#it’s about having more in common with your monsters than with the men who brand them as such.

[badolmen]

*head in hands* writing an AU for your own story sucks because someone has to know the original story and characters for the AU to be impactful

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks, 

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1. 

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You 

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little. 

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it. 

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished. 

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder. 

He shouts your name but you don't respond. 

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you. 

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.  

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all. 

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more. 

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.  

‘Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing. 

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue.  He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away. 

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon. 

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures. 

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth. 

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it.  “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.” 

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good. 

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it. 

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating. 

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something. 

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now. 

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings. 

 A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there. 

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth. 

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to- 

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely,  But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here. 

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch. 

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind. 

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference. 

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air. 

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second. 

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony. 

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim. 

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names. 

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you. 

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room. 

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces. 

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger. 

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway. 

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,” 

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet. 

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now. 

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady. 

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room. 

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.  

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.  

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle 

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.” 

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once,  but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.” 

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

 So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.  

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline. 

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way. 

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it. 

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands. 

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi.  Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness. 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.  

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it. 

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard. 

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement. 

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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[destielfanfic]

Destiel Fic Starter Pack

Never watched Supernatural but wondering what all the hype is about? Then this is the post for you. If you have been on tumblr for some time or just from November 5, 2020, you may have seen a gif set or two or a hundred with destiel aka Dean and Castiel from Supernatural. @fandom​ even made a Destiel Is Canon post with short overview of basic facts! Are you interested but have no idea where to start? We know, we know. Life is hectic, 2020 is taxing and Supernatural has too many episodes to watch. 15 seasons and 327 episodes to be precise but who’s counting? Say no more, we got your back, fam!  You don’t need to have ever watched SPN to enjoy the fics on this rec post.

For fans who have never watched SPN, some basic facts - 1x01 starts with Dean Winchester (26 yo) professional monster hunter, picking up his brother Sam (22 yo), student at Stanford, and going on a one off monster hunt. For the next 3 seasons they travel around the country in their black Impala 67 hunting monsters, saving people. Castiel, Angel of the Lord and the multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, arrives in 4x01.The rest is shipping history. Check this 36 min YT video, The Story of Dean and Castiel  by deansbansee with all the best destiel scenes from S4-15. And now, fics!

All title links go to our fully tagged reviews.

1. If you want to read fics that are set in Supernatural universe but are not canon specific, your best bet is pre season 4 (our tag) and solo hunter Dean (our tag) fics where young Dean meets Castiel differently from the show, and fics that are very loosely tied to a specific season. And, if you’ll decide to watch the show later, you still won’t be spoiled!

A Distant Mirror by zatnikatel [NC-17, 14,700 word count, time travel, humor, smut, posted 2013]

Ad Astra - latin; “to the stars” by nhixxie [T, 17,400 word count, Castiel is a Star, posted 2013]

Broadway Musical by Griftings [M, 12,400 word count, humor, Heavenly Host, posted 2014]

Carnival Oasis series by violue [NC-17, 47,000 word count, 10 works, creature!cas, posted 2016-20]

Convenient Husbands by Annie D (scaramouche) [NC-17, 39,000 word count, garuda!cas, hurt comfort, posted 2012]

Do What Feels Good by catchclaw & cymbalism [NC-17, 12,500 word count, smut smut smut, posted 2014]

Everyone Is Trying to Get to the Bar by balder12 [NC-17, 8,400 word count, true form!cas, posted 2012]

Good One’s Gonna Be by remmyme [NC-17, 37,000 word count, professor Cas, posted 2017]

Kiss You When It’s Dangerous by zoemathemata [NC-17, 58,000 word count, FBI agent Cas, posted 2012]

Professional Couple Only by saltyfeathers [M, 37,000 word count, pretend boyfriends on a case, posted 2015]

The Request by cloudyjenn [T, 36,000 word count, wing!fic, posted 2012]

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircase [M, 47,000 word count, student Cas, posted 2016]

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon [NC-17, 8,600 word count, fluff, posted 2014]

2. If you don’t want to bother with Supernatural canon at all, then you are still in for a treat. With 92,500 fics (December 12, 2020) and counting, destiel is currently the biggest ship on AO3. Destiel fics cover a lot of popular tropes and kinks but some are more popular than others among destiel fans. Angst, miscommunication, exploration of Dean’s low self esteem, Cas’s rusty people skills and general otherness are a staple of AU fics. But also exploration of one’s sexuality - internalized homophobia, coming out, bisexuality and asexuality are common themes.

All the Way by cadignan [NC-17, 81,000 word count, college AU, posted 2013]

Cinderwings by bendingsignpost [M, 182,000 word count, wing!fic, masquerade ball, posted 2017]

Kiss the Baker by ltleflrt [NC-17, 111,000 word count, rom com, posted 2015]

Not Part of the Plan by Annie D (scaramouche) [NC-17, 338,000 word count, 8 works, arranged marriage, posted 2013-18]

Oh What A Beautiful City by moosefeels [M, 27,200, a/b/o, omega Cas, arranged marriage, posted  2014]

Passing Ships by quiettewandering [M, 78,000 word count, not traditional soulmate AU, posted 2017]

Peace and Good Luck To All Men by kismetjeska [T, 32,400 word count, humor, Xmas fic, posted 2013]

The Return Policy by castielrisingabove [M, 32,500 word count, incubus!dean, ace witch!cas, posted 2018]

The Sawdust Men by linoresearch [NC-17, 123,000 word count, dystopian angst, posted 2014]

Scars by lemonsorbae [NC-17, 148,000 word count, young adults - punk!dean, nerd!cas, posted 2018]

Three Funerals and a Wedding by engaldnwouldfall [M, 25,300 word count, friends to lovers, LARPing, posted 2016]

True as It Can Be by whelvenwings [NC-17, 72,000 word count, modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast, posted 2016]

Unsolicited verse by dangerousnotbroken [NC-17, 68,700 word count, 5 works, posted 2016-18, smut smut smut]

Unwritten by porcupinegirl [NC-17, 75,800 word count, a/b/o, alpha/alpha pairing, posted 2015]

3. Lastly, for all fans who watched SPN finale and were left with a raging wtf was that? feeling, here’s 4 fics where Dean and Cas did a better job at restoring Heaven and 2 fics where living with disability was not the end of the world.

The Dance of Inanna by peppermintwind [NC-17, 106,000 word count, humor and adventures, posted 2012]

The Five People You Meet in Heaven by amarillogrande [M, 22,200 word count, Dean arrives in Heaven and meets his loved ones, posted  2014]

Holy!Dean Verse by bunnycaccool [NC-17, 120,300 word count, 5 works, very Dean centric, posted 2011-15]

These Are Not Real Problems by Annie D (scaramouche) [NC-17, 30,500 word count, post godstiel Cas arrives in Heaven, posted 2011]

The Breath Of All Things by kismetjeska [T, 65,400 word count, Dean in a wheelchair, posted 2013]

Kingdom Come by cheesewithmy [M/NC-17, 97,700 word count, Dean has a prosthetic arm, posted 2014]

4. Other fun things to check out. Destielfanfic has been a part of destiel community since 2012, and while we used to be much more active (see this post), we are still kicking around. Please visit our Tags Page and explore all the goodies there. We even have separate tags for every season so you can avoid spoilers when necessary. Some useful links:

Tags Page 

ask about iconic destiel fics for folks who just joined fandom

thematic fic rec lists with art (college, creatures, a/b/o, Hogwarts, Christmas - you name it, we have it)

check out our Pride posts for more fics that explore sexuality  - Pride 2017, Pride 2018, Pride 2019 and Pride 2020.

Still can’t decide which destiel fic to read? Try this brand new random fic generator created by @deanwinchestergender​  (not affiliated with DFF) or try Random button on our blog - top right corner and the sidebar (see this post )

also, check out the latest destiel fanart at our sister blog  @destielfanworks​ - Cas with rainbow wings can be found on #cas with wings tag and fanart that was created after 15x18 can be found on #destiel 2020 and #theysilencedyou tags, we also have a general #season 15 tag.

and here’s another destiel fic rec list for new fans by a destiel fic writer and a long time contributor to our blog, our friend  @no-gorms​ aka Annie D (scaramouche)

And last but not least. Thank you, Elena, @purgatory-jar​, for letting us to use your beautiful art! Link to the original art post. 

If you enjoyed the fic, please drop by the archive (AO3) and let the author know with your comments and/or kudos!  Please support artists by Liking and Reblogging their art posts! And if you found our recs useful, let us know by Liking and/or Reblogging our posts!

To our new followers - our anon is switched off for good but we are happy to answer your fic related asks privately. Don’t be shy and tell us which destiel fic made you into a shipper. We may even make a rec post if we get enough fic suggestions!

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Aarakocra Boyfriend: Enzo

This is for 2,000 of you lovely people following me. Thank you all so much! <3 This took more than a week to write, all thanks to writer’s block and burnout, so I’m thankful that I somehow managed to get this out lol. 

Also, may or may not have gotten inspiration from Revali-- anyway, enjoy!

Part 2

Relationship: male monster x female reader

Burning Heart

Fresh snow. Fresh snow that had fallen a hundred-foot deep, cleansing the land for eternity.

"The last time I saw snow this deep, I was just a little boy, still clutched to my mother, unaware of how big the world was." Your companion marvelled. "My father was smart enough to never go further up north—he reminded me. I did not gain his intellect."

Calder was a man who came from the nearby town of Ravensfell, a few days out from Briar, but he had been more of a cold type when it came to first-time introductions. Eventually, you got to open up more of him, little by little. His olive skin, chiselled features and rugged beard made him every female's focus, but the poor man was either too oblivious or polite to acknowledge their flirtations. You couldn't help but laugh at the failed interactions. Poor man, too preoccupied in his own toil.

He became a well-appreciated acquaintance for you on your long travels from town to town, east to west then south to north, but his company was all good experience. After all, he was the best sellsword for the job, merely a guard for you whilst you continued your researches; the sight you needed when you turned your back.

Your team's campaign had led you and your small faction to head further up north, to a small village of Oakendenn full of proud and efficient warriors, the bird folk that had carried the same customs for centuries, evoking both fear and wonder into those who bumped into them. Granted, their seclusion from the world had been brought down quickly when travellers and researchers intent on learning about them came rushing at the chance, ruining their solitude for good.

Stepping foot into their quaint town was certainly a spectacle, having to meet your guide to finding such remains high up in the mountains of Fallde Slopes– if the slopes didn't kill you, the snowstorms could freeze the group within hours if they didn't take the right precautions or clothing.

"You say there is a guide who will help us?" The small dirk in your hand was smooth and unused, still brand new as the day you had gotten it. You were situated in the town itself, in a cramped yet warm inn that was all opened up to the elements, trying to remain unaware of the cold stares of the innkeepers.

"He's one of the finest warriors, apparently. Familiar to the lands and every speck of snow that litters this land," Calder's laugh was hearty. "Must pity us for our lack of feathers and wings."

"The Aarakocras are fierce, brutal they are with fighting as they are as with foreigners." If there was one thing you learnt, it was that not all the people you ran into would be so welcoming. "Careful you don't offend them. We need their apparent aid."

Calder grumbled something as he tended to the flames of the room, poking them occasionally. "Sooner to be done with this job and we can get out of their feathers, huh?"

"That's it, just think of it like that. And soon, you can be back to the warmth of the south."

"Thank the Gods," Calder smiled sadly. "I don't think I could spend another day away from my little Zerlina." You remembered the girl when you were riding out: a sad, tearful girl the spitting image of her father, tight dark hair so wild and knotted. You had remembered the night before the trip you had brushed them out gently for her the way your mother used to do for you. Just to help Calder out.

The poor man is a good father overall. Even if he doesn't see it.

"She'll be so happy to see you again, Calder. She misses her father dearly." You reassured quietly, watching the man again. He was worn and beaten, littered with scars and thick, burly arms. He longed for home too.

"I hope so too." He stretched, saying his goodnights to you and the others before heading to his cot to sleep. You followed, heading to your own bed before you couldn't find sleep, wishing you had someone to wait for you too.

Even when you remained aloof, you still tried to remain somewhat friendly to strangers, even to the guide who had gone out of his way into helping you. But they certainly what you had been expected.

"It seems I have to be a tour guide for your pesky expedition, hmm?"

The smile from nerves of introducing yourself to him had fallen from your face after hearing the words so sourly come from him. It didn't take much for you to build up the walls high again.

Your hand faltered, just in reach for him to shake, awkwardly pulling away. "So, you're the Enzo we were expecting?"

The first thing you noticed about him was how vivid his feathers were: the brightest compared to his countrymen. Many of reds, oranges and yellows, like red sands of the far south of your home; beaten and threaded like a thousand coppers. It made the winter sun far in the north much more lively. By far the prettiest of the others. You admitted, but only could you wish his personality was as lovely as his appearance.

Another thing you noticed about him was his wings: they were separate from his body, large and tucked behind his back, his hands similar to any humans but with long and curled nails for fingers. His bird body was dressed in what looked like traditional garbs: leather and a basic tunic and pants, his taloned feet poking out and tapping against the ground.

