooms.” 

Dean smiles a little. He allows himself to contemplate the picture you’re painting.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why three bedrooms?” he asks.

Hope begins to flutter in your chest.

“Well, there’s our room of course,” you say, with a flirtatious gleam to your smile. “That’s where the magic happens.”

He smirks. “I’m in agreement so far.”

“Then there’s a guest room, for whenever Sam and Eileen come to visit,” you continue. “And then…there’s a third room for whatever we need.”

Your tone is leading him somewhere, along with your hand trailing up and down his arm.

“Like, you know, a gym. Or an office. Or a kid’s bedroom…or maybe two,” you say.

Dean’s expression slackens as surprise overtakes him. He probably should’ve known though.

“Two,” he intones, chuckling nervously. But, his face softens as he watches you with new understanding. “You’ve really been thinkin’ about that, huh?”

“Maybe,” you confess. You gain some courage and take in a deep breath. “Do you think about it? Dean, do you ever want to have a simpler life?”

He hums deep in contemplation. It’s a heavy sound, and it doesn’t spark your confidence.

“You know I’ve tried that before,” he says at last. “That life…sweetheart, it’s not my life. It never has been.”

“It could be,” you insist. “Chuck is done—”

“But the monsters ain’t,” Dean retorts. 

“There are other hunters,” you point out. “Haven’t you given enough? Haven’t we given enough?”

You squeeze his hand to punctuate your point. Dean glances down, feeling the near desperation in your grip. Eventually, he’s able to meet your eyes again.

“Look…I’m the Job, you know? What the hell would I even do if not this?” he says.

You raise up his hand and lay a kiss to his knuckles. You know he thinks being a hunter is all he’s good for—all he’s equipped to do. You also know that he’s so much more than the Job. 

“Dean, you’re one of the smartest, most resourceful people I know. You can…restore cars, build cars,” you suggest. Your excitement grows as you brainstorm for him. You tap on his thigh.

“Oh! You could open up a bar. Call it the Roadhouse, after the one your friends had. Or hey, we could open up a bakery. We’ll sell pies and flan and whatever the hell else you want me to make.”

You say that last bit with a giggle. It earns Dean’s smile, but you know, looking into his eyes, that he’s not convinced. You grab his hand again with both of yours.

“Come on, Dean. Dream with me for a second,” you implore. “I know we could do this. We could…we could have a different life. A peaceful life. We could have a family.”

Dean sighs, glancing down at his hands. They’re calloused and scarred, and he has the memories to match.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “I just uh…I think it’s too late for me to dream like that.”

Tears well up in your eyes as your heart begins to break. Dean sees the fractures, and immediately feels guilty for it.

“Sweetheart,” he tries, reaching out for you, but you shake your head and turn away from him. He feels the loss of your hand.

“Good night,” you say, more sharply than you mean to. I knew he wouldn’t go for it, and I opened my mouth anyway.

He touches your shoulder. “Hey, come on—”

“Good night, Dean,” you repeat. I knew he wouldn’t…

You shouldn’t have said anything. You turn off the lamp on your nightstand, casting the room into darkness.

Dean hesitates. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, even though he knows he has. He just doesn’t know how to comfort you this time. His hand falls away from you as he turns onto his back, his lips pressing together.

“Thought we weren’t supposed to go to bed angry,” he dryly remarks.

“I’m not angry,” you mutter.

She said, friggin’ angrily, Dean finishes in his mind.

He sighs and tries to go to sleep. 

In the morning, you’re quieter than usual. You keep saying you’re not mad. You keep telling him to forget about it. But after four years together, Dean knows when you’re pulling away from him. 

You don’t even make espresso from your little cafetera press, like you usually do. You’re rummaging through the pantry, seemingly trying to decide what you’re going to have for breakfast.

“Coffee?” Dean asks.

You point to the percolating machine that spits out normal black coffee—a silent gesture that tells him he should make it himself.

