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fatehbaz · 11 months

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When you tag things “#abolition”, what are you referring to? Abolishing what?

Prisons, generally. Though not just physical walls of formal prisons, but also captivity, carcerality, and carceral thinking. Including migrant detention; national border fences; indentured servitude; inability to move due to, and labor coerced through, debt; de facto imprisonment or isolation of the disabled or medically pathologized; privatization and enclosure of land; categories of “criminality"; etc.

In favor of other, better lives and futures.

Specifically, I am grateful to have learned from the work of these people:

Ruth Wilson Gilmore on “abolition geography”.

Katherine McKittrick on "imaginative geographies"; emotional engagement with place/landscape; legacy of imperialism/slavery in conceptions of physical space and in devaluation of other-than-human lifeforms; escaping enclosure; plantation “afterlives” and how plantation logics continue to thrive in contemporary structures/institutions like cities, prisons, etc.; a “range of rebellions” through collaborative acts, refusal of the dominant order, and subversion through joy and autonomy.

Macarena Gomez-Barris on landscapes as “sacrifice zones”; people condemned to live in resource extraction colonies deemed as acceptable losses; place-making and ecological consciousness; and how “the enclosure, the plantation, the ship, and the prison” are analogous spaces of captivity.

Liat Ben-Moshe on disability; informal institutionalization and incarceration of disabled people through physical limitation, social ostracization, denial of aid, and institutional disavowal; and "letting go of hegemonic knowledge of crime”.

Achille Mbembe on co-existence and care; respect for other-than-human lifeforms; "necropolitics" and bare life/death; African cosmologies; historical evolution of chattel slavery into contemporary institutions through control over food, space, and definitions of life/land; the “explicit kinship between plantation slavery, colonial predation, and contemporary resource extraction” and modern institutions.

Robin Maynard on "generative refusal"; solidarity; shared experiences among homeless, incarcerated, disabled, Indigenous, Black communities; to "build community with" those who you are told to disregard in order "to re-imagine" worlds; envisioning, imagining, and then manifesting those alternative futures which are "already" here and alive.

Leniqueca Welcome on Caribbean world-making; "the apocalyptic temporality" of environmental disasters and the colonial denial of possible "revolutionary futures"; limits of reformism; "infrastructures of liberation at the end of the world."; "abolition is a practice oriented toward the full realization of decolonization, postnationalism, decarceration, and environmental sustainability."

Stefano Harney and Fred Moten on “the undercommons”; fugitivity; dis-order in academia and institutions; and sharing of knowledge.

AM Kanngieser on "deep listening"; “refusal as pedagogy”; and “attunement and attentiveness” in the face of “incomprehensible” and immense “loss of people and ecologies to capitalist brutalities”.

Lisa Lowe on "the intimacies of four continents" and how British politicians and planters feared that official legal abolition of chattel slavery would endanger Caribbean plantation profits, so they devised ways to import South Asian and East Asian laborers.

Ariella Aisha Azoulay on “rehearsals with others’.

Phil Neel on p0lice departments purposely targeting the poor as a way to raise municipal funds; the "suburbanization of poverty" especially in the Great Lakes region; the rise of lucrative "logistics empires" (warehousing, online order delivery, tech industries) at the edges of major urban agglomerations in "progressive" cities like Seattle dependent on "archipelagos" of poverty; and the relationship between job loss, homelessness, gentrification, and these logistics cities.

Alison Mountz on migrant detention; "carceral archipelagoes"; and the “death of asylum”.

Pedro Neves Marques on “one planet with many worlds inside it”; “parallel futures” of Indigenous, Black, disenfranchised communities/cosmologies; and how imperial/nationalist institutions try to foreclose or prevent other possible futures by purposely obscuring or destroying histories, cosmologies, etc.

Peter Redfield on the early twentieth-century French penal colony in tropical Guiana/Guyana; the prison's invocation of racist civilization/savagery mythologies; and its effects on locals.

Iain Chambers on racism of borders; obscured and/or forgotten lives of migrants; and disrupting modernity.

Paulo Tavares on colonial architecture; nationalist myth-making; and erasure of histories of Indigenous dispossession.

Elizabeth Povinelli on "geontopower"; imperial control over "life and death"; how imperial/nationalist formalization of private landownership and commodities relies on rigid definitions of dynamic ecosystems.

Kodwo Eshun on African cosmologies and futures; “the colonial present”; and imperialist/nationalist use of “preemptive” and “predictive” power to control the official storytelling/narrative of history and to destroy alternatives.

Tim Edensor on urban "ghosts" and “industrial ruins”; searching for the “gaps” and “silences” in the official narratives of nations/institutions, to pay attention to the histories, voices, lives obscured in formal accounts.

Megan Ybarra on place-making; "site fights"; solidarity and defiance of migrant detention; and geography of abolition/incarceration.

Sophie Sapp Moore on resistance, marronage, and "forms of counterplantation life"; "plantation worlds" which continue to live in contemporary industrial resource extraction and dispossession.

Deborah Cowen on “infrastructures of empire and resistance”; imperial/nationalist control of place/space; spaces of criminality and "making a life at the edge" of the law; “fugitive infrastructures”.

Elizabeth DeLoughrey on indentured labor; the role of plants, food, and botany in enslaved and fugitive communities; the nineteenth-century British Empire's labor in the South Pacific and Caribbean; the twentieth-century United States mistreatment of the South Pacific; and the role of tropical islands as "laboratories" and isolated open-air prisons for Britain and the US.

Dixa Ramirez D’Oleo on “remaining open to the gifts of the nonhuman” ecosystems; hinterlands and peripheries of empires; attentiveness to hidden landscapes/histories; defying surveillance; and building a world of mutually-flourishing companions.

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson on reciprocity; Indigenous pedagogy; abolitionism in Canada; camaraderie; solidarity; and “life-affirming” environmental relationships.

Anand Yang on "forgotten histories of Indian convicts in colonial Southeast Asia" and how the British Empire deported South Asian political prisoners to the region to simultaneously separate activists from their communities while forcing them into labor.

Sylvia Wynter on the “plot”; resisting the plantation; "plantation archipelagos"; and the “revolutionary demand for happiness”.

Pelin Tan on “exiled foods”; food sovereignty; building affirmative care networks in the face of detention, forced migration, and exile; connections between military rule, surveillance, industrial monocrop agriculture, and resource extraction; the “entanglement of solidarity” and ethics of feeding each other.

Avery Gordon on haunting; spectrality; the “death sentence” of being deemed “social waste” and being considered someone “without future”; "refusing" to participate; "escaping hell" and “living apart” by striking, squatting, resisting; cultivating "the many-headed hydra of the revolutionary Black Atlantic"; alternative, utopian, subjugated worldviews; despite attempts to destroy these futures, manifesting these better worlds, imagining them as "already here, alive, present."