"Your boss was the one who called for me, asking if someone capable of knowing their way around these parts, clearly, you humans don't know much about us Aarakocras," he jeered, eyes a lovely golden colour even when they were staring intimidatingly down at you. "So, you're the one they call the Doctor?"

Clearly too prideful, I've noticed. You scoffed. All too stubborn like the snowstorms. "That is correct."

"So I've noticed," Enzo crossed his arms around his broad chest, the amusement was pooled in those eyes as if he was in on the funniest joke around. "Clearly all of your studies have gone to a degree than in common sense."

You pondered whether it would've been ideal to punch the bird square in the face, or whether provoking him would end with your untimely demise.

Instead, you squared your shoulders, straightening your posture as you pointed just behind him. "You see Fallde Slopes over there? Its hills have been receding in the last 100 years, meaning any day now, your village could be woken up buried under layers and layers of snow. The snow stops here, meaning you and your people could be facing the demolition of this region and its inhabitants." You crossed your arms too, copying him. "I'm just trying to help unless you think my studies had gone elsewhere?"

Enzo scoffed, a puff of feathers that ruffled up. "Let's just resume to what we're good at, hmm?"

-

If travelling anywhere had taught you anything, it was that you shouldn't trust any higher-ups, believing everything will be smooth sailing.

The reports and samples scattered across the slopes, dancing dangerously too low to the cliff edges, some succumbing more than others, and those in your group scrambled to save them. Enzo remained arrogant as ever, doing little to help and rather smugly watching the ordeal, complaining often that your group were "walking too slow" and "we were running out of time for sunlight".

You were situated in the corner, silently taking note of what was around of little life preserved, before the beating of wings perked your ears. Snow crunched delicately when the Aarakocra stooped beside you, watching with soundless intent.

"So, this is what you do?" He grazed at a small patch of dirt you had brought up beneath the heavy snow. "Looking at dirt and grass?"

"All of this hold important information for us to understand how the landscape is changing," Enzo couldn't help but to have his attention piqued when he heard how almost automatic your response was, informing rather than belittling him. When you looked up to meet his eyes, it was hard to gauge his reaction: head tilted, seemingly drawn in from how far leant to you he was beside you.

He quickly dismissed it, pulling back from the noticeable closeness, and the burning feeling in your chest fluttered too quickly for your liking. "Whatever keeps us alive, I suppose."

Another presence came over to the two of you, heavier than of the Aarakocra. "You think you could help me with this?" Calder was looking over at Enzo, who, also was staring with narrowed eyes at the bearded man.

"Yeah sure," you gave an awkward glance to both men, realising something was piercing the silent air. "Is something going on?"

"No," Enzo, puffed his chest out, giving Calder little regard as he turned his head. "You go off with your dog, I'm needed elsewhere."

You watched him walk away before turning back to Calder, head tilted. "I'm going to pretend nothing happened there."

"Agreed," Calder affirmed, pointing you towards the deeper parts of the woods where the treelines met and increased in sizes and numbers. "I think I might've found something."

"Lead the way." You gestured for him to take the lead, directing you through the trees. The snow was freshest in these parts, untouched and light, airy. A wonderland was discovered in a small corner forgotten from the world. Beautiful. You marvelled. I will never get bored of seeing this.

"What's wrong, Calder?" He stopped you when the two of you reached the middle of the area, overwatching the large view, the mountains dipped and the view from the top pointed directing to the Oakendenn, situated right in the opening of the valley. "It's right in target," Calder addressed, thick eyebrows knitted. "And that means a direct hit for the snow to collapse in on it all."

"We could have a day, week or years before this region is completely smothered." You noted wretchedly. All these reports, research and hypothesis, yet you felt like it all went to no use. It seemed like everything was too late, that hard work going down the drain. "I wish we could've done more."

"And we have, do not fret," Calder reassured, patting your shoulder that you needed from a comforting friend. "And we will do so much more. Let's head back to the others, keep all together."

Right, but still, I feel useless. You dusted the remaining snow off your warm clothes, trying to remind yourself of the crunching snow below, your foot sinking with every few steps. Like everyone relies on you all the time. The only sounds that were heard were the distinct soft crunches of the two of you heading back, before one wretched and horrid resounded, echoing along with the trees, some birds fleeing from their branches of homes.

You looked back to Calder, who looked back in confusion, listening closely to the cracking of the earth as if it had split open. Your right felt for a second as if it was sinking lower, taking your body with you as all your body weight brought you down so suddenly, snow following too, making your body crash into it with force as you waded chest-deep through it.

Your voice was sudden and nervous, watching the ledge you once stood at grow taller and taller above you, a weightless feeling take over your body, the scream of your name as unknown darkness settled around you before you could hit the ground.

-

The first time you had seen snow, you had been seven, marvelling in wonder with friends at how magical it all seemed. Never did you worry about the eternal cold, of it encasing your entire body and leaving you worthless and alone. You always had the warmth to rely on: warm blankets and hot cocoa and fire to share stories around. The cold was sore and biting, an eternity of nothingness but yourself.

You didn't know how long you had been trapped in darkness: how long you had gone unnoticed or remembered. Maybe this was it... just oblivion and emptiness. You tried to invasion your limbs, your fingers trying to tread through the snow like it was water; too thick to even pass through, but trying and trying to feel your fingers and toes wiggle again.

You clawed and clawed slowly until the darkness lightened and that bleakness turned to hope. You kicked your body out as you breached the surface, coughing and spluttering weakly, an invasion of pure cold and ice felt trapped in your throat.

You laid there with your head against a block of solid ice and snow, trying to steady your breathing, the cold and winds were never-ending, never giving your body a break as all felt numb.

I'm going to die out here. You thought. Will my story be told again? You wanted to laugh, to call for help, but your throat was stinging from its frostiness.

There was a distant, soft sound of tree branches moving and swaying, how the dead leaves swayed and moved with long, drawn moans, wings of small birds flying off from the abrupt noises. The flapping of wings never ceased, ringing in your ears, reminding you didn't have wings yourself to fly off from this nightmare. It was only when you could open your eyes was when you saw the blurred large figure descend in front of you, all feathers and intimidating, you wished to cry out in pain for your misery, but once your eyes focused, did you noticed something familiar about it all.

A rush of feathers, brown and red, as pretty as coppers.

"So, there you are." Enzo's voice was merely a whisper among the howling winds, flapping slowly to the snowy plains in front of you, his body inches from you towering easily over your small frame. You made no noise or voiced your frustration for his words, weakly looking up at him as best as you could.

The blowing winds cast a glow behind his silhouette, watching the Aarakocra bend to kneel in front of you. "Hey," his voice surprised you, a feathered hand on your shoulder, shaking you with almost impatience. "Don't die on me, you hear?"

"Shut up," the words came weakly from you, luring you to sleep, his figure blurring again until you saw three of him, vision dotted. "Enzo..."

"Hush." He wasted no time in collecting you in his arms, cuddling you close to him as he carried you. What shocked you most was how incredibly warm he was, unaffected by the vast cold. You instinctively snuggled closer into his chest, shutting your eyes and shuddering. "Let's get you out of here."

You didn't respond, feeling how there was a surge of air moving around you both, your body growing lighter and head more lightheaded as he flapped his wings, the winds more biting against your exposed face and neck.

The harsh winds or the cold went straight to your head, pulling you in and out of consciousness, wrapped tightly in the arms that allowed you to feel a sense of safety to slip beyond the darkness, to rest your eyes for a moment.

-

There was an aching drive for warmth that slowly spread through you, taking over your body, making you want to drink it in greedily. When your eyes opened once more to a flickering flame, dancing and roaring, filling its beauty in the room. Just opposite you in the small room, knelt Enzo, tending to something he was pouring into a bowl.

"Where are we?" Your voice felt worse with wear, hoarse and not tended to. Enzo flinched, his feathers bright and shimmering against the colour of the flames, making him seem like a risen phoenix, an enigma in your eyes.

In his hands, the bowl was passed to you, his own in hand as he watched you gauge your reaction, before answering, "A cave I found, a few days out from Oakendenn."

"And the others? And Calder-"

"For the love of the Gods, can you for once think about yourself?" His words weren't snappy or aloof, more full of weary and strain. He laughed tiredly. "Honestly, little doctor, do you think before you go out so recklessly?"

Your cheeks rouged at the little nickname, ignoring it for the time being until it would nag the part of your brain for answers. "All in the name of science."

"Yes, well there won't be any science if you're frozen to death." He hesitated momentarily, before slipping a warm blanket around your shoulders, securing it carefully. "You're still a valuable asset."

To who exactly though? You questioned, silently snuggling into the blanket further. There was a strong smell of mint that was strong in your nostrils, pleasant and warm, luring you to tranquillity. It smelt a lot like him somehow, and your heartbeat raced with bashfulness.

You watched from your peripheral, the Aarakocra shuffling to sit beside you properly, his gaze never seeming to leave yours. “You’re doing an awful lot for me, Enzo.” For someone who dislikes me, and I, supposedly too.

But even that seemed like a lie. Enzo scoffed, his laugh light and airy like the frozen air. “Seems to me someone is just enjoying the company.” He shuffled closer to you, awkwardly throwing an arm around you for further comfort. “If you manage to not become a human popsicle, maybe—just maybe, will I show you around my hometown.”

Not only had his soft words thrown you off, but the feeling of his arm around you seemed not to be of great surprise. “What do you mean?” You scrambled for the right words.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of humans in my time, taking them up and down these mountains,” he said. “Not one of them had wildly gone down one of the slopes. You think that can go so smoothly with me and my reputation?”

“Your reputation, huh?” You laughed, spluttering into it when it tickled the back of your throat harshly. Enzo had placed a cup of water on your lips hastily, eyeing you with fake disdain you hoped. “You have a great reputation for the ladies or something?”

“Hmph, if that’s what humans like to think of it, then no.” He snorted, his eyes shifting. In this low, dim light, they seemed to be practically glowing. “Gods, that sounds terrible.”

There was a laugh shared between the two of you for a moment, onlooking the fire soundlessly, an unexpectedly calm atmosphere settling. You sighed, resting against his shoulder, resting your head into the bed of warm feathers, the smell of mint intense. “I’ll take that promise if you’re keeping with it.”

Enzo laughed warmly, shutting his eyes, the body growing slack as he hummed quietly to himself. “That’s good to hear.”

-

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[2tired2study]

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

[themadamespod]

Sharon Carter: A Study in Selfishness

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spotlighted some hard truths. Beyond its real-world parallels, it’s changed our perspective on the MCU. And on the heels of the finale, we can’t help but reflect on how we got here.

It feels like ages ago that an alien invaded Earth believing it was his right to do so. This madman imposed his will upon a whole planet. He wielded god-like power over an entire species. He took the lives of countless people, leaving the rest to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. 

In doing so, he became one of the most beloved characters in the MCU.

So why is it that many of the people who adore a monster are now so disappointed with Sharon Carter?

Easy. Loki is a man. 

Angels and Demons

Relax, everybody. This is not an anti-Loki treatise. I’m writing this post with a Loki poster behind my chair, a Loki mug on my desk, and a Loki t-shirt on my back.

To be fair, it helps that the God of Mischief is played by one of the most charming, attractive men in Hollywood. But Emily VanCamp is no slouch. She’s a beautiful, talented actor who elevates any project. So why are people upset that she’s the Power Broker?

Women aren’t supposed to veer from familial or cultural expectations. 

Women aren’t supposed to put themselves first. 

Women aren’t supposed to seize power in a man’s world. 

The events of Civil War alone had a tremendous impact on the characters we love. Sam and Bucky’s respective ordeals changed them forever, and The Blip forced them to adapt even further. So many people are praising their growth in the TFATWS finale, and we’re among them. But it’s frustrating to then see comments like these:

“Omg wtf is wrong with Sharon? That is NOT who she is!”

“Since when is Sharon evil? That ain’t her.”

“Sharon is totally a Skrull. The Sharon we know would never turn her back on everything she stands for.”

Guess what, folks? Just like Sam and Bucky, the Sharon we once knew no longer exists. She, too, changed and grew - right out of the box that the patriarchy built for her. And people don’t know how to handle it.  

Double Standards

Misogyny is so deeply woven into the fabric of our society that a lot of people, women included, often don’t see it. But it’s in almost every facet of daily life, leaching into our brains like a toxin. And TFATWS called Marvel out on it by illustrating a simple fact:

Men and women who behave in the same way are treated very differently.

A man who tramples others for a promotion is ambitious. A woman is a conniving bitch.

A man who sleeps around is held up as a ladies’ man. A woman is looked down upon as a whore.

A man who logs extra time at the office is a good provider. A woman is neglecting her family. 

Despite centuries of fighting for our right to exist, women are still brainwashed to be and be seen as lesser than men. We’re expected to conform to roles meant to keep us subservient. We’re told that caring for others is more important than caring for ourselves. 

