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[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

next chapter

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I cannot believe that no one bought this elegant little gem of an 1877 2nd Empire townhouse in Minneapolis, MN. It's decorated in grand Baroque style, has 1bd, 2ba, 1,799 sq ft, $989k + $1,029mo. HOA. Maybe it's priced too high? Zillow says it's worth about $935k. The high HOA fee could also be a factor.

Come on, now. NOBODY expects the Baroque Townhouse! Look at the entrance- got some gothic doors, architectural salvage light fixture from a church, and what could be better than a wine rack where you can grab a bottle as soon as you walk thru the door? It also looks like a mini bar. What a way to greet guests.

They really did a lot of work on this place. That's why I think it's priced at almost $1m. The woodwork, alone, is incredible. Look at the delightful dining room that looks like it's under an arbor.

Stone wall with niches. Antique chandelier.

This is a sitting room fit for a queen.

Different areas of the home are done in different styles. The ornate sitting room is Baroque with a massive fireplace and chandeliers.

The custom kitchen has a Frenchy flair and it also has an Aga stove (big bucks) with a mosaic backsplash. Look at the flowers painted on the counters.

You can see the pantry on the left, plus plenty storage in the cabinetry, and another mosaic backsplash behind the sink.

There's a copper ceiling over the dining area. This is an eat-kitchen so you can enjoy it every day. View from the windows looks out toward the city.

Beautiful, cozy den has a door to the garden. Gorgeous wainscoting, wood ceiling, brick wall w/shelves, and stained glass windows.

Your guests get to use this fabulous powder room with an intricately carved sink topped by a marble counter, gold swan faucet, and a cut crystal bowl for a sink.

Down the hall is an Asian-inspired full bath with a carved black marble tub and a huge dragon head faucet.

Look at that thing. Then, right across, behind folding doors, they've got a convenient laundry room.

Check out the pattern of the marble in the shower.

Large bath has a beautifully painted chest-turned-sink, and a private water closet.

The magnificent entrance to the bath is guarded by foo dogs.

The bedroom decor ties in with the theme of the bath.

The doorway to the bath is in the bedroom. The walls look like a teahouse.

The stairs have murals and carved doors. The home has 3 levels and I can't discern what floors the rooms are on, b/c as usual, the real estate photos are completely mixed up.

Impeccably maintained garages.

I wish they would've shown the sunrooms and rooftop terraces. Look at the glass structures on the roof.

That's the Mississippi River going by. The home is actually on a little island called Nicollet Island.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8-Grove-St-8B-Minneapolis-MN-55401/1913645_zpid/?

[samfucker]

gulp... darlin hcs... this is kinda long... i use he/they pronouns here. hes a cis dude in my eyes i just type they out of instinct.

hes called julius

mexican-asian! (their dad is mexican, their mom is cambodian. they were born in mexico but moved to washington when their dad got a better job opportunity.)

his dad has a teardrop tattoo and one of those "cut here" tattoos on his neck. he's also blind in one eye

their mom is beautiful but #evil. she always had her nails painted dark red

julius' favourite colour is dark red

he got 4 siblings!! hes the middle.

their older sister was the typical 2000s teen girl. ik yall are envisioning the hairstyle im talking about. she also brags about how she loved leopard print before it got popular.

also shes a kesha lover. now she listens to chappell roan. she IS casual.

as an adult, their younger brother works with animals! their older sister has an online job and their older brother is a mechanic. their younger sister is in college and julius hates her bf. the one sided beef is crazy. theyve never even met in person.

he did boxing as a teen and his little sister used to do dance

ik more of the fandom wants them to have happy childhood BUT NOT ME!!!!!!1

BOOM UR PARENTS SUCK!!

their dad sold their wii for drug money (am i projecting)

their mom is worst than their dad muahahahahah

they had a saint bernard called Pooch growing up and a yappy little chihuahua that his mom loved. that dog also refused to die. like im talking this dog got attacked by a bigger dog and had a tumor and got hit by a car and survived. by the time the dog died it had a leg missing and was blind. the vet bills were crazy

even tho their parents were shitty, they could never bring themselves to hate them even though they wanted to. when either of them would pass out on the couch, he'd cover them with a blanket and clean the living room and kitchen. when his mom would be upset, he'd sit and listen to her even tho she never did the same to him

he doesnt talk to his parents now and he makes jokes about what he went thru to cope, but he wonders if they're doing okay, if they got healed and became better people or if they passed away and they never knew.

the bond they had with their unempowered friend was the same bond asher, david and milo have. his friend was called trevor.

julius was trevors first kiss because trevor complained about feeling like a loser since everyone started dating around their teen years LMFAO

their first concert was a metallica one that they went to with quinn

they worked as a waiter for a while as a teenager and had a work bestie that was like 40

guyliner...........

I STOLE THIS HC FROM A FIC IVE READ IF YOU FIND IT PLZ LMK SO I CAN CREDIT!! but they worked in a fighting ring at one point

my own add on to the same hc: during this time, they had a shitty little apartment and the most decorated space was a dresser dedicated to their fish, soda pop. that fish was spoiled as fuck and he cried when soda pop died

he frequented a diner to the point the lady behind the counter knew his order beat for beat

when they were teenagers, asher took inspo from their style. they used to wear those little black wrist bands with the little spikes (do yall know what im talking about) and thats where ashers love for his spiked collar came from

they do not have a single pair of blank socks. they all have some sort of stupid design on them

also ofc, the rubber duck, courtesy of domini.

they hate haircuts

they HATE the grocery store. they get overstimulated and wanna die immediately.

best meal theyve ever made for themselves is mac and cheese. from those little boxes.

aggro bit them one time and theyre still upset over it

TATTED AS FAWK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and they have piercings GODDDD THEYRE SO FINE

they also have sharp canines (im bouta bust)

i know yall want asher to have heterochromia but i hc julius has it. HOWEVER! I hc asher has anisocoria (one pupil bigger than the other). they bond over having eye conditions

they also fell out of a tree in the middle of the woods one time and cracked their head open and broke their leg and had to limp home

the first ever scar he got was on his chin when he and his brother were pushing each other around (as brothers do) and julius fell and cut his chin open. its very faded now, but his brother brings it up somtimes

one time, out of boredome, he ran away from his brother at the store

his little sister would hide between clothes in the store and would need to be called for on the intercom

i have more. theyre my fav listener. all my hcs go to them.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

wrapped in red.

PAIRING — ari levinson x f!reader

CONTENTS — oneshot, fluff, tiny bits of angst if you squint really hard, xmas/holiday themed, making new traditions, strangers to friends to lovers, reader is not physically described but is very asian-coded

SUMMARY — all he wanted was some takeout, yours was the only restaurant still open on christmas eve, and ari gets so much more than he bargained for.

W/C — 4.1k

NOTES — not expecting a lot of excitement for this one tbh, but I was very excited to write it. this is for my fellow asian girlies out there and everyone else who’s looking for some good old fashioned christmas fluff <3

✩ read on ao3 ✩ janie’s masterlist ✩ library blog

It took him a total of eighteen minutes to decide to leave the house. 

The sky was pitch black it was so late, and he knew trying to find a place open this late was a long shot, but his fridge was empty save for half a stick of butter and a jar of pickles. He really didn’t think he could fast for a whole other day, nor did he think himself talented enough in the culinary arts to slap together anything edible out of those two ingredients. 

So Ari drove around the city until he found a place with its lights still on, the open sign hanging askew on the door, and was relieved to see it was a Chinese restaurant. Who didn’t like Chinese food? 

He thought he knew what to expect when he pulled up to the Lantern House. He could see through the storefront window walls painted dark crimson, brightened up just a touch by several umbrella chandeliers. 

Once inside, he saw watercolour paintings of lotus flowers and mandarin ducks and leather dining booths separated by large wooden screens. Carefully-folded cloth napkins were resting on top of plates made of fine china, chopsticks and soup spoons stacked in plastic containers at each booth, and lazy Susans spinning around porcelain tea sets and bottles of chilli crisp, soy sauce, and sesame oil. 

There was a lucky cat perched on the corner of the hostess’s stand, waving at him mechanically as he picked up a menu from the neatly stacked pile. He looked around for the hostess, or any wait staff, but there was nobody else here. He heard someone rummaging around in the kitchen, could see the figure of someone hunched over the stove through the open door. 

Ari perused the menu quickly, glancing up and down the laminated pages, only to realize this wasn’t the kind of Chinese food establishment he was used to. 

Rather than the usual combination fried rice, orange chicken, and beef with broccoli, he was met with menu items like Hainanese chicken and rice, egg bean curd and fried gluten served in a sizzling hot pot, snow pea tips and goji berries in garlic sauce, chilli fried turnip cakes, and—was he reading that right?—blood jello congee. 

What the hell was congee? 

Or blood jello, for that matter? 

“I know,” a voice said all of a sudden, following by the rhythmic tapping of a pen against the edge of a notepad. “Lots’a weird stuff in there, huh?” 

“Uh—” Ari began, not knowing what to say without uttering something inadvertently offensive, halting immediately when he looked up to see you leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. 

His cheeks grew warm for some reason. Maybe because he’d been half-expecting a woman donning a red qipáo with gold threading, her hair twisted up into a bun. Instead, you stood there staring back at him in a black t-shirt and jeans, your midsection covered by a plain red apron, smirking as if you could read his stupid mind. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly and broke eye contact, mentally chiding himself that he should know better. He was no stranger to being stereotyped either, after all. God, he should just order something quick and just high tail it out of here before he embarrasses himself further. 

But then you laughed good-naturedly, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to help him flip to the next page. You smelled like salt and spice and orange blossoms as you pressed yourself to his side, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, peering down at the pages while he stared at the top of your head in wide-eyed bewilderment. 

“It’s not all weird, I promise,” you said, your voice tinged with amusement. “Any food allergies, sir?” 

“No,” he managed to say once he found his voice, “but I like to keep kosher.” 

“Ah, so shrimp and pork are out of the question then,” you nodded, not missing a beat, and he almost wanted to kick himself for not correcting you with his name instead. Then you looked up with an almost mischievous grin and a peculiar glint in your eye, and Ari felt his grip on the menu slacken just a bit. “You’ll need to trust me, stranger.” 

Ari considered this for a moment. He was already here, and he likely wouldn’t find another place that was still open, so he decided that yes, he would. He was nodding before the thought had even finished forming in his head. 

“How do you feel about grouper?” You asked and he blinked a few times before shrugging, not really feeling any way about it one or the other. You then proceeded to excitedly go through the menu items with him, pointing out the specials but also ones that you thought wouldn’t be too adventurous for a first-timer. 

You promised to be right back, giving him one last smile before disappearing back into the kitchen. Ari shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around the restaurant before sliding into a nearby empty booth while he waited for his order of salt and pepper fried grouper and Cantonese-style beef chǎo miàn, all of which came with a free hot and sour soup. 

The place was quiet. Strange for any regular Tuesday night, maybe, but he suppose it wasn’t all that strange for Christmas Eve.

Most people were at home with their loved ones, sitting by warm fires and festively-decorated trees, eagerly awaiting the time for opening presents and dipping carefully-iced sugar cookies into steaming mugs of hot chocolate. 

Feasts of their own had been prepared as they welcomed visitors of all kinds, some they saw often and others they hadn’t seen in a while, not many deciding to brave the cold and snow in search for takeout. 

Except him, evidently. Well, not just him. 

Because the door suddenly opened, triggering the chime of your security system, revealing a middle aged man and two small children brushing freshly fallen snow off each other’s shoulders. 

“Excuse me,” the man called out hesitantly in an accent Ari couldn’t quite place. “You are open, yes?” 

“Yes, we are!” Came your muffled reply from the kitchen, and a few seconds later you came running out with your notepad and pen. You rushed past his table, doing a double take before asking if it was okay if his order took a few minutes longer. Ari agreed amicably, it’s not like he had anywhere else to be. 

He watched as you quickly ushered the family inside, seating them in a booth by the window so the children could watch the snow and twinkling lights outside. Ari tried to mind his own business as you poured them steamed hot cups of tea—an oolong blend that he would later learn was a favourite of yours, named after the iron goddess of mercy—and took their orders while they told you of their holiday plights. 

The man’s wife and the children’s mother was unfortunately stranded in another part of the country due to the snow. She wouldn’t be able to get a train ride home until Christmas night, and as a result they had to postpone their family dinner. Thank goodness you were still open, because he couldn’t cook to save his life! 

Ari couldn’t help but smile when you handed the kids some festive red envelopes to lift their spirits, each containing a chocolate coin wrapped in shiny gold foil. 

And as the night wore on, only a handful more customers passed through the doors. With each visitor, Ari felt the world shift. 

You waved goodbye to the small family as they piled into their car parked just outside the restaurant, not turning away until they were out of the parking lot and out of sight. 

You smiled and listened attentively to the stores of a lonely older gentleman, who had lost his wife just months prior, and was spending the holidays alone for the first time in fifty years.

You cooed at a fussy toddler balanced against the hip of a frazzled-looking young woman who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, all the while packaging up their leftovers with practiced ease. 

They all thanked you with smiles, some clutching your hand with shining eyes before they left, wishing you a merry Christmas and blessing your heart, as if trying to convey something else they couldn’t quite voice. 

Ah, Ari thought as he glanced down at his table, noting the sign in your window that announced you would also be open on Christmas Day. 

Even though most of the world was effectively on pause, you couldn’t close your doors yet. Not when there were people out there, no matter how few and far in between, who needed this place, who needed this small beacon of light on one of the darkest and coldest nights of the year. 

For people like you and him who, for any number of reasons, weren’t celebrating today, or for whom it was just any other day, and who came in search of a warm meal when they had no one or nothing else. 

Ari stayed after all, too caught up in the spirit of the season even though he’d never paid much attention in previous years. His earlier awkwardness and apprehension was quickly forgotten when you arrived with his order, smiling kindly when he didn’t move to leave and brought him a cup of tea, and he ate every last steaming morsel, slurped up every last noodle, and gulped down every last drop of broth. 

Only when his takeout containers were clean and empty and his stomach was full did he actually stop and look up, and you were watching him with this proud little grin. He was helpless but to return the gesture. 