Jasbir Puar on disability; debilitation; how the control of fences, borders, movement, and time management constitute conditions of de facto imprisonment; institutional control of illness/health as a weapon to "debilitate" people; how debt and chronic illness doom us to a “slow death”.

Kanwal Hameed and Katie Natanel on "liberation pedagogy"; sharing of knowledge, education, subversion of colonial legacy in universities; "anticolonial feminisms"; and “spaces of solidarity, revolt, retreat, and release”.

#abolition

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herpsandbirds · 20 days

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Table Mountain Ghost Frog (Heleophryne rosei), Heleophrynidae, endemic to Table Mountain National Park, Cape Town, South Africa

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED.

Endangered due to a very restriicted range, and the establishment of Pine plantations which are drying up the streams where this frog breeds.

photograph by Chad Keates & Oliver Angus

#ghost frog #heleophryne #heleophrynidae #frog #amphibian #herpetology #africa #animals #nature

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mutant-distraction · 18 days

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The Brown Fish Owl 🦉

Native to regions spanning from Turkey to South and Southeast Asia, the Brown Fish Owl is a fascinating bird species.

These owls typically inhabit forests and woodlands that border streams, lakes, or rice fields. They are commonly found in lowland areas, ranging from open woodlands to dense forests, as well as in plantations. In the Himalayan foothills, they can be found in submontane forests up to approximately 1,500 meters (4,900 feet) above sea level. During the day, they often seek refuge in stands of bamboo or other large shady trees. Additionally, they are frequently spotted around water reservoirs, along canals, on the outskirts of villages, and along sea coasts.

Captured beautifully by @dhammika_p 📸

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birdstudies · 3 months

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January 22, 2024 - Lemon Dove or Cinnamon Dove (Columba larvata) These doves are found in lowland and mountain forests, plantations, and wooded gardens in a scattered range across eastern and central Africa. Foraging mainly on the ground alone or in pairs, they feed on fruits, as well as seeds, tubers, and some invertebrates. Pairs build platform nests, usually from twigs and rootlets or sometimes pine needles. Females incubate the eggs alone, but both parents feed the chicks.

#lemon dove #cinnamon dove #dove #columbidae #columba larvata #bird #birds #illustration #art #woodland #birblr art

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blueberrypancakesworld · 3 months

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Good afternoon! Can I request a fic with Claude Frollo x an albino!Fem!reader who is a very strict and prim aristocrat whom Frollo is madly in love with and is trying to win her over? thank you in advance!

My pale star

warning : kinda fluff, kiss, tiny comfort, implied obsession

Info : OMG I loveeee the concept of your request dear anon and the albino reader I had already an idea on what I want the outfit to look like. I really hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

cover by me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the bells rang for morning mass, the metal clashed and the rich and poor rushed to the church to cleanse themselves of their sins, she was among the masses.

He had always seen her, his white flower, his star that stood out from the crowd and that he could only see at night when she shone so beautifully.

He himself on his horse, which rode like a shadow through the streets of Paris, made his way to the church, always sending his carriage. Snowball knew he had to gallop quickly to get there before the people arrived and the judge arrived.

He got off his horse in front of the wooden door and got there a minute before she did. In his hand was the mass-produced ring, which he put back into the kelien casket when he saw the carriage arrive from the dark wood.

The horses white as the clouds overhead, white as the moon and the stars, white and pale as his favorite. His darling, his love, she had him completely under her spell.

It had been like a witch ever since he had seen her when she had lifted her veil to wipe away the tears that seemed to be in her eyes like the stars ever since he had looked under the clothes of the fine veil it had been true for him she was the most beautiful thing on this planet, free from sin and taking him with her.

All she had to do was return his love and it would be perfect. Watching as the Kutcher brought the horses to a halt and the diner jumped from the back of the carriage and opened the door, the first thing he saw was her white gloves.

He had only ever seen the light-colored fabric except for one day, but it only added to her extraordinary beauty. The white dress with the reddish ruffles embroidered by hand.

The long sleeves and slippers and on her head the veil under the white hood which only gave a hint of what her hair might look like. ,,Greetings this morning, my lady, may the Lord have mercy on your soul," he greeted her as he dismounted his horse and walked over to her, luiefe saw that she only looked at him with her eyes and held her head high.

She was an aristocrat, her father owned several plantations and textile weavers, her mother died in childbirth and she was the only child who could dispose of her own money as she wished.

,,God bless you judge and this city" she said something for the first time one morning as she went to the statue of St. Mary and left him behind. Frollo knew breaking etiquette would be an insult to her and her family he had to do it differently he had to woo her.

His angel, his lovely star as he went to the rows of wood himself and said the prayer. But his eyes kept looking at her as she lowered her head, the veil covering her. But he had seen her pale reddish eyes under the embroidered fabric that hung over her face.

He wanted to understand what was "wrong" with her, that this sin was a punishment from God, which is why she always prayed. But what was sin to her was everything to him. He wanted her like the forbidden, desirable fruit of the apple tree.

The minutes passed, the sun rose over the city and the stained glass of the windows shone on her and he fell, looking at her in color instead of white.

He lit a candle, folded his hands, and felt the ring's box in the pocket of his robe before he watched her again as she slowly rose from her kneeling position, wiped the dust from her dress and walked to the exit.

Before the people came, the people of the normal lower population. ,,My lady please wait I have heard of the good news of your lord father's factory" he began and was pleased to see her pause and wait for him.

Her hands folded in front of her dress, she watched him as best he could see under the veil. ,,I had taken the liberty of contacting him...and asked for an invitation to hear your playing your harp," he explained, knowing that she played her harp in her family circles and among her closest confidants.

He couldn't quite tell if it was indignation or exasperation that flashed in her eyes as she stood to resume her posture as an aristocrat.

,,My lord father will make a decision in your favor, I presume. Please, if it is convenient for you Judge Frollo, come to my estate and I will play for you," she replied and was about to turn away from him when he brought a ,,Wait please" after her, she paused turning her head slightly and shaking her shoulders as he handed her the casket.

,,A gift as a token of my gratitude for your generosity," he said, smiling gently as her fingers brushed over her gloves, feeling her warmth for a moment before she tucked the small box into her long sleeves.

,,That...that's very kind of you Lord Frollo, thank you" she said quietly not full of conviction more like she was embarrassed as if this fire in him had caught her for a moment.

,,Please, for such a beautiful flower, it's the least you can do," he said as a matter of course and bowed slightly as she curtseyed and stepped out of the church first, the sun flashing as the wood was opened and disappearing again as it closed.

But Frollo stayed behind, knowing that he was one step closer to her heart, she was open, he had seen it, had felt its lovely warmth and fire. There was only one last thing to do that night and she would be his.