Sharon Carter received the same cultural programming. And it’s likely that she felt familial pressure (either explicit or implicit) to follow in Aunt Peggy’s footsteps, whether she wanted to or not. 

And follow she did.

Sharon joined S.H.I.E.L.D. She fought armed HYDRA agents. Then she sacrificed her life, her career, and her freedom for the greater good. And what did she get for it?

The same thing women always get when they put everyone else’s best interests ahead of their own. 

She got fucked. 

A Matter of Perspective

Let’s pretend the TFATWS finale had gone differently. The Power Broker is a previously unseen bad guy, a Wilson Fisk type. After the U.S. government branded her as a fugitive and the Avengers forgot her, Sharon has just been trying to survive in Madripoor.

Nonetheless, she helps Sam and Bucky neutralize Karli. Sam secures Sharon’s pardon and she reclaims her former post as a dutiful C.I.A. agent.

Talk about disappointing; that would be like watching a woman return to a man who beats her. 

In reality, Sharon is revealed as the Power Broker. After the people for whom she gave everything betrayed her, she built a lucrative business from scratch using a canny brain and the skills S.H.I.E.L.D. taught her.

Now for those who are incensed by Sharon’s turn because she’s selling weapons, please see Exhibit A:

Even after Tony Stark stopped manufacturing weapons for the U.S. government, he continued making them for S.H.I.E.L.D. If memory serves, he also created a sentient murder-bot that leveled a city before nearly annihilating mankind.

Tony’s intentions were noble, but that didn’t make him any less responsible for a humanitarian disaster. The Sokovians would have been well within their rights to demand Tony’s arrest and incarceration.

But we love Tony, so we don’t like to go there.

And speaking of the U.S. government, let’s be real. American politicians wouldn’t condemn Sharon for illegally selling weapons to dangerous groups. They’d condemn her for cutting into their own profits. 

If there’s one thing the U.S. government excels at, it’s creating and arming terrorists. Sharon’s just running their playbook.

Redefining Selfishness

In all fairness, some people’s disappointment over Sharon’s arc has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with heroism. For this discussion, see Exhibit B:

Ever since Steve Rogers got his happy ending with Peggy Carter in Endgame, the Marvel fandom has been divided into two camps.

Camp 1: Steve is a selfish bastard who abandoned his family, his country, and the world when they all needed him the most.

Camp 2: Steve did more than enough for his family, his country, and the world when they all needed him most and deserved his happiness.

I will always be a card-carrying member of Camp 2, which is one reason I exited my Endgame theater as a human ball of snot. 

Steve Rogers gave enough for his country even before he was defrosted. He liberated a POW camp behind enemy lines. He defeated Red Skull. He saved countless lives by crashing the HYDRA bomber into the arctic, sacrificing his own life in the process.

And when he was resurrected after 70 years, did he stop and smell the roses? Read a book on the beach?

No. He saved the world. Again, and again, and again.

It’s incredibly noble that a life with Peggy is all Steve wanted. Think about Michael Bay’s uber-patriotic Armageddon. Those roughnecks had quite the list of demands for saving the world, all of which seemed perfectly reasonable because, hello, they were saving the world. 

So what does this have to do with Sharon Carter? Well, if you’re in Steve Rogers Camp 1, you likely see Sharon as a selfish bitch. I’ll make the same argument in her defense:

She’s given more than enough for others. She has every right to now put herself first.

We as women need to redefine selfishness. It’s been weaponized against us for far too long. We have to reframe it as a positive concept whereby we simply make our needs a priority in our own lives. 

If more women embraced selfishness, we would be unstoppable. 

Oh, and if you’re in Steve Rogers Camp 2 but still disappointed in Sharon Carter, you’ve got some hypocrisy on your chin. Might want to wipe that off. 

A Final Note

Alice Walker, who knows a thing or two about feminism, once said, “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”

When the name “Power Broker” was first dropped on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, it felt cheesy. But now it seems like the perfect title for a woman who not only refused to give up her power, but actively sought more. 

Sharon Carter is unequivocally selfish, but that doesn’t make her evil or even wrong. 

It makes her one powerful woman. And we can’t wait to see her again. 

[rachelbethhines]

Vintage Shows to Watch While You Wait for the Next Episode of WandaVision - The 60s

So the 60s is the era that Wandavision pulls most heavily from for it’s inspiration. So much so that one could make the argument that each of the first three episodes are all set in the 1960s. Episode one pulls from the early 60s with multiple Dick Van Dyke refences, episode two is very Bewitched inspired, and episode three is aesthetically very similar to The Brady Bunch which started in ‘69. As such it was hard to narrow down the list for this decade and I had to get creative in some ways. 

1. The Andy Griffith Show (1960 - 1968)

The Andy Griffith Show gets kind of a bad rap now a days for being, supposedly, a conservative’s wet dream. People claiming it as such have apparently never actually seen the series. Oh yes, it’s very much set in white rural 60s America and will occasionally present the obliviously outdated joke, but the story of a widowed sheriff being the only sane man in a small town full of lovable lunatics, who prefers to solve his and others problems with negotiation and hair brained schemes as opposed to violence has far more in common with modern day Steven Universe than whatever genocidal fantasy fake rednecks have in their heads.  

As the gif above shows Andy Griffith was very subtlety progressive for its time. Andy was a stanch pacifist, pro-gun control, treated drug addicts and prisoners with respect, and all the women he would date had careers, ect. and so on. It’s not a satire making any sort of grand political statements but the series had a moral center that was far more left than many realize. 

But if it’s not a satire, then what type of comedy is it? 

The Andy Griffith Show excels in what I like to call, ‘awkward comedy’. See everyone in Mayberry is far too nice to just come out and tell a character they’re making an ass of themselves, so therefore whoever is the idiot punching bag of the episode’s focus must slowly unravel as everyone looks on in helpless pity until said character realizes the folly of their ways and the townsfolk come together to make them feel happy and accepted once more. Wandavision takes this polite idyllic awkwardness and plays it up for horror instead of laughs.  

2. The Dick Van Dyke Show (1961 - 1966)

The creators of Wandavision actually met with Dick Van Dyke himself to pick his brain and learn how sitcoms were made back then. Paul Bentley also took inspiration from Van Dyke in his performance of the sitcom version of Vision, while Olsen stated Mary Tylor Moore had a heavy influence on her character of Wanda. But more than just being a point of homage, The Dick Van Dyke Show was hugely influential in modernizing the family sitcom and breaking a lot of the unspoken traditions and ‘rules’ of the 50s television era. It’s also just really, really funny.  

3.The Alfred Hitchcock Hour (1962 - 1965) 

Bit of a cheat here. Alfred Hitchcock Presents actually started in 1955 as a half hour anthology show, but in ‘62 the show got a revamp and was extended into a full hour tv series. I knew I wanted The Twilight Zone to be covered in my episode one recap, but ‘The Master of Suspense’ couldn’t be forgotten. While The Twilight Zone reveled in the surreal and supernatural, Alfred Hitchcock pioneered the thriller genre and made real life seem dangerous, horrifying, and other worldly.   

4. Doctor Who (1963 - present day) vs Star Trek (1966 - present day) 

Just like how westerns dominated the air waves during the 50s, science fiction was the center of the cultural zeitgeist of the 60s. From Lost in Space to My Favorite Martian, space aliens and robots were everywhere. So naturally I had to name drop the two sci-fi juggernauts that still air to this today. If you thought that the rivalry between Star Wars and Star Trek was bad then you’ve never seen a chat full of Whovians and Trekkies duking it out over who is the better monster, the Borg or the Cyberman. But which one has the more influence over Wandavision?

Well Star Trek owes it’s existence to sitcoms. As with The Twilight Zone before it, Star Trek was produced by Desilu Productions and it’s co-founder and CEO, Lucille Ball, was the series biggest supporter behind the scenes, lobbying for it when it faced early cancelation. As with all things sitcomy, everything ties back to I Love Lucy in the end. However despite that little backstory, it would seem that the series has very little to do with Wandavision itself beyond being quintessentially American. 

I would argue that Wandavision owes much to Doctor Who though. Arguably more so than any show mentioned in this retrospective. Time travel, alternate realities, trouble in quite suburbia, brainwashing, people coming back from the dead, ect... just about every trope you can find in Wandavision has also appeared in Doctor Who at some point. As a series that can go anywhere and do anything, Doctor Who was a pioneer of marrying genres in new and interesting ways. 

5. Bewitched (1964 - 1972) and I Dream of Jeannie (1965 - 1970)

It’s hard to pick one series over another because they’re essentially the same show. A mortal man falls in love with a magical girl who upends their lives with magic filled hijinks as they try their best not to have their secret discovered by the rest of the world. And both have their fingerprints all over the DNA of Wandavision. 

There’s only two core differences; Samantha and Jeannie have completely different personalities, with Sam being confident and knowledgeable and Jeannie being naïve and oblivious, along with their relationships with their respective men, Sam and Darrin being married and in love at the start of the series and Jeannie chasing after Tony in the beginning in a will they/won’t they affair, finally only getting together in the last season. 

6. The Munsters (1964 - 1966) vs The Adams Family (1964 - 1966)

Fans of these two shows are forever sadden that there never was a crossover between them. Because they’d fit perfectly together. Both shows are about a surreal and macabre family living in American suburbia and disrupting the lives of their neighbors with their otherworldly hijinks. Sound familiar?     

The main difference between the two shows is the way the characters viewed their placement in the world they inhabit. 

The Munsters were always oblivious to the fact that didn’t fit in. They just automatically assumed everyone had the same personal tastes as them. Whenever they encountered anyone who behaved strangely around them they would write that person off as being the odd one rather than questioning themselves. As such the main cast was structured like a stereotypical sitcom family who just happened to be classic movie monsters. 

The Addams were well aware that they were abnormal and they loved it! They lived life with in their own little world and didn’t care what anyone thought of them. As such the characters were far more colorful and quirky as individuals but there was little in the way of refences to other horror franchises beyond just a general love of the twisted and strange. 

7. Green Acres (1965 - 1971) and the Rual-verse (1962 - 1971)

So the MCU is not the first franchise to bring viewers an interconnected universe to the small screen. Far from it, as sitcoms had been doing this for decades, starting with the ‘rualverse’. Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction, and Green Acres were all produced by the same company and were treated as spinoffs of each other, complete with crossovers and shared characters and sets. 

Of the three, the last show, Green Acres, has the most in common with Wandavision. A well to do businessman and his lovely socialite wife settle down in small town America on a farm in order to get away from the stresses of city life, only to find new stresses in the country. Eva Gabor, herself a natural Hungarian, plays the character of Lisa as Hungarian making her one of the few non-native born Americans on tv screens during the cold war. Despite her posh nature and original protests to the move, Lisa assimilates to the rural life far easier than her husband, Oliver. Who, as the main comedic thread, can’t comprehend his new quirky neighbors’ odd and often illogical behavior.  

8. Hogan’s Heroes (1965 - 1971) and Get Smart (1965 - 1969)

So as comic fans have been quick to point out, it’s looking like both A.I.M. (Hydra) and Sword (Shield) will be players in the story of Wandavision. To commemorate that here’s two shows to represent those opposing sides. Although in truth, neither series has anything else in common with each other but I need to condense things down someway. 

In Hydra’s corner we got Hogan’s Heroes. A show all about taking down Nazis from within. 

I love, love, love, ‘robin hood’ comedies where a group of con artists try week after to week to pull one over the establishment. The Phil Silvers Show, Mchale's Navy, and Top Cat, just to name a few examples are all childhood favorites of mine. However while those shows had a lot of morally ambiguous characters, Hogan’s Heroes has very clear cut good guys and bad guys, cause the bad guys are Nazis and the show relentless makes fun of the third reich as should we all. In fact I was watching Hogan’s Heroes while waiting for the GA run off election results. Fortunately my home state decided to kick out our own brand of Nazis this year. 

For Shield, we got the ultimate spy spoof, Get Smart. Starring, Inspector Gadget himself, Don Adams, as the bumbling Maxwell Smart. Get Smart, is a hilarious send up of Cold War espionage but the real selling point of the show, imho, is Max and his co-worker 99′s relationship. You can cut the sexual tension in the air with a knife all while laughing your ass off. 

9. Batman (1966 - 1968)

First was Superman and then came Batman. Yet while Superman was a serious action show, Batman was a straight up comedy. Showcasing that superheroes could indeed be funny. 

Also shout out for Batman being the only show on this list to have an actual crossover with it’s competitor, The Green Hornet. 

10. Julia (1968 - 1971)

Since episode two features the first appearances of Herb and Monica, let’s highlight the first black led sitcom since the cancelation of Amos ‘n Andy over a decade earlier. The show focuses on single mother and military nurse, Julia, as she tries to live her life without her recently decease husband, who was killed in Vietnam, as she tries to raise their six year old son on her own.  

The series is cute. It’s more of a throw back to earlier family sitcoms where there’s no fantasy and life lessons are the name of the game. It’s the fact that the main character is a single black woman is what made the show so subversive and important at the time. 

Runner Ups

There’s much good stuff in the 60s, so here’s some others that didn’t make the cut but I would recommend anyways. 