Which he does, while frowning in annoyance at your attitude. He thinks it might be good that he and Sam are leaving on this hunt soon. It’ll give you a chance to cool off, and Dean a chance to figure out how to make this right with you. The problem is, he knows he won’t be able to do that without giving you what you want.

Retired? He scoffs in his mind. Bobby and Rufus never fucking retired from the life. Hell, Dean never even thought he’d live this long.

And what happened to Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Cas, and too many others…

Dean doesn’t let himself dwell on that interjecting thought for too long, even though it adds a familiar weight to his shoulders. He makes himself some buttered toast. He then sits across from Sam, who’s eating cereal while scrolling through the news on his laptop.

You sit next to Sam after grabbing a steaming cup of an Americano and a protein bar. Dean can tell by your face that you’re not enjoying either one. He debates if he should ask if you still plan to drive out to go see Jody today.

Sam glances over at his brother. He’s sensing the unspoken tension between you and Dean, but the latter can only give a small shake of his head.

You don’t want to know, Dean’s face says.

Your cell phone rings, breaking the silence. It’s an unknown number. You frown in confusion, but you still pick it up.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hey. It’s me.”

Your frown deepens. You think you know the voice on the line, but you figure you should make sure, before your shitty morning gets even better.

“Who’s this?” you ask.

“It’s Carter,” he replies.

In other words, your insufferable ex-boyfriend. The last time you saw him was at a wake for a fellow hunter, Alicia Jackson. By the end of it, Dean nearly broke the man’s hand by the table of mini quiche. 

“You have some goddamn audacity,” you say in a biting tone. It has both Sam and Dean perking up in curiosity. 

“You’re the one who didn’t change your number,” Carter points out. You sigh and cover your eyes with your hand. 

“Why the hell are you calling me?” you ask. There’s a pause on the other line, but you lose patience.

“Carter, don’t waste my time. What the hell do you want?”

At hearing that name, Dean’s face falls with a dark frown. You raise a placating hand to him while you listen. 

“I need your help,” Carter says. “I’m on this case. A town in Nebraska on the edge of the woods. Three infants taken from their cribs. Townsfolk have been hearing noises from the woods. Sound familiar?”

Unfortunately, it does. You remember a case you worked a few months before you met Carter, in a small rural town in Louisiana. It had affected you so deeply, you remember telling him about it, when you two were still together.

“A cadejo isn’t going to go that far north,” you say.

Originally from South America, cajedos are dog-like creatures, except for their hooves. They’re creatures of habit, and they like the warmth. They also prefer the taste of children. The younger the better.

“It will if it’s hungry,” Carter points out. “You’re the only one I know who’s hunted one of these things.”

“…Okay. Where are you?” you sigh in defeat. 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Dean whisper-yells. Your lips purse, and again you raise a hand, wordlessly telling him to wait. 

“Arcadia,” Carter replies.

You shake your head at the prospect of actually going along with this. 

“You know I’m probably not going to meet you alone, right?” you say.

“Yeah, I heard Hasselhoff back there,” Carter remarks. “I’m sure he and the other Twin Terror will be right behind you.”

“If you’re gonna be an asshole, you can get fucked by the cadejo for all I care. Call another hunter.” You’re ready to hang up when Carter backtracks.

“Okay, okay! I can be civil,” he says. “Come on. I need your help.”

You deliberate internally with indecision as you set down your phone for a minute. You glance up at Dean, whose facial expression makes it pretty damn clear what his stance is. Sam seems to be waiting on whatever you decide, but is still wary.

You reluctantly hold the phone back to your ear.

“All right. I’ll be on the way in a bit,” you reply.

“Well, all right then. See you soon,” Carter says, in a quasi-flirtatious tone that makes you grimace in disgust.

You hang up the phone and set it down on the table in exasperation. When you raise your gaze, you find exactly what you expect to see.

Dean’s jaw is clenched.

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was?” he asks. You frown at him in annoyance.

“You want to calm down?” you say.

“What, so I’m supposed to be okay with you agreeing to go see that son of a bitch?” Dean says. “After what happened last time?”