The evening couldn't come soon enough for him. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the city in gold, but he knew that once he visited her and listened to the sound of her harp, it was only a matter of time before he would use the ring he had given her.

Her apartment, though a little smaller than his own, was lined with magnificent stone, wood and statues, the entrance lined with pictures and books, and Frollo knew he would find her in the music room.

Knew as he walked through the front door that he would hear the sound of her unnaturally pale hands wiping the pages. Her singing soft and beguiling he felt his heart beat faster. He wanted her.

He wanted her when he saw that she had taken off her veil, her fingers were not covered by gloves and he saw the silver ring with a moonstone on it. ,,You're more beautiful than any star out there in the sky," he had flattered her for a moment, watching her stop crying as she turned her head away, not yet wanting to believe his words.

,,Please my lord enjoy the play...if my appearance disturbed you the Judge I can cover myself too" she said quietly almost whispering as if she was afraid that someone would hear them both. But he only shook his head in confusion as she stopped playing, rose from her seat and came to him.

,,Your look my pretty pale flower quite the opposite it's a pleasure to see you every day" he said and let his fingers run over her ring on her finger saw how she moved back to avoid the contact almost shco was too close.

But only almost, as it was true in the Bible Eve would give in to temptation and Adam would still love her more than anything. ,,Your body is my personal carnal pleasure...you are the most beautiful thing on this earth my love" he purred and his other hand brushed a white loose strand of hair behind her ear of her elaborate hairstyle.

He saw the shame in her reddish eyes at his words, but it was the shame that made her cheeks slightly flushed. ,,You-You don't know what you're saying, Frollo," she murmured, lowering her gaze to her dress, her fingers nervously playing with one of the bows.

But when he told her to look at him again, overcoming the last few moments between them, he felt it. He finally felt her warmth on his lips as he kissed her softly, holding her body gently with his hands.

Knowing that he had committed a sin for the first time but seeing that beautiful look of love in her face as she did not break away from him, her hands remained around his and something like devotion flashed in her eyes, the judge knew that his pale flower finally belonged to him forever until the last stars in the sky would fade away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ria-coolgirl , @nunezs-stuff , @magmabayvi , @aliensthegreat

#disney movies #the hunchback of notre dame #the hunchbag of notre dame frollo #judge claude frollo #claude frollo #judge claude frollo x reader #claude frollo x reader #frollo x reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 11 months

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While enslaved people were mostly overseas, in colonies, out of sight, slavery funded British wealth and institutions from the Bank of England to the Royal Mail. The extent to which modern Britain was shaped by the profits of the transatlantic slave economy was made even clearer with the launch in 2013 of the Legacies of British Slave-ownership project at University College London. It digitised the records of tens of thousands of people who claimed compensation from the government when colonial slavery was abolished in 1833, making it far easier to see how the wealth created by slavery spread throughout Britain after abolition. “Slave-ownership,” the researchers concluded, “permeated the British elites of the early 19th century and helped form the elites of the 20th century.” (Among others, it showed that David Cameron’s ancestors, and the founders of the Greene King pub chain, had enslaved people.)

But as Bell-Romero would write in his report on Caius, “the legacies of enslavement encompassed far more than the ownership of plantations and investments in the slave trade”. Scholars undertaking this kind of archival research typically look at the myriad ways in which individuals linked to an institution might have profited from slavery – ranging from direct involvement in the trade of enslaved people or the goods they produced, to one-step-removed financial interests such as holding shares in slave-trading entities such as the South Sea or East India Companies.

Bronwen Everill, an expert in the history of slavery and a fellow at Caius, points out “how widespread and mundane all of this was”. Mapping these connections, she says, simply “makes it much harder to hold the belief that Britain suddenly rose to power through its innate qualities; actually, this great wealth is linked to a very specific moment of wealth creation through the dramatic exploitation of African labour.”

This academic interest in forensically quantifying British institutions’ involvement in slavery has been steadily growing for several decades. But in recent years, this has been accompanied by calls for Britain to re-evaluate its imperial history, starting with the Rhodes Must Fall campaign in 2015. The Black Lives Matter protests of 2020 turbo-charged the debate, and in response, more institutions in the UK commissioned research on their historic links to slavery – including the Bank of England, Lloyd’s, the National Trust, the Joseph Rowntree Foundation and the Guardian.

But as public interest in exploring and quantifying Britain’s historic links to slavery exploded in 2020, so too did a conservative backlash against “wokery”. Critics argue that the whole enterprise of examining historic links to slavery is an exercise in denigrating Britain and seeking out evidence for a foregone conclusion. Debate quickly ceases to be about the research itself – and becomes a proxy for questions of national pride. “What seems to make people really angry is the suggestion of change [in response to this sort of research], or the removal of specific things – statues, names – which is taken as a suggestion that people today should be guilty,” said Natalie Zacek, an academic at the University of Manchester who is writing a book on English universities and slavery. “I’ve never quite gotten to the bottom of that – no one is saying you, today, are a terrible person because you’re white. We’re simply saying there is another story here.”

#slavery #british empire #uk politics #history

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mykneeshurt · 11 months

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Cat and Mouse

Image - KC on Pinterest

Medium honour Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, explicit smut

A/N - starting to feel inspired again. I love this pixelated man so much omfg. Not proof read. Just a quick fic I did today x

The night was humid and suffocating as you snuck up on the old plantation house in Shady Belle. The camp was alive with the distant warm glow of oil lanterns, music danced on the thick Lemoyne air as a guitar strummed in the distance. Hushed laughter and talking echoed amongst the trees that littered the small field.

That was until a familiar click of a revolver loading rang through your ears, as a cold steel barrel was forced into your temple. ‘Told you not to follow me’ a thick southern accent drawled into the darkness. Without even moving you sighed ‘hello Arthur.’ His gun was still pressed firmly into your skin as he turned your body, slamming you into the decaying stone wall.

The brim of his hat hid his eyes from view, a menacing smirk danced across his lips. ‘What chu doin here?’ His voice was low and firm, he told you clearly in Saint Denis not to follow him, but your curiosity got the better of you. So you tracked him. Through the city, through the swaps and to Shady Belle.

Looking up he peered at you, from under his hat, contempt written over his features. But with a hint of curiosity. He looked menacing in the darkness, the silver moon made his eyes glisten and shimmer. ‘Came to get me an outlaw. An expensive one at that, gonna lower your gun?’ you smiled, swiping your tongue across your teeth.

He regarded you for a moment, this wasn’t your first meeting. Not by a long shot. The two of you had been playing this game of cat and mouse for months. Slowly he lowered the gun and slipped it back into his holster. ‘That so?’ He lowered his head, his lips teasing the skin of your neck ‘bad men in these here woods miss. I ain’t the only thing you should be scared of.’