Car 54, Where Are You? (1961 - 1963)

I call this the Brooklynn 99 of the 1960s. Bumbling but well meaning Officer Toody longs to do good in the world and help anyone in need, but often screws things up with his ill thought out schemes. He often drags his best friend and partner, the competent but anxiety riddled, Muldoon into his escapades. 

Mr. Ed (1961 - 1966)

The grandfather of the sarcastic talking pet trope. 

The Jetsons (1962 - 1963 and 1985 - 1987)

Hanna-Barbera often took popular sitcoms and just repackaged them as cartoons with a fantasy theme to them. The Jetsons has no singular show that it rips-off but is rather more a grab bag of sitcom tropes that feature, robots, computers, and flying cars. 

The Outer Limits (1963 - 1965) 

The Outer Limits was The Twilight Zone’s biggest competitor in terms of being a sic-fi/horror anthology series. 

Gillian’s Island (1964 - 1967) 

The only comparison to WandaVision I could think of was that this is a sitcom about people being trapped in one place. But by that point I was running out of room on the list. Still it’s one of the funniest shows on here. 

So yeah, this took longer than expected cause there’s a lot, here. Hopefully the 70s will be easier. Which I’ll post on Friday. 

[wraithsoutlaws]

🌌 MILKY WAY, ✂️ SCISSORS, 🌪️ TORNADO, ☄️ COMET for Dagger, Al, Casey and Lilith, you pick what you wanna answer for each 😌 and 📦 PACKAGE for all of them :)

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

For Lilith, i knew i wanted dagger to have a kind of second-in-command, someone who would balance him a little bit, a more grounded counter weight to his personal brand of chaos, so that was the initial idea behind her. appearance wise, she was early on inspired by punk!storm from x-men, and i kinda wanted her to have that specific brand of authority about her, too. the first thing i decided about her was that eventually she will betray dagger (:

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

For Al, it takes a lot for her to cut someone out. and most times she won’t do it at all if she can help it. she has chronic “I see the best in people” disease and it’s definitely gotten her into trouble before. but she’d much rather help someone through their struggles and to inspire them to be their best than give up on them, even if that means she gets her shit stolen or drawn into a bad situation every now and then. she simply chooses to believe that everyone deserves second (and third) chances

🌪️ TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

For Dagger, he's pretty much the only one who had a relatively noticeable change, but even then this was the super early idea I had for him. originally he was going to be much more stoic and cold and joyless. a black hole compared to v's sunshine but i wasn't very attached to any of it. it took me a couple times tweaking his appearance before i settled on his final look and as soon as i did, his personality just sort of rewrote itself and i simply Did Not Fight It.

☄️ COMET - what do people assume about them? are they right?

For Casey, people really assume that he’s a idiot. he’s pretty gullible and doesn’t always have the best common sense and he doesn’t often think ahead. but he’s actually really intelligent and book smart. put almost anything in front of him and he can take it apart/rebuild it with ease and explain exactly how it works, he knows several languages, and is freakishly well read. now getting him to utilize all of that is a different thing entirely, but the fact remains he’s definitely not an idiot.

📦 PACKAGE - what are some “most likely to…” that can apply to them?

Dagger: Most likely to become a cult leader

Lilith: Most likely to survive an apocalypse

Al: Most likely to accidentally join a gang

Caesy: Most likely to create a Frankenstein monster (and treat it with love)

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

Hey Maddie, thanks for answering my question about internalized biphobia, it helps knowing someone else, a well-known activist no less has dealt with or talked about it.

You don't have to answer this, or feel free to link to a different post since I'm sure you've answered things like this countless times, but I think those thoughts specifically come up when I find a man attractive--recently there's been a really attractive mail man that comes in to where I work but that's a different story lmao. Although sometimes they come up without reason too. It is silly and frustrating, (and other synonyms), because like I've said, I accepted and love that I'm bi and I thought I'd gotten over those hurdles but I guess not/they still linger. My attraction to men can be and is queer and it doesn't take away from my liking women.

I suppose it can be challenging to get over radfem talking points when that's sort of what you grew up consuming, specifically the "all men bad" one, since it's used as a joke a lot.

The shitty thing about biphobia is that it's like... you can't catch a break. No matter whom you are attracted to there's this nagging anxiety that you're doing it wrong for one reason or another. When you (a woman) have a crush on a woman there's the whole load of (internalised) homophobia and a fear of being "too queer" in a society that's still overwhelmingly heteronormative. Then when you have a crush on a man you get the fear of being "not queer enough" and that fear gets amplified by biphobia from within the queer community.

So, again, I can only recommend to keep reminding yourself that there is no right or wrong way to be bisexual and that any experiences you make will always be through the lense of bisexuality/queerness. That does 100% include your attraction to men.

Bi women have overlapping experiences with straight women and with lesbians but that doesn't mean we are off-brand versions of either of them. We are our own thing with our own understanding of sexuality and the way gender plays a part in it or not.

Monosexism (the idea that a person can only be attracted to exactly one gender and thus bisexuality doesn't exist) has created this idea that any attraction you have for one gender takes away from your capacity to also be attracted to another gender. That's also where the biphobic sentiment comes from that we're all eventually going to "choose a side". But committing to one person (if we want a monogamous relationship) doesn't mean that we have turned off a part of our sexuality.

To come back to your message (sorry, I'm kinda going on long tangents in these asks lately): it's pretty common for bi women to have those internalised biphobia moments especially as a response to experincing attraction to a man. It's always along the lines of "not queer enough", "choosing heteronormativity" and "betraying the sapphic community". All of that is stuff I have read on this blog before and heard offline from bi women. But attraction to men is something amazing, it's beautiful, it can be fun and sexy and exciting because men have the same capacity to be beautiful human beings and great partners as women and non-binary people. Men aren't inherently worse people or "monsters" or whatever radfems try to make us believe. Men are also just... people. Some of them are assholes, some of them are sweet and kind and funny and loving and sexy.

So, maybe just try to celebrate your attraction to men in the same way as you celebrate your attraction to women. One isn't "worth" your pride more than the other. All parts of your sexuality are inherently enriching and exciting and you're allowed to enjoy all of it and get pleasure out of all of it.

Very concretely that means that you might have to cut out any radfem-y stuff that still crosses paths with you - offline and online. Got a friend who's very anti-men? Distance yourself. Follow a blog that posts stuff that even smells the slightest bit of biphobia (even just bi erasure) or radfem rhetoric? Block them. And fill those holes by connecting to the bi community and making bi friends aka people who understand you, people who accept you as you are and don't question any of it.

Maddie

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 40

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

AO3

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The Alp didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the Alp being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the Alp than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the Alp would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We both could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a no. And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

***

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was married? “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. I’m the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

“I can do this all day,” Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

“Good, Mister Barnes,” a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. “Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

“If you want to learn about demons,” Bucky cut him off with a snarl, “you can go to Hell.”

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,” the man behind the camera observed. “Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t right.

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,” the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, “he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?” he eventually asked. “Your dear Captain, perhaps?”

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

“You do hunger for your Captain?” the man continued. “Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, “F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… never…”

“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,” the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. “Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

“No.”

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. Hated him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.

Next Chapter

[revengerevisited]

So I’ve been kinda dancing around my original story idea for a little while, and I got this idea in my head of ‘what if I release chapter 1 and then get feedback without telling anyone what the story is about first so it’s more of a surprise?’ But honestly? I’m realizing since I already released a preview-of-a-preview for chapter 1, and it might be a little while until I finish chapter 1, plus I honestly kinda feel like I’d rather work on sketches of my character designs than write at the moment, I might as well go ahead and tell you guys. X’3

So! I watched a couple anime recently both centered around the premise of... monster girls! These being Monster Musume and Monster Girl Doctor, but then I noticed there’s also Interviews with Monster Girls, A Centaur’s Life, and the infamous Interspecies Reviewers, and I asked myself... Monster girls are pretty popular right now, yeah? But where’s all the monster boys?! And that’s how I got the idea! I re-watched some of my favorite anime based on Otome Games, Kamigami no Asobi and Uta no Prince Sama for inspiration as well, and a few ones I hadn’t seen before like Dance with Devils and Magic-kyun Renaissance for inspiration as well.

So now I’ve got my premise that I shared earlier: This is the story of Millie, a young woman down on her luck who happens to live in a world where monsters aren’t just real, but commonplace. She started working as a maid in a mansion-turned-art-school whose students are a group of very attractive monster boys. The twist is that these aren’t just any monster boys; they belong to various rare and exotic species with deadly reputations...

Note that character and place names are technically place-holders for now and may change if I come up with better ones. Now, I don’t wanna spoil anything story-wise, but I think I can introduce my setting and some of the characters that you’re gonna meet. The story is set in a modern setting, though it’s vague if it’s actually Earth or just some generic world similar to it, as I try to avoid referencing real-world places or events. This is a world where humans and monsters live together after a Great Interspecies War happened in the past, but tensions have mostly relaxed by the time the story takes place. The war could be thought of as the equivalent of our own World War One, one in which there was a truce decided after many years of stalemate fighting.

The city everything takes place in is tentatively named Dullahan, and was built directly after the war to commemorate peace between human and monster kind. It’s considered an artistic cultural center, and it’s got a lot of interesting entertainment places to go to, arcades, theaters, aquariums, etc, that the characters can have a lot of different shenanigans in. The other main setting is the Beaufort Academy of the Arts, which was actually a mansion that was converted into a small private school. This is where all the characters live, and our main character Millie works as a maid there.

Before I go into the characters, I should start with the various monster species. There are 12 species, divided into 2 groups: common monsters and exotic monsters. The common monsters are centaurs, harpies, lamias (snake people), kobolds (dog people), ogres, and merrows (mermaids). These species are all pretty standard, and will be mostly background characters and npcs. The main characters, and love interests for Millie, will be of the exotic variety: arachnes (spider people), sirens (deep-sea mermaids), mandrakes (plant people), dragons, manticores (with a liontaur body-type), and scyllas (octopus people).

So what differentiates a common monster from an exotic one? Well, while the Interspecies War was between humans and monsters in general, some monsters were already at least partially integrated into human society, and the rest followed soon after the war ended. These monsters were almost as common as humans, and either herbivorous or omnivorous, with the exception of the carnivorous lamias who prefer to eat eggs over anything else. On the other hand, the so-called ‘exotic’ species were not only much more rare, but they had a very different food preference... one which earned them the now derogatory nickname... man-eaters.

Naturally, most ‘man-eaters’ weren’t exactly welcomed into human --nor common monster-- society with open arms, not that most of them wanted to. For the most part, species as powerful and dangerous as them didn’t want to play nice with those they had once --and in some cases still do-- regard as prey, and so hid away into the furthest reaches of the world. Which of course makes them perfect material for all our leading men and Millie’s various love-interests!! Oh yes, while all of these monster boys are perfectly civilized --well, for the most part-- they still belong to species that many both human and monster alike continue to fear to this day. While they aren’t exactly fish out of water (well, except for the siren) there’s still plenty of awkward misunderstandings and interesting scenarios that can be played out.

So! Let’s have a quick run-down of the characters, keep in mind that none of these names are final and could change later on. First there’s Millie, a hardworking young woman who’s had a recent streak of bad luck. Through a misunderstanding she gets hired as a maid in a mansion-turned-art-school. She’s very sweet and tries her best to help others, but she’s not as innocent as she appears; she’ll understand your innuendos just fine, even if she doesn’t really say any herself! Next is Richard and Lara Beaufort, a husband and wife who run the school. Richard is rather laid-back, yet he’s also a master of all kinds of art, painting, sculpture, photography, dancing, singing, you name it! Lara is his arachne wife, a rather boisterous woman who owns a high-class fashion company. The secret to her clothing’s success?? Arachne silk, of course! The school was her idea, a way to help better integrate exotic species into society. Will her mission succeed? Only time can tell.

Richard and Lara have a son named Simon, our first love interest and a human-arachne hybrid who takes almost entirely after his mother in the looks-department (hybrids tend to look like one species or the other, rather than a mix of both). He’s a bit withdrawn due to dealing with bullying as a kid; most people --human and monster alike-- are afraid of his spider-like appearance, so he doesn’t get out much-- to the point his parents worry about him being a shut-in for life! He’s also a gamer boy, and has a secret soft side for gothic poetry, although he doesn’t want to join his parents’ art classes. He actually disapproves of his mother’s exotic species integration plan, as from what he’s experienced he feels it’s a waste of time.

Simon’s best friend and Millie’s second love interest is Louis, a mandrake who lives in the woods behind the manor. Louis is extremely shy and more than a bit lonely, even more so than Simon, and he doesn’t speak very often out of fear that the sound of his voice will hurt others around him. Mandrake screams can induce insanity or even kill those that hear them, hence his fear. Being part plant, Louis has mild shape-shifting abilities and is able to transform between child and young adult forms at will, although he’s actually the oldest of the group. He also isn’t a student at the art school, although he has an interest in floristry.