“What’s your name, stranger?” You asked him before he went home, handing him the check on a small tray with a few mints in shiny red and gold wrappers. 

“Levinson,” he said, so used to reciting his last name first. He quickly corrected himself, “Ari.” 

“Okay then, Levinson,” you chuckled, your fingertips brushing against his open palm as you gave him his change. Then you looked at him with the softest smile, your eyes genuine, “Drive safe out there, okay?” 

He nodded politely, popping a mint into his mouth even though he usually never partook. He would only realize later that it was out of instinct, quickly trying to stop his heart’s frantic escape. The minute they hit his tongue, however, he found that they were candies. 

The entire drive home was milky and strawberry sweet, even if it ended with him slumped over with his forehead resting against the steering wheel when he remembered he hadn’t asked for your name in return. 

And so it took him a few more days to decide to return, right before the new year, with only half the reason being the amazing food. The restaurant was much busier this time, but you still brightened visibly when he walked through the door. 

“Levinson, Ari!” You shouted over the noise of conversation, over the hustle and bustle of your busy staff, all of whom turned to look in his direction, “you made it back!” 

You were once again his server, flitting between tables before stopping at his, and he asked hesitantly why you didn’t wear a name tag. You blinked slowly at him a few times, before realizing with a surprised laugh that he didn’t know what to call you. You said it to him while beaming, Ari’s own cheeks almost flaming in a way he hadn’t experienced since his youth, nodding when he repeated it back to you in a quiet voice. 

He made sure you didn’t see him pull out his phone, updating the entry for the restaurant’s number in his contacts. 

How do you feel about grouper?

Without context, it was a strange question to fall in love to. 

Because, looking back, Ari thinks he might have begun that sweet yet treacherous descent from that moment on. 

It took him another six months before he managed to try everything on the menu, after you made substitutes for everything specifically so he could try them. Pork was switched out for chicken or beef, shellfish set aside and fish tossed into the mix in its place, even though they changed the flavour of the original dish. 

“I hope you know what a big deal this is for me,” you’d joke, playfully shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him. But Ari always clocked the way you watched him with bated breath as he tried them, your eyes wide and hopeful without even realizing. He would later wish he would’ve told you that yes, he did know. Did you know how grateful he was? 

Instead, he’d stare blankly at you as he chewed, only faltering and grinning when you groaned in frustration and impatience, practically stomping your feet as you whined, “Just tell me what you think already!” 

And he would cave. Maybe not everything was to his liking, he admitted, but enough of it was that it kept him coming back. 

Among other things. 

It wasn’t long after that that he spontaneously asked you to join him late one night. He was up at odd hours of the night, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to swing by to pick up his order only minutes before closing. You began insisting he could eat there while you cleaned up, and while he watched you mopping the floors and closing the till, he glanced down at his meal and couldn’t help but wonder if you’d eaten. 

It would be nice, he thought, if you sat down with him for a change. When he asked, his heart stuttering at the way you paused and looked so taken aback. When was the last time someone looked after you instead of the other way around? 

There was no one else in the restaurant, the sign on the door already flipped over to say you were closed, and Ari, with all the boldness he could muster, gestured to the opposite side of his booth in invitation. 

You glanced at him a little hesitantly, before looking away and smoothing a hand over your slightly disheveled hair and glancing quickly down at your plain yet sensible attire. With a bit of coaxing, though, you finally put aside your mop and decided to sit across from him after all. 

And if he’d felt the world shift that first night, this was the night he felt it flip completely upside down. 

Ari wished he didn’t have a penchant for leaving things unsaid, that he would have told you what he’d really thought then. You didn’t ever need to be self-conscious; he’d thought you beautiful since the moment you met, and this was how he always wanted to see you. And with each visit, it was just as thrilling to learn you were as beautiful on the inside. 

Instead of the usual cups of tea, you brought out a bottle of chilled plum wine and a set of beautiful glasses that looked like they were saved for special occasions. You giggled when he pointed it out, whispering even though no one else was around that you’d bought it for dirt cheap at a flea market. 

Ari smiled wide then, and soon all decorum between restaurant owner and customer was forgotten as he told you, through a mouthful of ground chicken and chives and a tangy black vinegar dipping sauce, “If I could only have one food for the rest of my life, it would be these fuckin’ dumplings.” 

“Ari,” you chided, using your chopsticks to pick up a rice noodle roll stir fried in a fragrant satay sauce. He thought that it was the first time you’d said his first name, and that it might have been the best sound he’d ever heard. That was until you laughed, the musical little sound making his heart leap. 

And even though he used to joke to his colleagues about how useless of a day Christmas was for him, even though he always used to say it was just another day, it seemed that even he wasn’t exempt from the makings of holiday traditions. 

Because for years after, even when it wasn’t Christmas, you and Ari would sit  together sharing meals in an empty restaurant late into the night. He got to know your regulars just as much as you—

Silas and his boys, the family who had come into the Lantern House the same Christmas he did and began making their own traditions of having family dinner here every now and then. 

Mr. Han, who lives just across the street and always brings home an order of shāomài as an offering for his late wife. 

Traci with an ‘I’, a college student and single mom, whose little girl loved your restaurant’s freshly steamed mǎ lā gāo. 

—and you’d tell him that it reminds you of when you were a kid, when your neighbours all knew each other and took the time to catch up over steamed sticky rice dumplings and fried dough sticks wrapped in rice noodles. 

And when Christmas Eve did come around, Ari would show up at your door like clockwork. Your staff would exchange knowing smiles behind your back, shooing you towards his table despite your protests of how busy it was, more than happy to take on the work in your stead for a change before heading home to their own families. 

So, you would warm him up with a cup of tiěguānyīn and a kiss on the cheek. You would welcome him with open arms, literally, holding him close enough to let his heart beat right next to yours for just a few seconds, but it was enough. More than enough. 

You would point to pictures pinned against the walls of your beloved restaurant, the ones that told your own story in a series of snapshots—tales of parents who were enjoying retirement as they zipped all around the world and sent you endless flurries of postcards, of lifelong friends who you either see often or hardly ever see anymore because life just gets so preoccupying, of the regulars who continued to be drawn in by the promise of hot meals and a warm heart. 

Ari’s eyes would then land on one photograph in particular, swallowing hard to see his own blue eyes staring back at him from your wall, his smile easy and bright despite his normally serious disposition. It was taken on your third Christmas together, and you were leaning close to him in the shot, tucked right against his side just like that very first meeting. 

He wanted you to give him permission, to tell him that his arm always had a place around you so long as he wanted it. And he wanted it all the time, he realized. 

But Ari was never on leave for long. 

The first time he told you about his job, minus all the unnecessary details that were incredibly classified, you did your best to send him off with a smile and well wishes. His work was important and he helped people, and he knew you would never consider asking him not to do it, even if it was rife with danger and uncertainty, even if he could see the part of you that worried he might never come back. 

As the years went on, with each goodbye, you stared up at him as you pulled away from a hug, as if trying to memorize the lines and edges of his face, before tugging him back into embraces that always felt like they might be the last. 

“How will I ever know if something happens to you out there?” You would say, trying to keep your voice light and smiling wryly but looking like your heart was catching in your throat. 

“Aw, you worried about me?” He would joke, even though he knew he looked just as stricken and scared, wanting to say something else altogether. 

As far as the world knew, you and him were nothing to each other. But to him, this was it. He didn’t care what, if anything, ever came of it, or whether it would remain just like this forever. This was all he ever dared to hope for. 

He wanted this to be the only place he ever came home to. 

He wanted to be the one to greet you with a kiss hello, smile as he tasted the sweet mango pudding on your lips. 

He wanted to be the one to wish you sweet dreams with a kiss goodnight, then grumble about the way his mouth tingled with the leftover spice from whatever you had for dinner. 

He wanted so desperately to be the one with the intimate knowledge of how you kissed first thing in the mornings. 

And each time you bade him goodbye, he swore you were breaking off a piece of yourself to tuck into his carry-on. 

Because no matter how far or how long he went, you never really left him. You flooded his memories the same way the smell of winter melon and pork bone soup flooded his nostrils as it boiled away on your stovetop, right from the moment he stepped inside your kitchen. 

“Just because you abstain doesn’t mean I have to,” you’d tease before slurping noisily from your spoon and making obnoxious yummy noises.

You stayed with him the same way the sound of sliced rice cakes sizzling enticingly on oil-covered frying pans never left him until he’s had a bite. You tried teaching him how to make them one time, to less than desirable results. 

“No, I swear it’s good!” You looked at him with wide eyes as you chewed. He would glance back at you, unimpressed. 

“They’re not even fully cooked,” he’d say, but his cheeks were warm as he watched you finish them all. 

And even though you weren’t with him, the thought of you still made him smile the same way he’s seen you grin to yourself, satisfied, after enjoying a mouthful of savoury and spicy dándán noodles. 

“Obviously, I have to try them before I can serve them!” You mumbled through grease-covered lips. “It’s called quality control, Ari.”

“Obviously,” Ari agreed facetiously with a slight roll of his eyes, but the edges of his mouth always quirked up into a half-smile. “You bottomless pit.”

And when his plane finally lands, hours after the clock as struck midnight and signalled the arrival of another Christmas Day, his car makes the familiar turns and detours down the streets. He’s almost breathless when he arrives in a vacant parking lot, and the lights to his very own personal lighthouse are still on. 

The doors open, greeting him with the sharp smoky scent of incense permeating the walls and tablecloths. You’ve told him on numerous occasions that you only light them now out of habit more than anything else, but you still promised to light one for him every now and then. 

“A little prayer won’t hurt, will it?” You’d reasoned with a sheepish smile the very first time you lit one in front of him. “Just in case there is some deity out there actually listening, I need them to know you need protecting.” 

Ari is going to tell you tonight, the very first chance he gets, that he knew he loved you then. 

And with an offering of your now cold pan-fried dumplings placed onto the table next to the burning incense, he’s certain that all the gods are probably scrambling to hear your prayers for just a taste. Or maybe you thought the smell of his favourite food and the lights from the Lantern House in the otherwise moonless night would help guide him back. 

Either way, perhaps it’s okay to think he’s alive because of them. Because of you. 

When you step out of the kitchen, still wearing your apron, wrapped in red just like the very first night he ever saw you, Ari drops his bags to the floor with a careless thud. You open your arms and he falls into them, his hands finding their place on your back to press you close, and he feels like he can finally breathe again. 

His lungs expand with something even lighter and sweeter than air—the smell of salt and spice and orange blossoms. He kisses away your grateful tears one by one under the watchful eye of a nearby lucky cat and falling snowflakes until your mouths touch, and then he’s whispering it between your lips. 

Ari promises to always come back, every single Christmas until time stops and even thereafter, come hell or high water. 

And every year, without fail, you will always be the light that guides him home.

fin.

© 2024 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Beachy Bungalow

The perfect home for your sims to chill out and catch some waves. 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms on a 25x30 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/EzLhruBqFa8

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/111265916/

Exchange:

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

Late Night

Pets

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

None

Custom content:

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

basimcly - Heritage Doors Internal Glass Door x1

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Window Counter 1 Tile, Narrow 1 Tile)

Martassimsbook - Chicklet Modern Lenai Patio Chair

Lulu265 - Eclectic Living Room Coffee Table

ArtVitalex - Ullery Living Seat Triple

Kerrigan House Designs - Augustine Hall Table

Martassimsbook - Sims 4 Parenthood Xtreme Shower Tub

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

ArtVitalex - Kalkgrund Mirror

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set (Candle, Large Mirror)

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

Julietsimscc - Dolce Vita Paintings (Medium Frame)

pyszny16 - Kilburn Bedroom Calendar

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Abstract Paintings

PralineSims - Big Flokati III

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 78

ArtVitalex - April Kitchen

Catharsim - Syboulette Hortensia Swing

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3

Martassimsbook - novvvas Rahat Set Ficus

ATS3 - Kitchen Herbs (Thyme, Parsley)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Hallway Extra (Key Bowl, Umbrella Holder)

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set (Utensils, Dishsoap)

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Fruit Basket

ATS3 - Canister

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

Onyxium - Jena Bathroom Accessories (Reed Diffuser, Soap Dispenser, Toilet Brush, Tooth Brushes)

basimcly - Counter Height Eyelet Curtains

Twinsimming - Single Serve Hammock

sweetdevil - Ultramodern 1 Tile Dresser

Martassimsbook - Boho Mojo Set (Guitar, Hanger, Book, Wardrobe - Open, Clothes, Headboard, Bed Frame, Bedding)

Martassimsbook - pqSim4 Stationary Haul Set Notebook with Pens

ArtVitalex - Xenia Toilet Papers

Onyxium - Presidio Sofa Single

gelina - Vintage Lawn Chair Webbed

Martassimsbook - Pocci Realm of Magic Flower Vase

Martassimsbook - Dk-sims Boho Art II

Julietsimscc - Beach Posters

NynaeveDesign - Breeze Plants (Geometric Planter + Senecio)

NynaeveDesign - Erin Plants (Flowerpot V1, Areca Palm, Croton)

Wandering Sims - Watercolor Botanical Pattern 7

Wandering Sims - Asian Pattern 39

[kickingitwithkirk]

If I Gave You My Soul, Would You Wait Eternity For Me?

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Sam Winchester

WC: 8218

Warnings: Show Level Violence, Wincest

*Written initially for Wincest Reverse Bang 2023 *Inspired by the artwork A King and his Knight by @bluefire986 *Thank you to @mrswhozeewhatsis for being my last-minute Beta

Sam walks down the empty hallway feeling tired. 

Not the kind of tired one gets from the physical work of hunting, but a type from being one of heaven and hell's favorite chew toys for so long it has worked its way into the marrow of his bones.

He opens the door to Room Eleven and flips the lights on. He scans the scant possessions in his brother's personal space, illuminated by the antiquated lighting around the room, all having some meaning to Dean. Weaponry hanging on the walls, the antique furniture he can’t stop rearranging, his favorite Busty Asian Beauties magazines, and last but not least, a slice of discarded pie sitting on the telephone table.

Sam frowns at the representation of how much of a sloth his brother always was… is . Picking up the leftovers, he notices some photographs sticking out from under a scribbled-on notepad and pulls them out. He sits on the unmade bed flipping through them, each containing a distinct memory; some taken before he was old enough to remember, others throughout their years together. 