His breath traipsed along your skin, moist from the suffocating heat. Swallowing you clenched your thighs together, desperately trying to tame the ache that began to emanate from your cunt. ‘No? What else should I be scared of Morgan?’ Your breath hitched in your throat as you clenched your fists by your side.

Slowly he brought his hand to your face, running his calloused thumb along your lips. Pulling down gently your jaw dropped open, breathe getting caught in your chest. Which by now was heaving. Humming he placed his lips against your neck ‘hmmm, wild boar … snakes … crocodiles … raiders’ he trailed off wrapping his arm around your waist. Moaning softly you replied ‘ain’t none of them scare me.’

He smiled into your neck, pulling you closer ‘big brave girl huh? … well one of em should scare you sweetheart.’ Rolling your hips into him your arched your back off the wall ‘oh yeah? Which one?’

‘Me.’

Within a flash his hand was around your throat pulling your lips to his in a feverish kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck he lifted you onto his hips, immediately locking your legs around him. The kiss was a flurry of teeth, tongue and saliva, both of your fighting for dominance. You nipped at his lip causing him to growl into your mouth. Inhaling it like the finest drug it drove you further, scraping your nails along his neck.

Breaking the kiss for air your smirked at the tall handsome outlaw before you. ‘Take em off’ you ordered ‘fuck me Arthur.’ A cough of disbelief burst from his chest, normally he was the one in charge. Dropping you down he quickly undid his trousers, letting his thick veiny cock spring out. It never ceased to impress you.

Spinning you round he pushed your cheek hard into the stone wall. Unbuckling your jeans be pulled them down just to your knees, before firmly smacking his hand against your ass. ‘Fuuuuck I missed you’ he admitted between clenched teeth. ‘Yeah? Show me Arthur. Show me how much you missed me’ you whispered into the darkness. ‘Oh I’ll show you darlin’. I’ll show you …’

With that he ran his fingers along your slit, not surprised to find you soaking. You were always so wet for him, always so responsive. A groan of approval left his lips as he slipped a finger into you, stretching you ever so slightly. Hissing through your teeth you braced your arms against the wall.

He moved his fingers in and out, slowly at first before building into a rhythm. Feeling every fibre of your aching pussy, feeling how wet you were, feeling how your body responded to his touch. Quiet gasps left you with each movement, screwing your eyes shit you let the heavy night air swarm over you. He added another finger making you arch your back, weaving his hand into your hair he pulled you back into him.

‘Good girl.’ The praise slipped off his tongue like it was the devil himself speaking to you. Gritting your teeth you gave yourself over to him, succumbing to his every will, his every need. Putty in his hands.

In one swift motion he removed his fingers placing them in your mouth, you sucked them eagerly. Feeling his every growing erection poking into your ass. He revelled in the feeling of his fingers in your mouth, the silky feeling of your tongue on his fingers knowing you were getting off on tasting yourself. ‘Wan me to fuck this pussy of yours sweetheart? That what chu want?’

Nodding furiously you sucked his fingers clean, savouring your own justices as they danced along your taste buds. Spanking your ass once more he nipped your ear ‘spread your ass for me.’

Leaning back against the wall your pressed your shoulders into it, using your hands to spread your ass open for him. ‘Damn’ he whispered to himself, lining his cock up to your hole he pushed himself in. Your wet pussy drinking him in instantly, both of you moaned in unison as he filled you completely. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix as he fucked you against the wall.

His grip on your hips was deadly, bruising, all consuming. He slammed his body into yours, it was brutal, over and over again. You both moaned into the night as he dominated your mind, body and soul. Releasing one of your cheeks you reached down and played with your clit. ‘That’s it, jus’ like that darlin. Fuuuck’ he drawled, you could hear how close he was. His voice was wavered and tense.

‘Arthur … don’t stop … fuck’ you hissed biting your lip. Your muscles tensed under your moist shirt, pulling you closer and closer to oblivion. ‘Cum on my cock darlin’ … I got chu.’ He words of praise pushed you further and further, the way his voice growled in the darkness like some unknown deity from long ago.

Feeling yourself tighten you moved your fingers faster and faster. ‘Oh … fuck … Arthur right there.’ With one final thrust you fell into void of complete and utter pleasure, your hearing muffled and your throat went hoarse as you rode out your high. Bucking and clenching over his cock you rode out your high, biting into your hand to muffle your moans.

Arthur’s breath began to falter, catching in his chest as he neared his orgasm. Placing his hand on your shoulder he tried to stabilise himself as he pulled out. Shooting his cum all over your ass and back. Bending down he rested his head on your shoulder as he caught his breath. He chest heaved into your back, you could feel his heart thundering in his chest.

Humming to yourself you reached behind and cupped the back of his head ‘always a pleasure Arthur.’ He chuckled against your back before standing up, placing himself back into his trousers. He grabbed one of his gun rags from his pocket and cleaned you off before helping you stand.

Once you had tucked yourself in you placed your hair in a messy bun offering him a warm smile. Cupping your chin he kissed you firmly on the lips before staring into your eyes, ‘strangest bounty hunter I ever met.’

Placing a strand of hair behind his ear you giggled ‘only for you Mr Morgan. I could take you in if I wanted. But I like this game more than the money. Till next time’ you winked as you hopped up onto your horse, before galloping off into the Lemoyne night.

#red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption smut

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laurel-finch · 6 months

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch01: Blue House, Black Dog

Summary: The Winchesters meet a new face, one who is not entirely human... Referenced Episodes: None CW: Minor gore. Change from 3rd to 1st person POV. Female reader -- no character description other than age. Lots of exposition :( Word Count: 5944 Recommended Song: Hungry Like The Wolf -- Duran Duran Series Masterlist -- Next Chapter

The motel room was eerily quiet. There was no bickering, no laughter, no witty comments. Only light snores from one bed and the gentle clicking of laptop keys from another. The screen glared on a shadowy figure, reflecting on the wooden backboard of the bed and spreading softly around the room. The figure would pause in his typing every few minutes to glance at the sleeping figure in the next bed. He would stop and his eyes would flash towards his brother, as if to check that the sleeping figure was still there, and then return on his mission.

The room was oddly barren and tidy for two young men to be staying in. The only loose item happened to be a long forgotten lacy, fuchsia-colored bra tucked neatly behind the TV stand, out of the sight of the younger brother. The curtains were drawn to allow minimal light into the room, though the occasional moth-eaten hole would ruin the effect. The sounds of cars could be heard on a distant highway if one strained hard enough to listen for them.

The younger brother rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and turned once again to glance at his comatose older brother. In just a few hours, he would be awake and they would be on the road again – whether the younger brother liked it or not. He laughed grimly and averted his gaze back to the computer.

A news headline for a rural Alabama city flashed at the top of his screen, showcasing a sizable town somewhere in the 'Black Belt', a rural farming district of the state. The district boasted smaller towns and massive, old plantation homes off the beaten path. The headline spoke of several recent animal attacks, with the carcasses ranging from ravished to nearly intact. They all lacked one key component – hearts. The younger brother chuckled again.