“Dean…” You rub at your forehead, frowning at the beginning of an ache behind your eyes. 

Sam knows instinctively that this is a conversation better had between just you and Dean, but he feels weird about getting up from the dining table. In his indecision, he stays. 

“This isn’t about me,” you say at last. “And it’s not about him. This is about saving people who need help.”

It’s a point Dean can’t readily refute. So you give him a sly smile. 

“Besides,” you say. “Are you really going to let me go alone?”

That’s how Dean ends up driving you and Sam to Nebraska on a Tuesday morning, after calling another hunter to take on that case Sam had found.

Dean is taciturn and downright grumpy all the way there. Even though you know why, it still irks you. Despite your argument last night, he’s become an amazingly supportive boyfriend in so many ways. So why is he being such a man child about this?

When you all get to the motel, you and Dean book a room while Sam grabs his own. You don’t blame him for wanting some distance from the tension the elder Winchester is exuding. You only wish you could get a room by yourself.

You text Carter to let him know that you’ve arrived at the same motel he’s staying at: 

Where do you want to meet up?

Dean notices you texting. 

“Right, let’s get this over with. Where’re we meeting your boyfriend,” he snarks.

But you’re not laughing. You let out an angry huff, your hands moving to your hips. 

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stopped being such an ass about this. I have enough on my mind without dealing with your pouting,” you say. 

Dean looks down at you, crossing his arms. “I’m not pouting. I’m here trying to watch your back while you go and let that bastard play you like a damn fiddle.”

You stare at him in disbelief. 

“Do you really, actually think I want to see Carter?” you ask. “Do you think I’m that stupid, that I don’t know what he’s trying to do?”

You already know Carter is using this to try and get back into your life, or at least, under your skin. You don’t intend to let him accomplish either one.

Meanwhile, Dean’s frown deepens.

“Okay. If you’re seeing 20/20, then why’re we here? Why not call another hunter and let them fill in?” he asks.

“Is that what you would do?” you counter, pressing a finger into his chest. “If it was your ex who needed help, you would be doing the same damn thing that I’m doing, and don’t pretend it’d be any different. So stop trying to make me feel guilty for trying to do this right.”

You grab the empty ice bucket from the counter. Right now, you need any excuse to get some air, and get out of this oppressive room. 

Dean lets you go, even though he’s silently fuming. The door slams shut behind you. 

He sighs. He doesn’t feel like being in this room either, so he steps out and knocks on Sam’s door. 

Sam opens it, and has to move to the side when Dean slips inside without asking. 

“Sure, come right in,” Sam says wryly. He watches Dean sit down on the bed and drop his head into his hands, rubbing his face. 

“Dude, you need to chill out,” Sam says. Dean’s head raises, and he gives his brother a sarcastic look.

“Oh, really? Is that what the fuck I need to do?” he says. He draws a frustrated hand over his mouth. “This guy’s a problem Sam. This whole thing…it doesn’t feel right.”

Sam doesn’t understand just how bad the repercussions were, after what happened at Alicia’s funeral. You having to deal with Carter that night had set you back, mentally, in more ways than one. It had you thinking things about yourself, and your own body, that made Dean want to track that bastard down and bash his skull in.

But instead, Dean had spent that entire night trying to help you feel comfortable in your own skin again, and comfortable with him. He’d continued trying to erase those old insecurities from your mind for the rest of the damn week—mainly by fucking it out of you.

In your bed, in the shower, in the backseat of his Baby, on that comfy couch in the library that's already been christened three times before (luckily, no one caught you guys that time), and even in the dirty bathroom of a roadside bar after a hunt.

...Yeah, you’d taken some convincing on that last one.

Worth it, Dean thinks, smirking internally.

Besides all of that though, there’s something else gnawing at his insides. Something he hasn’t told Sam, or even you for that matter.

Since the world nearly ended with Chuck and his snapping fingers, Dean has lived with…a kind of edge. An edge that makes him wary whenever your safety is concerned, beyond the usual dangers that come with a hunt. Beyond the things Dean feels equipped to handle with certainty. 