He pauses at the last one. Bobby had snapped the candid picture in his kitchen sometime between Death's restoration of his soul and Castiel breaking The Wall. Sam tries to remember the last time he’s seen his brother smiling like that. 

Leaving all but that one photo behind, Sam is determined to save Dean from damnation, no matter the cost.

****

Unbeknownst to Sam during his absence, Dean regains consciousness and, ironically, feels a helluva lot better. His blood feels more fevered than boiling and notices his flesh is no longer burning like it had been since Sam slapped the demon cuffs on him the other day.  

Manipulating his left arm, Dean bends his hand and hisses when the holy water-infused ropes sting his fingertips like a swarm of wasps. He quickly loosens the knot, slips free, then tackles the rest. Unlacing his left boot enough to toe it off, he sits it on his lap and removes the leather insert, fishing out the hidden lock pick and using it to release his cuffed wrist. 

Shaking out his hand, Dean feels the cuffs' inhibiting effects diminish, gets up, crosses to the painted edge of the demon trap, and comes into contact with the trap's front edge. It shocks him with what feels like a hundred cattle prods simultaneously. Growling, Dean backs up a bit and springs forward using his superior strength, forcing the invisible barrier to bow outwards like an overinflated balloon. It gives way when it hits the maximum curvature, and inertia carries him on until gravity grabs hold and drops him like a stone onto the concrete floor.

Dean lies there, momentarily breathless, and mirthlessly chuckles at what his little brother considered a brilliant idea, pumping so much blessed blood into him that it fooled the wardings’ capabilities. Climbing onto unsteady feet, he staggers for the door and traverses up the first set of the building's stairwells. The residual effects from the physical restraints finish wearing off and Dean fumes at Sam’s audacity. How dare Sam force a cure Dean didn’t want on him when he had been downright benevolent in offering to spare his life by walking away. 

Twice

But now Dean is free and pissed off. The Mark burns on his arm, screaming for The Blade and vengeance. Soon, it’ll finish overriding the bit of humanity that had struggled to return. Usually, Dean goes straight for the kill and heads for some no-name bar to drink and hook up with whoever caught his eye, enjoying their charms until he gets bored. 

But it was Sam . His too damn intelligent and resourceful little brother who’d flagrantly discarded his last request.

Sammy, let me go.

But no, Sam hauled him back to the bunker and forcibly injected that poisonous cure into his body, knowing he hates needles, knowing it’d never been successfully used on a knight of Hell.  

Yes, Dean had to teach his little brother a lesson. And there were plenty of implements of war and other things around the bunker to employ. 

Using his mortal self’s knowledge of how his little brother processes various scenarios, Dean runs through all known versions of Sam’s A-Z planning. In all versions, calling the angel would be step one. He knows he’ll need new tactics but doesn’t have much time to implement them before that dick in the trench coat shows. 

Even if he is running on borrowed grace, Dean isn’t ignorant that Castiel could still be a threat to a knight of Hell, possibly overpowering him now that that cure has temporarily sullied his blood. He starts formulating countermeasures while traveling the stairs toward the second floor and, upon reaching the level, goes straight to the lab in Room Twenty-Eight for a few items.

Part II

Sam returns with two more packs of the cure and slowly walks to the dungeon’s entrance, mentally guarding himself against the next barrage of verbal attacks from the demon, his big brother. He notices the door is open and feels adrenaline-fueled fear saturate his system. His heart races, standing in the doorway, finding the chair empty with the restraints dangling off the arms. 

Sam reaches into the back of his waistband, pulls out the demon blade, and scans his immediate area. Realizing his brother has moved on, he cautiously heads back up the stairwell toward the upper floors.

Clearing each is time-consuming, making Sam’s fear grow that the demon has escaped the bunker. It’s almost a relief when he hears a door open and quickly close, then footsteps moving up a back staircase to the main floor. 

Peeking around the map room, Sam stealthily crosses to a desk drawer where the master keys are stored and freezes at clattering in the kitchen. He quietly picks up the metal ring, hoping Dean can’t hear him. 

Sam heads downstairs as he hears Dean bellow, “Come on, Sammy! Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?” 

Sam reaches the electrical room and flinches with every jingle of the keys as he unlocks the door. He has to keep Dean from escaping or everybody Dean leaves behind will be blood on Sam’s hands. With a switch flick, the bunker turns dark, kicking on the red auxiliary lights as the claxon announces the lockdown and covers the sound of his steps.

“Smart Sam, locking the place down, doors won’t open. I get it, but here’s the thing. I don’t want to leave, not till I find you.” 

The relief Sam feels at knowing no one else will be hurt anytime soon is balanced by the spike of fear caused by the murderous tone of his brother’s voice. He’s heard it plenty of times, just never aimed at him . Refocusing on his goal, Sam quells his fear and quietly moves to find a place to hide, wait for Dean to show, and shut off the lockdown to silence the claxon so he can trail Sam’s steps again. Sam hopes this will be his chance to trap him and escape alive.

“Sammy, just making this worse for yourself, man. You can, uh, blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human--well, the less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that devil’s trap--well, I just walked right across it; it smarted. But still….”

Dean enters the hall heading into the electrical room and heads down the steps to the junction box. A flip of a switch powers the bunker up. “That’s more like it.” Dean says loud enough for Sam to hear as he slams the door shut from the outside.

Obviously unimpressed, Dean yells through it as Sam again tries reasoning with him to finish the treatment. He jumps at a loud, thumping noise from the inside and backs up when the wooden door splinters, sending pieces flying at him. 

“You act like I want to be cured.” 

Sam is shocked as more chunks burst outwards, revealing his brother's pissed-off face.

“Personally, I like the disease, ” Dean taunts, knowing how those words will bother Sam.

“Dean, stop that!” Shaking his hand, Sam lobs what they both know is a baseless threat. “I don’t want to use this blade on you!”

“Oh ! That sucks for you, doesn’t it? ‘Cause you mean that,” Dean sneers.

“Look, if you come out of that room, I won’t have a choice!’

“Sure you will!  And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right, Sammy? But see,” Dean resumes his demolition, “here’s the thing. I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed. ‘Cause there’s just enough demon lift in me that killing you ain’t no choice.” 

Knowing he has no choice but to run, Sam tears down the passageway as Dean finishes wrecking the door and walks through what remains. “Come on, Sammy, let’s have a beer, talk about it. I’m tired of playing. Let’s finish this game!”

Sam peers down the hallways Dean will have to pass through and finds them empty. He turns to double back but in his peripheral, catches a flash of red flannel and instinctively ducks. He feels the prongs of the swinging object snag longer strands of his hair before its momentum buries it in the concrete wall where his head was milliseconds ago. Sam swoops upright, placing the sharp edge of the demon blade against Dean's throat.

The chuckle that comes out of Dean is truly evil. “Well, look at you.” 

Sam’s hand trembles as Dean peers upward into his eyes and challenges, “Do it,” before tipping his chin downward and leaning into the blade’s edge.

“ It’s all you.”   

If Sam had a better poker face when lying to his big brother, he wouldn’t have given away that Cas appeared behind Dean, and what happened next would’ve been impossible. Sam watched, horrified, as Dean sliced his throat on the demon blade, the cut sparking orange and dousing him and the wall in a venous spray revealing a hidden sigil.

Time ticked in slow motion as Dean pushed Sam away, sending him sliding down the hall with unnatural force. He then smoothly turned toward the angel with demonic speed and did it again, sending Cas flying through the air. Sam watches as he swipes his left hand across the cut before slapping it on a now glowing sigil, dispatching the trench-coated angel to who knew where. 

Sam’s still-shocked brain immobilizes him long enough that Dean is on him before he can get up and run. He tries, but his bum shoulder gets in the way, leaving him floundering. Dean grabs the lapels of his flannel shirt and pulls him to his feet, instead. One evil, cocky smile, and Dean slams Sam and his head against the wall then leaves him to slide back down to the floor. Sam’s fading vision registers the knight of Hell squatting down and, before losing consciousness, hears his gravelly voice utter, “Should’ve picked that beer.”

Part III

When the first glimmers of consciousness return, the cold air rolling over his skin tells Sam he’s in the dungeon. He quickly figures he’s shackled and bound to the chair by the blessed ropes, wrapped in their rough embrace. He’s still doing an inventory of his position and possible injuries when a thirst hits him. 

Not thirst from the lack of hydration but that unique, unforgettable, insatiable craving Sam has vehemently resisted for years. This thirst was reignited by the higher-level demon's blood, making his body yearn for more of the substance that’s left a thick, rich coating, laced with a smoky aftertaste, on his tongue.

Horrified by his reaction, the little blood in his stomach rolls upwards, slipping past his lips onto his shirt, followed by copious amounts of foul-tasting, pink-tinged bile.

“You always were an over-sensitive bitch.” 

The gravelly voice bounces off the concrete walls to ricochet inside his skull. Struggling to open his eyes through the pain from the back of his head, Sam fuzzily sees the outline of his brother sitting with one hip hitched up on the edge of the table, suddenly smiling peculiarly. “I gotta hand it to you, Sam. You were this close,” he holds up a thumb and forefinger an inch apart, “turning me back. Know where you fucked up? Come on, take a guess. No? Okay, I’ll throw you a bone. Where’d you store that blood?” 

Dean smirks as the answer dawns on Sam. “I’d have put it on ice in a cooler. No wonder Dad never trusted you to do anything right.” 

Sam remains silent, partly not wanting to vomit on himself again as his head mercilessly throbs in time with his heartbeat. The other part doesn’t want to take the bait because the demon who is his brother holds all the cards.

“What? No pithy comeback? No, Dean, you’re wrong, blah blah blah?” The demon grabs a beer bottle by his hip and takes a swig.

 “That night I left with Crowley, he asked why not kill you and be done with it 'cause you’d never stop searching for us.” The demon chuckles. “Told him we had an agreement to do normal. And how do you repay my benevolence? You drag me back here, torturing me in ways far worse than Alastair ever dished out because you can’t let go!”

“Are you telling me that Dean Winchester, my brother, wouldn’t have gone to the ends of the earth if it’d been me? I don’t believe that!” Sam pushes down the pain. “You want a pound of flesh for doing the same thing you’ve repeatedly done for me?”

“Ohh, I’ve already got ideas running through my head.” His mood shifts, and presto chango, he’s Dean again. “So, I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

"Man, you hung out way too long with that low-rent Vito Corleone wannabe,” Sam snarks.

“Maybe. But I learned more about The Mark when he was in his cups, whatever that means. He admitted not telling me everything before I took it and related a little-known story. Cain couldn’t deal with what he’d done and committed suicide using the First Blade. But The Mark wouldn’t let him go, changing him into a demon.”

“Here’s the kicker, though.” Dean goes to a storage cabinet, removes an object, and then walks over to him. “What none of the lore, oral histories, or rumors say was that he became a demon with a soul.”

“Wha..what are you saying?” The scent of the rich blood under Dean's skin tortures him the closer he gets. “You’ve had your soul this entire time, and you still—” Sam broke off, the thirst clouding his thoughts.

“The Mark wants what it wants, but I’ve had time to figure out how to keep it appeased, and right now, my soul is the only thing keeping you alive.” Dean stops centimeters from the devil’s trap’s outer ring. “Here's my proposal. I’ll stay till you heal, care for you like I always have.”

“In exchange for what, Dean? I look the other way while you go out and slaughter people.”

“You returned The Blade to Crowley, so The Mark is pissed and wants your blood, which brings me to the second part. I need you to feel what I feel, see what I… Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m starting to sound like that wanker Crowley!” 

Dean moves around as he used to when shaking things off. “I need you to understand I want this, and the only way is to spend time with me as is. So, to wrap your big brain around it, I’m going to give you a bit of my blood every day, just enough to bring out that demonic side Azazel created.”

“You have lost your fucking mind, Dean! If you think I’d let you—”

“Before finishing that sentence, imagine me shutting the power on and off to watch you suffocate for the fun of it. Or locking down the bunker, letting you slowly starve. Remember, I also was Alastair’s most promising, and I can do things to your body without killing you, make you wish you’d never left the Cage.”

Sam doesn’t respond, so the demon crosses the trap smiling coldly. “It doesn’t work on me anymore.” He walks behind Sam and leans close to whisper, “Remember feeding from Ruby? How that warm blood slipped down your throat, heightening your senses, making you powerful? And she was just a common demon. Can you imagine what a higher-level demon, a knight of Hell, will make you feel like?” Dean holds up a mirror before his face, revealing Sam’s kaleidoscope eye colors are gone, now replaced by a liquid gold color, making him resemble the yellow-eyed bastard who’d destroyed his family.

“After all, Sam, you're foreordained to be the Boy King of Hell.” 

The demon's mood shifts again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but all this talk of blood and mutilation made me hungry,” his brother says, heading towards the door. “I’ll let you sit there while I run to town and grab some food, followed up with a slice of good old-fashioned murder.” 

Dean turns and smiles like his human self. “I’m kidding, Geesh; gotta work on that sense of humor, Sammy!” Flipping off the lights, he shuts the door.

“See you later.”

Part IV

“... the heat of the moment

Telling me what your…”

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” 

Sam’s eyes fly open as the room lights flicker brightly on, squinting at Dean stuffing the last bite of a burger into his mouth.

“...The heat of the moment showed in your eyes.”

“ Whooh , dude, you fucking reek!” Dean mumbles with his mouthful, dramatically waving his hand as the cell phone continues blaring that Asia song Sam hates. ”What is that smell?” He glances down at his brother's lap. ”Oh yeah, I forgot about bodily functions. Sorry.” 

The demon’s audacity to look contrite pisses him off. “You're sorry ?!” Sam hoarsely snaps, “You left me here for so fucking long that I pissed and shit myself like a fucking baby! Was that whole spiel about caring for me another one of your games? If this is your way of convincing me to accept anything you propose, fucking kill me now!”

“I said I was sorry!” Dean grumbles as he stomps over. “It's only been thirteen hours.” He curses while untying the ropes with his bare hands. Unlocking the demon cuff from the chair arm he snaps, “I’m not taking any chances.” Yanking on Sam’s cuffed wrist, he snaps the manacle to his slung-bound wrist, “So you’re keeping these on. Let's go.”