No less than three hours later, the two brothers were sitting in a shabby diner in Omaha, dim lighting reflecting off of their clean plates.

"You find anything about those coordinates yet?" The oldest brother questioned, a fork hanging from his mouth, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"The website says it was animal attacks. Coroner says all of the hearts were missing," his younger brother replied. He sighed and spun the laptop to face his brother. "If it really is a text from Dad... he might be onto something. Looks like maybe a werewolf."

The older brother raised a brow as he took another bite. Of course, his dad was onto something. "Great, a werewolf in the swamp. Go figure."

"You're thinking of Louisiana, Dean."

Dean dropped the fork from his mouth and leaned towards his brother, taking a swig of black coffee. "They're practically the same thing, Sammy. Both in the South, so both are swamps." He replied, his eyes still blurred with sleep.

Sam grinned and pulled his laptop towards him. "So far there have been nine victims. I've done some research, and I can't find anything they have in common. It looks like some wolf went on a feeding frenzy."

"Good. They're always the most fun to kill," Dean said enthusiastically, with a mouthful of food. Sam cringed. "I'll bring the car around, you've got the bill, Sammy."

Dean stood up from the booth as his brother started to protest and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "Towns only a few hours away, you can sleep on the way.”

"Great," Sam grumbled. "Then we can get a motel room tonight and talk to the witness in the morning."

"Witness?" Dean inquired, stopping in his tracks. "You never said anything about a witness."

"Just some guy named Raymond Chavez. The police interviewed him, but they couldn't get anything good out of him. Thought maybe we could take a crack at him."

"Poor guy probably saw the monster and didn't even realize what it was."

"Probably. That's why I thought we'd talk to him tomorrow."

Dean nodded in understanding and continued on his way, the door to the shabby diner shutting behind him.

—

Sam rummaged in the glove compartment of their car, searching through a mess of fake IDs, finally withdrawing the pair he wanted. He snickered upon seeing the names. "Hetfield and Ulrich? I thought we were passed the Metallica names."

Dean snatched the IDs from his brother's hands, "Shut up. Like a grocery store worker is going to recognize Metallica."

Sam chuckled. "Whatever. You want to get us caught, be my guest," he said, hopping out of the car. Dean frowned and grumbled to himself, exiting the car.

The brothers walked up the steps of the shabby house. The blue-gray paint was peeling off the sides of the house, leached by the constant sun. The lawn was overgrown and unkempt. Christmas lights still hung from the eaves, though they weren't plugged in.

The boys got their badges out and Sam knocked on the door. There was a crash from inside the house and the brothers glanced at each other. Sam reached out to knock again, but the door was flung open in a hurry.

The man standing before them was just as unkempt as the house itself. A wore a white shirt, stained by obvious beer stains. His jeans were unbuttoned and his belt was undone, as though he had just hastily thrown them on. His hair was a mess and he wore no shoes.

Dean grimaced and flashed a National Forest Service badge. "Mr. Chavez?"

The greasy-looking man nodded, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and sliding it in between his teeth in a failed attempt to look put together. "Tha's me," he grunted, with an obvious accent.

"Mr. Chavez, we wanted to talk to you about the animal attacks," said Sam.

Chavez's eyes went wide for a quarter of a second, then his brows furrowed. "I already talked to the police about tha'." He scratched nervously at his pitiful attempt at a beard, bristled whiskers poking out from his chin.

"We just have a few follow-up questions," said Dean . Chavez thought for a moment, then shrugged. "C'mon in then. Sorry 'bout the mess."

The brothers glanced at each other in surprise upon entering the man's home. The house was surprisingly clean, with only the occasional item loose. The place was even dusted.

"Were you expecting company or something?" Dean asked, scanning the place.

Chavez tensed, hardly even noticeable unless you were looking for it. He whipped his head around and glared at Dean. "Do ya have questions or not?" he snapped, sitting down in a worn old chair.

Dean scanned the chair, noticing tufts of hair on it. "Do you have a dog?"

"No. I was pet-sitting."

Sam paced the room, inspecting everything, while Dean questioned Chavez. "So you told the police you saw an animal attacking one of the victims," Dean clarified, pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket.

"Yeah, tore right into his throat. Saw it rip out the poor guy's heart," he said, unfazed. "What time of the month was it?"

"I weren't on my period or nothin' if that's what yer asking." His irritation was obvious at this question and his voice slipped into more of a southern drawl. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs loosely.

Dean looked taken aback by his comment, "No – I just meant, was it close to a full moon or anything like that?"

Chavez thought about it for a moment and then said, "I s'pose it was. Say, what kind of Forest Service guys are ya, anyway? What's a full moon got to do with any o' this?"

Sam and Dean glanced knowingly at each other, avoiding Chavez's questioning gaze. "We're just tracking down a particularly nasty wolf," Sam said. "It likes to hunt around that time."

"Not all month?"

Dean shrugged, "It's a weird one," he chuckled. He pursed his lips and met Sam's eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, motioning for him to do something. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring, glancing at Dean and showing it to him. His older brother nodded again and Sam slipped it onto his finger.

Chavez ignored the exchange, his fingers twitching nervously, and stood up. "If you fellas don't got any more questions, I got's to get to work," he said, stretching languidly.

Sam approached from behind, "We just have a few more questions for you." He placed his ringed hand on the man's exposed shoulder.

A sudden sizzling noise echoed in the room and Chavez shouted, breaking away from Sam and clutching his burned shoulder. Both boys reached behind them and drew their guns, aiming for the man. Chavez snickered, and shrugged with one arm, his other still covering his now charred wound. "Figured you two would be dumb enough to pass me by." He smirked and his once brown eyes flashed a dark forest green.

"Not likely. Take a seat, Raymond," said Dean, gesturing towards the chair. Chavez grimaced, but sat, glaring at the brothers.

"So here's how it's going to go," said Dean. "You play nice and tell us where the other werewolves are and you won't get hurt. Otherwise," Sam cracked his knuckles and Chavez glanced at him in fright, Dean grinned and continued, "- otherwise, I'll let my brother here do what he wants."

Raymond gulped and glanced between the brothers, back and forth obviously pondering his best course of action.

Finally, he gulped again and stared at Dean. "There's only one more. A girl."

"Where?"

"Not far out of town. Jes' take the highway north, it's the third turn off on the left. She lives there."

Dean scoffed, "And you're willing to sell her out that easily? You disgust me. You animals are meant to be a family."

Raymond smirked, yellow teeth showing. "She means nothing to me."

Sam glanced at Dean, and the older brother nodded. Sam raised his gun towards the werewolf's head. "Wait, wait!" shouted the werewolf, shuffling away from Sam. "I told you what you wanted, now let me go! I'll skip town, I won't come back, I'll even stop feeding! Just let me go!"

