#or that he wasn't justified in the way he dealt with the men in the palace

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

I don't know if I should be worried for my own morals or if people experience love in a wildly different way, but if I were in Tel's or Penny's place, there isn't a SINGLE thing my loved one could have done to get back to me that would make me hate them. Nothing. And if I were in Ody's place, I would have fought with everything in me. Anything to at least give my loved ones closure. Anything to make sure they don't doubt even for a second that I love them with all my heart, my soul, my very essence.

[xo-cod]

Holy Hell! Don’t leave us on a cliffhanger please?!

How did the 141 boys react when they got the call that she had been shot? How did they catch the guy who did it? And what are they going to do to him? 😈

continued from here

disclaimer: because they are what they are (highly trained assassins 🫣), heavy mentions of stabbings and beatings, proceed with caution lmfao ‼️ rushed/ooc

"we can go all night, when you give out from exhaustion and pain. when you're begging us to kill you, when you're cryin to end your life, we're gonna be here" pulling off the bag from his face, ghost examined his features. the man winced and grimaced, gasping a little as the light flooded his vision and finally looking at his captor. standing tall at 6'4, bigger than most men ghost was certainly not someone to be trifled with. his brown eyes hardened behind his skull balaclava, twirled a knife expertly between his fingers

ghost had no sympathy for the person in front of him, he had been hunting you down for days and very nearly coming close in succeeding in his given task. all he could remember is what soap had said,"one centimeter over and it would've torn right through her heart" and it only served to further anger him when he knew you didn't have any bad intentions at all, you weren't there to hurt anyone. you only thought it was an innocent date and you have paid the price for it at a grave cost. the thought of losing you tonight only fuelled his anger, his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes remained on the man

rules were rules, threatening the 141 was punishable by death. and simon had never been so glad for it

"listen i'm sorry man, i didn't know" the man tried to justify to which ghost scoffed, cold brown eyes glancing at the sharp array of weapons on the table opposite.

"choose a better excuse, that one is overused" his chest vibrates with dark chuckles and it causes the tension in the air to suffocate, this wasn't an amused laugh. this had brought on fear and pain and ghost hadn't even inflicted anything yet. still the man's determined attitude hadn't wavered, much to simon's displeasure.

"fuck you" the man hissed and then cried out in pain when a whip slapped his abdomen, undoubtedly leaving a trail of blood in its wake. his head was yanked back as ghost grabbed a fistful of hair, his face in close proximity of the other

"listen close you bastard, i've dealt with my fair share of bloody narcissists. but you hurt y/n, you shot her. so take your bloody time i'll get what i want from you, one way or another" ghost snarled, the tip of his sharpened knife trailing down her neck circling around the man's abdomen. he screamed when the knife was twisted into the first layer of skin, gaping down to where the blood was beginning to pool on his lap.

"now all you gotta do is give me a name. and this stops right here. but if not..." ghost pushed the knife a little more deeper into the body, grinning under his mask when the man whimpered trying so hard to not scream. to try keep his composture not wanting to bring any satisfaction to the enemy

but hell, it was hanging by a small thread at this point.

"any progress?" a deeper, gravelly voice cuts in and both heads look towards the door. the man lets a small gasp as the rest of the team pile into the room. it was as if they commanded respect, demanded to be listened to. their muscles straining against their shirt, scars littering their bodies proof of the business they were, of the lives they led

"he's stubborn" ghost stops, wiping the few drops of blood from his mask. he was getting rather irritated, wanting to be at the hospital with you but forced to take care of this problem.

"he's looking worse for the wear" soap chuckled but there was no humour in his voice. all he could think about was how fragile you looked after being shot and it made him want to tear into the man but gaz and ghost would hold him back, they already were eyeing him carefully. still it was rather amusing how many people tried to kill them and yet they always seemed to be on the receiving end of the blade.

"why not kill 'im, the poor bastard" soap scoffed with sarcasm, looking at the man with pure anger, his fists clenching as he sized the man up. desperately wanting to be the one to plunge the knife so deep into his heart and watch the life fade away from his eyes. just as he had done with you

"as convenient as that sounds, we'll never end up getting our information if he's dead" gaz leans back on the table, looking at the purple and blue blotches on the man's skin. the way his hair was matted down with blood and sweat, how he looked on the verge of passing out at any given moment. they'd bring him back alive though, none of their enemies ever did have a quick painless death here. ghost had a knack for making his prisoners suffer until they physically and mentally couldn't take anymore, testing each and every brutal limit in their weak bodies. it was only a matter of time until he spilled the dark secret.

but time was not on their side.

"y-you bastards, go to hell" his voice fluctuated angrily as he tried to keep his heartbeat normal, to keep those nerves at bay. to remember his training as a soldier but these men were different, for every step he took they already knew about. he was at their mercy this time.

placing a hand deep within his pocket, the captain of the team entered the room a pensive look painted upon his features. he shifted his bucket hat, looking down at their little victim tied up to the chair as his head tilted a little.

"we're all tired from your little reign of heroism, thinking you're doing well by serving your country and your organisation. for now, you'd do well to remember we're the ones who determine whether you walk out of this building alive. i suggest you start by giving us some answers. you see, myself..." price grabbed the knife from ghost's hand in a quick flash and plunged it straight into the muscle of the man's thigh, completely unfazed at his screams and the splatter of blood coating his cargos

"well, i am not a particularly patient man"

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 3 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N.

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 3: Be A Stranger.

He wanted to be appalled; it had been his idea, but now that they had actualized it, he wasn't feeling too comfortable. They'd picked the highest building of this dead compound - and when he said "dead", he meant dead. The angels had killed the last man, woman and child in this village of three hundred (give or take). That made Dean feel justified to how petulantly he dealt with his warning. There had been about thirty-five angels - Leader Dean had required only twenty-seven for declaring his message loud and clear; after slaughtering the bulk of angels that illegally squated in this small town, Dean used twenty-seven of these angelic vessels to spell out: "TRY HARDER" on the tallest residence of this sleeping, and now, forever sleeping town.

In hindsight, it was cruel to do that - these bodies were once humans. Then he hardened his resolve by recalling the bloody houses and the innocent lives taken.

Wars, aimrite?

He pursed his lips as one of his men drew a circle of holy oil around the bodies. He lit a match and ignited the circle. It surrounded the bodies, a celestial smell filling their nostrils - one that they hoped would penetrate the clouds of Heaven and reach the two notorious archangels left to rule the angel faction: Lucifer and Michael.

All that was left to do was quickly disperse before the archangels themselves flew down and did indeed, try hard enough to kill all the hunters that had secured this piece of land.

He only took a moment to warm his hands on the burning mess in the frigid morning; he loathed winters; before he followed everyone out the lost village. Dean didn't even know most of these hunters. He knew their faces, knew where they came from the colourful badges pinned to their chests with the names of their countries - Austria, Greece, Rome, Ukraine - the classics, you know. Everyone spoke English, it was universal - they had their own secret languages, but Dean didn't know any of them - he had an assistant for that kind of shit.

He had crammed the names of all countries and continents, he knew the names of his diplomats and all the villages - he would be drawing the line there. It wasn't even like he had any fun mnemonics to learn what he already had; travellers to alternate universes had come back with their world maps and created these invisible borders on this planet for "convenience". Far as Dean was concerned, Europe was Europe, rest all were ways to partition. He wasn't going to stop saving humanity because of some stupid borders - a reason why he was on his ex-partner's, Gordon Walker's, land - Poland - taking care of his people after Dean killed that imbecile. He would only have to take care of them till the Temp came though - the Secondborn they were sending from America.

When was that again?

He hadn't slept well in three weeks, running around the continent - it's no Asia where he grew up, but Europe wasn't a small place either.

They exited the city, and he sealed the place shut with a "Danger: Do NOT Enter" board and an abnormally large lock. The lock was as heavy as his heart was, he had to swallow a lump in his throat before he got ready to face the crowd of about fifty hunters waiting on him for further instructions. In had went seventy - he was relieved that more than half had made it out.

'Thank you all for coming,' he said urgently, in an English accent he wasn't entirely used to, but he was practicing. 'Please collect your wages from the infirmary in an hour. Return safely to your homelands, and notify us when you do. Many thanks to your Governers for sparing few of their best.' With a curt nod, the crowd was scattered.

He skirted around it, and hit the tree line. He climbed the first tree with skillfully found handholds and footholds that most people wouldn't even see, and he was at the top within seconds. He swung from tree to tree till he reached the edge of the small camp of treehouses they had created for this side-war three days ago. All the houses and trees were now covered in thin layers of snow - given that it was January. Planks were wide enough to place two feet on it, they connected the treehouses intricately. There were also ropes on the hand levels that people could hold onto while walking these narrow planks that were snowy as well. Permanent settlings had far more sturdy bridges, but this camp was mostly for sleeping or healing during the war.

Dean went over the roof of the first treehouse he reached, and landed cat-like on the planks from there. There was slight ice collected, the water had frozen at the underside of the planks after rains last night.

He balanced without thought on the planks, not even worried when they creaked under his feet and walked as if on solid ground - as if he wasn't about fifty feet above ground. He would swing with the help of one of the hanging branches if the planks under his feet gave away - he was too accustomed to trees to be worried otherwise.

He was headed towards the makeshift infirmary. The door was ajar. Inside, men and women were heavily bandaged. With a sigh, Dean mechanically started assigning the maimed hunters to people who could carry them back to their families. There were about ten people here - they were paid more, obviously. Dean also authorized retirements of the people who he knew could never hunt again - putting them on pensions. This took him roughly a half an hour.

'Is that all?' he asked the medic, Mrs Prom, as he put his pen down on her table that was by the house's door. It had a machine gun attached to the edge that would rain down bullets was anyone unknown to enter, and a gaurd who was Mr Prom, who shadowed Mrs Prom wherever she went.

Mrs Prom nodded, shyly (as most people were in Dean's presence). 'Thanks a ton, Lord Dean. We will clear this house in an hour.'

He hated the "Lord", it was way to rigid and formal - he felt like a freaking prince on a horse. He preferred first name basis; and if at all required, he would want to be called "Mr Winchester". Yet, right now, he didn't have the time or the energy to correct them.

'I'll let the others know to do the same.'