Dean drags Sam up the multiple levels to the communal showers. “Time to get yourself cleaned up.” Dean goes over to his brother's usual area and turns the knobs, warming up the water.

 “How am I supposed to do that? You just said I had to stay in these,” Sam inquires, jingling the silver manacles. “And my shoulder’s stiffened up so much there’s no way I’m getting my shirts off.” Dean momentarily frowns, then grabs the facility's rubbish bin and pulls out his butterfly knife. 

“What’re you..?” Sam begins, but then Dean slices through his flannel and T-shirt, pulls the strips off, and kneels to unlace his boots before reaching for the button on his jeans. Sam's weak protest of you can’t is met by the demon's black eyes and a growl of, “Knock it off!” 

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he yanks them to Sam’s ankles, blinking in disbelief at his brother's emaciated body. Sam didn't take time to care for himself in the weeks since Dean died, and it made Dean’s eyes shift back into their normal chartreuse. Sam can’t look at this perverted version of his brother supposedly caring for him, so stares at the tiled wall. As he did when still a child, he automatically lifts each foot for Dean as expected, then cringes as his destroyed clothes violently slam into the bin.

“Keep your arm still.” Unsnapping the sling, Dean tosses it towards the bench, then backs him up till the warm sprays hit his back, running over it, cleansing off the days of filth. 

In his peripheral vision, Sam notices Dean stripping off his clothes. “What are you doing?”

The only response is a washcloth roughly scrubbing over his good shoulder and down his back. “Don’t think you can feign ignorance about starving yourself!” Dean snaps as he continues bathing him like when they were kids. “How much time have I invested in caring for you over the years, too? Once again, you’ve risked your health.” He squeezes Sam’s injured shoulder. “No wonder I was able to outthink and outmaneuver you.”

Part V

His buzzing alarm clock wakes Sam, and he gazes at his ceiling like every morning, or is it night? He’s lost track of time since his brother, the knight of Hell, got loose. While lying there, he rehashes what has transpired.

He’s tried several times to escape, and the demon kept his word. Sam involuntarily shudders at the muscle memory of those punishments, so now he does everything Dean instructs, including waiting in his room until Dean shows up with his “daily tonic”, the term he gave to the blood he makes Sam drink directly from his wrist. Thinking about it makes his mouth feel as dry as the Sahara Desert, so he switches his thoughts to compare all the changes he’s found in his brother again.

It’s funny how the demon is still, well, Dean. Retaining his childish humor but with a darker edge at times. His drinking habits haven’t changed, but the whole extended periods of not eating had taken a while to get used to. The biggest change is that the guilt that used to permeate his being is nonexistent; as if becoming a demon freed his soul, is now as he should have been all along.

He also knows Dean is up to something. There are strange phone calls when he thinks Sam has dozed off while watching TV, or the few times he’s unexpectedly left in the middle of the night when Sam has gotten up to go to the toilet or get a drink of water. Then there are the times he catches Dean looking at him. Sam would swear he was looking at him with desire if he didn’t know his brother was strictly into boobs.

Whatever’s going on, Dean will eventually slip up somewhere, and Sam will have the chance to get out. Until then, Sam plays the obedient little brother.

****

Sitting at the library table working on the archive database he created for easier access to the bunkers' collections, Sam searches for a file that has somehow disappeared, checking one place than another, and catches his brother with his feet propped up on the table's end watching him. Again.

Unnerved by the intensity in his eyes, Sam finds himself subconsciously fidgeting like he did when puberty kicked in and realizes his feelings for Dean were developing into the not-brotherly kind. His feelings had become so intense that it was the number one factor in his decision to go away to college.

During those years, and after returning to hunting, he watched his brother evolve from a twink to a very sexy guy and buried his feelings of jealousy when Dean used his perfect features to his advantage in and out of the bedroom. 

“How come I’ve never noticed you’ve got this hot, librarian vibe, little brother?” 

Sam snorts. “Because you're straight.”

 “I’m serious, Sam.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude,” he replies and gets up, resuming his search.

Dean purses his lips. “Spending this time here with you, not worrying about the rest of the world. I realize I’ve spent my life denying I’m Samsexual.”

Sam turns in shock and stares at his brother, unsure if the demon is playing him for malevolent kicks or if Dean is telling the truth, knowing he has to tread carefully. Perching on the other table, Sam asks, “What triggered this confession?”

“Seemed as good a time as any.”

“That’s not an answer, Dean. I know you are technically you and it’s still hard to be honest with me. But I’ve also seen your other side trying to be more open, so please don’t shut me out again. I’d like to know how long you have felt this way about me?”

Dean shrugged. “It was my job to take care of you. Hell, Dad said it often enough. Watch out for Sammy. Those words are ingrained into my bones, deeper than that Enochian warding etched on our ribs. Then you grew, changing from my snot-nosed brother into this wondrous creature, and how I felt about you became something twisted and ugly. Old me never wanted you to find out about my sick desires, so I buried it in those girls I fucked.”

Sam listens to his brother spinning his tale of how, as a teen, he thinks maybe he was born wrong because he’s in love with his baby brother, consumed by thoughts of wanting to touch, caress, and kiss Sam’s pretty pink lips when he smiles and his mind spirals back to those years. 

He thinks maybe he was just born wrong.

Those words trigger a long-treasured memory of Sam, being sixteen and in another nondescript motel room. He’s lying in their shared bed with just enough moonlight filtering in for him to make out the features of Dean's face so close to his. Sometimes, it physically hurts how beautiful Dean is. Broad shoulders and strong hands and gorgeous fucking mouth, and Sam can't release the ache in his chest with Dean's body pressed against him. Slipping a hand beneath the sheets, he starts stroking himself and trying not to think about Dean. But like always, he fails, and clenching his teeth, Sam comes silently. 

“I thought you'd hate me if you knew how much I loved you because I always thought I was what's broken. Now you’re saying you always felt the same? It's not all about wanting or sex or desire. It's just that we’ve never had anybody to care for except each other.” Sam bursts into a laughing jag and falls, landing heavily on the floor. 

Dean falls onto his knees and, in that moment of mutual clarity, says, “You are mine.”  Gazing into his brother’s eyes, he knows Sam's feelings and smiles.

Unrepentant.

Dean's fingertips brush his lips, and it feels like a gentle breeze. Sam leans in to kiss his brother's palm. At that moment, Sam hopes. He hopes, but he also subconsciously knows, that everything they want will come crashing down at some point. 

****

Sam’s flipping through the card catalog when he comes across one out of place. He’s positive it hadn’t been in this drawer the last time he opened it and not recognizing the number enters it into his database but doesn’t find it. His curiosity piqued, he heads for the garage to let Dean know he’ll be hunting down the mystery item in the archives.

Hours later, huffing in frustration, Sam tosses yet another book on the pile cluttering the table in the center of the room. Tracking a Wendigo through the woods is a piece of cake compared to the maze someone’s created for this item. He briefly closes his blurry eyes and rolls his shoulders, working the kinks out from sitting in one position too long. 

Reopening them, he notices the mortar around some of the bricks in the wall next to the shelves he’s been scanning has a different patina. He crosses to the wall and runs his fingers over the area when one gives. He pushes on it and the front of a book-filled steamer trunk sitting next to the wall pops open. Squatting down, Sam can see warding inside and removes a cloth-wrapped item. He feels something sinister emanating from it and sets it on the floor. He reaches to unwrap it, but hears Dean's boots echoing down the hallway and quickly shoves it back in shutting the compartment. 

“Hey, I’ve been calling. Dinner’s ready.”

“Ahh, guess I was in the zone, sorry.”

“Geek,” Dean teases. “You’ve been down here for hours. Find that wherever it is yet?” 

Sam stands. “No, I’ve searched everywhere but it must have been misplaced at some point. What’d you pick up for dinner?” 

Dean's demeanor shifts and Sam knows he’s picked up on the item's lingering essence and comes in. His peering around the shelving makes Sam so nervous he starts fidgeting with one of his cuffs. 

Dean warily eyes him. “I cooked. Made that chicken fettuccine you like.” 

Sam seizes the opportunity to distract him. “Look at you, going to all that trouble, making my favorite. How am I ever to repay you?” He bends and kisses Dean, relaxing when his brother leans into it.

Completely distracted, Dean murmurs against his lips, “Dessert first, and you're on the menu.” 

****

Sam has lost all concept of time.

Mostly, he finds he doesn’t care anymore, whether it’s from the small amounts of blood sating the craving that never goes away or being the center of Dean's universe again. For his birthday, he surprises Sam with a cupcake and they celebrate as if time rolled back twenty years, except for the phenomenal sex they have afterward. 

Sam’s concluded that he’s found contentment, albeit in a completely different way than he ever imagined. He deserves it and doesn’t want it to end. 

Of course, it’s not perfect.

He can sense that item hidden in the trunk, even with demon cuffs inhibiting his blood-fueled abilities. By his brother’s reaction, he knows it's important. Much to Sam’s chagrin, Dean tossed the archives room several times, leaving him to straighten up the aftermath. He’ll have to be patient and wait for the right time to unearth it again. 

****

Sam unwraps the mystery item and feels his heart rate accelerate, realizing what it is. 

The Book of the Damned. 

An ancient manuscript created from flesh and blood containing various dark spells to break curses. Flipping through it, Sam understands some of the obscure Sumerian dialects, remembers a footnote about an encrypted codex, and searches for it. 

Placing both books on the table, he ignores the evil emulating from them and concentrates on finding and translating the spell needed to remove The Mark. 

****

Something made by God, but forbidden to man:

The Forbidden Fruit.

Something made by man, but forbidden by God:

The Golden Calf.

The caster's heart: The life of the thing the spell caster loves most:

Dean.

“This can’t be,” Sam says out loud, staring at the ancient tome. “This can’t be the only way.”

He’d give up his soul without a second thought to talk to Bobby mirthlessly chuckles, knowing Bobby would call him an idjit after everything Dean’s done to get it back. Wearily running his hand over his face, Sam frowns. He’s had energy to spare with Dean feeding him small doses of his demon blood, only needing short naps every few days.

So why the hell is he so exhausted?

Sam goes to the nearest bathroom and looks in the mirror. Sure enough, liquid gold eyes stare back as they have since Dean splattered him in blood. Absorbed in his pondering, Sam walks back to the archives and discovers everything he’d been working on is missing except a folded piece of paper. Picking it up, his heart pounds reading the message.  

Following his brother's instructions to meet in the library, Sam finds him with his feet propped up, a beer in one hand and the book in the other, reading. Squaring his shoulders, Sam sits in his usual place and waits for Dean to acknowledge him. Instead, he continues, occasionally referring back to the codex. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he says, “I gave you a taste of what it’d be like, being together, unburdened by our reality and this is how you repay me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you sacrifice yourself again!”

“It’s different this time! I turned you back into a blood junkie so you’d get some understanding that my remaining a demon is what I need! It’s helped me believe not everything in this fucking universe is my fault, that I’m not 90% crap!”

“I know I’ve done things over the years that’s made it difficult to trust me but to be with you like this, it’s gone against everything I believe in!” Sam gets up, pacing around, and runs his cuffed hands through his hair when Dean gets up, too. 

“Still amazes me how gullible you are Sammy. Those cuffs are strong enough to restrain me but you, with the powers you possess? No way in hell they’d ever actually work.” 

Sam’s brow furrows at what Dean said. 

“You became so absorbed in this that you never noticed I stopped giving you my blood months ago.” Dean closes the distance between them and peers up. “It’s been all you, Dumbo.” Ruby had said something similar: he didn’t need the feather to fly, he had it in him the whole time. 

Dean continues. “My carrying The Mark is the only foolproof way to stop The Darkness from destroying the universe.” 

Sam dreads his brother’s answer but still asks the question. “What are you talking about? What is The Darkness?”

Dean recounts during one of his middle-of-the-night excursions being summoned by Death. The horseman told him a story about God and the archangels imprisoning The Darkness with a mystical lock and key. God gave it to Lucifer, but it corrupted Lucifer so badly that God cast him out. The fallen angel eventually passed it to Cain and so forth.

“For us to end the cycle of Heaven and Hell using us, you gotta accept this is the only foolproof way of averting another one of their apocalypses.” Dean taps the book. “Stop trying to turn me back!” 

His brother is the strongest person Sam has ever known, and as a knight of Hell, a higher-level demon, Dean could carry the burden that came with the curse. Sam’s eyes shift back into their kaleidoscope array, and closing the distance between them, he places his hand over his soulmate's unbeating heart.

“This is it, then?”

Sam's voice is so broken, and his face, nothing has changed since infancy. His baby brother always was the ugliest cryer, almost making Dean cave. Instead, he grips his hand and leans in, touching his forehead to Sam’s.

“Now, I need you to give you what YOU want, Sam. I know you want an ordinary life that I can’t give you. Maybe you'll realize where you truly belong once you’ve had it, get out of your system.”

“Dean….” 

Dean's strong hands cup his face and Sam flashes to the smell of his sleep-warmed skin, to his sweat and his breath and the feel of him, so close and all he wants is Dean to take the upcoming hurt away but knows he won’t.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I will behave, mostly. Now, walk away and live that ordinary life and when it’s time, I’ll be back for you, little brother.” 

Part VI

One year later

Sam locks the door to his apartment and heads down the building’s exterior stairs, abruptly stopping when he hits street level. His hunter senses engaging, he automatically reaches for the back of his waistband, palming the demon blade. He scans the immediate area, looking for something or someone out of place but finding nothing.

He subtly flips the weapon around so his jacket hides it and proceeds down the sidewalk toward his place of employment. As he approaches the door, he slips the blade back into his waistband, enters, ducking under the clanging brass bell, and smiles as Mr. Clark pokes his head out from the store room.

“Hey Sam, perfect timing. We got a delivery needing unpacked.”

“I’ll get on it, sir,” he says, pulling off his backpack and jacket and stashing them under the counter. He grabs his apron and heads to the storeroom, stopping to see what’s on top of the cellophane-wrapped pallet.

An oversized cupcake with a lit candle reminds him of last year’s birthday, the last one he’d ever spend with Dean.