“Be that as it may, she can take care of herself, Dean. You know that,” Sam says, breaking Dean from his thoughts. “All we can do is watch her back on this. And we will.”

After a beat to consider that, Dean nods, however reluctantly. Despite your recent struggles, he also knows how strong you are, and not just in your stubbornness that’s more than a match for his own.

Even though he’d rather you not have to go through this bullshit at all with Carter, Dean knows you. He knows you’ll do what you think is right, with or without his say so.

His shoulders deflate with his breath of exasperation. He gets up, claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Dean leaves his brother’s room to return to his own.

He frowns when he finds it empty. 

He backs out of the room and looks down the sidewalk. There’s no one in sight. 

He follows down the path you must’ve gone to find the ice machine. He turns a corner, and he finds a half-full bucket of ice…on the ground, laying on its side. Dean rushes back to the parking lot.

He doesn’t see you anywhere. The Impala is still parked where he left her, so you haven’t taken off by yourself. At least, not of your own volition.

He goes back to Sam’s motel room and pounds a fist three times on his door. Sam opens it with an annoyed frown and a ready protest, until Dean speaks over him. 

“Sam, I can’t find her,” he says. “She’s gone.”

Slowly, you wake in what looks like a dusty old barn.

You’re sitting in a wooden chair that hurts your ass, and your back is aching due to the thick knot of rope holding your wrists behind the chair. There’s a pounding in the back of your skull that makes you wince.

You have a dull memory of feeling a presence behind you, and then being hit before you could even throw a punch.

Someone calls your name gently. You turn to your left, and there’s Carter, strapped to his own chair. He looks rough. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, and he bears a ragged wound on his neck. It’s weeping with blood that stains his shirt, likely hours old, by the way it’s dried. 

You would know that kind of bite anywhere. You feel the phantom pain where your neck meets your shoulder.

Vampires.

“You okay?” Carter asks. He looks genuinely worried for you.

“What?” you utter. You’re still a bit dazed, until a woman steps into the room. Her long brown hair is tied up in a ponytail, and her leather jacket matches her dark wash jeans and black boots. She gathers her hands behind her back and gives you a smile. 

“Morning, sweetheart. Have a good little nap?” she asks. 

“You know...I’ve had better,” you reply, rolling the crick out of your neck. Again, you glance at Carter. He looks like he’s been here for days. And, he looks guilty as hell.

A terrible feeling grows in the pit of your stomach, but you take in a breath and return your attention to the woman in front of you.

“It’s a cocky game, hunting for hunters,” you say. “What, got tired of sucking on cows and hookers?”

What can you say? After four years, Dean has rubbed off on you.

The woman cocks her head, and her smile deepens. She steps closer. Close enough to smell you as she leans in close to your cheek. She inhales your scent, her lips brushing your neck and earlobe. You grimace and try to pull away, but she grabs your head, her nails tangling sharply in your hair. 

You fucking hate vampires.

Especially after a nest of vampires turned a child, who then tried to take a chunk out of your neck. It’s been a few years since then, but you’ve always been uneasy on vamp hunts ever since. 

“I’ll make it easy for you,” the woman whispers in your ear. “You’re here because I want one thing. Just one thing… Sam and Dean Winchester.”

That shocks you, but you manage to recover enough to reply.

“Who are you?” you ask. “Why are you after them?”

“Jenny. At least, that's the name they'll remember,” she replies, toying with a strand of your hair. “And let’s just say, we have history. They killed my family. And that crime has no statute of limitations.”  

“You really think you’re going to get the drop on them?” you say, even though you’re trying to calm your breathing, and your racing heart. “Good luck, bitch.”

She grabs you by the hair, making you wince. 

“Leave her alone!” Carter says. He’s exhausted, but his anger and frustration fuel him.

The vampire suddenly releases you. But she walks behind you and moves over to him. She grabs him by his short blonde hair and forcefully cranes his head back. He makes a sound of pain, and her lips draw near to the open bite wound on his neck.  