The other fifty hunters from back at the site must be arriving at this treehouse camp soon - they weren't as fast as Dean was because most of them preferred walking after a hard day like today. 'Anthing else you require, Mrs Prom?'

The couple exchanged a weary look. Dean tensed.

'Is something wrong?' He was already thinking about dispatching troops to nearby villages, thinking about the monsters in the nearby areas. He did not expect what came out of the Proms' mouths next, even if he should have.

'Um,' the man stepped ahead. 'Could we acquire your autograph, Lord Dean?'

Dean did not know who blushed more - the red-headed Mrs Prom who seemed to have grown a tomato for a face, or the awkward Mr Prom who went crimson all over, even at the bald spots on his head. Even Dean's ears turned pink, but he plastered his famous fake smile.

'I . . . didn't know you were fans,' he said.

He hated signing autographs. He hated his fame. And sure as hell, he hated being seen as the invincible hunter who had his statues or plaques in every moderately to highly populated cities, villages and countries - none of it was with his permission. Every time he saw one of those statues, he got the strong itch to unleash his grenade launcher that his assistant and best friend, Sebastian Slay, had hidden somewhere to reel Dean's temptations in.

'We're, uh, well, our son, you know,' Mrs Prom stuttered. 'Kid's birthday!' she chuckled nervously, 'He's a huge fan of your work!'

'It would mean a lot, Sir,' added Mr Prom more coherently.

The strain in his grin went unnoticed by the relative strangers. 'Of course. What's his name?'

After signing "To Daniel. Love, from Dean Winchester" on a birthday card, a book, and a t-shirt of all things, Dean couldn't duck out of the treehouse fast enough. Walking briskly and dignified, he reached the treehouse at the centre. He jumped over the railing that his treehouses often sported, and brushed past the door of leaves - most temporary treehouses had leaves for doors and windows, sometimes even the roof.

There were two hammocks, one desk with books, papers and stationery, and a small pantry inside.

There was also a man with chocolate brown skin, hair cropped shorter than Dean's but just as spiky, who wore a seemingly permanent attire of printed cargo pants, a tight t-shirt with suspenders and hunting boots. He looked like a soldier, but he didn't have the soldierly attitude to match. In fact, he had a beaming smile of a baby's; an ever-cheerful and smooth son of a bitch that often annoyed Dean out of his mind.

'How d'you do, boss?' he mocked Dean with formality. His hands were detaching one of the hammocks that he was rolling into a ball as fast as he unfastened it.

'Amazing,' Dean said the textbook answer. He had given up on trying to correct Sebastian about the "boss" thing. 'Updates?' he asked, moving to the second hammock.

'Good or bad first?' Sebastian asked, good naturedly keeping up with Dean's general sourness.

'Bad,' came Dean's usual answer.

'Okay,' Sebastian said. He flipped open a pocket notebook that had thinned due to tearing of used pages. Sebastian used these to keep track of innumerable things and dates that Dean couldn't directly be bothered with. Sebastian had two duffels, and one was seemingly filled with these tiny notebooks to write on.

'We got two pages,' he said. 'One from Venice, Italy. Village of Caorle. Case of werewolves.'

'Put Garth on it,' was Dean's fast reply. It was a fishermen town - Garth, a werewolf, would have quicker access to the area.

'Okay,' the assistant slashed the job off. 'France paged us - from outskirts of Nice. Sirens, they think.'

'That's a day away,' frowned Dean, without sleeping. 'Who can we spare?'

'Um,' Sebastian produced another book with a lot of scribblings and overwriting. ' . . . Germany? Kehl just finished a case of Krampus.'

His brows scrunched. 'Which was?'

'Half-goat, half-demon,' Sebastian jogged his memory. 'Kills "bad" kids.'

'Oh, right. The Christmas Devil. He doesn't give you coal - he just kills you.'

'Yeah.'

'Is Bulgaria free?'

The countries were large enough to handle their own most time of the year. But they paged the Headquarters and their Leaders, only when a country needed outside help - when they couldn't reach a village or a city because they were already stretched too thin.

Dean's first response would be to send the neighbouring countries to aide, but if they were too tired or too busy, then few from Dean's palace of hunters would have to go, or he would have to go - whoever was closest.

Right now, Dean was worried Kehl, the place in Germany, would be too tired to handle a band of Sirens alone with Nice. They had already been on enough back-to-back cases.

These days the frequency of pages had increased - a matter of distress for a single Leader. When paged, it was the personal responsibility of the Leader to clear to the monster infested area by themselves or with extra troops. Only Dean didn't have extra troops to send to the other half of the country. Usually, there was a page or three in two weeks, max. Now, there were two pages within three days.

He was jumping from a country to another like a fucking pinball - but there was only so many places he could be at, at one time. Right now, he was in the northern region of his continent - both Venice and France, where the pages came from, were far enough that he may not reach in time.

'I'd give them three more days,' Sebastian said for Bulgaria.

'Okay. Line them both up as aides, one after another - I want this case finished within the week.'

'You got it, boss. Next is . . . '

Dean balled up his hammock, proceeding to Sebastian's while the other man searched for another page in his notebook. Dean eyed it wearily, wondering what new horrors those small pages could contain.

'Leviathans,' Sebastian finally completed.

Of fucking course.

'What now?' Dean was unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice, contrary to the calm and composed mask he was supposed to wear at all times as a Leader.

'Well, they're in clusters, methodically attacking smaller villages.'

That wasn't news. Ever since Dean's ex-partner, Gordon Walker had betrayed the continent and sheltered the Leviathans, this clusterfuck of events had Europe inching towards a darker time. Murdering Gordon had been easy, but the damage had been done. The Leviathans, who were running from Jessica Winchester, Dean's sister-in-law, who rules half of Asia, had now been driven into Europe.

It was hard for an unprepared continent to deal with shrewd Leviathans and keep up the timely removal of the monster groups and Ferals that was a daily task for the continents. It was especially harder when half of that continent's resources were going unused because they were a Leader down.

Dean was losing more hunters than ever. He was surprised he wasn't pulling his hair out by now.

'But they're moving in one direction. They seem to be collecting near the Irish Sea,' Sebastain informed.

Slight panic rose in Dean's chest. 'That's where the western port is!'

There were two ports in every continent. One each for a Leader. Dean's port was in the Black Sea, something he shared with his younger brother Sammy who was in-charge of the Western Asia as Dean was in-charge of the Eastern Europe. It was usually near ports that the Leader's palaces were found. More or less diagonally opposite of thisBlack Sea port of Dean's was the Irish Sea Port where the Temp's palace was supposed to be.

'That's what I thought too,' Sebastian calmly replied. 'But I found out that they shifted course to dock at our port a week ago. In fact, they deboarded there last night. They are taking cars for the rest of the journey.'

Dean's palace was in Moldova. The Temp was headed for the United Kingdoms where the second Headquarters is - in London - currently kinda compromised since all the Leviathans are headed for the Irish Sea.

'Did you tell them about the Leviathans?'

The borders might be invisible but they existed for a reason, according to most other Leaders; if the newbie was crossing his territory without notice, the reason needed to be large. He didn't see why they would waste so much time travelling cross-country from the Black Sea to the Irish Sea unless someone tipped them off about the Leviathans.

'Nope,' said Sebastian. 'Jessica asked us not to disclose it to anyone until they reach here - unless it's an emergency. I will inform them now that they are here, but I don't know why they originally switched ports. Speaking of Y/N—'

'Who?' Dean's brows scrunched. He was nearly done with his packing; the hammocks, the weapons, the food, and the books, all stuffed into buldging bags. All that was left, was to dismantle the treehouses - which would take about three hours to load into his car, a sleek Chevy Impala of '67, the only possession that he inherited from his late parents.

'Y/N L/N - the Temp?'

'Right.'

'She gave away a few islands in the northwest to vampires.'

'Why the fuck would she do that?' Dean stopped for a second, bewilderment struck his face. Land to monsters, however small, was wrong. 'Do we have to kill her, too? Is she stupid?'

Sebastian was almost amused when he shook his head. 'Beats me.'

'Which islands?' Dean asked.

'Anglesey.'

'We don't use it,' the green-eyed man realised.

'Not since the angels blasted the town, and made it radioactive in 1832,' Sebastian agreed. 'We have been maintaining it for no one.'

The Temps never made large decisions because, well, they were temporary. But this girl who hadn't stepped foot on Europe when she made this decision, broke one of the human faction's most important rules, and saved Europe millions.

'. . . What's her name again?'

Sebastian gave him your name again, and this time Dean actually memorized it.

'Why would she risk pushback for a Temp job?' questioned Dean. This would no doubt cause protests among your followers, if you even had any, and damage your reputation before you'd even begun—safe to say, he was slightly impressed by your audacity. 'What did she get in return?'

Sebastian shrugged, another date written in a chicken scrawl on the corner of his page, catching his eye.

'If you want to ask her yourself, she's hosting a Debutant Ball.'

Your good impression soured in his mind.

'Fucking figures,' Dean scoffed. 'She must've done it for the money—Why do something selfless when you can throw yourself a party with extra crowns and unicorns?'

Sebastian snorted. 'Then I probably did a good thing declining the invite.'

Dean cringed in agreement.

Sebastian knew Dean well enough to accept or decline on his behalf.

'All right!' Sebastian threw his books in his bag, zipping it shut. 'Onto the good. Lady Winchester is expected in five days.'

Dean's surprised expression told his assistant that he had forgotten what day or date it was. 'Huh. That's . . . this week.'

Sebastian smiled fondly, 'What will I do of you?'

Dean's eyes rolled. 'I just got caught up—'

As if on cue, the pager hooked on Sebastian's belt buzzed.

'Another case,' Dean's jaw hardened.

'It's close.'

'Let's go—'

Sebastian tutted. 'I will. You, Dean, are headed home.'

'But—'

'Lady Winchester would want to see you,' Sebastian said. 'Plus, if you finish the Leviathans - all this goes away.' He threw Dean the pager; it was Dean's to begin with, Sebastian only took it when Dean was busy elsewhere.

Dean was convinced, but he hesitated for his friend. 'And you're sure you can handle it?'

'Positive,' grinned the man with the bronze eyes, that when hit the mellow sunlight streaming in from the window, seemed golden.

Dean held in a sigh: he was not looking forward to going home.