“We weren’t going to let you skip your birthday,” Mr. Clark says. “It’s your favorite, spiced applesauce, and I’m taking you home for dinner.” Sam tries to interrupt but Mr. Clark talks over him. “ I know you use your dinner break to study, but we’re closing early tonight, so you don’t get behind. Marianne is whipping up that vegetable lasagna you like and….” 

Sam doesn’t hear the rest of Mr. Clark’s plan for the evening as the memory of his last birthday replays in his mind. He feels unshed tears prickling, hearing in his mind the whiskey-roughened voice he sorely misses.

“Sammy, make a wish.”

“Don’t have to; it’s come true.”

Laying on Dean's bed curled against his big brother's flannel-clad side, they split Sam’s birthday cupcake like when they were kids, He sighs in contentment as calloused fingers trail down his cheek, and he turns, wrapping his arm tightly around Dean's waist, reiterating, "I love you."

Dean pulls his head down for a slow, sensual kiss, then murmurs, "This is good, right?"

Sam speaks against his lips. “We’re together; that’s all I need.”

***

Sam places the leftovers in his fridge, grabs a beer, sits at the kitchenette table, fires up his laptop, and begins rereading the last paragraph he’d written for class. Sometime later, his phone vibrates. Glancing at the lit screen, Sam sees it’s 11:59 PM. His heart rate speeds up when he recognizes the number. It stops, but then the screen flashes again, and he picks it up.

“Hello?” There’s nothing but silence on the other end. “I know it’s you. What do you want?” The line goes dead. 

Sam gets up and walks to the window, and there she is, her black and chrome exterior gleaming in the streetlight's glow.

Baby.

Sam scans the street but doesn’t spot her owner. He grabs the demon blade and unlocks the door cautiously stepping onto the top step to find a four-pack of Margiekugels lager, minus one. The Impala’s engine roars to life and he watches her peel out, disappearing into the darkness.

With that offering, they start their new yearly tradition of celebrating Sam’s birthday.

Epilogue

Decades later 

11:59 PM

“Come on, Sammy, where are you?”

Something is off. Sam is always punctual for his annual visitation. Dean crosses his arms as he leans against his latest borrowed vehicle and frowns as a strange emotion crawls up from deep inside.

He’s antsy, a thing he hasn’t been in decades. He knows something is wrong when his watch beeps on the hour.

Pushing off the fender, Dean does the one thing he promised himself not to do all those long years ago and walks toward the house. 

Getting closer to the two-story home, it dawns on him that the warding he usually senses surrounding the structure is lessening. As he places one booted foot on the front porch's bottom step, someone opens the front door but remains inside, shadowed by the light cast from another room.

Dean climbs the steps and cautiously crosses the wide porch to the threshold. He’s not greeted by his younger brother but, for the first time, he comes eye-to-eye with his namesake. Dean feels pride that the younger man shows no fear as they study each other.  

His nephew resembles their late father, John, and has his mother's dark eyes. All the golden-hued skin and that hair , though —right down to those stupid flippies at the ends— is all Sam.

“Dad’s been agitated all night. I’m glad he remembers what today is.”

The demon ponders his words, watching Dean Jr. pick up a flathead screwdriver and hammer, squat down, and pry up the threshold to reveal a solid salt block that looks like it’s been under there for years. He starts to use the implements on it when Dean interrupts. “Don’t be stupid, kid. You know what I am, right?”

“Yeah, a knight of Hell.” The kid pushes up his sleeve, revealing an anti-possession tattoo in the same spot where Dean carries the Mark of Cain. “Dad taught me about the things that exist in the dark.”  

Crossing his arms, the demon watches his nephew knock a piece loose, wondering what game he’s playing. 

The kid stands up and places the items on a small table. “Please, Uncle Dean, I know Dad wants to see you.” He turns, leaving the door open.

The prickling from the warding within the house's walls stings but doesn’t stop Dean from crossing the threshold into the foyer. He suddenly becomes overwhelmed by the presence of his Sammy, as if his essence has adhered to the home's structure.

A rhythmic beeping pulls Dean out of his wonderment and, venturing further inwards, he peers around in curiosity. The wallpapered rooms have various patterns but the same theme running through them: some variety of sunflowers, Kansas’ state flower and Sam’s small way of honoring their birthplace.

He follows the beeping down the hallway, hearing it suddenly speed up, then his nephew's voice carries out of the room. Low and soft, the kid says, “Dad, I’ll reestablish the warding afterward. I wasn’t going to let you miss his visit.” 

Dean moves closer, eavesdropping on the conversation, and can’t help smiling at his brother's response. While sounding faded and worn, he still has an edge to his words. 

“I remember Dad saying that to you, Sammy. Never thought I’d hear it from your lips,” Dean recalls, stepping into the doorway quickly suppressing his shock.

Sam, his ginormous little brother, the obsessive health nut who jogged every day and drove him batshit crazy with his lectures about unhealthy habits while chomping on salads like a rabbit, is lying on a hospital bed. He looks so…fragile.

He watches Sam’s eyes quickly shift to his son, then back, using the pleading, puppy dog expression he’d always used radiating from them. “Dude, calm down before you stroke out! I’m not going to try anything. Remember our deal?” 

Sam’s eyes narrow slightly, conveying loud and clear, shut the fuck up, Dean!  

Their silent conversation makes the kid blink. “Wow, those books weren’t exaggerating. You two do that whole secret communication thing.” Gently laying his hand on his father's arm, he says, “And I know you two made some kind of deal years ago. Mom told me I wasn’t to interfere, no matter what.”

Sam sighs and smiles fondly. “Your mother somehow always knew things.”

“That’s because she was a witch,” the kid jokes. “I’m going to give you guys some privacy.” He sets a phone on the medicine-laden table next to the bed. “Text me when y'all finish.” 

They stare at each other as the front door closes and the porch swing begins creaking. Sam points his long finger toward the adjacent dining room. “You want a drink?”

“Nah , I’m good. So how long,” Dean asks, waving at the medical equipment.

“Doctors transferred me to hospice a few days ago and said it could be anytime now. And would you sit down,” Sam huffs. “It hurts my neck having to look up nowadays.”

“Sorry.” Dean sits on the chair by his bed. “So, what you got?” His eyes widen, and he drops a hand to cover his lap. “It’s not…testicular cancer?”

“Oh my god, Dean, seriously? No!” Sam spits out in his exasperated tone, but his eyes contain amusement, looking pointedly at his hand. “Remember when we didn’t think we would make it past thirty, let alone get old?” Dean nods, and Sam exhales tiredly. “All those years of hunting finally caught up with me.”

The feelings of sadness and elation simultaneously slam Dean. His soul is mournful that Sam’s mortality is ending, but the demon is gleeful that he will soon become what he was originally destined for and rejoin him for eternity.

Sam turns his head toward the fireplace, looking at the photographs of memories they shared and new ones created after they separated.

“I’ve had a good life. Some experiences I definitely could have done without, but in the end, it was worth all of it.” They sit silently, like they used to, neither needing anything more than each other’s company.

“What was her name?” Sam asks out of nowhere. “Made you try on her panties?” Sam’s lips twitch at the unasked question flashing across Dean's face, then answers. “Cas. He never could keep a secret when he drank a liquor store.”

“That dick ,”  Dean harrumphs, then says, “Rhonda Hurley. They were pink. And satiny. I kinda liked it.” Dean decides turnabout is fair play and asks, “Did you let Becky punch your V card on your wedding night?”

The brothers continue their teasing reminiscence until Sam starts fading. Dean texts his namesake, enters the dining room, pours himself a drink, then goes outside to sit on the porch swing. Sipping on the whiskey, he hears Sam’s son.

“Dad. It’s okay. You can go now.”

****

His shifting makes the Impala's leather creak loudly as the scant images from his dream dissipate with consciousness.  He hears his brother moving about but doesn’t open his eyes yet. 

“Dude, I had the weirdest dream,” Sam drowsily says, stretching out his long legs and freezing, his brain screaming something isn’t right. He hasn’t been able to fully extend his legs across the backseat since he was fifteen and shot up three inches in as many months.

Opening his eyes, Sam stares at a ceiling that isn’t Baby’s roof or the popcorn kind commonly found in the dingy one-star motels they frequent. He sits up, figuring out the creaking is from a medical bed, gazes around, and his memories come rushing back. He turns his head, finds Dean sitting in the dining room with his boots on the table, and gives him bitchface #104. 

‘Sorry,” Dean apologizes and removes them from the antique table. 

Sam examines his hands, rubbing his skin and flexing his fingers. “Dean, how…?”

“Remember that witch bitch Rowena?” Sam’s brow furrows at the name. “Turns out she’s Crowley's mother. I discovered she created a resurrection spell and persuaded her to tweak it to include de-aging you back to 2015.”

Sam slides off the bed. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t set it to 1995 for whatever you did to get it from her.” He pauses and finds the house is too quiet. “Where’s my son?”

“He said he couldn’t say goodbye twice and decided to visit Claire and her wife, Kaia. I’ve arranged to have everything straightened up before he returns.”

Sam closes the distance between them and, wrapping his large hand around the back of Dean’s head, bends down to kiss him in thanks.

“If that’s my reward for hiring a cleaning service, what do I get for bringing you back? Fifth base?” Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam ignores the question and takes his brother's hand, entwining their fingers and tugging for him to follow. Dean grumbles, “I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl,” but follows Sam like always. 

Leading his brother to an outbuilding on the back of the property, Sam opens the door and gallantly says, “After you, mi’lady.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean sees a familiar shape under a draped canvas and turns back to Sam. 

Happiness exudes from his yellow eyes and he’s smiling so hard that those dimples Dean sorely missed are on full display. “I kept her in the exact condition when you gifted her to me.”

“Had to do something monumental for your fiftieth birthday,” Dean says, ripping the canvas off and strolling around to inspect the Impala. “You did a decent job caring for her. Not as good as me, but, you know.” Running his hand up her polished fender and over the roof, Dean asks, “Did you miss me, Baby?” 

“If you two need a minute,” Sam snarks, and Dean flips him off, continuing to examine his — their— car, halted by a calling he hasn’t felt in decades.

“What…?” Dean instinctively catches the keys tossed to him. 

“Under the seat,” Sam replies, watching with glee as his brother, the last remaining knight of Hell, unwraps the cloth from around the old jawbone. 

“You gave it to Crowley. How’d you…?”

“Locator spell I concocted.” 

Dean appears confused.  Wasn’t the whole point of their separation that Sam wanted normal?

“Turns out I had a talent for spell work. I couldn’t get it myself, and finding someone powerful enough to retrieve it took a long time. But they owed me a favor, so,” he nods to Dean's hands.

“Speaking of owing, I’ve got a big ass list of those who’ve screwed us over and over,” Dean says, going to the trunk. He unlocks it, lifts the hidden compartment, and reveals their monster-hunting arsenal. It’s grown since John Winchester first put his guns and ammo inside. During their active years, his sons continued adding items to the collection. Dean drops the First Blade next to the Demon Blade as his brother joins him. Gazing into the trunk, Sam reaches up for the lid.

“We’ve got work to do.”

Finis

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24 @flamencodiva   @lassie-bird  @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70 @b3autyfuld1sast3r @elmolovesw33d

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Tagging if interested: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys  @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67 @deans-spinster-witch

[toulousewayne]

Batfamily Shenanigans:Head-canons Pt: 1

Bruce eat Peanut Butter from the jar and it drives Alfred mad. Has a kid it was the only thing that calmed Bruce down after his parents,but as an adult he still does it.

Bruce cannot cook in the kitchen, but he can grill just about anything and does it with minimal effort.

Dick, Bruce,Alfred,Steph and Duke are right handed. While, Babs, Jason, Damian, and Kate are left handed. Tim is ambidextrous. Damian hates it.

Damian is vegetarian, Dick and Babs will try different restaurants with him and some of Dick’s new favorite takeout is a vegan and vegetarian Asian restaurant in Uptown.

Alfred prefers Earl Grey over any other tea.

Tim got his GED,at first the he didn’t want to tell anyone but Damian found his mail and told him he was proud. But threatened him if he breathed a word to the others.

Duke sometimes get overwhelmed during the day patrol and other bats sometimes will randomly come by to check on him.

Bruce to his credit was still getting hang of being a father with Jason and Dick. Tim was more of a partner at first, but later on he became his son. He really got improve and do better with Damian. He’s still trying but at least that counts.

Jason does have the white tuff, however after speaking with Talia and Damian he learns it’s not a result of the pit. And it’s actually Vitiligo.

Stephanie is actually allergic to eggs, put loves them so much that everyone just carries Benadryl. Cass keeps her EpiPen.

Duke is the best swimmer out of his siblings.

Kate does not like desserts, she doesn’t have a big sweet tooth. Bruce however is a Cookie Monster.

Babs has had LASIK however she still wears her glasses to not strain them while looking at monitors all the time.

Alfred the Cat, loves Tim’s room more because of his window. It gets the best sunrises and sunsets, he enjoys the warmth from it.

Ace prefers to set at Bruce’s feet in the cave. Bruce enjoys his company.

Cass and Dick have dance classes together in the ballroom. Dick is surprisingly good at Ballet.

Jason will eat his siblings leftovers. Tim will get him half his PB&J and Jason will devour it in seconds.

Talia used to make food with her mother has a little girl and did the same with Damian. He tries to teach Bruce some of his favorite food. Poor Bruce isn’t very good at it but the enjoy the bonding.

Cass can identify which of her brothers is the closest by their scents. Dick has a vanilla and cedarwood smell,Jason smells like Grapefruit and Amber, Tim smells like French lavender, Duke has a grapefruit and Patchouli scent, and Damian smells like cinnamon.

Barbara likes when Cass and Damian make her handmade jewelry over being bought stuff. She wears a gold locket Cass gifted her everyday. And has a ring and charm bracelet that Damian gave her for birthday. She never takes these off.

Tim is allergic to shellfish.

Bruce cannot stand strawberry jam, he prefers grape much to Alfred’s horror.

Stephanie will stack plates, silverware and cups like a server. It’s habit she got from her Mom and hates leaving a mess for Alfred or any other server to clean.