Now for our actual students! Forrest is a manticore, which in this world means he has a body similar to that of a centaur, but with the lower half of a lion instead of a horse, and a scorpion-like tail tipped with a deadly venomous stinger. Despite his species’s name literally meaning ‘man-eater’, Forrest is extremely friendly and cheerful, and is very sporty too. His passion is photography, and he also loves eating food-- any sort of meat dish is fine by him! He’s also a fan of fantasy tabletop roleplaying games, and will often make references comparing them to everyday life; he always plays the knight who saves the princess!

Anthony is a childhood ‘friend’ of Forrest’s, though he’s loathe to admit it. Highly intelligent and highly snobbish, Anthony fancies himself an intellectual-- and he’s not exactly wrong. Being a dragon, he likes to hoard things-- in his case, knowledge. Anthony loves to read, and is most often found in the library. His skill is in drawing and painting, and all his paintings’ invariably morose subject matter worry Millie. Still, this haughty dragon could definitely learn to loosen up a little, and be a little more kind; perhaps his stay at the academy --and his interactions with Millie-- will open his mind to appreciating the feelings of others. He does, at the very least, greatly respect Master Beaufort as a master of the arts.

The other two students are denizens of the sea, and have been friends for a very long time. Emil is a scylla, and like all scyllas he’s a little eccentric, and just can’t seem to keep his tentacles to himself! While Forrest is obsessed with eating, Emil’s true calling is cooking, and he loves making all kinds of dishes, especially anything seafood and/or foreign. Emil also is highly appreciative of women’s fashion, and absolutely adores everything to come from Madam Beaufort’s clothing brand-- so much so that he actually wears them himself! His pretty-boy looks and penchant for wearing women’s clothing actually has Millie mistake him for a girl at first, though he’s very much unafraid to show her his romantic side, or at least what he interprets as romantic... 

Keeping Emil’s pervy antics in check is our sixth and final monster boy, Oswald! As a siren, Oswald spent most of his life in the sea, and still has a lot to learn about humanity. He’s a pretty cool guy but gets a bit embarrassed about his species’s troublesome past as the cause of many shipwrecks at sea, and would prefer to not discuss it. His passion is rock music, and his main instrument is the guitar. He also loves to sing, but refrains from doing so due to the hypnotic effect it has on other species. His lack of legs, tentacles, or a snake-like tail means that like other merrows and sirens he requires a wheelchair to move around on land, and often feels frustrated that he can’t show off how adept he is at traversing water. He’s also easy to embarrass and obsessed with not allowing anything to ‘ruin’ his manly image, including allowing Millie (a girl!) to help carry him around.

So there you have it, all my monster boys! I left out a few things, as those would be major spoilers, but those are my ideas for the characters for now! I’ll try to draw and post some sketches of their designs later. Hopefully I haven’t forgotten anything, but this won’t be the last time I talk about monster boys. Any questions or comments would be very much appreciated! Nsfw questions are allowed (all the boys wear pants for a reason, after all), though I’m currently not sure if this series will be 16+ or 18+, if you catch my meaning. Lemme know how interested you are in this story, or if you’re not interested please let me know that too! 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Braid Braid

Summary: One day Mabel asks her Grunkle Ford to braid her hair, but ever since he went out to investigate an anomaly with Dipper instead, the fact he couldn’t deliver her simple request plagued him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, Ducktective, it seems you’ve quacked the case.”

“Quack, quack, quack.”

Mabel laughed as she continually brushed her hair; the show may have ended ten months ago, but she was convinced that Ducktective was real and would never die, so she happily watched reruns whenever she could. She sat in her grunkle’s chair with her case of hair things, having already finished her sweater for the day, and she planned to play with her long hair while she watched TV. She heard footsteps and casted her eyes to her left. Soon an old nerd came into view and she grinned. “Hey, Grunkle Ford!”

“Hello, my dear.” He smiled at her. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching TV.” She then lit up as a brilliant idea came to her and she held up her hairbrush and glittery bag full of hair clips and hairbows. “Wanna braid my hair?”

Ford held up a hand as he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Mabel, but I don’t know how to braid hair…”

“I can teach you if you want!” The girl offered happily. “I bet you’d be great at it!”

Just then, Dipper came down the stairs called, “Hey, Grunkle Ford! Ready for our mission?”

“Indeed!” Ford gave him a high-six and the boys headed for the door.

“Where are you two going?” Mabel asked.

“I convinced Ford that we should investigate the Hawktopus further.” Dipper answered. “No anomaly is too stupid to look into.”

“We’ll be back by dinner.” Ford promised as he opened the door. “If not, then assume the monster ate our flesh.”

“See ya later, sis!” Dipper called and the boys were gone.

“Bye!” Mabel yelled after them through the door happily, but her happiness slowly went away as sad thoughts occupied her brain. “Have fun. Without me.”

The teenager slumped in the chair, the sounds of the TV unable to penetrate her thoughts. She knew her grunkles loved her very much, but sometimes she wondered if Ford liked Dipper way better than he liked Mabel. She could understand Ford liking Dipper a little bit more than her, because they were so similar, but it sometimes felt like the Sweater Twins only had sweaters in common and that’s it.

The more Mabel thought about it, it was no wonder Ford liked Dipper way more than he liked Mabel. Stanford Pines was an experienced scientist who had been all over the Multiverse, traveling for thirty years, and was as tough as nails and as strong as an ox; no one like that would want to hang out with a girl who likes glitter and make-overs and other girly things. No wonder Ford would much rather hang out with Dipper than her. Mabel didn’t blame her uncle, but it still kinda hurt.

She wished there was something they could both do. Something Ford and Mabel liked to do. Something no one would only be doing to spend time with the other. Mabel loved adventure and weirdness and exploring, but maybe Grunkle Ford only wanted that to be a Dipper and him thing, which was fine! So Mabel racked her brain for anything he would want to do with her, but she couldn’t think of anything.

To get her mind off of it, she went into the kitchen to get a drink of Mabel Juice and then to maybe hang out with Grunkle Stan, play some cards or throw water balloons at each other. She didn’t really feel like playing with her hair anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hawtopus investigation proved to be more difficult and more enjoyable than Ford had predicted, so after dinner and the kids had gone to bed he yawned into his hand and ventured into his bedroom to take a shower and go to bed. He entered the clean space and slipped off his trenchcoat to hang it on the coat track, and as he did so his eye caught something bright purple and sparkly. He smiled as he saw a bundle messily wrapped with coloring paper and tied up with red ribbon, glitter added for some “pizzazz” as Mabel would have called it.

Ford gently picked up the package and sat on the couch with the gift on his lap. He couldn’t contain the huge smile on his face as he unwrapped the gift. There, cushioned in wrapping paper and on his lap, was a brand new sweater. Ford grinned and held it up for a better look at the new turtleneck. It was blue, his favorite color, and had a beaker with atoms swimming around it, something science-y for him to display proudly on his chest. Mabel had made him a sweater once before, a new red one with a golden six-fingered hand on it, and now he was honored with two sweaters.

He made a mental note to thank Mabel with hugs in the morning. As he stripped for his bath and turned on the shower, he wondered how in the world Mabel found time to do this, to make so many sweaters in such a short amount of time; she seemed to miraculously make a sweater every day! Then his mind toyed with the idea of her working on the sweater while watching TV, but then he remembered that Mabel had been doing her hair and had asked Ford to braid it.

Under the warm water, the old scientist felt like a rock had been dropped in his stomach. He realized he might have hurt her feelings to choose to bond with Dipper rather than her, considering the boys always seemed to be together. Ford was aware that he accidentally showed favoritism in one twin, something he completely didn’t intend to do, and not only had he done so, it had hurt Mabel’s feelings. He had hoped countless messages and phone calls and video chats between summers had assured Mabel that Ford cared about her, but it was very possible that she might need a reminder every so often.

To make it up to her and to reward her for her kindness and patience with a special treat, Ford racked his brain for what to do for her. The only thing that stuck out was the way she had innocently asked her grunkle to braid her hair. Taking into account that no one in the family seemed to do “girly” things with her, at least not nearly as much as she does “boyish” things with the men in the family, Ford made up his mind.

After the shower and dressing in his new sweater, dark pants, and trenchcoat, Ford snuck out of the house to do some research. The library was closed, but Ford had no problem sneaking in and settling in a desk at the dead of night, reading books on the History of Braids and the Origins of Dreadlocks and literally any hair-themed book and magazine the library had; he even read up on hair-dying techniques for whenever Mabel had the desire to try something new.

The books didn’t feel enough. After a quick cup of coffee at a gas station, Ford hurried up the hill for his best friend’s manor. He knocked on the door urgently and waited a minute or two for Old Man McGucket to come to the door, rubbing his eyes with a bathrobe over his green flannel pajamas. “St-Stanford? Whazza matter?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, buddy, but it’s very important.” Ford pressed, his arms full of books and magazines he had borrowed without permission from the library. “I need to learn how to braid hair for Mabel and I was hoping I could use your mobile computer.”

Fiddleford blinked through his thick green glasses and smiled a half-toothy smile. “This is an emergency. Anythang for Lil’ Sweet Tea! C’min, c’min. Want some coffee?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Long into the night, the old researchers acted just as seriously as they did back in the day, except they weren’t unintentionally creating a gateway to Hell. McGucket dug up some more books from the Northwest’ private book collection in the lounge and Ford used the laptop to do some more recent, or “trendy”, findings. To he and McGucket’s amazement, the internet was full of videos showing exactly how to do all sorts of hairstyles. From coloring hair to cutting it to braids and ponytails, all kinds of hair from straight to messy curls to somewhere in between could be learned to tame with a few clicks on a computer.

“Bingo!” Ford said, readjusting his glasses, and he quickly got to work, just as enthusiastic as he was about earning another PhD or discovering a new anomaly. Fiddleford had a very hard time keeping the smiling eyes off his friend as he watched him get so excited about a feminine activity, one both men had been deprived of due to a lack of females in their lives but were eager to explore.

The next morning, Mabel yawned into her fist and skipped cheerfully down the stairs for a glass of orange juice to start the day. She heard the front door open and close and she was surprised to find Ford coming home. “Grunkle Ford, wh… Aw! You’re wearing your new sweater!”

Ford grinned and nodded. “Yes, I absolutely love it! It’s almost as beautiful as you, my dear. Thank you very much.”

Mabel blushed and drank some juice. “You’re welcome! So, where have you been? Out on a morning walk?”

“Something like that.” Ford said with a shrug. “So, would you still be interested in me braiding your hair?”

Mabel gasped and cried out, “OH, YES PLEASE! I’ll be right back!” And the young girl ran off to get her bag of hair things.

Ford sat himself in his brother’s chair and Mabel soon returned and plopped in his lap when he petted his right leg for her. Mabel gave him the hairbrush to detangle her bed-head and said, “Okay, so it’s easier to start by parting it into sections…”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear.” Ford said calmly as he brushed her hair lovingly. “I’ve done my research.”

Mabel had on idea what he meant by that, but she shrugged and decided to let him do as he pleased. She had braced her skull for a bit of tugging as it was sometimes difficult to brush tangled hair, but Mabel was pleasantly surprised to find Ford being as gentle as a kitten and brushing her hair so gently she could hardly feel the pull on her scalp, and yet she could feel the knots becoming undone and progress being made. She grinned and said, “Wow, Grunkle Ford, you’re really really good!”

It was a good thing she couldn’t see how red his cheeks turned. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. You truly have very beautiful hair.”

“So do you! It’s so fluffy and cute! After you braid your hair can I braid yours?”

Now Ford’s whole face was as scarlet as a king’s robe. He knew his hair was a bit harder to manage than Stanley’s but he never considered it to be cute or fluffy. “I see no reason why not.”

“Yes! I’m so excited! You really are very beautiful, Grunkle Ford.”

Okay, who gave this young lady permission to be this adorable? There were several dimensions in which it was illegal. “Th-Thank you, Mabel, but really I’m not… B-Beautiful is a more suitable term for wom-”

“Nu, uh!” Mabel interrupted and shook her head only a little bit, trying to be still for her uncle as he brushed her hair. “Daddy says anyone and anything can be beautiful. If a flower or Christmas lights or an animal can be beautiful, then girls and boys can be beautiful. And also girls and boys can be handsome!” Mabel added to drive her point further home.

Ford chuckled and it made his niece’s chest feel warm. “That makes sense. Thank you, Mabel. So, did you feel well last night?”

“Yeah! I had a really funny dream!”

“Oh, what was it about?”

The conversation spilled into swapping stories of past dreams. While Ford’s dreams from the past mostly contained nightmares, he could recall a small handful of dreams that were positive spins on his imagination and he happily recalled them with Mabel. As their talk flowed so easily, like water, Ford detangled all of Mabel’s beautiful hair and then began to braid. He wanted to impress her with something big and elaborate, but he wasn’t confident in his skills yet and this was his first attempt, so he met in the middle and did something a bit more complicated than a simple braid but he wasn’t nearly ready for a boho wedding braid.

With his tongue between his teeth, Ford carefully tied the braid close and held his polydactyl hands away to inspect his work. “Okay, I think I’m done.”