Two days later, Dean was somewhere in Romania. If his sense of direction was right, within two more days, he would be home. Right in time for the family reunion - joy.

He was at a hotel; there were several flanking the dirt roads that cut through the forests - it was a good way to make money for the villages nearby.

He refused to hand his keys over to the valet, so he followed the confusing instructions from the annoyed valet driver, towards the left, down an unmarked path. He reached the face of a tiny hill that had an opening. Two men with guns stood on either side.

The one on the left came to check the driver. Dean rolled down his window and handed a wad of cash to him, asking for prime parking - only the best for his Baby.

Once he had secured his car underground, he got out and climbed the nearest tree, his duffel bag full of weapons and clothes was slung across his right shoulder. He hopped from branch to branch till he reached the edge of the treehouses that belonged to this hotel.

It was five star hotel. In the centre of the treehouses, a few trees had been cut down from the middle to create platforms with large tables that had swings for chairs, a fine outdoor dining - this system, most hotels followed across the country. There were rope nets that the patrons can use to climb, and not risk falling; these nets took everyone to the higher levels as well where there was a chain of treehouses well-hidden into the disarray of trees, interconnected by far sturdier bridges than Dean was used to.

He swung over the back railing of the biggest treehouse - he was about fifty percent sure that it wasn't allowed - he intruded the reception from the back anyway. One or two workers may have given him a double-take, but they knew his face to know that he was to be left alone.

He rang the bell at the reception desk after entering a lounge with sofas for people to wait on. It was busy today; all the seats were taken and a loud chatter buzzed throughout the room. Dean noticed a lot of them had healing wounds, but he realised after another minute that so many hunters are not usually found at a five-star hotel. A quick assessment made him purse his lips; the badges on their chests told him all he needed to know - these hunters belonged to the Temp. He wanted to get out of this crowd as soon as he could, even if he could admit to the slightest twinges of curiosity.

A young face was lured out of the back room who lit up in excitement, no doubt, having realised the famous presence of Dean Winchester.

'Oh, Lord—!'

'Smith,' Dean quickly interjected, his eyes darting out to the myriad of unknown faces. He wasn't about to be caught dead in the middle of an autograph-slash-photoshoot. He had bags under his eyes, and one across his shoulder that dug into his weary body from how heavy it was. He wanted to sleep, and ignore the world for his usual four hours - thank you very much.

Fortunately, the youth of the man didn't make him dumb. He nodded in understanding, prisoning his glee to his eyes and professionally accepting the card Dean slid out. The man's eyes twinkled when he noted Dean's name on his black card, but he bit back his smile; for most people, simply being in his presence was a privilege, and touching his things was "the experience of a lifetime" - he honestly didn't see the hype.

'How many nights?' Tag, as the name tag said, said.

'One.'

The card swiped, and he was bumped to the classiest room of the place.

'Thank you.'

Tag Myers asked, 'Should I alert the kitchens Mr Smith, to make you something special?'

Dean shook his head. He didn't have the energy to eat.

'I'll just be visiting bar,' he said. 'Later,' he added, 'if possible.'

'Oh!' the worker clapped his hands excitedly, oversharing: 'Of course! It's open all night, tonight!' He waved at the crowd, 'All these people headed there for a celebration of their arrival in Europe! It was Lady Y/N's request. She offered us money from her own pocket, but we waived it! We'll be paying for this ourselves, of course, as a welcome to the new Leader, we said!'

'All right,' Dean said. He didn't have more of a reaction, he was just waiting for his key.

'But then,' the man continued. 'She wouldn't have it! She said it was her duty to pay - how proper and kind of her!'

'Right,' Dean said. 'Can I have my key?'

'Of course! Oh, and would you like to meet her?' Tag practically bounced on his feet, his floppy hair so long that they almost obstructed his eyes. He had his hands clasped earnestly, expression almost begging to be in the presence of the meeting of two Leaders. 'I can show you to her!'

Tag offered the key to the largest suit in the place, along with a complimentary matchbox.

'I'll find her,' Dean quickly said before the worker could broker this meeting that Dean wasn't planning to have that night. He excused himself, indifferent to the disappointment in the young man's eyes.

Dean swung over the tops of the treehouses, trying to avoid encountering anyone on his way. He inserted his key into the house that was furthest from the centre of the hotel, on the edge, closer to the forest and away from the road.

He used the matches to light the nearest torch inside, continuing till most of the lights had flickered to life. He dumped his bag on the couch in the living room, taking a gun and a knife from it. He didn't bother to light any torches in the bedroom, simply leaving the door open, and cracking ajar the window to let the meagre moonlight in.

He only had strength to untie his boots before he was tumbling headfirst into the fluffy bed, over the duvet, head barely reaching the pillow, but at least his legs were on the mattress, his weapons next to his either hand.

He snored himself into a deep sleep - well, as deep as it gets for hunters.

He didn't know what had woken him up, he hadn't felt ready to be awake that's for sure. A tugging in his lower abdomen soon made him realise that the urge to hit the head had made him wake up from his fitful sleep. He grudgingly slid off the bed.

Once he used the washroom, he decided on that drink. For that, he first took a hot shower. Electricity was hard to maintain in some places which is why it was used in things like heaters and kitchens, cars and communications, etcetra.

As he waited for the water to heat up, Dean penned down a quick entry in his journal about the case of angels and the three hundred dead. He had to subdue a shiver when he thought that the world had moved on from those three hundred even if it had only been three mornings ago - so many dead, and there were just more in dire need of help.

After he'd scrubbed off the traces of that haunting case, he slipped into blue-washed jeans, a white shirt and a blue flannel. He soaked his usual armour-type clothes to get the blood stains off of them so that they would be clean by the time he was ready to leave the hotel, later at daybreak.

He locked after himself, watering the torches as he went - let the houskeeping worry about drying the torches and restocking them before the next nightfall.

He had the gun and the pocketknife which he'd slept with the night before, tucked under his shirt; the heavy weight of the knife in his pocket next to his phone, and the cool metal of the gun against the small of his back was comforting.

His watch told him it was three-thirty in the morning. He was glad about the all-night bar, otherwise he usually had to rouse a grumpy bartender who wouldn't settle for less than an autograph besides money from Dean.

The rough branches were soothing under his callous palms. His body felt weightless as it skipped from tree to tree, but he also felt much grounded, sure of himself.

He found the bar nestled into one of the taller trees with a chair situated outside the entryway so that no kids would sneak in. The watchperson was almost asleep himself: his half-lidded eyes only widened a little before he let Dean pass.

The aroma of alcohol filled his lungs. The promise of the intoxication burning holes in his memory, made him drift to the countertop that separated the bartenders from all the partygoers. Even this late in the night, there was a large number of people milling around, enthusiastically chatting, new people mingling with the locals, getting to know their new home. The two pool tables had line where people were openly hustling. The chairs kept shifting across the bar floor going from table to table. The other games like beer pong and dartboards occupied lesser space than the pool, but still kept the gamers on their toes. Anyone could easily spot the weapons everywhere - blatant show-off of guns, daggers, some people went as far as demonstrating swords - just as well, if you lost all your money, weapons was the next best bet.

Dean ordered himself a beer, starting light - he told the bartender to keep it coming. He also warned the bartender who knew him, to call him Mr Smith for the remainder of the night. He selected a seat near the windows where his back could be to the whole bar scene. He would be gazing out onto the treetops that glinted more clearly under the moonlight from this height. The dark, luscious green of the leaves, and the distant sound of the crickets - it would make for a peaceful night when Dean tuned out the crowd behind him.

Out of habit maybe, his did eyes sweep over the room once with disinterest.

Some days he would flirt with a woman. But he would only go for one-night-stands when he knew his reputation wouldn't be tainted as a womaniser - that could only be avoided at independent bars or restaurants, not a hotel like this; no matter how much he hated his fame, he still found himself gaurding his reputation slightly. He was taking his first sip, leaned back in his chair, his lazy gaze fixed on a game of poker a few tables away - when something in the corner of his vision grabbed his attention.

He glanced, and he choked. He coughed it out, but his gaze was fixed on her then. The world around him blurred, intensifying on her. His sensations dulled, all but the ones trained on her. It was like he was slowly slipping into a bubble-wrap that only consisted of him and this beautiful mystery.

Inexplicably, his heart started accelerating. He couldn't figure out why he was staring at that woman across the room, sitting poised, her hands folded in her lap, nodding polietly at the group in front of her. She had a small professional smile, an innocent face with intelligently flashing eyes.

She was startlingly gorgeous to Dean. Like if he'd ever have the perfect type of girl, his type of girl - it would be her.

H/c h/l hair, s/c skin, a hunter's physique; he was afraid someone would construe him as a sexual predator for he couldn't imagine tearing his eyes off of her.

He'd never had such a reaction to a woman. He was almost desperate for her to notice him - he was desperate to see her eyes. It took strict control on his part to not get up and strike a conversation with her - even as he wondered what her voice would sound like.

She laughed at something. Without knowing her or listening to it, he knew it was fake. Her features were all carefully arranged - there was nothing about her potrayal that seemed real to him; the way she tucked an errant strand behind her ear, the way she acted out all her expressions, the way she moved her lips with calculated words - all drama.

It made Dean frown with disappointment. Which only riled up his incredulity. He had to physically shake his head to get the ridiculous notion out, but the grip of his instincts was too tight on him right then - as if she was his personal windchime and he could be stock still, staring at her, listening to her all day long; as if she would be his instrument of peace.

What the fuck?

He glared at his bottle of beer, wondering if he'd somehow been roofied. Another good theory would be that he was so drunk that he couldn't remember if this was his first bottle of beer or the twentieth.

He shook his head again. With much force, he turned himself to the window like he'd originally planned for his night. He hated how his heart seemed to whine in alarm like having her out of his sight was a crime. 

Seriously, what the fuck?

Dean's glance rate seemed to increase and lengthen with every beer, so he had to cut himself off after the fourth one. He reduced himself to ordering virgin margaritas; he grimaced with every sip.

Yet, that all faded when he checked her out again.

She was making rounds now. Attentively but detached, all in all, she didn't seem to give a rat's ass while pretending that she did. Could no one else see it?

He sipped from his frilly straw and he plucked the lone olive from this fruity concoction with his toothpick umbrella. His eyes raked over her, berating himself for it - even then he couldn't stop appreciating her curves.