Jason has smoked from time to time. But will snap if he sees his little brothers do it. Jason will Mother Hen them to death.

Alfred is the best marksmen with long ranges guns, Jason is the best at versatile shooting and Barbara is the best firearm shot.

Cass,Steph are the same height, both are an inch taller than Tim, Duke is to inches taller then them.

Tim and Damian are the artist of the family. Damian prefers classic art, like oil paintings, pottery, and marble sculptures. Tim prefers modern art, photography, stone sculptures. Diana takes them to her art gallery on the weekends.

Bruce is the slowest to text back, Jason and Damian ignore texts if they’re not emergencies,Tim emails the fastest, the only good testers are Steph, Duke, and Barbara. Dick will ignore your text and FaceTime you to ask you to repeat the question instead and Cass prefers a phone call.

[fagboyfriend]

the five peices i did for one of my finals- centering around the theme of transness in the home. I’ve been really getting into the concept of domesticity, privacy and intimacy and how these are experienced in trans bodies.You may recognize the characters if you follow my work hehe ^_^

all are 22x30, watercolor, colored ink, acrylic gouache and various other things like gel pen, colored pencil, paint pen- and of course- stickers!

[Image Description:

5 traditional paintings.

The first is of a fat south asian trans man lying nude reclined on a bed inside of a van. His eyes are closed and he is somewhat falling off the bed, his head and arm draped towards the ground. Visable in the van are snacks, a record player, fastfood containers, condoms, a vibrator, and several posters on his walls.

The Second is of two characters, a fat east asian trans woman, who is nude, and a mid-size white nonbinary person, who is shirtless but wearing boxers. They sit on a bed together, smiling and surrounded by pinkish light.

The third is of a thin white transfeminine nonbinary person lying on the floor of a bathroom nude, with her legs propped up on the edge of a bathtub. They’re also making a phone call, and looking absentmindedly into a mirror that is reflecting them.

the fourth is of a chubby trans man with dark curly hair wearing a binder with his laptop propped up on his lap. You can see the rest of his bedroom, including someone watching tv in the far distance.

The fifth is of a thin white man standing in a room, looking down at a mirror that lies at his feet. You can see the rest of his room, including a teal ladder and a stained glass window in the kitchen.

All five paintings are very colorful, covered in stickers and have colorful borders.

End ID.]

[litsetaure]

So…one of my favourite headcanons is that the Potter family are Indian. (Those of you who’ve read my Grindeldore/Wolfstar dancer fic might recall that Fleamont Potter, James’ father and the UK Prime Minister, is Indian in that. Funnily enough, our real life Prime Minister is a British Indian Hindu who became PM last year. On Diwali. Yeah, that was an…interesting day in the family. Still not entirely sure how I feel about it.)

Anyway - here are some headcanons about James Potter being Indian, some of which are based around how I actually grew up. (Note: there will probably be more as I think of them!):

When Holi comes around, James wakes the others up by pelting them with coloured powder. He does it every year and every year they fall for it. They also pelt everyone with coloured powder throughout the holiday. It took weeks for the paint to be cleaned fully. (Some people suspected Dumbledore deliberately let it stay like that because he liked the colours.)

Sirius got really angry the first time he heard someone call James a Paki. He doesn’t know what it means, but he never wants to see that look on James’ face again. He absolutely lost it when James told him what it meant. (For those of you who don’t know what it means, it’s an incredibly racist slur towards south Asians; along similar lines of using the n-word to a black person. This is also why James gets so angry whenever anyone uses the word Mudblood - because he knows how that shit feels.)

Sirius helps James create magical rangoli patterns during Diwali. They also take over the kitchen for an evening trying to make Indian sweets. The results are mixed-looking, but they all taste good, and the house elves get some great new dishes.

Every time a festival falls on a full moon, they always celebrate a few days after so Remus can join in. (He hugely appreciates the sweets.)

James initially wasn’t thrilled that his Animagus form is a stag, since a deer is the form one of the bad guys took in the Ramayana when he triggered the events that led to Rama’s wife being kidnapped.

When James’ father died, he had a traditional Hindu funeral. Traditionally, the eldest son leads the proceedings, but when James broke down, Sirius stepped in to continue. In that moment, James loved Sirius more than he could put into words.

James also taught the Marauders some Hindi so they could talk privately, as well as some Indian magic.

James, Lily and Sirius actually go to india for their wedding outfits. Lily also has magical mendhi patterns done by James’ aunts and cousins. James also had to gently explain to Lily that wearing white is associated with funerals.

Petunia showed up to James and Lily’s wedding in a white dress to try and upstage the bride. She’s very confused to realise a) Lily is not wearing white, and b) a lot of James’ relatives are looking at her weirdly, because she’s wearing a funeral colour.

At James and Lily’s engagement party, James’ aunties kept trying to set Sirius up with their daughters and teasing him about getting married. They shut up when Sirius snogged Remus in front of everyone. James wasn’t even mad that his engagement was briefly upstaged.

James has a book of Indian tales and legends passed down from his father. He read them to Harry at bedtime. Lily would smile and watch from the doorway. He also taught his friends some classic Indian songs to sing to Harry.

Every year on Raksha Bandhan, James ties a rakhi on Sirius’ wrist and charms them so they’ll never come undone. One night, Sirius noticed the threads of one of them coming loose. That night was October 31st, 1981.

[brickcentral]

Sharing my review for the LEGO 80113 Family Reunion Celebration. My husband gave me a gift card for the Holidays and waited patiently for this set’s release on Jan. 1st 2024. The reviews are based on my own opinion. I omitted the minifigures just because I wanted to focus on the build itself.

Celebrate the Year of the Dragon with this beautiful set! The Family Reunion Celebration set is a traditional restaurant with beautiful details and wall art. This set has 1823 pieces and has 2 detachable floors for play. It comes with 13 Lego Minifigures but I would like to talk more about the intricate design and art of this set and how eye-catching it is for me.

The build details

I admire the “Nice Part Usage” of the frogs for a more Asian architectural approach. The gold ingot in Earth Green is the perfect Green for the roof tiles.

The corner stalls

These beautiful, printed stickers add a sense of Asian culture to the build.

The entrance

Again the characters are neatly printed and are very inviting.

The aquarium

This is my favorite part of the build! The aquarium is a way of attracting good luck and fortune. The placement of it in Feng Shui is perfect!

The kitchen

The Kitchen is very playable too with pots and pans and that duck!

The paintings

The paintings on the 2nd floor are so beautiful! On the round table, you can gaze at this beautiful bird painting while the light is shining through the window. When you go to use the bathroom on the same floor, you will see a beautiful castle painting that reminds you of where the Ancient Chinese Gods live.

Summary

This set costs $129.99/€129.99/£89.99 and comes with a sticker sheet. Some wouldn’t like the stickers but for me, it added to the play as if I’m holding a piece of delicate art and framing it. This set comes with a lot of really good pieces like the gutters and fence and as a builder, I know I can create tons of beautiful MOC’s with this set.

[dorothygale123]

Raise your hand if you've heard of the 4 Guardian Beasts before. Anyone? If you don't, it's cool. That's what learning is for!

Now, anime fans like myself may be more than a little familiar with these guys as they've shown up in more than a few properties (ex. Fushigi Yuugi) but the concept, like many things in Asian culture, was originally Chinese. Also called the 4 Symbols, the 4 Gods, and the 4 Cardinal Creatures in English, the 4 Guardian Beasts are very popular in East Asia. We'll be calling them by their Chinese name, the Sixiang, because it's much shorter than any of their English titles because it's shorter. Do excuse me if I call the beasts themselves by their Japanese names, as it's what I know them best by.

The Sixiang are an astrological concept, with each one governing a portion of the sky. Each of these 4 sections had 7 constellations consisting of parts of the beast that when looked at together shows the beast as a whole. Pretty different from Greek constellations, huh? Anyways, these 28 total constellations were very important to Chinese cosmology as each one was seen as housing a different part of the Heavens, where the gods did their business. Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Azure Dragon/Canglong/Seiryuu, Guardian of the East

Fun fact: back in ye olden days azure was used to describe a shade of green, so while there are many depictions of Seiryuu as a blue dragon a lot of really ancient art paints him green. Surprisingly, he's associates with the element of wood rather than water. His constellations house the Heavenly Gates and several parts of the Jade Emperor's palace (including the stables where a certain naughty monkey did a stint). He's generally seen as the most important member of the group as a result.

White Tiger/Baihu/Byakko, Guardian of the West

As the name suggests, Byakko is a massive white tiger that rules over all other beasts with a terrifying roar. He's said to be in tune with all 5 elements (water, fire, earth, wood, metal) but is most associated with metal. He carries the 'essence of heroes' and means business. His constellations mostly have to do with the Heavenly army, with the prison, garrison, and granary all falling under his purview.

Vermillion Bird/Zhuque/Duzaku, Guardian of the South

Often confused with a Phoenix, Suzaku is actually a distinct creature. The fact that Eastern and Western Phoenix's are very different in concept doesn't help matters, especially since cultural osmosis has led to the Eastern Phoenix becoming more and more similar to it's Western counterpart. Suzaku himself is very similar to a Western Phoenix, being associated with fire and elixirs of immortality. His constellations are very functional, housing heavenly the wells, wardrobes, kitchens, and other such things.

Black Turtle/Xuanwu/Genbu, Guardian of the North

Now I say turtle, but Genbu is a bit more of a dual creature. Sometimes they're 2 animals, a turtle with a serpent on it's back, and others it's a turtle with a long snake-like neck. Sometimes it goes full chimera and is a turtle with a snake for a tail, head included. No matter which way you slice it though, Genbu is some mix of snake and turtle. Naturally, it gets associated with the element of water. Sometimes it's even credited as once having been the turtle that carried the floating city of Penglai (which I'll get to eventually). Genbu's constellations seem to be wealth-based, as it presides over the temples, treasury, and non-military granary.

Okay, so I know I said 4 beasts, but the Sixiang are sometimes shown with a 5th member that takes it's place in the center of the group. Occasionally it's a yellow dragon to represent the Yellow Emperor, but personally I prefer when it's the qilin/kirin, the Chinese Unicorn. Now it's called a unicorn, but like many Chinese creatures it's a bit of a chimera. With the head of a ram, the hooves of a horse, legs of a wolf, body of a deer, scales of a snake, tail of an ox, and horns of a dragon. Calm and intelligent, it is often seen as a symbol of nobility and scholars. Another fun fact: the Japanese word for giraffe is kirin because of their remarkable resemblance to the mythical beast.

This was a bit of a long one, but I had fun! What about you guys?

Sh*tpost Masterlist

[hamsterbellbelle]

Additional CC list for Lestat's Apartment🎦:

Antique suitcases || Archway || Bag/clothes/suitcase || Bag || Bag || Bathroom clutter || Bicycle (wall)/speaker || Blood bag || Blood (deco) - A - B - C || Board planks || Books - A - B - C - D ||

Bowl with towel || Boxes/hand truck || Boxes || Broom/drying rack (bathroom)/wall rack || Bucket with dipper || Calendar || Candles || Candles || Cardboard rug || Cereal boxes || Chair with bag || Chair with clothes || Cleaning clutter || Coat rack stand || Coffin ||

Conduit || Cooking pots || Crate || Dirty dishes (sink)/mail || Dirty dishes (table) || Divider with clothes || Door || Drain || Fan || Floor clothes || Floor dirt || Floor wood strip || Folded jeans ||

Folding chair || Food (deco) || Fridge || Guitar (deco) || Hamper || Hanging branches/old clothes || Hanging tapestry || Hanging backpack || Hat || Headphone || Herb pots ||

Ironing board/drying rack/laundry clutter || Map (deco) || Mattress || Mug || Neon - Cat - Cross - Mouth - XXX || Newspaper stack || Oil lamp || Painting clutter/canvas || Paper bag/mug || Papers ||

Piano || Picture stand || Pillows || Pillows || Plants - animal - can - floor - hanging - piano || Polaroids || Puzzle || Record player || Rug || Shampoo || Shoe box || Shoe rack/shoes ||

Sink (bathroom) || Sink (kitchen) || Sofa || Soil bags || Stool || Suitcase/bag/clothes || Used tissue ||

🐹             🐹             🐹             🐹             🐹    

Animated astray || Asian divider || Chair with clothes || Cyberpunk posters || Metal panel || Neon (afterlife) || Suitcase laptop || Wires/panel ||

[simmy93sims4creations]

Old Italia Pier Apartments - (Anchorpoint Wharf - San Sequoia)

Residential Rental - 4 Multi-story Apartments + Shared Ground floor amenities.

"The Old Italia Pier Apartments have seen generations of people come to SimNation to make their fortune. Originally built to house an influx of Sims from the Old Country, it has played host to families from across the world. The final residents left knowing their former homes would tell their stories. The previously commercial ground floor was repurposed and now boasts a laundromat, pool complex, gym and hobby centre."

Sims 4 Gallery: https://www.ea.com/en-gb/games/the-sims/the-sims-4/pc/gallery/7ADA558610F54770BC00977979535727?category=all&searchtype=ea_origin_id&sortby=downloads&time=all&searchquery=Simmy93&max=50&maxis=false

A Tour of the Lot

The Exterior:

Designed to preserve the exterior design of the original property, the four apartments are accessed by two dedicated yards with trash access. The 'main street' of the now quiet pier was once host to hundreds of sims a day but is now a shared space for the tenants to enjoy some outdoor time together. The name 'Old Italia' is inspired by the patriotic paintjob left by the original inhabitants way back when the Pier was still an active fish market.

The Communal Spaces:

Although the outside of the former shops and services have remained unchanged, the interiors could not have changed more. Unlike the upstairs homes, the commercial property had no prospect of enduring and has since been repurposed for truly luxurious living.

Long Game Gym / Formerly Granny Beth's Bits n' Bobs

Once owned by the final inhabitant of the apartment above, Granny Beth's Bits n' Bobs was once the one stop shop for anything craft related in the local area. After a lucrative creative career Elizabeth 'Beth' McCann set about spreading her pink vision of the world. Unfortunately her rival and neighbour would have the last laugh as her grandson bought out the craft shop and replaced it with a gym inspired by his grandmother's domino aesthetic.