“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Mabel squealed and pulled out a mirror to see her uncle’s work. She was silent with a hard-to-read expression on her face as her eyes fell on her reflection. She tilted her head and the mirror to see the back of her head to see the braid and remained silent.

The braid started as two side braids at the back of her head, but they trailed down and combined into one big, lush braid that hung loosely from the bottom of her skull and trailed down her back. There were one or two times the braid didn’t match the rest of the hair piece and Ford thought the big braid was too loose now that he took a second look at it.

His face fell a little as he was concerned that she didn’t like it and was trying to hide her disappointment. Ford knew he should have interviewed some hairdressers before attempting to do Mabel’s hair, but he had been so excited that he had become reckless, just like always. “I’m sorry, Mabel, I understand if you don’t like it…”

“I LOVE IT!” Mabel had finally conjured up the strength to grin, the wind had been knocked out of her from pure delighted shock, and her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled as she admired Ford’s work. “IloveitIloveitIloveitILOVEIT!!!” She squealed loudly and was bouncing in Ford’s lap. “Look, Grunkle Ford, look! You did SUCH a good job! I’m so pretty now! That’s the best braid I’ve ever seen! ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!” And she spun around to kiss his cheek and she hopped off of him. “I’m gonna go show Dipper! DIPPER! LOOK WHAT GRUNKLE FORD DID!” Mabel yelled as she ran as fast as she could.

Ford was as still as a statue as his niece’s kind words ringed in his ears like cheerful bells. He wanted to smile, but all he could manage was a tearful look as he used all his might to try not to try, his eyes wet and shiny and his lips pressed together. He chuckled at himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose and composed himself. Soon Mabel was skipping back to him and leaped back into his hold to hug him and nuzzle her face in his shoulder.

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford, I love it.” She repeated.

Ford hugged her back tightly and rubbed circles into her back. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Thank you for letting me braid your hair.”

After one last squeeze, Mabel climbed up the armchair to sit on the back so she was behind Ford’s head. She held out a hand for the hairbrush and said, “Your turn!”

Ford grinned and handed her the sparkly hairbrush and felt himself relax as his scalp was treated to the gentle sensation of his niece brushing and caring for his gray fluff.

[embrythecall]

a twilight tag game, you say?

pick 5-10 characters and write your take on the canon version of them vs. fanon version of them. fanon doesn’t have to be what is generally accepted in the fandom, it can be your own idea of what you think a character is like. then tag the same number of people as characters you pick, if you can.

I was tagged by @teamjacobthot -- thank you so much! I’m excited to get into this :) 

EMBRY 

(obviously because i adore him with my whole soul) 

Canon:

chill aka probably just shy let’s be real here

likes to bet on things? 

seems to have the most common sense

Fanon:

HERE WE GO, EVERYBODY *cracks knuckles*

def the smartest one out of him, jake and quil. 

an observer. definitely a people watcher. he reads the VIBEZ

very, super, ultra, mega sarcastic. almost cynical. I feel like he’s probably a realist in a lot of situations rather than either an optimist or a pessimist. probably leans a little more towards pessimism though 

refuses to learn about his dad (though, I personally believe it’s Joshua Uley, but that’s a long headcanon for another day unless someone specifically wants to know my thoughts on it more haha)

a super romantic without knowing he’s a romantic? 

real tight with his mom-- they’ve only ever had each other since old daddio has been out of the picture the entire time and she’s probably never really dated (once again, i have more thoughts on that too but you know, i digress)

also i SUPER headcanon that he almost ALWAYS only refers to her as, “Ma,” unless it is a serious situation in which he uses ‘mother’ but i do NOT feel like he is a ‘mom’ person. at least for his own mother. 

honestly these are just all my own headcanon i have no idea what people think about him :S 

for me, i think him and Jacob are closer than Quil is to either of them. In my mind, when embry’s mom Tiffany first got to town, she became really good friends with Sarah Black and thus, Jacob and Embry have kind of been friends since birth, quil only coming in a little later maybe and just not having the same kind of friendship that embry and jake have

I think him and Leah secretly get each other. Like they don’t talk much or anything, but Embry never makes comments to or about her and doesn’t participate in the guys being absolute jerks to her. 

also, he just guzzles that respect women juice. like, he was raised solely by his mother so like... he was taught to respect women and also i think this makes him more empathetic to other people which is why he wouldn’t be mean to leah or say mean things about her because he’d understand to a level and might even see pieces of his own mother in her because they both were screwed over by men and he never EVER wants to be that to anybody ever

probably plays guitar but NEVER shows anybody 

usually the but of a joke between jake and quil. 

also the decider in arguments between jake and quil

i have a zillion more but i’ll quit while i’m ahead

also

is a slut for muffins

QUIL ATEARA V

Canon:

he thinks he’s a ladies man (thinks) 

more outgoing?

likes hanging out with friends 

took his cousin to prom 

Fanon:

so, so, so funny as in a total dork with a lot of unearned confidence

book smart but NOT street smart

prefers name brand foods over generic because it just ‘has that extra something something’ and also, class

loves to debate with jacob. he always ends up taking it somehow more seriously than jacob does. 

i actually do not know why nobody talks about quil i feel like he’s super underrated and actually hilarious.

@teamjacobthot‘s one of this tag game mentioned he was a soundcloud rapper and i think i DIED so imma also go with that and second you there

very particular about how things are done 

a lover of the puns

toy story is his favorite childhood film, and he announces it as so. 

LEAH CLEARWATER

Canon:

angry and bitter 

thinks nothing more than of sam 

hates vampires 

sassy

Fanon:

i absolutely LOVE practically every fanon i’ve ever seen of leah in the fandom like...ever. they are all so amazing and i actually just want tons and tons of fanfictions about all of them

Ngl, i really am a big AngelaxLeah fan

BUT 

I PERSONALLY hc that leah gets fed up with being in the pack and she feels like there’s really nothing there for her. She ends up leaving la puzb to go off and explore the world-- she wants to see it and experience more than just the memories and the life that surrounds her in la push. she travels all over and often does so in wolf form when she can. I HC she imprints there-- on a real nice super cool lady from some other country. (this is another thing i could go on for days about, i will write a fanfic about it one day. ONE DAY i shall PREVAIL!) 

Honestly, i really do like Leah as she was canon. I think that it was the way everybody acted around her that i would change and i feel like the fandom as a whole agrees on that 

like yeah, Leah is a badass bitch with a great sense of humor. she’s witty and sarcastic and smart and wise and i just love her to pieces. everyone else just needs to wise up and be nicer

JACOB 

Canon:

super supportive and kind and loving and understanding and THEN smeyer swooped in and DESTROYED MY BOY. 

like, don’t even get me STARTED on my feelings about what she did to her OWN CHARACTER 

i mean really

smeyer straight up didn’t know what to do with him so she did... all of THAT. it makes me want to wheep.

Fanon:

the fanons out there on Jacob are just... they are SO WONDERFUL and give me SO MUCH JOY 

i’ve heard him being a mechanic obviously, i’ve heard about the HILARIOUS details of his friendship with like, alice and rosalie and emmett like... that shit is so funny i live for it 

i could read jacob fanons all day

i guess personally, i just love to bits. he’s super patient. very funny but also is really understanding and can (and loves) to get into deep discussions about stuff and listen to other people’s passions and share his own. 

purposefully pushes quil’s buttons so he can get a rise out of him because he LOVES their dumb bickering and enjoys a good debate 

is also almost always right in those debates 

quil probably won like... twice in all of history and it was based on some kind of weird trivia fact he learned in a biology class or something lol

i bet that when the time came he had kids (not with you-know-who obviously cause just...no), he’d be SUCH a great dad and he’d be SUPER hands-on with them, like always taking them places and teaching them how to do various stuff

and if one of his kids was really into something he didn’t know how to do, you KNOW his ass is up on youtube all night long learning how to do it so he can spend THAT MUCH MORE TIME with his kids 

oh he’s just so sweet love him to pieces 

RENESMESS

...I had to do this but i have a good reason:

Canon:

exists

Fanon:

absolutely does NOT exist

who?

the only ONLY acknowledgement i will give her is i read a fanon somewhere about how she HATES her name. like she is downright royally not okay with it and when she gets older and has to go to school for eternity with her family (weird. seriously so weird but i’m pushing through this) she decides to announce that she is only going by this other name (personally i feel like it’s Carlie because it’s still her middle name and jfd;akfsd but also because it’s A NORMAL NAME) and so she is never called renesmee again because that is straight up a monster name and even her nickname is a monster so like, ugh. 

also, i REFUSE to believe that Jacob imprinted on her, okay? if she has to exist, he did NOT imprint on her and they can be buds or something but just... no. (i have so many issues with imprinting guys, i should just sit down and write a long post about it but the ENERGY and it isn’t like it’s not all things that have been said before. it’s more what I’d fix about it so it could still exist but not be a legit code word for grooming and an excuse for blatant p*d* grossness because that’s all it is and i HATE THAT) 

so I don’t talk to anyone in the fandom really because i don’t really know how to start conversations like... at all. I really WANT to talk to people but I’m a chicken and i have a hard time, BUT, i really admire so many of the blogs on here and i LOVE so much of their content. Off the top of my head, i shall tag: 

@chiefjacob @911esme @jacobblackredemptionblog @embrycallsmuffin @leahclearwaterdefensesquad AND anyone else who wishes to do this! it was so much fun! I say do it! and if you’ve already done it, i just tip my hat to you for being an awesome blog :) 

seriously! tag me when you do it, i want to see your answers!! 

[asimawv]

I write and conceptualize story to music, so I’ve compiled a playlist of 30 Darkest Dungeon-specific songs that I listen to when writing (and subsequently re-writing) in no particular order, which I hope will help you set the vibe too. :+)

Names in bold are links for easy listening - tons of Hozier and Of Monsters and Men up ahead, five minute warning.

1. ‘Fire and the Flood’ - Vance Joy

If you listen to nothing else on this list, listen to this one - it’s the kind of song that’s made for movies about yearning. Folk influences, choruses of trumpets and vocal harmony, and instruments that are layered for a rich, resonant sound. This is the song I imagine Dismas and Reynauld horse-racing through a crowded outdoors market in the hamlet to, and the song I listened to nonstop freshman year when I first started writing The Myth of Sisyphus.

You're the fire and the flood And I'll always feel you in my blood Everything is fine When your hand is resting next to mine Next to mine You're the fire and the flood

The chorus is built around biblical allusions to the fire (the burning bush signifying first contact) and the flood (destruction of the first world), the beginning and end. Every line is similarly evocative of Darkest Dungeon in their simplicity (“I’ve been getting used to waking up with you,” etc.)

2. ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ - The Oh Hellos

By the title alone you can guess who this is for. Even the Guild quote for the Leper approaches these three things as the defining parts of his character (specifically it’s “a ruined man, a warrior, and a poet.”) This song coincidentally has an old world influence to it, with a Medieval Renaissance style from a guitar playing a lute-adjacent melody.

There will come a ruler Whose brow is laid in thorn Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord

To be smeared with oil is to be anointed by a prophet and thus chosen by god himself to be king, just as David was and his boy after him (presumably Solomon). There’s something strangely wistful about the imagery, which is just how I like my songs about bygone kings.

3. ‘Exit Hymn’ - Bear Attack!

This song is about the end of the world in a version where everyone simply stands together in silence watching, rather than having the masses swarming in panic.

Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters. Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters Mute.

It defies Lovecraftian horror, which is based on the premise that “common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large” - it flies in the face of existential nihilism and the despair that it should bring us. That’s why I like this song for deaths in the end-boss fight; it also has a special place for other death-related ideas, like full-party wipes - entire teams of people vanishing into the dungeons, gone insane, holding hands while the darkness surrounds them.

It’s a bare song which has a sanctity to it, mostly just piano and rain and human voices. Just what you would hear at the end of the world.

More under the cut:

4. ‘Pursuit of Glory’ - Jhameel

This song is laid-back. It doesn’t have the Homeric intensity that some of the other songs here do - it’s a guy with a guitar and vocal harmony. By god is it a great piece of writing though (all of Jhameel’s older songs have that quality to them), and all of it is evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

So many eyes set on the path to glory Too many ties, friendship is for the lonely Can't still my heart, my tongue has tasted folly Thirsty for art, hungry for power and money

This is a song for everyone in the barracks, especially the ‘laundry list’ of people and their approaches to the pursuit of glory.

5. ‘Good Old Days’ - Macklemore (feat. Kesha)

This fucker put a Macklemore song in here. I did, yeah. It’s not even the only song with Kesha in it here (I’m sorry.) 

It’s a sentimental pop song, and I am sentimental to a fault. This is Darkest Dungeon AMV material, and I always mishear one of the lines as “we were underground, loaded mercs in that 12-passenger van” so it’s here.