He still hadn't seen her eyes. He was actually positive he never would. She belonged to the clan that had just arrived in Europe - the Temp Leader's. He could see that she was only going to people belonging to her group - she probably wouldn't even notice Dean. Plus, this group was headed to the West, and they would never cross paths later.

Weird, he thought. He spent most his time on this continent running from people who knew his name and face. These new people must know his name, but they couldn't possibly know the association of that name with this face; they had never seen his face before. It should have been a reprieve for him, for the night. And now, he wanted her to find out, he wanted her to know.

He had unknowingly finished his drink, something he realised from the slurping sound he made. His neck reddened, and his eyes darted to the girl - wondering if she's noticed him because of it; she was busy beating some guy's ass at darts - her aim was perfect, all the darts in the centre, spreading out like five petals as if she was showing-off a little. 

He sighed at his childish crush, deciding to leave earlier than planned - for his own good. He abandoned his spot by the window, flagging the bartender. Phil raised a finger for Dean to wait as he was in the middle of pouring drinks to a rather large group engaged in a poker game.

'Are you enjoying yourself, sir?'

Dean froze at the melodious feminine voice. He'd never heard it before but if the way his heart was acting uptil now was anything to go by, it was her. He liked her voice even if he didn't like her tone - once again, it was too pretentious. Like she didn't care.

Nevertheless, Dean twisted on his bar stool, getting exactly what he secretly wanted - he found her eyes.

E/c. They were a striking e/c that made Dean's breath hitch. Finally, something that wasn't a sham: her eyes. They were guarded, but Dean felt like he had a VIP pass that would allow him to venture far and beyond onto adventures behind her mask. Up close, she was even prettier. Dean's arms itched to wrap around her, if only to test the theory - a theory that had been brewing in his head, that she would perfectly fit against him, if only he tried.

Fucking hell, Dean, get a grip!

His cockiness seemed to slip into his façade, as practiced. 'That depends,' he said, relieved that his voice didn't come out all squeaky and breathless.

She placed a small smile on her wavering lips, her hands interlocked in front of her body - all very polite. 'On?' she asked.

'On how long I can keep you myself,' he boldly grinned. Shock seemed to melt some of that demure, bringing out the fierceness of her eyes.

'Excuse me?' she raised a brow, her hands clenching slightly. Her proper and pristine English accent - far better than Dean's - made everything sound much more prime than it should've been.

'I'm sorry,' he sincerely said. 'You're just very beautiful.'

She blinked in surprise again, her right hand retracting up to lightly graze the handle of her weapons - she had two daggers placed against her belt on the that side. There were red tints in the apple of her cheeks. 'Are you flirting with me?'

'Blatantly,' he smirked.

She didn't know what to make of him. Her brows mingled and the crimson deepened, but she frowned. 'I don't suppose you realise who you're talking to,' there was an edge of anger in her tone.

'Enlighten me,' he geniunely wanted to know.

'Well, I'm the—' she had gone straighter somehow in her posture, when Dean cut her off.

'I don't want to know your name,' he said, making it up along the way.

She paused. 'What?' confusion had finally driven out the professionality from her voice.

'I want to know you, not your name,' he clarified.

'Where's the difference?'

'Oh, there's plenty,' Dean assured. 'Tell me about yourself and I'll decide who you are - not your name.'

She scoffed. 'Quite the ego you seem to have,' she dropped her act, 'thinking I'll indulge in whatever game you're playing.'

Dean shrugged. 'That's all right, then. I'd rather not know you at all than know only your name.'

Her lips set in menace. 'I can have you beaten and thrown out of here with one scream.'

'Is that what you want?' he asked softly. 'I'll leave if you want me to.'

That seemed to set her back. She was threatening him because she thought he was a threat, but if he was so willing to give her the control - she didn't know what to make of him.

'What's your name?' she tried.

'Why should I tell you?' he teased.

'Because I'll need it to throw you—'

The bartender came at the very opportune moment. 'Mr Smith, anything else? Sorry it took me so long.'

She practically swelled with smugness. Dean gave her a sheepish look, asking the bartender for two whiskeys, the most expensive kind. The man quickly slapped two round glasses next to Dean's elbow and went on to attend other customers. Dean pushed one glass in the unnamed girl's direction.

She hopped on the barstool, crossing her knees, and accepting the drink with a tirumphant look. 'I know your name.'

'It's a fake, of course,' Dean answered; he couldn't bear letting her believe a lie for some reason. Her smile disappeared and the glass halted between the table and her mouth. She suddenly seemed furious again.

'Who are you?' she gritted.

'Now, that, I can answer,' he said. 'Tonight, I'm a guy who is in search of a few pleasant conversations before I'm pulled into reality.'

Her lips pursed, she kept the glass back down, drink untouched. 'Or a smooth-talker who wishes to add another notch on his bedpost.'

'Do you want me to sleep with you?' he lowered his voice, loaded with unspoken promises.

'Of course not!' she said too quickly, flustered. Her eyes scanned the room, mortified - as if afraid of her reputation. It stung a bit more than it should have, Dean could admit, but that wasn't the point.

'Then I won't,' he affirmed.

'Then why were you flirting with me?' she challenged.

'Because I find you attractive, darling,' he sipped on his own whiskey. 'Doesn't mean I'm expecting anything more from you than perhaps a few nice words.'

She was clearly puzzled, staring hard at him as if he was uttering a language she didn't know.

'What do you want from me?'

'I just told you,' he calmly said.

'Well, what do you want me to say?' she was exasperated.

'Hmm,' he wondered. 'I don't know. Maybe . . . your favourite colour?'

'You . . . want to know . . . my favourite colour?'

Dean laughed. 'You're looking at me as if I'm an alien.'

She rearranged expression then. 'Um, why?'

'Because it's irrelevant,' he said. 'And you, I doubt, have ever spoken out of turn - which would make your favourite colour unknown to anyone but me.'

'Why would I tell you anything?' she scowled at him even if she looked like she was contemplating opening up to him.

'Because I'm a stranger,' he replied. 'And you can tell me those things that you're afraid of people getting to know about you. They would be of no use to me because we'll never meet again.'

For a long moment, Dean thought that she was going to throw the whiskey in his face. He was even ready for it when her hands wrapped around the small ornamental glass.

Instead, she surprised him by taking a long pull from her drink for courage and then she miraculously gave him her favourite colour.

'I like it,' he said with a soft smile. 'What's your favourite season?'

And so it went.

She slowly opened up to him like a flower blooming. He had to speak more in the beginning but once she trusted him enough, she gave back information about herself.

The night rose to give dawn a chance. Dean had the girl for the rest of the night, who gave the name "Ms Heart" for the sake of convinience, even if Dean was perfectly okay with calling her "darling".

They exchanged their favourite colours, flowers, seasons, drinks, foods, desserts, cars, and slowly progressed towards larger things - they were soon debating continents, and Leaderships - both of them were surprised to find the other person so political; their little debates forming the rocks for a bridge between their hearts.

By the time the sunlight rented the sky, the bar was close to desertion, and the unlikely duo was sharing their hunts - trying to decide who was better at this essential life skill. Dean wasn't trying to win however, he just wanted to see that glint of passion in her eyes - if he were competetive he would tell her about Abaddon and Amara, and let her know who he really was; she would probably go back into her shell, address him with excessive respect and never look him in the eye again - that would surely be unbearable.

She was on her sixth glass of whiskey, and Dean was pleased that she was holding her own in the alcohol department; he would've challenged her at that, if he didn't have to drive, which made him nurse his single glass of whiskey throughout.

Her eyes were still sharp, and she had no slurr in her speech. Her hands were moving far more freely, though - more animated gestures that accompanied her stories, and that cute voice that giggled when she indulged him in things that particularly amused her.

Dean noticed a buff man that wore a sleevless armour slinking up to their sides. She hadn't noticed him yet. The man had the same formal form as you had been carrying yourself with when Dean had seen you first. The new man was highly tanned, with eyes as sharp as razors. He had ponied hair and plaited beard. And a long scar running down from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers. He cleared his throat gruffly.

The effect that it had on Ms Heart was drastic. She shot back into her well-crafted act like a tortoise ducking into it's shell. Dean was almost shocked to see the traces of the girl he was getting to know - all gone . . . Then again, didn't he also feel his features smooth into a blankness, a stoic mask?

'Mr Griffith,' she smiled tightly. 'Please meet, uh, Mr Smith,' she grimaced because she was wrong, but she didn't have a choice. Dean shook hands, his thumb gracing the scar on the back of his right hand. He smiled like Ms Heart did, fakely.

'Lady—'

'Oh!' she abruptly stood. 'Mr Griffith,' she lightly touched his shoulder, 'would you mind?'

Even if she'd prevented him from hearing her name, he knew now she was a high-ranking officer. That, and how she was making rounds earlier that night, her formalities, and her attitude would explain a lot.

Mr Griffith glanced at "Mr Smith" with wariness. 'Of course not.'

They went away from Dean. A small coil of sadness tickled Dean's gut. This was coming to an end, he sensed. He sighed - it wasn't as if he hadn't expected it, but where did the time go?

He polished off his drink in one large gulp, letting the burning liquid soak his mouth before he swallowed. He took both the glasses towards the bartender, Phil, who looked quite dead on his feet. Dean shot him an apologetic smile, and paid his tab, tipping hundred percent to the man who scrounged up a large smile at the gesture.

He almost bumped into Ms Heart when he turned after pocketing his wallet. Her friend was nowhere to be seen - as were most people, Dean realised. There were only three men in the corner of the room playing their last hands, concentrating so much that their eyes could pop. Them, and the bartender were the only people in this treehouse except "Mr Smith" and "Ms Heart" now.

'You paid!' she exclaimed.

Dean laughed. 'You see, a guy usually does that.'

'We drank expensively,' she said, running a hand over her red-rimmed eyes since she seemed to not have slept all night, and over her pony-tailed hair that had strands springing out from here and there.

He shrugged. 'Money isn't a problem for me, Ms Heart. Plus, I had a wonderful night with you, you should let me reciprocate somehow.'

She seemed frustrated with him even if there was a blush taking root in her face. 'Have you been told how capable you are of annoying people?'

He grinned.