Adriatic Laundry Services / Formerly The Red Crane

Renowned as the best Asian cuisine this side of the Simissippi, the Red Crane was once the favourite spot of celebrities far and wide. Despite the fame, the owner never took advantage and became well known for his fair prices and wholesome family image.

Once attached to the apartments above, the Red Crane's kitchen still exists in the private residence and aspiring Chefs from across the country bid to stay for as long as they can, hoping they absorb some of that magic.

Now however, the once booming restaurant is providing services which removes grease from clothes, rather than contributing to it!

The Green Dragon / Formerly Bountiful Bouquets

Few people know, but San Sequoia used to be the source of many flower imports into SimNation, and no where else could the freshest and most exotic flora be found. Taking advantage of this luck was Bountiful Bouquets who it is said created the bouquets for a Royal Wedding!

Nowadays the shop has been converted into a community hobby centre; chess, painting, archaeology, woodwork and of course, flower arranging are available to any resident.

The Hidden Oasis / Formerly Giuseppe's Fishmonger

The heartbeat of the local economy was appropriately nestled in the middle of the main street trading in the best that came off the fishing boats. It was the only commercial endeavour that saw the start of the pier, and the end.

Afterwards it underwent the largest renovation of the four properties and was developed into a community pool. Decadence awaits you as you descend into a desert oasis amongst the busy suburban life. Equipped with pool, adult hot tub area and even a kids activity room, every member of the family can enjoy their day hiding from the desert sun.

The Apartments:

The Pink Lady - 2 bed, 1 bath. Unit Value: §75,628

One half of the most famous duo to be residents at the Old Italia Pier was Elizabeth 'Beth' McCann, a woman who it can safely be said, enjoyed pink. After a glittering career with her sister in the silent era of film she made the transition to the talkies, and then to colour films unlike her sister who seemed to be unable to keep up.

This lifelong resentment led to a bitter rivalry between the siblings, although most of it was aimed at Beth who for all intents and purposes was living her best life. Never marrying, Beth would adopt a son with her long time partner though they would later part ways causing scandal in the tabloids.

Tragedy would touch the McCann household despite Beth's happy disposition and she would end up raising her grandchildren after the death of her son and his wife necessitating some remodelling to accommodate such a lofty task.

No longer able to tread the boards or walk the red carpet, Beth consolidated her royalties and opened her 'Granny Beth's Bits n' Bobs' craft store and settled in for a quiet life.

The home has seen a lot of love, a lot of tears and a lot of knitting. It is perfect for an elder sim, or a small family of comfortable means.

[seewetter]

Mythic Creatures by Region & Culture

Part 8: Asia and South Pacific

The Mesopotamian entries are often culture-specific and I'll need to sort them into their respective regions in future.

allegedly Asian

Barometz; Salamander

Smaller Entries:

Akathaso, Burma, tree spirit; Barmanou, Pakistan; Benzaiten; Churel; Creatures of Azerbaijan; Dab Hmong; Dakhanavar Armenian; Ḍākinī; Death; Landlord Deities; Mountain God; Peacock Princess; Sin-you; Sky Fox; Teng; Tenghuang; Xeglun Tungusic Ainu

Akkorokamui; Amemasu; Hoyau; Kenas-unarpe; Korpokkur; Mintuci Cambodia; Koan Kroach nightmare fuel; Kting voar also Vietnam; Mrenh kongveal

China

Ao; Ao Guang; Azure Lung; Bai Lung Ma; Bai Suzhen; Bai Ze; Bao Si; Bashe; Bi Fang bird; Bixi; Black Tortoise; Boto_and_Dolphin_Spirits; Cangjie; Chang; Chi; Chinas; Chinese guardian lions; Chinese Monkey Creatures; Chinese serpent killed by Li Ji; Chinese Souls; Chiwen; Chiyou; City God; Daji; Dēnglung; Dilung; Diting; Dogs in Chinese mythology; Dong Yong and the Seventh Fairy; Dǒumǔ; Dragon turtle; Fangfeng; Fangxiangshi; Feilian; Feilung; Feng; Fènghuáng; Fengli; Flying Horse of Gansu; Four Perils; Fox Spirit; Fuxi; Fuzanglung; Fuzhu; Gangcheori; Ghosts in Chinese culture; Gonggong; Guang yi ji; Hairen; He-He Er Xian; Hong; Hòutǔ; Hun and po; Hundun; Huodou; Húxiān; Jiangshi; Jiaolung; Jin Chan; Jinmenju also Japanese; Jiutian Xuannü; Jiutou Zhiji Jing; Jiuweihu; Jué yuán (Japanese version Jueyuan); King Father of the East; Kitchen God; Kuafu; Kui; Lake Tianchi Monster; Luan; Luduan; Lung; Lungma; Lungmu; Magpie Bridge; Magu; Menshen; Mo; Mogwai; Momu; Moon Rabbit; Nian; Nine-headed bird; Nüba; Nüwa; Pangu; Panhu; Panlung; Peng; Penghou; Pig Dragon; Pipa Jing; Pixiu; Pulao; Qianlima also Korean; Qilin; Qingji; Qingniao; Qiulung; Queen Mother of the West; Sanshi; Sha Wujing; Shangyang; Shen; Shen_clam_monster; Shenlung; Shi Dog; Shuimu; Spirit Turtle; Stone Sentinel Maze; Swan Maiden Yao; Taotie; The Governor of Nanke; The Painted Skin; The Nine Peahens and the Golden Apples; Three-legged crow also Japanese and Korean; Tianguo; Tianlung; Tianma; Tu'er Shen; Tubo; Tudigong; Unicorn; Watersheep (see Vegetable Lamb of Tartary); Vermillion Bird; Wangliang; White Tiger; World Turtle; Wutong Shen; Wuzhiqi; Xian; Xiangliu; Xiao; Xiezhi; Xingtian; Xirang; Yao Grass; Yāoguài; Yellow Lung; Yeren; Yeti also Tibetan and Nepali; Yinglung; Zhenniao; Zhu Bajie; Zhulung

Hittite

Annunaki; Illuyanka the equivalent of Hurrian Ḫedammu; Hittite Goddesses of Fate

Hurrian

Annunaki; Ḫedammu the equivalent of Hittite Illuyanka; Tilla; Ullikummi; Upelluri

Iran (Persia)

Akvan Div; Al but also in Mongolia, Russia, Afghanistan, Caucasus; Almas also Turkic and Mongolia; Anguiped also Greek and Roman.; Arzhang Div; Azhdaha; Chamrosh; Div; Div-e Sepid; Fulad-zereh; Gochihr; Griffon; Huma bird; Karkadann allegedly lived in India and Persia; Manticore allegedly lived in India; Peri also Turkic, Islamic (and Indian?); Rakhsh; Shabrang; Shahbaz; Shahmaran Indo-Iranian and Turkic; Shahrokh; Sheshe; Simurgh; Sphinx in a wide sense; Takam; Tyger allegedly lived in Persia; Unicorn; Vegetable Lamb of Tartary the Chinese watersheep allegedly lived in Persia; Werehyena; Winged Unicorn; Zahhāk

Java

Antaboga, pre-Islamic, Hindu; Kakawin; Keong Emas; Wewe Gombel Korea; Bulgae; Chilseok; Dokkaebi; Dokkaebi bangmangi; Egg Ghost; Gasin (house god); Gunungsin; Gwisin; Haesindang Park; Inmyeonjo; Jihaguk daejeok toechi seolhwa; Korean dragon; Korean Virgin Ghost; Munshin; Namu doryeong; Pulgasari; Qianlima also Chinese; Ryong; Samsin Halmeoni; Seonangshin; Sosamsin; The Heavenly Maiden and the Woodcutter; Three-legged crow also Japanese and Chinese; Ungnyeo; Ureongi gaksi;

Mongolia

Al but also in Persia, Russia, Afghanistan, Caucasus; Almas also Iran and Turkic; Aq Bars, winged snow leopard, heraldry from 800s onwards, also Slavic; Mongolian Death Worm Myanmar; Manussiha; Nat; Nawarupa; Pyinsarupa; Sphinx in a wide sense; Thayé; Yokkaso

Nepal

Gurumāpā; Khyāh; Kichkandi; Lākhey; Murkatta; Yeti also Chinese and Tibetan

Philippines

Alan of the Tinguian people; Amalanhig of the Visayan; type of Aswang; Amomongo of the Visayan; Angalo of the Ilocano; Anggitay Philippine centauride, female Tikbalang; Anito; Aswang; Bakunawa; Bal-Bal; Batibat of the Ilocano; Berbalang of Mindanao towns; Berberoka northern Luzon; Bernardo Carpio; Bungisngis Meluz, Orion, Bataan and Batangas; Busaw; Buso Bagobo; Dalaketnon Cebuano; Ekek; Engkanto; Ibong Adarna; Kapre; Kataw; Kumakatok; Manananggal; Manaul; Mandurugo; Minokawa; Nuno sa punso; Philippine Mytic Creatures; Pugot; Sarangay; Sarimanok; Sigbin; Sirena; Siyokoy; Tigmamanukan; Tikbalang; Tiyanak; Wakwak

allegedly Scythian (rider culture, no written records, all inhabitants and creatures based on Greek reports)

Amazons, Amazons (List); Arimaspi north Scythia; Scythian genealogical myth; Scythian religion; Scythians; Tarand; Vegetable Lamb of Tartary

Taiwan

Hanitu; Mo-sin-a; Ta'ai; Tek-ko-kui

Thai

Apsonsi; Cha kla; Hatsadiling; Hemaraj; Kong Koi; Krahang; Krasue; Kuman Thong; Mae Nak Phra Khanong; Mae yanang; Nang Mai; Nang Ta-khian; Nang Tani; Nariphon; Ninlaret; Phi phong; Phi Tai Hong; Phisuea Samut; Pop (ghost); Sphinx in a wide sense; Sudsakorn; Suvannamaccha

Tibet

Gyalpo spirits; Ro-langs; Simhamukha; Snow Lion; Tibetan myth; Wind Horse; Yeti also Chinese and Nepali

Vietnam

Hồ ly tinh; Kting voar also Cambodia; Lạc bird; Nghê; Rồng ; Vietnamese Dragons

Turkic

Äbädä, also found in Siberian mythology; Abasy, also found in Siberian mythology; Aiy Yakut; Al in Mongolia, Russia, Afghanistan, Caucasus; Al Ana; Al Basty from Sumerian; Alara, also found in Siberian mythology; Almas also Iran and Mongolia; Archura; Asena; Ayaz Ata; Bai Baianai also Yakut; Basty Turkic alp or mare; Bichura Turkic household spirit; Chai nenesi; Chesma iyesi; Çor also Siberian; Ergene iyesi; Erkenek; Hortdan; Irshi; Itbarak; İye; Konrul; Korbolko; Kormos; Mhachkay includes Tatar lore; Mu shuvuu; Örek; Peri also Persian, Islamic (and Indian?); Qarakorshaq; Sazakan; Shahmaran Indo-Iranian and Turkic; Sheka; Shurali; Su iyesi; Susulu; Tepegöz; Tulpar; Turul also Hungarian; Upiór also Slavic; Uylak; Werewolf; Yekyua; Yelbeghen; Yer iyesi; Yer-sub; Yuxa

Turkish

Gelin; İn Cin; Uzuh

Siberia

Äbädä, also found in Turkic mythology; Abasy, also found in Turkic mythology; Aiy Yakut; Alara, also found in Turkic mythology; Bai Baianai, also found in Turkic mythology; Çor also Turkic; İye also Turkic\; Menk; Oksoko Yakut; Ongon; Pitsen; Sihirtia; The Great Snake; Yekyua; Yelbeghen

South Pacific Islands

Abaia: Fiji, Solomon and Vanuatu Islands. ; Abere, unspecified "Melanesia"; Adaro, Solomon Islands, merfolk; Aitu, from Maori to various east and west Polynesian cultures; Amai-te-rangi Cook Islands; Apukohai, Hawaii; Aremata-Popoa and Aremata-Rorua; Atonga Samoa; Atua; Auriaria Kiribati; Avatea Cook Islands; Baloma; Barong; Flaming Teeth Fiji; Gazeka Papua New Guinea; Hatuibwari Solomon Islands; Ila (Samoan myth); Kae and Longopoa; Kai-n-Tiku-Aba; Kalamainu'u Hawaii; Kawas; Kihawahine; Kupua Hawaii; Losi Samoa; Menehune Hawaii; Miru Cook Islands; Moʻo Hawaii; Moso's Footprint Samoa; Nawao Hawaii; Nei Tituaabine; Nganaoa; Nightmarchers Hawaii; Pahuanui Tahiti and Society Islands; Pua Tu Tahi; Rogo-Tumu-Here; Savali; Sina and the Eel; Talamaur Vanuatu; Tamangori; Tangaroa; Taotao Mo'na Mariana Islands; Tapairu Cook Islands; Tiʻitiʻi; Tikokura; Tinirau similar to Māori Tinirau and Kae;

Māori

Aitu also common in all parts of East and West Polynesia, sometimes with slightly different meanings; Atua; Hāhau-whenua; Hākuturi; Hawakai; Hemā; Hine-nui-te-pō; Kiwa; Kumi Lizard; Kurangaituku; Maero; Manaia; Maori ghosts; Matuku-tangotango; Moehau; Nuku-mai-tore; Pania of the Reef; Paoro; Patupaiarehe; Ponaturi; Pouākai; Taniwha; Taoroinai; Te Wheke-a-Muturangi; Tinirau and Kae; Tipua; Waitoreke; Whakatau; Whiro

Indian Ocean Islands

Folklore of the Maldives; Rannamaari

Japan (separate categories for Ainu and Okinawa)

Abumi-guchi; Abura-akago; Abura-sumashi; Aka Manto; Akabeko; Akaname; Akashita; Aketeko; Akubōzu; Akugyo; Akuma; Akurojin-no-hi; Ama no Fuchigoma; Amabie; Amanojaku; Amanozako; Amazake-babaa; Amefurikozō; Ameonna; Amikiri; Amorōnagu; Aoandon; Aobōzu; Aonyōbō; Aosaginohi; Arikura-no-baba; Ashi-magari; Ashinaga-tenaga; Ayakashi; Azukiarai; Azukibabaa; Azukihakari;