“You shouldn’t be talking,” Jenny threatens. She abruptly lets him go and comes around to stand in front of both of you with her arms crossed. She glances over at you, and gestures at your companion. 

“If you want to find the world’s most infamous killers, ask a killer,” she remarks.

You slowly turn your head toward Carter. Your expression tightens with anger—such anger that even brings furious tears to your eyes. 

“You…you lured me here,” you realize.

Carter confirms it when he can’t meet your eyes. His face tells a story of immense guilt. 

“I just thought they’d try to get the jump on Sam and Dean,” he says.

“Cooooño,” you mutter a drawn out curse through clenched teeth. Briefly you close your eyes. 

“I figured the three of you could take ‘em. I didn’t think they’d take you!” Carter exclaims.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’d lied to you, betrayed you. He tried to trade his own life for theirs, and yours as well.

“I knew you were a fucking asshole, but I never thought you were this big a coward!” you hiss.

“I’m sorry,” he tries.

“I don’t want to hear it!” you snap back. You look up at Jenny, who looks amused watching the scene.

“And you better come packing, Twilight, because Sam and Dean are gonna gut you like a fish,” you say snidely.

Jenny smiles as one, two, three and more men step into the barn and join her. She greets them all with a nod of her head, before she turns back to you with a sharp grin.

“Oh, I’m certainly not alone.”

“Son of a bitch. I fucking told you," Dean grouses. "I knew there was something off about this whole deal.”

“I hear you,” Sam says. His tone is steady to try and anchor his brother. “We’re almost there.”

Dean is pushing Baby to her limits on a dusty road out to Bumfuck Nowhere, Nebraska. Sam has been able to track your cell phone, and even break into your text messages from his laptop. Carter’s last text to you held the location of where to meet in exact coordinates. Even Sam agreed that was strange, as if your kidnapping wasn’t bad enough. 

It has Dean white-knuckling his grip on the steering wheel. Sam’s route is leading him further away from civilization, and deeper into the woods on either side of the road. 

“How much longer, man?” Dean asks. 

Sam gives his brother a reassuring look. He’s worried for you too, but he knows he has to lock it up for Dean’s sake. 

“Couple more miles," Sam replies. "Then it looks like we’re going off-road.”

“Into the woods?” Dean asks. 

“Most likely,” Sam says. 

Fuck, Dean thinks. His gut churns with apprehension. He doesn’t even know what you’re going through right now, let alone who (or what) has you. All he knows is, he’s not losing you.

Not like this.

Not again.

Spanish Translation: “Coño.” -> "Fuck."

AN: 😮‍💨 Diving into the thick of it on this one! Lots of conflict and tension, but what did you think of her argument with Dean about her "dream?" And how do you think it's going to play out with Carter? 😬

Here's a sneak peek at where we're going:

Next Time:

Your lips thin into a line. “Or you’re just stupid enough to leave a couple of hunters alone. You better damn hope he doesn’t find Sam and Dean. Even when they don’t know what’s coming, they should be the stuff of your nightmares. But when they’re prepared?”

You lick your dry lips and give Jenny a grim smile, with more confidence than you actually feel.

“Say goodbye to your family,” you say.

After a beat, Jenny smiles tightly and grabs your face. Her nails bite into your cheeks.  

“All right, Nate. You can have a taste,” she says.

She steps to the side as one of the larger backup dancers in her little entourage draws near. Jenny wrenches your head back by your hair so he can lean in and bite into your neck. Your scream reverberates on the barn walls.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[an-exasperated-hades-kid]

So I've been seeing a lot of will solace hate, and I'm here to defend my son.

First of all, he's not a toxic person at all he's a human who can mess up at times and be unintentionally rude, like in that one scene boo where he says

‘Oh, please.’ Will sounded unusually angry. ��Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away. You have friends – or at least people who would like to be your friend. You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once –

^ that is rude but he didn't have bad intentions because according to him nico wasn't scary and the people that he hung out with - Lou Ellen and Cecil- didn't think that nico was scary either as they were both friendly towards him when they met him at the Roman camping area outside chb so while his delivery wasn't good he meant no harm and he also helped nico realize that not everyone hates him and then there are a few jokes that he made that people consider toxic or offensive but nico was never offended or sad about these jokes he only rolled his eyes and acted exasperated so he knew will meant no harm .