The brothers glanced at each other. Dean shrugged. "Might as well, not like he can do anything 'til the full moon. He's someone else's problem then."

Chavez breathed a plaintive sigh of relief. When he opened his eyes again, the boys were already gone, the roar of the Impala's engine speeding away into the distance.

Chavez smiled.

—

The Winchesters turned off the highway down a beaten dirt road, the tires easily slipping into the worn grooves in the road. They rounded the corner of the road to come face to face with a large, pale blue, ranch-style home in the middle of a large clearing. A sizable barn and another building, which looked like a bunkhouse, were positioned behind the house and painted in the same blue color. The clearing was wide and full of light, surrounded by many towering trees. The trees blocked the view of the house from the road. The house and property were well cared for and decorative flowers littered the area.

"A werewolf lives here?" questioned Dean skeptically, glancing up at the house as he got out of the car.

"According to the other one-" Sam started, but promptly cut himself off. Dean glanced over at him and opened his mouth, but Sam immediately shushed him, withdrawing his gun from his belt. Sam pointed to the side of a beaten old pickup truck, where a bag of groceries lay on the ground, the contents spilling out.

Dean drew his gun and paced towards the truck. He placed his hand over the hood and quickly withdrew it.

"Still warm," he whispered to Sam. The younger brother gestured towards the house, gun still raised, and together they moved silently towards the structure. The front door was slightly ajar, and Sam pushed it open, gesturing for Dean to go first. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped into the house.

They entered into a well-decorated living and dining area, with expensive furnishings. The ceilings were tall and dark oak beams held the ceiling up, giving it a cottage sort of feel. Several large-scale windows lined the left wall of the house, bright light filtering in. To the right was a staircase heading up towards a sizable loft.

Dean lowered his gun and turned to Sam, "I don't think anyone's home-"

A large black mass fell from the loft and flattened Dean to the ground, his gun falling from his hand. He shouted in shock, attempting to get the mass off of him before it crushed his chest.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, raising his gun and taking aim.

"Shoot it Sam!" Dean shouted back, desperation in his voice. The thing snapped its jaws at Dean's throat, the elder Winchester doing his best to keep it away.

"I can't, I'll hit you!" Sam screamed.

The thing clawed at Dean and a spray of blood hit the back of the couch. Dean yelled and pushed the thing off of him. He attempted to stand, claw marks raking down his right arm.

"What the hell is that thing!?" he exclaimed, dodging as the thing flung itself at him and onto the front porch. The thing kept running down the steps and paused a few yards from the front steps. It turned, its furious golden eyes piercing the brothers. Sam held his brother and both of their eyes widened.

"It's a wolf," Sam whispered, lowering his gun.

"What the hell is a wolf doing-" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence. The wolf charged towards them again, tackling Sam to the ground, snapping its monstrous jaws at Sam's throat and his gun slipping out of his hand. "Sam!" he shouted.

The wolf howled, sinking its claws into Sam's arms. He screamed and threw the animal off; it collided roughly with the wall, tumbling to the floor. On shaky legs, the beast stood and shook out its dark fur, standing to its full height. Its head was easily shoulder height on Dean, standing at about five feet tall.

"That is not a normal wolf!" shouted Sam, regaining his breath. Dean lunged for his brother's fallen gun, realizing with panic that they hadn't loaded their weapons with silver. He raised his newfound gun towards the wolf as it snarled at him, lunging for his throat.

The gun went off.

The wolf howled and fell back, its now injured leg flailing wildly in the air. A horrendous snarl escaped its lips as it hobbled to a standing position, leaning against the wall, yellow eyes blazing with hatred and fury that the brothers had never seen in another animal's eyes. Dean raised his gun again, aiming for the wolf's head. His stony features morphed to shock as the wolf's face began to change. The snout shortened, the ears shifted and the warm gold of the animal's eyes dampened.

His eyes widened as the wolf's form took the shape of a young woman, no more than twenty-four years old. Her eyes seemed to glow a bright shade as they locked with him. Before either brother even had time to register what had happened, the woman lunged for Dean's gun still laying in the doorway, and aimed it at Dean.

"Don't... move..." she said breathlessly. Blood stained her shirt from where the bullet had pierced her skin, though it appeared to have only grazed her. She hissed through gritted teeth and Dean's eyes widened as the skin around the wound trickled with blood, already thickening into a thin scab. She slipped one foot behind her and held her gun with a sense of confidence. She held the weapon in an easy, practiced grip.

Sam shifted his weight and held his hands up in mock surrender. He leaned his weight against the wall and slowly stood. She whipped to the right to face him and shot a warning shot over his shoulder.

"I said don't move!" she screamed, chest heaving with fury and anticipation.

"Woah, hey!" Dean shouted, waving his hands in front of him. "Listen lady, put the gun down, and let's talk!"

"Why would I want to talk to a couple of hunters that are trying to kill me!?"

Dean chuckled and shrugged, offering a charming, almost apologetic smile. "Well... we aren't trying to kill you now?" He smiled hopefully.

Her brows furrowed and she lowered the weapon slightly, staring over the barrel. "I've never done anything to warrant hunters coming after me. Why are you here?" she spat, finger resting loosely on the trigger, barrel aimed for Dean's chest rather than his head. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if that was an improvement.

"We figured there was a werewolf in the area,” Sam explained calmly, eyes flicking between the monster and his brother. "We tracked it here, then found the witness. Turns out the witness was a-"

"Shit!" she exclaimed, causing both men to jump in surprise. She lowered the weapon until it was aimed at the ground at her feet. "Weaselly looking guy, goes by Raymond?"

Sam blinked twice in confusion. "Yeah, how-"

The girl cut him off again, laughing. "Are you two new at this or something? You never trust the monster!" She laughed again, clutching her stomach. "First of all, you're not hunting a werewolf."

The boys glared at her and Dean rolled his eyes, pursing his lips. "Yeah, no shit. Mind telling us what we are hunting?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, frowning at the brothers as though she couldn't believe they were that stupid. "You boys ever heard of a skinwalker?"

Sam quickly glanced toward Dean in confusion. His brow creased with worry as he watched his brother's sarcastic features morph into shock. "I thought skinwalkers were wiped out?" Sam questioned, looking between the two.

"No," Dean said, glaring at his brother. "No, dad hunted one years ago. You were barely out of diapers," his voice was dripping with awe and shock. "Don't think dad ever managed to get it- always thought it was one step ahead." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion and folded his arms over his chest, finger tapping the trigger of the gun. "Last successful skinwalker hunt I heard of was- what, maybe eighty years ago? Bunch of hunters think they're extinct."

"Skinwalkers aren't common," the girl interjected. "We like to stay hidden."