She mustered a small smile.

It was silent for a beat.

' . . . Are you leaving?'

Reality came a-knocking. Dean's gaze veered to the sun on the horizon, rising steadily. He should've already left about two hours ago. He was sure his watch would tell him that it was between eight and nine if he checked it.

'Aren't you?'

She should be leaving with her group of Americans towards London, where her new home would be. He wondered if he would ever see her again - probably not.

'Drivers went to sleep early,' she said, hope shining in her eyes, 'they won't wake up for another hour or two which is when we leave. We could grab breakfast.'

He smirked. 'Don't you want to sleep?'

Her reluctance to answer told him that she did.

'I'll drop you off at your treehouse,' he decided for her.

Her face fell, but she gracefully recovered. 'Please don't wait on my account. I can go by myself.'

'It's not a problem,' he said, walking with her to the edge of the treehouse where the watchman was snoring at his post by now.

'Uh,' she glanced at the height below. 'You should really go ahead,' she insisted again, 'I'll find my way.'

'Are you trying get rid of me?' he probed playfully.

She bit her lip in embarrassment. 'Um, actually . . . .'

'What?'

'I-I can't climb down and up fast enough,' she confessed. 'Where I come from, we're underground dwellers. I'm not used to trees.'

That was fair. Europe was a treehouse region, America lived underground. Land dwellings were on every continent, but all of the continents had a distinct way of living that suited them the best during hunts. Where Dean came from, Asia, the trend was trailers.

'Didn't they teach you about treehouses if they knew you were coming here?' he queried.

She shrugged uncomfortably, 'Well, my parents just thought I'd learn with experience, you know?' There was a certain amount of defensiveness there that irked Dean.

'Would you mind if I carried you?' Dean inquired, smirking, intending to distract her. She was effectively surprised, her mouth falling open a little.

'No - I mean, yes, I'd mind. No, you cannot carry me!'

'Why not?' he resisted the urge to pout. She looked at him increduously.

'This is not some book, and you're not some protagonist.' She huffed, 'We could fall and die!'

'That's a bit dramatic,' he said. 'Hunters pull off heroic feats all the time - trust my experience.' He offered her a hand.

She stepped back from him, arms crossed. 'I'm sorry,' she shook her head. He could see the finality of her answer in her eyes behind those gaurds that had went back up.

'Alright,' he said, showing his hands in surrender. 'Guess this is goodbye then.'

That seemed to soften her. She nodded in agreement. 'Thank you for a wonderful night.'

She was polite again. Her hands curled before her. She walked him to the edge of the bar-house. Her eyes regaining demure along the way. Her posture ramrod and stately.

He quirked up a half-hearted smile, turning to a long hanging branch that would allow his swing. But before he could fall, he got the urge to surprise her again. See her for her - one last time, his addicted mind begged. Turning on his heels, he lightly placed his free palm on her waist, tugging to let her fall into him.

His theory of a perfect fit was proved right.

She was too shocked to hug back - making a smile creep up on Dean's face in bemusement, something she couldn't see, of course, because of the height difference. She fit perfectly under his chin, especially with her heels.

'Goodbye, darling,' he was only audible to her. 'Do be a stranger.'

He pressed a kiss to the juncture or her forehead and her hairline, lingering for the shortest of minutes while her scent invaded his being. His first touch, first kiss, first smell of her - and all probably the last.

He let her go, frozen still. And that was his last glance of her looking at him as if she had never seen a man in her life before.

He snickered bittersweetly as he swung out of her life.

It was like waking up from a fever dream. Or coming out of an ice-cold bath. He could feel the radical difference between who he is and who he had become for a small while, and it scared him.

He was consoling himself that whatever had happened was purely a physical attraction - that he only talked to her because of how beautiful she is. And sure, he liked what he heard, but that was it. Just a night of distraction, right? Nothing else.

As he pulled his car out of the crowded parking lot - now that he wasn't tired, he was finally noticing the multitude of cars parked in the lot - the memory of the girl felt like a distant longing.

As if the girl was Heaven and he was just coming back to life.

'Fuck me,' he scoffed. 'What is wrong with me?'

His car didn't say anything. He shouldn't be feeling so strongly for a girl he just met, right? He needed to get his head in the game.

Focus, he reminded himself. He needed to focus on Jessica and the Leviathans and the world that was going to the pooper.

Such a trivial thing for him, girls - he couldn't let himself be caught up in one again. He would only get his heart broken like the last time. He wasn't relationship material, he wasn't boyfriend material - hell, he had no material to him outside of his job, so why the hell should he dare to obsess over a girl he stupidly didn't even ask the name of.

What was he thinking? Where did all that bravado come from?

He recalled her indignance and it brought a smile to his face. Why did it matter to him at all if she was real with him or not?

It wasn't like he was ever going to see her again.

He took a deep breath to curb his restlessness. He had a fear growing in his chest - of what the girl had done to him, he felt like a transformed man, as if he'd wanted to be anything and anyone for her. It frightened him how close he wanted to be with her . . .

Or at least, that's what he reasoned his fear was.

But if he would just be honest with himself, it would be revealed to him that he was more phobic of the fact that he may never see her again.

It was easier to forget - more like ignore - the nameless grace the further he went away from her in manners of space and time. He'd crossed the borders into Moldova that morning. He was sure to reach his palace gates within minutes, on this fifth night of his driving.

He'd encoutered a few estranged Ferals on his way which didn't slow him down by a lot. Mostly, he ran them over with his car and when he knew they could hinder his Baby's path, he shot them before trodding onto their dead bodies. He was going to let the decomposers of the nature do their job as they devoured the remains of these filthy monsters.

He touched the compoud fifteen minutes to midnight. He didn't need to flash his badge at them - the palace soldiers would recognise his Baby anywhere. He parked in his designated spot and hurried out the door. He planned to freshen up before he greeted his relatives - who by the voice message Sebastian left, were only an hour out from Dean.

He smiled strainfully at every single face that passed by him, greeting most as he went. His social battery was in negative by the time he reached his chambers.

Large as it was, it was also lonely and depressing. His trinkets and personal effects took just enough space to fit in his small duffel bags, something that he carried with him everywhere. The rest of the room was merely luxuries that he didn't have a requirement of.

He brushed his teeth and hair, slipped out of his armour and into his jeans and flannel. Even threw on his leather jacket to keep the chill of the night out.

He headed down to the council meeting room. It was empty, as expected, but he would be meeting his family here.

He'd seen his brother and his sister-in-law at the recent-most Half-Yearly Meeting - in December. It had been held in Asia, where Dean had grown up. After that, all that apocalyptic showdown had happened.

He'd murdered Gordon three days after the winter solistice when the Half-Yearly Meet had been organised: the day before Christmas. They had returned from Asia, and before they could part ways, Dean had found an opening to murder Gordon.

He'd been able to calm his governors down with damning evidence and proof of Leviathans in Europe.

Ever since, they'd been on road.

He had returned to the palace not once; he'd not even come for clothes, he just bought new ones; he'd been too busy answering page after page.

Now that Jessica was here, he would finally be able to kill those sons of bitches once and for all.

He mustn't have realised how exhausted he was from the sixteen hour drive he'd pulled.

Once he sagged into the head chair of the room and placed his head on his hands, he was sleeping with his head down.

'Dean,' a hand shook him awake. 

He jolted instantaneously. His watch had imprinted on his face, something he felt when he rubbed his hand to ward off his sleep. But he didn't feel threatened enough to pull his gun on the soft voice that had intruded his mediocore nap.

'Good morning, sleeping beauty,' teased another familiar voice.

He blinked back sleep to notice Sam and Jessica staring at him with identical grins.

The uneasiness he had for seeing them melted a little. He rose to hug them tightly. Jessica first, then Sam.

'Hey, Sammy,' his voice was raspy, he patted his brother's back in affection. 'Jess. Sorry,' he said, pulling back.

'No, we get it,' Jessica said, an Asian accent to her. Her accent however, was much better than Sam's who had only been practicing for a few years - kinda like Dean with his English accent. 'How are things here?'

'Good,' Dean said, on autopilot. 'Did you find replacements for you two?'

'Jody hooked us up,' Sam nodded. 'Jack teleported them.'

Jody would substitute Leaders in case of emergencies like this one - only if the Leaders asked, of course. And Jack, the sweet innocent coordinator between all the factions, would be kind enough to transport the substitutes back and forth. They were the Leaders of Australia.

Dean nodded, having already expected that answer. What he really wanted to ask, he couldn't frame.

He made more small talk to bring himself some time. 'Were your travels comfortable?'

'They were safe,' Sam said, his arm around his wife's waist. The gesture reminded Dean of why he had stormed out of their home the last time.

'Just safe?' Dean said. He knew the answer to that as well. In a world where you couldn't cross a street without proving your worth as a hunter and killing a monster, coming over from Asia to Europe by road wasn't exactly the most luxurious tour.

Jessica frowned at him. 'Are you purposely being more dense than usual?'

He shifted on his feet. 'You're right. Let's talk about the Leviathans.'

The couple rolled their eyes unison.

'Look, I'm sorry!' Jessica broke the ice. 'I should've asked. I'll never do it again, I promise.'

The memory still sat bitter on his tongue.

They'd tried to introduce him to a girl for marriage, again. After they'd failed to find a perfect match for him on blind dates, he'd told them that they should stop looking for girls for him altogether - for a while, they had - then last month, they sprang a family that pounced like wild hungry wolves on him.

That bunch had known about Dean's life like his fucking PR staff. They knew everything about him, except the real him.

He'd shook them off before he stormed to his younger brother's chambers and the talk that ensued had been less than pleasant. They didn't seem to understand what he was saying.

His pissiness hadn't improved upon learning that it had been Jess' idea (he could rarely be mad at his sister-in-law); they had crossed a line last time.

It wasn't like he was desperate to get married or fall in love. Hell, why would he want the guilt of ruining a poor girl's life like that?

Sam supported his wife, 'Look, man, we're just worried about you, okay?'

They had been for a while now - ever since Sam and Dean got orphaned.

'Why? I'm fine!'

'You're alone.'

'People don't leave me alone enough,' he huffed.

'You know what we mean,' Sam said, pulling a chair for his wife to sit on like the gentleman he was, then taking a seat himself. Dean mirrored their action.