Will is canonically described as a laid-back and calm person, but he is also stubborn when it comes to certain things like medical related things which is understandable since he can feel everything physically wrong with a person by just touching them and is persistent that they don't die and Take care of themselves which is understandable since he saw majority of his siblings die and doesn't want more ppl to die .

Will is actually quite a complex character he's calm and laid back but he's stubborn and strict when he needs to be he's supportive and loving to nico but since he's a kid he struggles with being understanding sometimes hence why he asks persephone for advice on how to be there for nico properly showing that he's mature enough to ask for help . He's also someone represses his emotions because he thinks that as head counselor, he has to be a perfect example, and he told this apollo in the 1st toa book. He's also pretty insecure about his abilities, as shown in boo

Evidence:

You did,’ confirmed Nico. ‘But it was the way you did it. You made it clear that you wanted me around. You said you wanted me to come to the infirmary and help, because … because you could use a “friendly face”.’

‘It was true. And you did help.’

‘You brought me closer instead of rejecting me,’ Nico said, his voice cracking. ‘I’d never been called a friendly face. Ever. You made me rethink everything – my place in camp, my crush on Percy, my future. It took you scolding me like you were the camp director to make me realize that I was … wanted.

___

But with Nico … It’s hard, Persephone. I want the best for him, and he seems to disappear into his darkness, like he’s hiding in a place where he doesn’t want my light.’

‘Then why not offer him your darkness

_____

Nico sighed in exasperation. He hated working with other people. They were always cramping his style, making him uncomfortable. And Will Solace … Nico revised his impression of the son of Apollo. He’d always thought of Will as easygoing and laid back. Apparently, he could also be stubborn and aggravating

_______________________________________

In conclusion will isn't toxic and he isn't perfect and if I'm wrong about something please point it out cause I haven't read the books in a while and if I missed something please point it out and I'm sorry for the typos I wrote this without wearing my glasses as 3 am after studying for a test

[jimmerzz0905]

//tpot 15 spoilers

nine screenies because MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED!!!!!!!! WKBWCKHCBVMSBFKBSBSCLHCSKHCSLHCKHSCKBSCHKFSHOFOHSFHOSFOHFSOHFHOSFOYSFS

[chirpsythismorning]

When the interviewer asked when we should expect s5 to be coming out, that’s when Shawn mentioned that a little bit of an answer to that might be out there soon.

He actually mentions that this answer could be out by the time the video for this interview comes out, and since this interview was filmed mid-May and it’s now mid-June, I’m assuming we could be getting something soon or within the next couple months, potentially about a release date aka possibly a small teaser with 2025 stamped at the end…

[joelshuckleberry]

I love how the gloomy and rainy weather in the beginning of the jackson chapter in pt 1 is so representative of where joel is at in his journey. even though he has made strides in connecting with ellie, and she has poured new life into him (rain on the earth), his past hangs over him like a cloud he can’t shake, to an oppressive degree. so much so, he’s convinced he needs to get away from her as soon as possible. he subconsciously knows that he already cares a hell of a lot about her, making the fear of loving and losing her stay lodged in his throat, making it harder to talk, eat, and breath. he’s hard on her at the grave. he’s hard on tommy.

then the second he “let’s ellie go,” and she runs away, he follows after her and is obviously feeling a parental love and concern for a child, a feeling he hadn’t felt the last twenty years, as the sun breaks through the clouds and the rain. the fog lifts. and he has to come face to face with this opportunity to let the light in past his barriers as it shines through that house, through her and her vulnerability in that room. no matter how far he runs or how hard he pushes, the light still shines anyway… if only he could let himself feel it. and no matter what real feelings he may have for her, that fear is still stuck in his throat, and that’s all ellie gets…