Bake-danuki; Bake-kujira; Bakemono; Bakeneko; Bakezōri; Baku; Banchō; Basan; Betobeto-san; Binbōgami; Biwa-bokuboku; Boroboroton; Bukit Timah Monkey Man WWII Japanese soldiers in Bukit Timah (Singapore) saw this; Byōbunozoki;

Chimimōryō; Chōchin'obake; Chōchinbi;

Daidarabotchi; Daikokuten; Danzaburou-danuki; Datsue-ba; Dodomeki; Dōsojin;

Ehon Hyaku Monogatari; Emishi; Enenra;

Fūjin; Funayūrei; Furaribi; Furutsubaki-no-rei; Futakuchi-onna;

Gagoze; Gashadokuro; Gazu Hyakki Yagyō; Gohō dōji; Goryō;

Hagoromo (swan maiden play); Hakuzōsu; Hanako-san; Hannya; Hare of Inaba; Harionagu; Hashihime; Heikegani; Hell Courtesan; Hibagon; Hiderigami; Himiko; Hito-gitsune; Hitodama; Hitotsume-kozō; Hitotsume-nyūdō; Hone-onna; Hotoke; Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro; Hyakki Yagyō_Wild Hunt; Hyōsube; Hyottoko;

Ibaraki-dōji; Ikiryō; Ikuchi; Inari Ōkami; Inugami; Inugami Gyōbu; Ishinagenjo; Isonade; Issie; Issun-boushi; Itsumade; Ittan-momen;

Janjanbi; Japanese Serpent; Jikininki; Jinmenju also Chinese; Jinmenken; Jorōgumo; Jubokko; Jueyuan (Chinese version Jué yuán);

Kaibyō; Kamaitachi; Kami; Kamikiri; Kappa; Karura; Kasa-obake; Kasha; Kawauso; Kechibi; Keneō (oni); Kidōmaru; Kijo (folklore); Kinoko; Kitsune; Kitsune no yomeiri; Kitsunebi; Kiyohime; Kodama; Kōga Saburō; Komono; Konaki-jiji; Konjaku Gazu Zoku Hyakki; Konjaku Hyakki Shūi; Konpira Gongen; Koromodako; Koto-furunushi; Kotobuki; Kōya Hijiri; Kubikajiri; Kuchisake-onna; Kudagitsune; Kudan; Kumiho; Kuraokami (ryu); Kuro-shima (Ehime); Kurozuka; Kuzenbo; Kuzunoha; Kuzuryū;

Makuragaeshi; Maneki-neko; Matarajin; Mazoku; Megijima; Menreiki; Miage-nyūdō; Mikaribaba; Mikoshi-nyūdō; Misaki; Mishaguji; Mishihase; Mizuchi; Mokumokuren; Momiji; Momotarō; Mononoke; Mōryō; Mujina; Myōbu;

Namahage; Namazu; Nekomata; Ningen; Ningyo; Niō; Noderabō; Noppera-bō; Nue; Nuppeppō; Nurarihyon; Nure-onna; Nuribotoke; Nurikabe; Nyūdō-bōzu;

Oboroguruma; Ochimusha; Ōkubi; Okuri-inu; Ōmukade; Oni; Oni Gozen; Onibi; Onihitokuchi; Onikuma; Onmyōji; Onryō; Ōnyūdō; Ootakemaru; Orochi; Osakabehime; Osaki; Otoroshi; Oukami; Ouni;

Raijin; Raijū; Rashōmon no oni; Reikon; Rōjinbi; Rokkaku-dō; Rokurokubi; Ryū; Ryūgū-jō; Ryūjin;

Sakabashira; Samebito; Sankai; Sarutahiko Ōkami; Satori; Sazae-oni; See-Hear-Speak No Evil; Sessho-seki; Setsubun; Shachihoko; Shapeshifter; Shibaemon-tanuki; Shichinin misaki; Shidaidaka; Shikigami; Shikome; Shinigami; Shiranui; Shirime; Shiryō; Shōjō; Shōkera; Shuihu; Shuten-dōji; Smallpox demon; Sōjōbō; Sorei; Sunekosuri; Suzuka Gozen;

Takaonna; Takarabune; Tamamo-no-Mae; Teke Teke; Tengu; Tenka; Tennin; Tenome; Tentōki and Ryūtōki; Tesso; Three-legged crow also Chinese and Korean; Tōfu-kozō; Toyotama-hime; Tsuchigumo; Tsuchinoko; Tsukumogami; Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto; Tsurara-onna; Tsuru no Ongaeshi; Tsurube-otoshi; Tsurubebi;

Ubagabi; Ubume; Umi zatō; Umibōzu; Ungaikyō; Ushi no toki mairi; Ushi-oni; Uwan;

Waira; Wani; Wanyūdō; Watatsumi;

Yako; Yakusanoikazuchi; Yama-uba; Yamabiko; Yamabito; Yamainu; Yamajijii; Yamata no Orochi; Yamawaro; Yanari; Yashima no Hage-tanuki; Yato-no-kami; Yobuko; Yōkai; Yōsei; Yosuzume; Yotsuya Kaidan; Youkai; Yuki-Onna; Yume no seirei; Yūrei;

Zashiki-warashi; Zennyo Ryūō; Zuijin; Zashiki-warashi

Okinawa

Kijimuna

allegedly Arabic Cinnamologus

Morocco Aisha Qandicha

Mesopotamia Abyzou; Annunaki; Anzû; Ardat-lilî; Beings of Irkalla or Kur; Bull of Heaven; Dagon; Edimmu; Ghosts in Mesopotamian culture; Hanbi; Humbaba; Igigi; Kilili; Kulullû; Kusarikku; Labbu; Lahamu; Lamashtu; Lilin also in Jewish folklore; Lotan; Lugal-irra; Lulal; Mukīl rēš lemutti; Mušḫuššu; Mušmaḫḫū; Namtar; Ninimma; Ninurta; Pazuzu; Rabisu; Scorpion men; Sea goat; Serpopard; Seven-headed serpent; Six-headed Wild Ram; The Four Winds; Tiamat; Udug; Ugallu; Umū dabrūtu; Uridimmu; Urmahlullu; Wild Man, Wild Woman ; Wild Men, Wild Women Enkidu; Zaqar

allegedly Mesopotamian Sirin

Akkadian Abkallu, also Sumerian; Akhkhazu, later Babylonian; Alû also Sumerian, an utukku with no mouth, ears, lips; Asag also Sumerian; Bašmu (possibly other parts of Mesopotamia, but badly attested); Lilu; Ušumgallu

Assyrian Adrammelech killed an Assyrian king; Alal references Babylonians

allegedly Assyrian Aralez in Armenian folklore, Semiramis controls an Aralez

Babylonian Akhkhazu, earlier Akkadian; Alal from Chaldean-Assyrian sources; Kulilu

Sumerian Abkallu, also Akkadian; Al Basty, later also in Turkic traditions; Alû also Akkadian, an utukku with no mouth, ears, lips; Asag also

Akkadian Kuli-ana; Palm Tree King#

Mesopotamian (Other) Atargatis Canaanite goddess; Tannin Canaanite; Yam Canaanite

Buddhism

Acala, Vajrayana Buddhism & East Asian Buddhism; Apalala a naga king; Apsara; Asura; Āṭavaka; Cakrasaṃvara Tantra; Ḍākinī; Diting; Girimekhala; Hayagriva; Heruka; Hevajra; Hungry Ghost; Kalaviṅka; Kangiten Buddhism in Japan; Kṣitigarbha; Kuṇḍali; Mahakala; Mahamayuri; Mahoraga; Manjushrikirti; Mara; Mucalinda; Nariphon; Niō; Preta; Rakta Yamari; The sixteen dreams of King Pasenadi; Trailokyavijaya; Tulpa; Vajrakilaya; Vajrayakṣa; Vemacitrin; Wisdom King; Wrathful deities

Jainism Ambika; Dharanendra; Gomukha; Jwalamalini; Mahoraga; Nabhi; Rishabhanatha

India

Aghasura asura in shape of 8 mile serpent (500 CE to 1000 CE, but most likely between 800 and 1000 CE); Agni_deity; Airavata; Akshayavata tree (estimated between the 4th and 15th century CE. Some parts of the text may be from the 750 to 1000 CE period.); Anasuya; Andhaka asura with 1000 heads 2000 eyes 1000 arms; Angiris; Apsara; Arjuna; Asi; Asura; Bakasura a rakshasa (despite "asura" in the name); Barbarika; Basnak Dau; Bhagadatta; Bhargava; Bhoota; Bhramari; Bhringi; Brahmahatya; Brahmarākṣasaḥ; Buru; Chakora; Chana and Munda; Chaturbhuja; Chedipe; Chidambara Rahasiyam; Chinas; Chir Batti ghost light; Chitrāngada; Chyavana; Creatures from Vetala Tales; Daayan; Daitya; Daksha\; Daksha yajna; Danava; Daruka; Dawon; Devas; Devatas; Durgamasura; Durukti; Dvarapala; Dvipa; Gādhi; Gaja; Gajasimha; Gaṇa; Gandaberunda; Gandharva; Garuda; Ghosayatra Parva; Grahana; Guhyaka; Gusainji Maharaj; Halahala; Hamsa; Haryashvas and Shabalashvas; Hidimba; Hiranyakashipu; Hiranyaksha; Ichchadhari naag; Ila; Ilavida; Ilvala and Vatapi (asura); Iravati; Jahnu; Jarita; Jvarasura; Kabhanda; Kālakeya ; Kālakeyas; Kalanemi (asura); Kalanemi (Ramayana); Kaliya; Kamadhenu; Kamakhya; Ketu; Keukegen; Kimpurushas; Kinnara; Kirmira; Kirtimukha; Koka and Vikoka; Kotavi; Kubera; Kumbhakarna; Kumbhāṇḍa; Kuntilanak ; Kurma; Kuttichathan; Lajjā Gaurī; Mada; Madhu-Kaitabha; Madhusudana; Mahabali; Maharajikas; Mahishasura; Mahoraga; Makara; Manasa_Snake_Goddess; Mānasaputra; Mande Barung; Maṇibhadra; Manohara; Mara_Goddess2 identical name to another death goddess Mara_Goddess (unrelated???); Maricha; Matsya; Mayasura; Monkey-man of New Delhi; Mṛtyu; Mukasura; Naga; Naga fireballs; Naga people; Nagaraja; Naimiṣāraṇya; Nandi; Narakasura; Narantaka-Devantaka; Narasimha Half human / Half Lion --> how Vishnu fulfills a prophecy like Eowyn or MacBeth; Navagunjara; Nivatakavacha; Pahlavas; Panchajanya; Panchamukha; Pichal Peri; Pippalada; Pishachas; Pitr; Poubi Lai; Prahlada; Pratyangira; Puloman; Putana; Rāgarāja; Rākshasas; Raktabīja; Ravana; Rishyasringa; Rukmavati; Samagana; Sampati; Sarama; Sarpa Kavu; Shahmaran Indo-Iranian and Turkic; Shambara; Shankha; Shatarupa; Shesha; Shikhandi; Shukra; Sphinx in a wide sense; Srbinda; Subahu; Sunda and Upasunda; Suparṇākhyāna; Ten Giant Warriors; Tree of Jiva and Atman; Tripurasura; Trishira; Tumburu; Ucchusma; Uchchaihshravas; Ulupi; Upamanyu; Vadavagni; Vahana (Mount of a Deva); Vajranga; Vanara; Varaha; Varahi; Vasuki_Naga_King; Vel; Vetala; Vidyādhara ; Vidyādharas; Viprachitti; Viradha; Vishala; Vritra; Vritra (dragon); Vyaghrapada; World Elephant; World Turtle; Yaksha; Yakshini; Yali; Yama; Yamaduta; Yamantaka

allegedly Indian Abarimon; Acheri; Aeternae; Astomi Pliny the Elder; Bragmanni; Calingae Pliny the Elder; Crocotta; Gold-digging ant; Griffon; Indus worm; Karkadann; Kratu; Mandi; Manticore; Monopod; Nuli; Odontotyrannus; Panther; Pard; Rompo; Salabhanjika; Sciritae; Sharabha; Tandava; Unicorn; Wild Man, Wild Woman ; Wild Men, Wild Women

Ayyavazhi Sect Kroni

Assam Baak

Bengali Bengali myths; Byangoma

Kannada Nale Ba

Kashmir Bramrachokh will-o-wisp; Rantas

Kerala Aana Marutha

Malayalam South India; Kallana

Manipur / Meitei Haosi Namoinu; Helloi; Hingchabi; Kanglā Shā; Kao; Keibu Keioiba; Khoirentak tiger; Khongjomnubi Nonggarol; Lai Khutshangbi; Meitei dragons; Meitei Mythic Creatures; Nongshāba; Pākhangbā; Sagol kāngjei; Samaton; Uchek Langmeitong; Umang Lai Sanamahism; Yenakha Paotapi Sri Lanka; Devil Bird; Maha Sona; Nittaewo; Reeri Yakseya; Sphinx in a wide sense; Tharaka; Yakseya and Yakka

Tamil Mamuni Mayan; Nadi astrology; Tamil myth

Indonesia Babi ngepet; Bukit Timah Monkey Man Singapore; Hainuwele; Hantu; Hantu Air; Hantu Bongkok; Hantu Raya; Hantu Tinggi; Jenglot; Kuntilanak also India; Lang Suir aka Langsuyar; Malay Creatures; Manseren Manggoendi; Nyi Roro Kidul; O Tokata; Orang bunian; Orang Mawas; Orang Minyak; Orang Pendek; Pelesit; Penanggalan similar to Philippines Manananggal; Pocong; Polong; Putri Tangguk; Rangalau Kiulu Phantom; Seri Gumum Dragon; Seri Pahang; Singa; Suanggi; Suangi; Sundel bolong; Tuyul; Warak ngendog

allegedly Malay Á Bao A Qu; Abath

Bali Bhoma; Gajamina; Leyak; Ogoh-ogoh

Flores Ebu gogo

Notify me about any mistakes or if any of these mythic figures, beings and creatures should not be used in art or fiction.

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