'I don't need anyone, okay?'

'When was the last time you had a genuine connection with anyone?' Jessica posted.

Dean wavered in his protests. His mind immediately took him back to two nights ago, to the mystery woman who stole his breath away.

'Oh, my God, you met someone!' Sam said, always quick to read his brother.

'What, no!' came Dean's squeaky reply, his British accent faltering for the milisecond where he panicked. 'Of course not!'

'Who is she?' Jessica eagerly ignored him.

'All right,' he said. 'Calm yoursleves. We're not having this discussion anymore. And stop forcing this marriage crap on me - you're not my fucking parents!'

That seemed to damper their mood at least. His accusation had been heavy, given every person in this room had lost both their parents. Sam's lips pulled down, disapproval in his gaze, "Not cool," written in his expression.

Dean felt bad about pulling that on them, but he was done with the whole institution of commitment, and love forever bullshit. He was too broken to believe in that.

'Do you have a weapon?' Dean pointedly changed the subject.

Brooding, Jessica took out what looked like a broken bone. She explained the concept behind it: to permanently kill the Leviathans, their Leader had to be stabbed with the bone of a righteous mortal washed in the blood of a fallen angel, the ruler of fallen humanity, and a father of fallen beasts. She tucked the weapon back in.

'We leave in the morning for Irish Seas,' Jessica ended.

'Great,' Dean quipped. 'I'll have my troops ready.'

'Well, no,' Jessica said, exchanging a worried look with her husband.

'What do you mean?' a sinking feeling grabbed Dean. 'I'm coming with you.'

Sam sighed. 'Dean we've been contacting you through Sebastian this last month.'

He'd noticed. 'Because you thought I was mad at you,' he stated.

'That's what you thought?'

'What else could it be?'

'Actually,' Sam said, 'it was because we think our phones were tapped.'

That hadn't occured to Dean in the mayhem.

'The Leviathans are smart,' Jessica began. She's had the most experience dealing with this batch of monsters that crawled out of Purgatory last year and attacked the most populated continent. Jessica offered her services to solely focus on eradicating the world of Leviathans. 'It's a possibility that they have been keeping tabs on all the Leaders. Which is why we have only been contacting others through their assitants.'

'Also, that is why all the other Leaders know that we are coming here to meet you, but they don't know that we are here to kill the Leviathans. Or that the Leviathans are in Europe.'

Dean processed that. '"We", as in-'

'Sam and I.'

Dean's jaw clenched and he leaned away from the conversation. 'You've gotta be fucking kidding me!' Then another thought occured to him, 'Is that you called me here? For some twisted sense of goodbye?' If he wasn't joining their hunt, they hadn't needed to meet him at all.

'We have a plan, okay?' Jessica calmly said. 'This is just in case . . .' she trailed off. 'We don't think either of us will die.'

'You don't think—' he had to cut himself off for a deep breath so his voice wouldn't accumulate a few octaves. He glanced towards Sam who had a grimace attached to his face. Dean could read it clearly in his brother's eyes that he didn't think it would be a cookie-cutter job.

'What is the plan?' he asked instead.

'We can't tell you,' she shook her head. 'I'm sorry but you might interfere—'

'Oh, that's just awesome,' he scoffed, standing up. 'Are you on board with this? Are you really going to let her do this to me?'

'It's her choice—'

'But you're going,' Dean gritted out. 'Why can't I?'

'He's my husband, Dean,' Jessica said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 'My soulmate.'

'I'm family,' Dean emphasised. 'I can help!'

'Doesn't mean you should,' she argued. 'We will just be requiring the regular duties from you as a Leader.'

'Jess, I'm not letting you go onto a warpath alone!'

'She'll have me,' Sam supplied.

'I meant both of you!' Dean's temper was inching to a point where it would snap. 'What's gotten into you two? I'm the big brother!'

'No, you're on a different continent,' Jessica sharply said. 'Sam and I qualify because we live in the same place. You have limited education about fighting Leviathans - taking you would be killing you!'

'Screw that!' he slammed down his hand. 'We're in Europe - my continent. I'm coming!'

'If you try to join our case, we can have you suspended,' Sam suggested, his voice much restrained.

Shock tumulted Dean's resolve. He glanced between the couple to see if it was a joke.

Jessica seemed to side with her lover. 'You don't want that, Dean,' she warned. 'Think about thousands of lives depending on you day-to-day. Do you really want to leave it in the hands of a rookie who has just reached this continent?'

Her words stung like a slap. He was cornered by his own family like a fucking animal. He rose, seething. 'Yiu take that fucking back,' he almost growled.

Jessica slumped a little. 'Please try to understand. We can't have your death on our hands.'

'Don't you think I'd feel the same?' he snapped.

They exchanged guilty looks.

'I'm your family,' he insisted.

'So were mom and dad,' Jess whispered.

He felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

'We can't let you think this is on you,' Sam said. They had decided. 'It almost killed you last time . . . And we can't feel the same either.'

He felt nausea congest his throat. Behind his eyes, it stung, and his heart tripped with agony.

'Just be a Leader here,' Jessica pleaded. 'A bystander. Let us protect you for once.'

He steadied his breathing and his voice, carefully making them devoid of his emotions.

They want a Leader? Let him have some fucking manners then.

'You are welcome to my house. My armies are yours. Hope you have a good stay,' he told them like he would another Leader on business here. He made his way towards the door, making Jessica scoff and Sam groan.

'Dean, we're just doing what's best,' Sam's voice came, chiding. 'For all of us! You did the same thing to us with Amara. How is this any different?'

Dean paused with his hand on the knob, his horrible past flashing in front of his eyes. His heart ached, his throat constricted.

It wasn't different. They were pushing him away like he had done them. But it had been ruinous, and even though he knew it, it pained him that he couldn't help his loved ones in this similar situation.

He settled for a petty reply he would later come to regret: 'Good luck, Mr and Mrs Winchester. Pleasure doing business with you.'

His first tears didn't breach his lids until he was well and truly alone, like he always seemed to be.

A/N: What did you think of their first meeting? And what do you think is in Dean's past?

Anyways, you don't be a stranger 🙃. Star, comment, follow, and share, people!

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

@thejurassicparty

💢👊👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 (Angry symbol, an oncoming fist, and two men kissing with a heart)

Lan Wangji had always been a very calm man. Self control and discipline had been instilled within him like second nature, he had been taught when and how to hold his tongue and restrain his reactions no matter how strong his emotions and impulses.

The fact that he punched that ridiculous man right in the face in the middle of the market was, in fact, very much a restrained reaction. If it had not been, the man would have ceased to exist before he realized what was happening.

A few people gathered round following the event, leaving quite a wide berth to avoid any fallout in case the fight continued... and, of course, to watch. It wasn't every day that they got to see the respectable Hanguang-Jun send someone tumbling down into a stall of watermelons with just one hit - of course everybody wanted a first row seat to the show.

Hanguang-Jun appeared entirely unbothered by the sudden exertion of force, gingerly taking out a decorated handkerchief from one of his sleeves and wiping his knuckles with the same gusto one would do after killing a particularly messy insect.

"I will not be so merciful next time." He said, voice level, though the disgust in it was nearly palpable. "Keep your mouth shut and your hateful opinions to yourself next time."

"Or what?!" the man shouted, finally managing to stand up on shaking legs, a hand wiping at his bloody nose. "You'll kill me?"

Lan Wangji's fingers gripped Bichen loosely. "Yes."

"What a joke! The Lan sect is being corrupted by that horrible Yi..." but his eyes caught onto Lan Wangji's firmer grip on the hilt of his sword and the murder intent that emanated off him.

His bravado seemed to break a little at that, but he continued talking. "Are you all seeing this? He's threatening my life after violently assaulting me! Your sect leader will hear from me!"

Lan Wangji appeared entirely unaffected, in fact suppressing a derisive smile. "Brother is in town. I could arrange that you meet him and tell him what you said about our sect."

The man sputtered, face turning red in both anger and embarrassment. "Does that justify you punching me?! Whatever happened with the Lan sect rules?!"

"Rule 23. Deliver punishment swiftly where necessary."

"Even through violence?! Ridiculous!"

"Violence is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. This is not the Cloud Recesses. If it had been, you would not have been here."

The veiled insult seemed to have enraged the man even more, but before he could open his mouth to speak any more, he found his lips sealed.

"Consider this a kindness of the Lan sect." a new voice piped in, and everybody was floored to see Zewu-Jun show up, his signature smile colder than usual. "If I let you speak any more, you would be dead. I do not want to give young sect leader Jin any trouble handling business with your failing sect."

And in the midst of everything, Wei Wuxian finally emerged from one of the stores, carrying a hefty bag of items and a wide smile on his face. "Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, come on in, they have flavored lu... Zewu-Jun? What's going on?"

Lan Xichen sighed, deeply. "An incident."

"It has been dealt with." Lan Wangji responded, a soft look in his eyes at the sight of his husband. Zewu-Jun was quick to reassure everybody that nothing more would be happening and to move on with their day, joining them himself as the gaggle of Lan disciples and juniors caught up to him on the way to the discussion conference.

Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to leave a little kiss on his husband's lips and hand him the heavy bag of items. "You got into trouble for me again?"

"Yes, I did. That's what husbands do." And Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian into a deeper kiss right in the middle of the street, delighted in the knowledge that people wouldn't dare look for too long after his earlier display.

He'd have no problem throwing punches with everyone if it meant defending his beloved. After all, he had more than enough of being a bystander to such things - and he would stand up for Wei Ying no matter what, even if he had been 13 years too late.

[callixton]

Ooooh how about 🎭💔🧸🎶 for barba and/or bobby??? Noone gets these guys the way you do.

omg that's such a compliment <3 i will do both of them

barba

🎭(a headcanon about what they lie about) - honestly i would not put it past him to preserve his private life by just making shit up. as he got to know the squad better, it stopped mattering so much, but it's become a bit of a game that only he knows about. it's also usually so innocuous that no one would even bother to check - someone asks him what he's doing this weekend? he's going to that string trio performing at the lincoln center. (he has actually set aside time to read the latest pulp thriller he got from the library while eating too much take out and he is not going to be disturbed.)