Sam snapped his gaze up to meet hers. "You're a skinwalker?"

She rolled her eyes again. "How else am I supposed to turn into a wolf? Magic?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, then clutched her bleeding arm, gun resting loosely in her hands. She wasn't too worried — it wasn't a silver bullet, so she would heal quickly.

"So you're buddy, Raymond-" Dean started.

"-He's not my buddy-"

"- is also a Skinwalker? Why'd he sell you out?"

The girl paused for a moment, thinking about her answer. "There's a pack near here, set up shop about six months ago. They only started killing people recently though. Used to hunt animals, kept a low profile."

"And you're not part of the pack?" Sam questioned, knowing monsters like werewolves tended to rove in groups. Skinwalkers were thought to be cousins to werewolves, as they had similar qualities, such as a vulnerability to silver and an infectious bite. He assumed the pack mentality would be the same.

"No," she snapped bitterly. "I'd never hurt people. I hunt animals, try to stay out of people’s way, y’know? Besides, I was here first; this is my uncle's place. I moved in with him a few years ago, and he left the place to me." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes quickly swept over the house.

"Where's your uncle now?" Sam inquired, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"He's dead. Died a little over a year ago, on a wraith hunt."

"He was a hunter?"

"One of the best. So was my mom, before she got bit," she frowned at the brothers and threw her hands up in a gesture that was meant to say 'obviously.' "So yeah, I was kind of raised to not eat people."

She hung her head a bit and placed her hands on her hips, eyes fixated on a now-distant past. The brothers watched her for a few moments, taking in her appearance. Her dirty jeans had scuffed knees and were frayed around the edges, by her ankles. Roughened combat boots were tied tightly to her feet and an oversized denim jacket rested loosely over her shoulders, one sleeve now stained with blood.

Dean took in a nervous breath. The girl glanced up at him and the light highlighted the bags under her eyes. "Why does the pack want you dead?" he asked.

The girl paused again as if wondering how much to give away. She furrowed her brows in thought before once again meeting their eyes. "Packs have a hierarchy. Biggest dog is in charge. You only get to easily be the biggest if you're a pure-blooded skinwalker." Her eyes jumped between the boys, gauging their reaction. They still looked as confused as ever. She sighed and began picking at the bloody fabric of her jacket. The blood from her wound already seemed to be clotted.

"Pure-bloods... are ones who have two parents that were skinwalkers too. My mom... she was turned before I was born. My dad was pure-blooded. He was second-generation." She met Dean's eyes, a challenging glare set upon her features. "That makes me a third-generation skinwalker. A rarity in the monster world. Makes me top dog in a pack, something I don't want, and certainly not something an insecure alpha would want."

The room was silent. The only sound came from the wind quietly billowing through the open front door. "He's afraid you'll take his pack?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She nodded.

Dean glared at the floor, his fists tightened. "Whatever reason he has to kill you doesn't matter. He still needs to be stopped - he can't just keep killing people." Sam nodded in agreement, holstering his gun and wiping his sweating palms on his jeans.

Dean turned to the girl and locked eyes with her, his green eyes cold. "You should leave. You don't want to be here when we take out the pack." He threw the last few words over his shoulder as he turned to exit the house, holstering the gun.

She scoffed at him, "You really expect to defeat a pack of fifteen skinwalkers, maybe more, on your own? Are you two amateurs, or did you hit your heads too hard?"

Dean visibly bristled, his back tensing as he whipped around and snarled, "What do you expect us to do!? We can either take them out or die trying!"

"I expect," she started, taking a few steps towards the porch, a surprisingly menacing glare adorning her features, "for you to take me with you."

Dean's mouth fell open in surprise and his eyebrows raised. "You want to help us?"

She flashed an almost wolfish grin, "Well yeah, how else do you expect to win a fight like this?" She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled widely. "Frankly, I'm tired of that asshole alpha harassing me and killing people. I just want a peaceful life, you know?"

Sam glanced nervously between the girl and his brother as Dean contemplated the pros and cons of the situation.

Pro: Another fighter that could help them win the fight.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them.

Pro: They're less likely to die.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them-

"Alright fine!" he exclaimed, "Fine. You can come with us."

She cheered, throwing her arms into the air in excitement. "About time you two decide to do something smart!"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever Scooby, just get in the damn car. And don't get fur on the upholstery."

"Wouldn't dream of it," her smirk audible in her words.

"Just get in fido."

"It's not 'fido'-" she grumbled, climbing into the backseat. The engine started with a loud purr and Dean rolled easily out of the gravel driveway. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror as her name fell from her lips.

—

I glowered thoughtfully at Sam from my place on his bed in their dusty motel room, legs crossed and fingers drumming rhythmically against my thigh. The brothers were focused on packing, shoving various weapons into duffel bags. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun poked out of the duffel bag Sam was filling.

The younger Winchester lifted his head and met my cold gaze, fixated on the weapon. His eyes glanced down at the shotgun and he laughed softly. "Not everyone can fight with literal tooth and nail."

I collapsed backward on the bed and splayed my arms out by my sides. The only thing left from my fading bullet wound was a scab. Truthfully, I wished it would heal immediately – this fight was not going to be an easy one, and the brothers would need all the help they could get.

I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, glaring up at the ceiling. I hated fighting. Sure, I was used to it – my uncle had taught me how to fight and I had been on several hunts with him – but that didn't mean I enjoyed it. I shivered at the thought of killing, the taste of blood and malleable flesh all too familiar on my tongue. The kind of food humans ate would tide me over, but it wasn't enough to satiate my hunger.

"I could always bite you," I offered playfully, redirecting my attention away from my thoughts and back towards Sam. "Then you could fight 'tooth and nail.'" I sat up, resting my weight on my elbows. I liked him – he was smart, and to my surprise he didn't blink twice about my situation. The fact that I was a monster meant nothing to him.

"No thanks. I'd prefer to not shed constantly," he joked, a smirk adorning his lips. I scoffed, to which he laughed. "Just a personal preference."

I don’t shed that much.

The door to the motel room burst open and I bounced on the bed in surprise, yelping at the sudden noise. Dean waltzed into the room, a smug grin on his lips as he dumped a mess of silver weapons on the bed beside me. I flinched and glared at the weapons that could easily kill me.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, a comical tone to his voice.

"No, you're not," I growled and shuffled away from the mess of silver. Invulnerability created a sort of superiority complex in most monsters. We were likely to be more reckless, knowing few things could kill us. Seeing one of those few things beside me was not something I relished.

"You're right, I'm not," Dean teased with a click of his tongue and a playful grin. He grabbed a pistol and a rag and wiped off the barrel.

"Fuck off," I grumbled crassly. The silver had certainly put me in a bad mood, making this approaching fight seem more real, more solid. I rolled off the bed and moved to the other side to help him organize. Dean only smiled at my comment, eyes never leaving his silver and white gun. "When are we planning on attacking these mutts?" I questioned.