We've come so far, I guess I'm proud And I ain't worried about the wrinkles around my smile I've got some scars, I've been around I've felt some pain, I've seen some things, but I'm here now Those good old days

6. ‘Past Lives‘ - Kesha

Here it is, the other Kesha song - this was introduced to me by a good friend, also in a Darkest Dungeon context. There’s just something about the lovers spanning time trope and finding each other in one life to the next that is irresistible (for the obvious reason in the context of Darkest Dungeon.) It’s a soft song, totally out of place in Kesha’s typical discography, and has a line about losing someone to the crusades, so... you know.

There's just somethin' about you I know Started centuries ago though You see your kiss is like a lost ghost Only I would know But I, I keep on falling for you Time after time Time after time

7. ‘Viva la Vida’ - Coldplay

You cannot fight this. You know that this is the song for King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, you know it is. Did you know the official name of this genre of music is “Baroque pop”? Yes, that means more songs like this exist. You will live with this information now.

Don’t fight it. Just let it wash over you.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing Roman Cavalry choirs are singing Be my mirror, my sword and shield My missionaries in a foreign field For some reason I can't explain Once you go there was never, never an honest word And that was when I ruled the world

Mirror, sword, and shield, the three other members of his party, his missionaries in a foreign field. Thinking emoji. I typed that out so I wouldn’t have a repeat of the crab emoji incident.

8. ‘The Boxer’ - Jerry Douglas (feat. Mumford & Sons, Paul Simon)

Partly inspired by the Bible, Simon & Garfunkle’s ‘The Boxer’ is a folk rock song about poverty, loneliness, and homesickness. It’s written and sung in a style that’s strongly reminiscent of older times, and the final verse about its eponymous boxer is particularly powerful:

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains

This is what I use for Dismas’ life leading into organized crime and his foolish abandonment of stable job prospects in a half-baked bid for fame, as well as being punched down over and over again but with nowhere else to go. That last part is widely applicable across the cast.

9. ‘I Will Wait’ - Mumford & Sons

I am but a simple man. I see 'folk rock' and add it to my Darkest Dungeon playlist. This song I use for Reynauld - it has that sort of “salt of the earth,” somewhat biblical humility in its choice of words and style. 

Raise my hands Paint my spirit gold And bow my head Keep my heart slow

10. ‘Little Lion Man’ - Mumford & Sons

Have we not beaten this song to death yet? Can you blame us? This is the people’s song. We reserve it for all of our favorite fuck-up characters, as primal as Saturn devouring his son. We love this song. Jesus.

Tremble for yourself, my man, You know that you have seen this all before Tremble little lion man, You'll never settle any of your scores Your grace is wasted in your face, Your boldness stands alone among the wreck Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck

The line about learning from your mother in particular is why I think of this song for Dismas’ introspection, but I also associate it with the Hellion.

11. ’From Eden’ - Hozier

There’s too much Hozier in my playlists. There is so much of it, and it’s all important to me, says the hoarder. There’s something about profoundly intimate folk music that I love, and god put folk, R&B, blues, and alt rock into a Vitamix for 45 seconds to make Hozier.

Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

‘From Eden’ is, according to Hozier, about idolizing someone from a distance, written from the perspective of the devil “looking longingly at something he desires - for everything that he does not have.” I associate this song with the Grave Robber for its playfully nihilistic tone - Audrey does say something to the effect of being left for dead by high society and the affectionate bordering condescending address is on-brand.

12. ‘Cherry Wine’ - Hozier

‘Cherry Wine’ is unabashedly about domestic violence, and its sincerity is heartbreaking, the sanctification of the blood spilled in the name of keeping her.

The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

This song is strongly tied to the Vestal for me.

13. ‘Work Song’ - Hozier

A song about unconditional love - heaven and hell were just words, indeed.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

I think of this song for both Dismas and the Abomination - it’s a song about love transcending spiritual and even physical need, complete devotion, but something about it is also not quite right. It’s morbid and excessive, self-pitying, and almost ugly in its sincerity.

14. ‘Sunlight’ - Hozier

The strong gospel influence with the choruses, church organ, religious fervor - I think it makes a great song for traveling scenes and church/altar scenes.

I had been lost to you, sunlight Flew like a moth to you, sunlight oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight (sunlight, sunlight) But it is sunlight

15. ‘Arsonist’s Lullabye’ - Hozier

The gospel this time is paired with electric rock instrumentation. Something about the lamentation is unapologetic and matter-of-fact in its disturbing inclinations - this is Paracelsus’ song. Arguably representative of Bounty Hunter and Flagellant as well.

Now that I think about it, it’s great for Abomination as well. Damn.

All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash

16. ‘We Sink’ - Of Monsters and Men

Of Monsters and Men are closer to the indie rock/pop spectrum with influences of folk, with much less biblical influence and more folklore-inspired lyrics. They make for great trailer and action songs.

We are the sleepers, we bite our tongues We set the fire and we let it burn Through the dreamers, we hear the hum They say come on, come on, let's go So come on, come on, let's go

In Lovecraft’s Cthulu mythos, dreams are how the Old Ones commune with humans on the earth’s surface while they slumber in the ocean depths (Cthulhu fhtagn meaning “Cthulhu is dreaming”); I like to think of the ‘sleepers’ as the heroes being tasked to “set the fire” and the ‘dreamers’ being the Heir and Ancestor driven by some unseen force to unearth the antediluvian underground.

17. ‘I Of The Storm’ - Of Monsters and Men

Very somber song, overwhelmingly piano and snare drum and vocals. Also a great death scene song, or for introspection around the campfire, or played to reveal a major event.

If I could face them If I could make amends With all my shadows I'd bow my head And welcome them

18. ‘King and Lionheart’ - Of Monsters and Men

My favorite OMAM song - it’s clearly written about two children, kind of reminiscent of ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ in its fantastical nature, and very upbeat about the end of the world.

His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind Though far away, though far away, though far away We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same

This part is reminiscent of the Leper’s journey, but the mentions of taking over a town, howling ghosts, the end of the world, a black sea and creatures lurking below, etc. are all evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

19. ‘Little Talks’ - Of Monsters and Men

Also very upbeat for its subject matter - according to OMAM, it’s a narrative of a woman speaking with the ghost of her dead husband, or going insane and believing that she’s speaking with her dead husband.

Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear 'Cause though the truth may vary This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

The call-and-respond style of the song is haunting. I like this song for expeditions and afflicted heroes.

20. ‘Wolves Without Teeth’ - Of Monsters and Men

Suitable for both Occultist and Abomination, being consumed by an unseen and otherworldly force that inhabits them - well, maybe just rarely seen, in the Abomination’s case. Special mention to OMAM’s ‘Human,’ same conceptual backing but more raw.

You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it He wants it

21. ‘Desierto’ (Original Motion Picture Score) - Woodkid

This is a full album, because all of it is dark orchestral cinema music described as ‘unsettling,’ with the sole exception of ‘Land of All,’ which has vocals to it. I reserve this album for writing fight scenes and for particularly unsettling events because it’s tense and wordless. I read Junji Ito to this soundtrack too, it’s insanely high-strung and discordant.

22. ‘Iron’ - Woodkid

‘Iron’ qualifies as Baroque pop - you might recognize this as the Assassin’s Creed: Revelations song. The large-scale, cinematic style of it and thematic lyrics make it great for writing about dramatic encounters or brigands.

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't recall your eyes, your face

23. ‘Never Let You Down’ - Woodkid (feat. LYKKE LI)

Another somber song, orchestral with some industrial noise in the mix - another great introspection song, or one for a scene with some hard decisions to be made.

Will you come along cause I'm about to leave this town In my eyes, a waterfall, all I can hear, a siren call Could you be waiting by the shore, oh I could drown without you Will you be holding out the line when I fall?

24. ‘Run Boy Run’ - Woodkid

Church bells, fast percussion, strong orchestral presence. For chase scenes, obviously, but great for fast-paced sneaking scenes as well. Also has a strong quasi-Medieval fantasy setting style to it.

Tomorrow is another day And you won't have to hide away You'll be a man, boy! But for now it's time to run, it's time to run!

25. ‘I Love You’ - Woodkid

Don’t let the scream effects and aggressive percussion at the beginning deter you (it kind of took me by surprise the first few times too) - it soon fades into more of the church bells and melodic string accompaniment.

Oh yeah, unrequited love song? It’s free (mental) real estate, baby.

Is there anything I could do Just to get some attention from you? In the waves, I've lost every trace of you Where are you?

26. ‘Vagabonds’ - Grizfolk

A rare departure from folk! Grizfolk is alt rock/indie pop. Stylistically it doesn’t match the feeling of Darkest Dungeon, but lyrically it’s almost 1:1 to arrival in the hamlet and the subsequent expeditions. Good song for writing about recruits bonding.

Oh this careless ground, guessing this is home now Oh in no man's land, at least we're still standing And we're all just fighting, some of us will not return And there's no redemption in trying to find your way out

27. ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ - Lorde

Great trailer fuel, if you’ve seen the AC: Unity E3 trailer with this song - I listen to an extended version when writing fights in the Guild, especially one where two heroes are beefing. It’s got a primal kind of thing going on. I also associate this song with the Arbalest - lyrically, it fits her backstory like a glove.

Welcome to your life There's no turning back Even while we sleep We will find you

Acting on your best behavior Turn your back on mother nature

28. ‘Torches’ - X Ambassadors

More alt rock/indie pop - kind of a rallying song for dark expeditions, hopeful but still somber in nature - some gospel elements. X Ambassadors’ more popular ‘Renegades’ is also a fun tavern song.

Come on, carry your flame Carry it higher Leave it in the darkness Carry your torches

29. ‘Passing Afternoon’ - Iron & Wine

This is a song I use for reconciliation or domestic scenes - Dismas with Junia in the garden, for example. It’s soft and kind of meandering, and features vintage piano - you know, the piano you heard in the basement of your church turned community center as a child.

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

30. ‘Some Nights’ - Fun.

You know this song, your mom knows this song, everyone knows this song from like, middle school. Thought it’d be fun to end this list on an uplifting and very popular song. This is the song that a Disney adaptation of Darkest Dungeon would use in the Training Montage™ - from the point of view of Reynauld. It hits all of the points - being their commander rather than their equal, his stern and antisocial zealotry with no true ideology behind it, the ghost of his wife.

Verse 2, starting with “Well, that is it, guys, that is all / Five minutes in and I'm bored again” is where I see it transitioning to Dismas.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win (I always win) But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know

_____

Well that’s all from me! Feel free to leave your own recommendations in the replies, and I’d love to know what you think about my personal picks. :+)

[19mrs-barnes17]

Alike

Summary: You are a witch, but the Winchester don’t know just yet.

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: angst-ish

Word count: 2,452

A/N: Just a lil something I wrote because I had time. Enjoy!

~

“Do you know what time it is?” The dark sky barely lit with a splattering of stars was hardly any help in illuminating your brand new stalker friend. The figure was a man but you knew better than that, he was more than a man and you had a feeling he was more than a stranger. He had been following for at least 3 blocks, through alleyways and across streets. You glanced at your phone and paused, glaring the man down with a rather tired expression. “It’s three in the morning. So if you’re going to attack you better hop to it.”

The figure freezes in place, almost as if they aren’t believing what they see and are waiting for the illusion to fade. However, the longer you stood tapping your boot on the pavement the more keen he seemed in resuming his previous activity. The moment he started to gain speed his hand extended, face momentarily illuminating beneath a streetlight. Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

“Damian?” He sped up a little but not enough to make a difference, he was nearly upon you when the shot rang out. It’s echo hauntingly familiar to your ears. You had feared the sound throughout your childhood, always waiting for the day they came for you. The racing of your heart and the dropping of his body stunned you into silence, eyes staring in shock. It didn’t surprise you to see it, but it did surprise you that it was your ex who had bitten the bullet. He was a pompous ass, but still… Something about seeing someone you used to care about drop dead messes with your mind. Especially when you were terrified you were next.

“Hey, you alright?” Through all the chaos inside your skull you hadn’t paid much attention to the man standing beside you, hand reaching out gingerly. Your eyes met a pair that held a mixture of color swimming in an ocean of green. They seemed to change depending on how he stood and the way the lighting hit, it was a tad distracting. He wasn’t aiming his gun at you but you still didn’t trust yourself to speak just yet, only allowing a single nod. 

“Well he’s down, she okay over there Sammy?” While the man next to you had ever changing glimmers in his green eyes, you were fairly certain you preferred this man’s. An indescribable deep green, one that surpassed a forest and the typical candy apple green, they were one of a kind. And he seemed to know it, his smirk appearing as he studied your gaze.

“She has a voice and a mind of her own.” He held up his hands and apologized before extending a hand and introducing himself. Dean Winchester. He called the man next to you Sammy… Oh, you were majorly fucked if they even began to suspect you for a minute. The Winchesters? Damn you Damian! You were a shit boyfriend and you’re shit at hiding from hunters. Now you’re terrible taste in men was coming to bite you in the ass. Real fantastic. He’s at least dead, you however still have to deal with the hunters before you.

“You got a name?” You eyed him with a flicker of curiosity running through your veins, debating if the truth would kill you. A shrug and an introduction later it turned out it didn’t. They hadn’t recognized your family name, so they weren’t familiar with the witch families. That was good.