💔(an angsty headcanon) - rafael deals with depression and self-hatred frequently, but it rarely/never comes in the form of suicidal ideation, so he dismisses how serious it is. it's why he throws himself into work so wholly; at least if he's helping people, he can justify his existence. it also means he's too busy to have time to think about all of the problems he's ignoring.

🧸(a headcanon about their childhood) - oh there's so much i could say. well i don't think it was Good. but for a shotgun-blast-let's-see-what-we-hit of childhood hcs..... he spent every sunday with his grandmother, and almost all of his happiest memories are around her kitchen table. this is alluded to in october surprise but this kid got in FIGHTS oh my god he could not keep his mouth shut. thank god for eddie or he would have had his shit kicked in so fast. sorry to make this sad too but he dealt with the same problem at home with his dad, and eddie wasn't there to protect him. he read voraciously but almost exclusively in private; he wanted people to know he was smart, but he didn't want to get made fun of. he tried exactly one basketball summer camp before realizing he was too short and scrawny to compete.

🎶(a headcanon about music) - not to let actor bleed influence this too much, but i do think barba probably takes after raúl when it comes to music taste; i think "the music he loves best is the Cuban songs he learned from his grandmother." that said, other artists that i associate with him: frank ocean, bruce springsteen & 80s ballads

bobby

🎭- unfortunately bobby is lying to himself at basically all times as a baseline and therefore incidentally to the people around him. but for something more specific, i think he lies about how quickly he gets drunk. he doesn't like actually giving up control over himself and what he says, but he does like the social justification of being able to relax and open up, so he meets it somewhere in the middle and lets everyone else think he's gone before he actually is. it's pretty rare that his friends see through this, which both suits him fine and makes him lonelier.

💔- oh baby. well. tbh it's kind of hard for me to find a headcanon bc so much of what i consider heartbreaking about his character is very much text. However. i do like to play with the idea of his first encounter with a guy in college going so poorly that it contributes to him shoving his sexuality deep down and the subsequent repression we see in show. which is so sad for him bc he wouldn't have done it if he wasn't questioning right like. it might not have been an answer he liked but even that would have been an answer. and then he is just so completely in his head (and he's not even Into the other guy he just offered) that the whole thing goes terribly and he feels so broken bc if he's not gay then what is Wrong with him that he feels like this. (he does discover, some ten-odd years later, that he doesn't mind sleeping with men as much as he thought, but he's spent such a long time of convincing himself that it's not for him that it takes a Lot of pressure to break through that worldview)

🧸- did not have many friends :( on the one hand he really didn't mind that much bc he was absolutely the sort of kid who enjoyed playing on his own, but on the other hand that isolation of not feeling like there's anyone who understands him set in early. he was set up on lots of playdates by his parents where neither kid wanted to be there. he was an observer and a listener though. sooo much of the personality he presents over the years is drawn from copying the behaviors of people he likes.

🎶- this is such a good question bc his character playlist is So fully music i think about him to, not like. songs i think he would listen to. i don't actually think he seeks out music that often? i think he likes the noise of the city and whatever's playing on the radio; it makes him feel more connected to everything in an indirect way. if i had to choose a band i'm weirdly getting they might be giants. that said if he ever really listened to conan gray or mitski it would be so over for him.

[oodlyenough]

last of us 1x08

I had fucked up dreams last night after watching this episode lmfao

Obviously this will talk about the content of the ep so general cw for attempted child sexual assault and uh cannibalism I guess

Overall, probably one of the best this season. Very faithfully adapted from the game, which is a neutral point, but I was impressed that for all I knew what was going to happen basically beat by beat I was still on edge.

Not sure if this is #unpopular or not but I found David MUCH creepier here (from a starting place of "very creepy already" in the game), and I also found his characterization overall to be better. I've never really been sure if in the game you're meant to ever trust him, but I never did, partly because Nolan North plays him with the slimiest voice imaginable, so him turning out to be a creep is kind of a no-shit moment.

Whereas I thought this David was much better at putting up a front, which in turn made him all the more terrifying. It was way too easy to imagine this David pre-apocalypse, teaching (UGHHH), ingratiating himself in the community, getting away with all of it because these kinds of men so often do. The slide "from teacher to preacher" god like of COURSE this mf would find a different way to gain power, control and access over people including/especially children... Ugh it was all 2 Real and that much more creepy.

I also though the way they dealt with the cannibalism was very good honestly. It would've been easy to purely justify it with "people are starving, and we're eating the dead" -- which is kind of what David says, but you can use the context clues to deduce that it's not just that they're eating their dead out of desperation, but that they are actively hunting people for food, he's keeping it a secret, it's, imo, clearly part of his sick power-tripping rather than necessity (as others pointed out, relatively inexperienced Ellie finds game very quickly and easily in one hunting trip lol).

I also thought the slight tension between David and James was interesting here -- obviously James is also a freak, lol, but their disagreement over how to handle Ellie and the general rift between them, as the episode goes on I think you do get the sense that even James is uncomfortable with this side of David and tried roundabout ways to talk him out of going after her or just about shot her in the head. (I keep wanting to joke that James is like "I can excuse cannibalism, but..." but frankly 1. one of these things IS worse than the other and also 2. in the end he still enables everything David does anyway! Bc of course he does. Isn't that how it always goes.)

This was definitely the big showcase for Ellie and for Bella Ramsey. (Watching people whine and cry about it, "two episodes of mostly Ellie wahhhhh" lmaooo shes the main character of the franchise losers, deal with it.) Ramsey was very good. Everyone's saying it but yes the primal screaming in that restaurant scene, ugh, chilling and excellent.

I did find the very first scene between Ellie, James and David had me wincing, like Ellie's tough guy voice was just so bad and felt like a kid play-acting ... but then I suppose that was probably the exact intent, that Ellie was trying to be threatening but wasn't capable of actually BEING threatening in that moment. There's a huge difference between that fake bravado and her (entirely justified) rage and violence later in the episode.

Joel was very Joel in this. I don't have much to say about him lol, it was nice to see Pedro's Joel go a bit unhinged, something we've heard tell of in various episodes but only seen scraps of before. "It's all right, I believe him" is such a memorable bit of the game and it just as chilling here.

Ok time for some criticisms:

They leaned HARD into the pedophile angle for David here. That was always in the game, but it was fairly subtextual, with more emphasis on the cannibalism. Here it was the reverse. Although disturbing, I generally didn't mind -- but I did feel the final scene, and specifically his dialogue in it, about "liking the fight" was just too Ick for me. Very HBO. I felt we didn't need it to know what he was going to do. (Then again audiences do miss the obvious all the time...)

I didn't really miss the infected fight in this episode. I saw people say that you need it to build a false sense of trust between David and Ellie but like... lmao idk I never trusted that guy for a single second. BUT I will say I *do* wish we saw more infected in the series overall. I know it's not about the zombies~ but they are still, uh, the reason all of this is going on, fundamentally. They're what makes rebuilding a functioning large-scale society near impossible, because it falters so easily with a simple misstep leading to infection and outbreak.

The ending felt a bit rushed. The Joel-Ellie reunion didn't hit me as hard as I wanted, although it seems to have resonated with the show fans. It's not an issue (for me) of him pulling her off David, or not -- I like the way it played out -- it's just... I dunno. Something about the way it ended on the two of them wandering off together, maybe? Maybe I liked the game's cut to black with her sobbing in his arms more?

I also felt that because they spent more time with David's community, there was a real glaring absence of them in the climax. These people have been under David's thumb for who knows how long, presumably with James + co as his enforcers. Now they're free but directionless. What comes next? Obviously, the show can't explore all of that, but questions like "why hasn't anyone tried to stop Joel in town" "why didn't anyone notice the fire" "where are other guards" etc... I think we could've used another scene with Hannah and her mom (who totally looks just like Mel from TLOU2, lmao).

AND the biggest one of all...

Feeling pretty :/ about the "violent heart" speech to Ellie. From David's POV, it makes total sense for him to say those things. He's trying to manipulate and groom her. I completely buy the dialogue, from him.

But I was left wondering if I the viewer was meant to agree, concluded that I am probably supposed to agree, and also that I ... don't. This has been a recurring criticism from me of the show's portrayal of Ellie. I've mostly tried to make my peace with it by acknowledging Show Ellie and Game Ellie are different characters evolving slightly differently and living slightly different lives yadda yadda... But I dunno. I guess I won't be able to say how I feel about it until I see s2 and s3 anyway lmao.

[bisluthq]

This whole story is reminding me of how I found a few months ago that one of my closest friends had a pattern of DV with his gfs, and it made me realize how much of a problem society's conception of abusers is because there is this notion that its visible to be abusive or a bad guy or a creep and "i could always tell there was something wrong" and theres never any grey zones and victims are always perfect and never fight back or handle it in any way that could be suspicious and the abusers dont also have pain or good sides and everything is black and white.

And like, in my case with my friend, the abuser was this super charismatic sweet guy who was really there for me when my mother got sick and painted himself as a feminist and called out guys for like, not going down on their gfs or whatever, and he had this super fucked up childhood which he still suffered a lot from and which i really empathised with, and it took SO long for me to realize how manipulative he could be and how he was refusing to take accountability for his actions and always justified it to himself and kept hurting people, and even if the good sides were probably still there and the pain was definitely there, it did not excuse any of the stuff he did or make him a good person.

And so, that's why I feel like Justins pov is so important, because that point of view is so important to help people but especially victims to understand abuse, and its so underrepresented in media which is super harmful. So it sucks that Blake and Ryan didn't want to show this point of view

Firstly, I'm sorry your friend turned out to be a worse person than you thought. That's a tough thing to have to realise. Secondly... yeah. I don't think, unless the person is like a complete and total sociopath AND a sadist to boot, they don't have their own justifications for their behaviours? Ryle, from what I've read/seen, has a sad backstory that's led to him having a bad temper and he hasn't like... dealt with that. He is very sorry every time he hurts Lily but he keeps hurting Lily anyway. Your friend, as you say, has a sad backstory that's allowed him to justify shitty to downright abusive behaviours. But both of them have (internal) justifications (that don't excuse them)?