I was eager to get rid of Chikaltio and his rag-tag pack. Seven months of that bastard harassing me and threatening my life was enough for me. I was so tired of it. Tired of not being able to go into town and buy my groceries without being snarled at. Tired of not being safe in my own home.

I didn't want to fight him. I hated the idea of challenging him, of potentially killing him – I didn't want to take over his pack, and I certainly didn't want to be responsible for another living being's death. Animals were one thing, people were… different. I had caused enough death in the past.

"Probably tomorrow," Sam said, checking his watch. My ears pricked, rejoining the conversation after being lost in thought. "It's already late, they'd have the drop on us at night."

"Not if you mask your scent," I suggested, just wanting the fight to be over. I wanted my life back.

"We wouldn't be able to see them," argued Dean. "We don't have night vision, like you."

I scoffed. "I don't have night vision.” I clarified, pointing a silver knife at Dean in a matter-of-fact way. "Dogs can see about five times better in the dark than a human can. I, no matter what you might think, am not a dog."

"So how much better are your eyes?" Sam asked, curiosity dripping into his voice.

I shrugged and ran a cloth over the blade of the knife. "About three times better."

Now Dean scoffed. "Right, you obviously can't see that much better."

"I never said I couldn't see that much better. I just said I don't have night vision."

"Yeah, whatever makes you feel better about yourself, Scooby," Dean muttered, intending to sound scornful, but he couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face.

Sam chuckled from across the room. "Aren't you two supposed to be getting things ready for tomorrow?"

"We can multitask, Sammy," countered Dean, tossing a small bullet at his brother. Sam caught it and placed it on the desk.

"Are you two always like this before a hunt?" I inquired, shifting as far away from the flying silver bullets as possible.

"Not always. Dean is usually less annoying," Sam said, brushing another stray bullet out of his hair.

"Dean not being annoying? Is that possible?" I teased, feigning shock and placing a hand over my heart in surprise. I was beginning to like these boys – they were fun-loving and full of life, unlike the previous hunters I had known. Granted, those two hunters had been my mother and uncle, and they had seen some things that would make anyone less cheerful.

"Alright you two, knock it off. This isn't National Pick-On-Dean Day," Dean sneered, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. My eyes followed his movements, scanning his face, eyes jumping between his freckles and green eyes. I had to admit, he was handsome.

"Shame. I bet that would be my favorite day of the year," I countered. Dean glared playfully and dropped his hand, reaching for another gun.

"Get back to polishing those knives," he ordered jokingly.

"Sure thing, boss."

—

The room was dark except for the occasional flash of lights, signaling a car drifting slowly down the highway. I listened to the passing cars and the voices of people in rooms nearby, furry ears pricked and at attention.

Nighttime was my favorite time. Everyone was finally quiet, peaceful, and no longer bothersome. I didn't feel overwhelmed by the amount of noise and the smells. I didn't need to worry about what people thought when they saw me, a massive black wolf with searing golden eyes, or a battered young woman with scars littering her body.

I could be myself.

My tail thumped quietly on the side of the couch, chin resting on dark paws, claws resting on the leather surface of the couch. I focused my attention on the argument a couple was having six rooms down. They weren't even trying to be quiet.

I hated hearing people argue. It brought a familiar feeling of helplessness up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I had grown so used to arguments in my teenage years that I thought fights and throwing items were completely normal. Now, knowing that was the opposite, I hated the memories it dredged up. I made a low grunting sound in the back of my throat and lifted my head, black fur brushing against the leather couch. At this time of night, I'd usually be running outside, hunting, playing. Just enjoy being in my fur. I couldn't wait until Chikaltio was gone and I didn't need to worry about where I ran or who I ran into.

I hopped off the smooth couch, sharp claws digging into the plush motel carpet. A short run wouldn't hurt, right?

My claws had just barely touched the linoleum by the door when I heard a soft rustling from behind. With languid movements, I turned my furry head to see Dean glaring at me in the dark, his green eyes filled with sleep.

"Where do you think you're going?" he questioned, his voice raw from sleep. I found it odd how quickly he had grown accustomed to my inhuman abilities. It was pleasant, knowing I was accepted when often I didn't accept myself.

My hackles raised as I began to shift, fur receding and bones cracking, rearranging under my skin. I straightened my spine and stretched, feeling my muscles and joints pop from the stress of changing form.

"I was going to go for a run. Is that a problem?" I cocked an eyebrow.

Dean hummed, sitting up. "It's a bit of a problem. How do I know you aren't going to go tell the other skinwalkers about us?"

I rolled my eyes], though I was sure Dean couldn't see the gesture. For him, the room must have seemed pitch black, rather than the gentle shadows I saw. "I'm sure Chavez has already told the pack. You weren't very discrete with your intentions. I bet they also know that you didn't kill me."

"Even more reason for you to stay here," he challenged. "If they know you're not dead, they might be looking for you. You said it yourself - we can't fight them on our own, and you're no help if you're dead."

"I doubt some blockhead mastiff could kill me."

"Doesn't mean I want them to try."

I averted my eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, and picked at the hem of my shirt. Was he saying that because I was just part of the case, or because he really cared? It had been so long since I had met anyone who truly cared for me. I lifted my gaze to meet his green eyes, surprised to find them warm and full of concern.

"For a hunter, you seem pretty charismatic," I murmured. My uncle had held that same gaze when I showed up at his doorstep years ago. Dean, although rough around the edges, seemed to really care for the people he helped, monster or not. I admired that.

"For a monster, you seem pretty human," he countered. I bristled, insecurity fluttering in my chest. If only he knew some of the things I had done. Would he still see me as human?

Finding nothing of note in his steely gaze, I dropped my eyes and once again became interested in the hem of my oversized shirt. I picked at the loose strings of the ragged hem. Dean rolled onto his back, his eyes latching onto the ceiling. "You should get some sleep. It's a big day tomorrow."

"It's hard for me to sleep at night. It's kind of an instinct to want to be out there, to run."

He smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. "You can run all you want tomorrow, after this hunt. But for now-" he locked his eyes with mine, "- for now, you should get some sleep." I pondered this for a moment and then finally nodded.

This time, my feet hit the plush carpet rather than sharp nails. I slid onto the couch, cold leather pressing against my skin and my mind racing with several thoughts. A part of me was eager for tomorrow's fight, knowing that at the end of the day I may finally have my freedom back. But, another, more realistic side of me knew that the day may end poorly. I may end the day cold and bathing in my own blood, the brothers, who I was already so fond of, missing pieces.

"Goodnight," I mumbled, half expecting him to already be asleep.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #fluff #angst #honestly lots of angst #slow burn #supernatural x reader #x reader #female reader #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #supernatural fanfiction #monster reader #monster

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