“Well, um, thanks I guess? Asshole cheated and blamed me, and the whole time he was a…?” You trialed off feigning ignorance, if you were going to get out of this alive you needed a cover quick. Since you were hardly shaken up, the sight of something you had dealt with all your life, a hunter seemed the best one. 

“Witch. You a hunter?” And so you played along, answering their every question and thanking the stars that you hadn’t brought anything but your Tarot deck with you. Why do you have it? If anything you could tell them the truth, you grew interested in Tarot and its guiding capability when you were young. Why had they never met you or heard about you? You kept a low profile and typically worked alone. What got you in? You sort of grew up with the supernatural as a part of your life. None of it was a lie, but it wasn’t a direct answer either.

Thus began how your lie wove itself into a truth, how you had begun to hunt and especially with the two boys. Never would you admit to your family what you were up to, but they were either in a different country or dead so you didn’t exactly have anyone checking up on you. Your life was fairly like a solo adventure, off in the world by yourself. In any case, you never dealt with witch cases. If they recognized you it was game over. The little family you had would ostracize you, even if you were killing witches who were murderers. Your family didn’t interfere in the lives of innocent people, they stuck with their own kind and were peaceful. But that did not mean that they were fond of hunters, or that they would accept that you had become one. None of them would understand, they would say you chose the side of the enemy. That you chose the people who killed your parents, almost you and your older brother as well. 

You knew it was reckless mingling with hunters, especially the Winchester brothers who were infamous in the witch community. Hunters tended to shoot first and ask questions later, even the boys would do so. It didn’t matter how close you were to them, how much you cared nor how much they did. As soon as the veil was removed you feared they would not hesitate to drop you and put a bullet in your skull. So you kept it inside, hid it deep away and never even gave a reason to doubt. When you moved into the bunker you moved your ingredients and charms, all your witchcraft items so to speak, into a storage unit. You had taken a day to pack but in reality it only took an hour or so to get all your necessities together, the rest was spent hiding your true self away behind a steel door and a combination lock. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dean sat on your bed holding your journal, fingers running across the pages solemnly and your mind immediately prepared for you to make a run for it. Fear crept into your heart, the aching of the betrayal on his face too much to handle. Your petrified eyes finally looked him in the eye and his gaze softened a little. The truth never should have made it onto those pages, but you had thought they respected your privacy enough to never look. It should have been under lock and key. “Why did you lie? Why keep up this charade?”

“None of it was a charade. I never actually said I was a hunter, just answered your questions vaguely enough with the truth so you wouldn’t kill me. What was I supposed to do Dean? Tell you I was a witch and watch as you shoot me? Feel the life drain from my body just as it did from my mother? From my father? Half my family has been slaughtered by hunters so please forgive me for not wanting to join them.”  

“You’re a witch. They were witches. Hunters find witches when they make themselves known, usually by killing someone. So I’m sure-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence because they almost killed a 7 year old girl that night. Her brother was only 10 years old and yet they seemed perfectly keen on murdering them in their beds where they slept soundly, still in the belief that their parents were alive. My family doesn’t interact with the outside world apart from normal things like grocery shopping. My mom had a gardening club for fuck’s sake. The only people they had a problem with were hunters who would shoot first, leaving their children parentless. But their solution was peace.”

“I-”

“You have a right to be pissed at me for not telling you something important about me. It could attract trouble, but you have no right to go after my family as if yours is a picture perfect example. You don’t know if you’ve orphaned children, so don’t come to the difference of a pair of murderers. I’ll pack my things if you’ll give me the chance of a head start.” Off you went to pack your life away again, a lump in your throat and a tightening in your chest.

"I thought…" Dean cleared his throat as he watched you stuff the duffle bag you had found. “I thought that you were one of us.”

Your body froze, the clothing in your hands dropping into the bag as a sigh passed through you. When you regained control you tilted your head to look at the man in the doorway, the one that it hurt the most to disappoint. The one you had grown closest to, despite all your common traits with Sam. You were infatuated with Dean Winchester but that was always a distant dream, but it hurt nonetheless to see it crumble. 

“I know it's the cliché sentence to say but I am still me, I swear I am. The only difference is now I can be more detailed when I talk about my family. What’s left of them anyway…” His gaze softened, he knew too well the feeling. “So I know witchcraft, there it is. It’s not something I chose just like hunting wasn’t something you chose. We’re more alike than you may realize, but I get it. You’re the hunter and I’m the monster. At least... give me a head start.”

His brow knitted, almost like he forgot that this meant he had to hunt you. Dean took a few steps forward until he was at the base of your bed and took a seat. He sighed softly before grabbing the bag and dumping it back onto the bed, the action left you stunned and utterly baffled. 

“I won’t do it.” You arched a brow as he grabbed the bag and tossed it out the door in one fell swoop. The action begged the question of why, and he simply gazed into your eyes fervently.

“Do what? Give me a head start?” He shook his head but before you could protest he began to fold your clothing and set it back in drawers, the wrong ones but that wasn’t important. “What are you doing?” He simply gestured for you to give him a minute, so there you stood watching as he put all your things back where they belonged. Or close enough anyway. 

“I should be livid. You kept something huge from us, how were we to know you weren’t evil if you were keeping secrets. I know we unknowingly guided your fib but you could have clarified before moving in here. And yet…” He turned to you with his hands held out, you were too wary to hold them, scared he was tricking you. Dean gently grabbed your hands in his, thumb caressing the back of your hand. “Hell, I don’t know if I could ever bring myself to kill you. Even if you did turn on us.”

“I would never. You two are the closest I’ve come to family in a long time.” Dean smiles softly, pain lingering in his eyes. “I never meant to get into this mess. Honestly, I thought I’d die before I turned 18 and when I met you two I was terrified that long held fear would come true. I never expected to care about either of you.”

There was a long pause of silence, you tried to decipher his meaning behind keeping you in the bunker and he seemed to be searching for the answer as well. Dean’s gaze stayed on yours, neither of you moving until it became too much for you to stare into those eyes. A question was eating away at you and you couldn’t help but ask it.

“Why let me stay, why not let some hunter stumble upon me and take care of the problem for you?” Dean visibly tensed, his eyes darkening a bit at the idea.

“Because I love you, damn it.” Your jaw dropped, brows raised as shock overtook your expression. “I know I’m supposed to want to kill you, but instead I want to protect you. I would fight another hunter to keep you safe and that goes against everything my dad taught me. Hell it goes against everything I know. But I’d rather have you in my life than risk losing you so I can keep to my principles.”

“Even though I’m…” He nodded, a hand caressing your cheek. “You know you sound like Mr. Darcy right now.”

“What now?”

“Against your better judgement you care. It’s very Pride & Prejudice.” Dean’s expression was perplexed to say the least.

“Is… that a good thing?”

“For the scene? No, it was rather offensive. But I know what you meant.” You took a step back and looked him dead in the eye, losing your jesting mood. “Are you sure? My family has no idea I hunt, and I have no issue with that but you won’t be able to keep this a secret from other hunters forever.” 

“Screw whoever says we can’t be the exception.”

“If we can change our minds maybe over time some others might see things differently. I used to think hunters were all just murderers and you thought the same of witches.” Dean nodded in agreement, it was true, both of you had despised one another’s people. 

“And yet, I don’t want to think what I’d be like without you. My life is infinitely better when you are in it, witch or not.” 

“If someone had told me I would end up with a hunter one day, I probably would have called them crazy. You aren’t what I expected a hunter to be like, you’re much more... compassionate.” He has a dopey grin on his face as he holds you close in his arms. “Don’t let that go to your head Winchester.”

“I’ll try not to.” Dean swept you into his arms, carrying you over to your bed before placing you down.

“So that’s why you folded my laundry. Very sneaky Winchester.” He smirked before leaning into a kiss, hands beginning to roam.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​ @cantnkrusshedevil​

[behindthebrokenglass]

Good morning my fellow bloggers, readers, or anyone really looking for a daily topic to relate to. I constantly wish that someone stumbles upon these posts, so I can have a voice and show others they are not alone, and that they can have a voice too. I feel like our rights as citizens and human beings that we should be allowed and feel OKAY to speak up without the fear of judgment and consequences. considerably speaking here in America the first amendment gives you that freedom. Freedom to me is just a word, a feeling that developed into a concept America can’t even hold. Internationally freedom is ripped from us wherever we go.

When I feel like life’s topics can be a bit too heavy, I resort to Netflix. Watching a bloody horror movie makes things feel so much better on my side of life’s spectrum. Mostly because I still have a right arm, a left leg and Freddy Krueger wasn’t my nightmare on Elm street. Maybe the reason I watch these crime scenarios is to stimulate a scary feeling when I actually end up laughing instead. Now that’s twisted! Trying to dissect my own brain is where my true crime obsession kicks in. It is my go to for understanding the criminal mind and the mindset of a victim. I have a deep yearning of exposing these 50 shades of grey the world likes to cover up and hide away. I stumbled upon a Netflix documentary called , “Athlete A.” This one hit way too close to home for me. I try to bring light with new perspectives to share with people during my personal blogging time. Well, maybe because it’s easier to voice things out this way. Also the amount of other people out there struggling just like me and you or maybe just a bi-standard trying to understand. A familiar story to tell, can at least bring you one important thing to hold onto. HOPE.

This documentary I watched is about a well known doctor, a predatory coach who moved from gym to gym, state to state. Well, why would a predator stick to one specific location? Of course moving around to different locations makes it harder for authorities to catch up with your tracks as long as you stay inconsistent. Yet, there was one specific consistency that stuck out. The amount of victims who reported and made complaints that went UNHEARD or it was just stuck into another file in another cabinet is deranged. So, who is Dr. Larry Nassar ? A serial rapist, and sex offender. He was served over as the USA Olympic gymnastics trainer and physician. Nassar was also a prominent member of the community and a former teacher at the Michigan State University. He was a doctor specializing in Osteopathic medicine at the time for the women’s gymnastics and crew teams. In medical school he worked as a trainer and then became a volunteer doing community work. He opened a foundation for autistic children and the community viewed him as a “larger than life, better than real person” (in the words of Tim Evans, an investigator reporter for Indianapolis). He even obtained 2,700 votes for a position on the Holt School board in Michigan. WOW! Busy man..... the sad thing about this is, is USA Gymnastics for USA olympics tried to help cover it up.

Bela and Martha Karolyi held a training camp for the USA gymnastics where Nassar worked. They based their training methods off of cruelty to get their athletes to work harder. This came around In the mid 60’s to around 1973 the Romanians decided to up their game in the Olympic gymnastics competition by having their athletes start training young. It really begun to solidify after the first youngest Romanian gold olympics champion Nadia Comaneci, a 14 year old female had won the olympics (1976). The coach’s had the benefit of having more control over the girls because they were younger. Bela and Martha Karolyi had trained Nadia and had proved their methods to be effective. They would have absolute total control over them. They slapped the girls, controlled their weight, called them names, and were very very cruel. After they came to America, they decided to bring those methods with them when they opened up their training camp for USA gymnastics. They developed a “wholesome image” that was vital to upkeep. Steve penny All the president of USA gymnastics cared about was business and money. Manipulating a child’s dreams to sell a brand.

Finally, a slip through the crack has opened. A former victim of this man and his procedures had spoken up and came forward with the same allegations a current victim had complained about. This finally prompted an open investigation. She had gone to explain that she was too young to know if what he was doing was right or wrong, or even normal. She expressed how the abuse victims are not treated well. That they are mocked, questioned, blamed and shamed. After the allegations were made, the girls were harassed, their ex boyfriends got involved, they had information dug up about them to hold against them. Very cruel people called them “whores” said “she was drunk” “ look at her she was asking for it” Just the thought of me speaking out against my predator with his authority is almost more terrifying than when it happened. The thought of what’s next if I say anything at all.... is the exact same reasons these girls stayed quiet for so long. It is in fact the most terrifying thing and the only thing in this world I am actually afraid of. The thought of “well, nobody will believe me” - “I already reported it and nothing happened”- “he’s a hero in the communities eyes but a monster in my own” - “but here I stand knowing I’m not alone.... waiting for the day someone says something so I can then come forward too” all these thoughts rushing, circulating, over and over..time after time. “When will it ever be the time?”...... hope.

As much as I fantasize over the concept of an eye for an eye, it wouldn’t fix anything besides making the whole damn world go blind. Society is already blind to this common form of sex abuse. A person in authority with good standing politically can do as he pleases as long as he stays consistent with his manipulation. This narcissistic behavior may never go away but should be put away. What these men fear the most is taking public accountability. Their stigma, reputation, and self image is more important than anything to them. For almost everyone of these girls, this is their first sexual experience. When you take the ability to love and express love from somebody and to totally damage it.....It profoundly effects their spirit, their psyche and emotional development. A man with power can take and steal YOU from YOU that will take an entire lifetime to ever get back. ONE VOICE....can lead to So Many other voices. I want to have hope.... my grandmother once told me to stop hoping and start believing.... I am trying.