I also think it's worth thinking about how specific relationships can lead to specific behaviours/reactions/etc. Just because someone is a good friend, or a good family member, or a good colleague/boss and all that doesn't mean they can't be abusive to their partner. And fwiw other way round too - someone can be abusive as a caregiver or as a boss or be a really shitty and selfish friend to the point of being essentially abusive and be awesome in other settings. Also just because they were/are good to YOU even in that same capacity, doesn't mean they can't be terrible to someone else. Like just because your ex wasn't abusive when you were together, it doesn't mean they're not abusing their current partner or didn’t abuse an ex.

So yeah, I mean these are HEAVY and COMPLEX topics. I think Colleen is a shitty writer but fwiw she did kinda in her own shitty way want to try explain and show how women often stay in situations even where they can and should leave. I think Justin, for reasons that still escape me, felt that he could use her source material as a springboard for discussions on toxic masculinity and how men are also victims of patriarchy and DV more broadly (beats tf out of me why he chose this source material but let's roll with it for now). I think Blake thought looking cute in florals would be fun. And I think Ryan was looking at how to make the most money possible and also dislikes Justin lol.

Mess, mess, mess but like... profound theme actually.

[wrestlingisfake]

New Japan Cup semifinals preview

SANADA vs. Hirooki Goto - This is one of two semifinal matches in the New Japan Cup tournament. There is no time limit; there must be a winner. Whoever prevails will advance to the final on March 20; whoever wins that match earns an IWGP world title shot on April 6. Sanada won last year's Cup and is seeking his second in a row. Nobody has done that since Goto, who won the Cup in 2009, 2010, and 2012.

Both men received byes in the first round for their past Cup victories. Sanada went on to defeat YOSHI-HASHI and Jack Perry to get here. Goto, however, beat Chase Owens in the second round and then got another bye when David Finlay had to withdraw from the quarterfinals. (I'm still not sure what happened except he was hospitalized.)

I was really thinking Perry would upset Sanada to get here, so this matchup threw me a little. I'm still not expecting Sanada to win the tournament. But it's tough to believe Goto is going to be the one to take him out, or that Goto is going to headline the March 20 show. I'm very certain Goto won't go all the way, since his direction is clearly to chase the heavyweight tag title. So yeah, I think Sanada will win.

EVIL vs. Yota Tsuji - This is the other New Japan Cup semifinal; again, no time limit. The winner will face Sanada or Goto on March 20. Evil's NEVER title is not at stake during the tournament, but if Tsuji wins he'd likely get a title shot down the road.

Evil won the New Japan Cup in 2020, so like Sanada and Goto he received a first-round bye. With a shitload of help from House of Torture he got past Hikuleo and Shingo Takagi to get here. Tsuji is the only one left in the bracket who has wrestled in every round, defeating Jeff Cobb, El Phantasmo, and Ren Narita. He's also the only one left in the tournamnet under the age of 35, so I'm kinda pulling for him.

Tsuji already dealt with all of House of Torture's bullshit in the quarterfinals and came out alive. If he could do it again and set up a chance to win the NEVER title, that would be great, but it seems too good to be true. The strongest tournament final available here is Sanada vs. Tsuji, but I'm not sure either of them make sense challenging for the world title in April. So I think an Evil win is possible, but I'll cautiously pick Tsuji to advance.

Tetsuya Naito & Hiromu Takahashi & BUSHI vs. Jeff Cobb & TJP & Francesco Akira - Naito, the IWGP world champion, is basically waiting to find out who his next challenger will be. Cobb and TJP were eliminated in the first round of the tournament. The others are all waiting for the Best of the Super Jr. in May/June. Bushi or Akira should probably lose the fall here.

Jack Perry & Ren Narita & Yoshinobu Kanemaru & Yujiro Takahashi vs. Shota Umino & YOH & El Phantasmo & Hikuleo - Perry, Yujiro, Narita, Shota, ELP, and Hiku are all out of the tournament. I think Yoh and Kanemaru have been fighting over the IWGP junior heavyweight title belt even though SHO (who is pretending to be too injured to compete) is the actual champion. They've already got a match set up for the 20th.

Shota has been trying for the whole tour to score a pinfall on Jack to justify another one-on-one matchup. I guess he could get that pin tonight to set up the match on the 20th. But they could just as easily not let Shota pin Perry until the 20th, to set up the match for Sakura Genesis on April 6. It's also possible the House of Torture team could pin Phantasmo or Hiku to set up a STRONG tag title match someday. So I think this could go either way.

Hiroyoshi Tenzan & YOSHI-HASHI & Toru Yano vs. KENTA & Chase Owens & Gabe Kidd - Everybody in this match was eliminated from the New Japan Cup except 52-year-old Tenzan, who wasn't in the bracket. Yoshi, Kenta, and Owens are basically in a holding pattern until the tournament ends, so they can do a tag title match with Hirooki Goto. I guess Tenzan or maybe Yano has to lose here.

Great-O-Khan & Callum Newman vs. Tanga Loa & Rysuke Taguchi - Loa knocked Khan out of the tournament, so that's an issue, but everybody in this match didn't do so great this year. Well, except Taguchi, who wasn't in the tournament. I'd say that makes it obvious he has to lose, except Newman is pretty much a designated jobber in most of United Empire's tag matches.

Taichi & Yuya Uemura & DOUKI vs. Tomohiro Ishii & El Desperado & Togi Makabe - Taichi, Uemura, and Ishii all got eliminated in the first round of the tournament. Despy's a junior heavyweight and Makabe is part-time at this point. I'm not sure why Desperado is in this match when he's usually been programmed alongside Yoh and Shtoa Umino against House of Torture. It's possible they want to establish one (or both) of these trios ahead of the NEVER trios title tournament on April 14. But I wouldn't read too much into it. I feel like Douki should be past the point of doing the job in tag matches, but I'm not sure New Japan agrees, so let's assume he's taking the pin.

Zack Sabre Jr. & Mikey Nicholls vs. Boltin Oleg & Shoma Kato - Everybody except Kato, one of the Young Lions, was in this year's tournament. Of course, Oleg is also a Young Lion, so when you've got two established guys versus two developmental guys, that's a squash match. Sabre and Nicholls have to win.

[seoness]

hey there! I wanted to request a headcanon / hear your perspective on how Sandor views himself as a person? I noticed that his thoughts are very inconsistent- he tries to scare Sansa into thinking that he’s a wild and scary dog unworthy of praise and honor, but when The Brotherhood and Arya questioned his morals he was quick to get defensive and immediately tried to justify his more amoral actions and behavior. I love how George sets up the conflict and juxtaposition between the identities of “The Hound” vs Sandor Clegane, but I want to see what you thought from a more personal perspective! I love how you write Sandor btw omg, you have such a great understanding of the character 😭

Thank you so much! ☺️ I've devoted so much time studying his character so I'm happy it's paying off. (I will source from the books to back up my headcanon).

I went back and forth on how to tackle this question because, in some ways, I view Sandor as highly consistent.

Sure he tries to scare Sansa, but it's not only with the goal for her to see him as wild and scary, but that the world is a wild and scary place unworthy of praise and void of honor. A telling scene is from A Clash of Kings when Sandor runs into her on the battlements with the threat of Stannis Baratheon looming over King's Landing.

Excerpt

"Aren't you afraid? The gods might send you down to some terrible hell for all the evil you've done."

"What evil?" he laughed. "What gods?"

"The gods who made us all."

"All?" he mocked. "Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

"True knights protect the weak."

He snorted. "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

Sansa backed away from him. "You're awful."

"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful. Now fly away, little bird, I'm sick of you peeping at me."

(A Clash of Kings, page 684).

His speech to the Brotherhood without Banners is similar. Sandor doesn't claim that he is good, but rather that the men that are trying to pass judgment onto him are no better themselves.

But wait, considering his views, isn't protecting Arya Stark a complete contradiction? She was weak and defenseless compared to him. Well, not necessarily. We often hear and read what Sandor Clegane thinks the world is, not what he wants it to be. He wants Sansa Stark's songs to be true... but the songs are all lies, and the little bird must learn before the world plucks all her feathers.

So how does he view himself? Not great, and that is a point of pride. Strutting about with a bloated ego is for knights, not him. At the beginning of A Game of Thrones, Sandor doesn't have much self-hatred. Instead, it's directed outward. Against the brother that burnt him, against his family that looked the other way, and the world that continuously rewarded Gregor and the rest of his ilk. Sandor still carved out something for himself, becoming the sworn sword of the Crown Prince. So what if he did cruelty? It was by his prince's command, and he has no place to question orders. Whining about his duties won't change them, someone else would take his place, and at least he knows he can do the job well and so Sandor has. It was easy enough, being cruel to a cruel world.

Then they came, the Starks with their bloody honor and a stubbornness only northerners could harbor. Their world was harsh enough... yet it wasn't cruel. The Lord of Winterfell was a just man, an honorable man, and a fool to travel south. The wolf and lion turned enemies to no one's surprise and Tywin Lannister dealt with the Starks as he had those before them. Sandor could have stomached that war but it was the rest. The little bird was to be His Grace's wife, the mother of his children. Family. Yet Joffrey toyed with Lady Sansa, reveling in her suffering.

Here is where Sandor's self-hatred grows severely. He is part of Sansa's torture. A girl that mirrors the boy he once was, but now he is taking the part of Gregor. He stomachs it as long as he can, finally reaching a breaking point at Blackwater.

I totally agree with your point on the juxtaposition of the Hound vs Sandor Clegane. It's the realist vs the dreamer, duty vs want, what is vs what should be.

Sandor's mindset is something I explore in my series on Ao3. Parts of the story are written from his perspective.

[mellometal]

WHAT'S GOING ON? THIS IS PART TWO OF ME RIPPING APART DHAR MANN'S VIDEOS ABOUT FATPHOBIA! Whoo-hoo!

Before I get started, here's an obligatory trigger warning: This post will be talking about fatphobia, bullying, homelessness, mentioned ED, fat shaming, shaming a person FOR EATING, and the abused thanking his abuser AS AN ADULT for tormenting him as a young, impressionable teenage boy.

If any of that is triggering, upsetting, or makes you uncomfortable in any way, you don't have to read this post. Please consume media that sparks joy for you.

This time, there won't be a response from me about this video, like I usually do with all my Dhar Mann posts. If you want to see my response, refer to my first post about fatphobia (the one about the plus-size woman being fat shamed). It does tie in with this post, as my thoughts on this video are the exact same here. Yes, even though this is about a (at the time) plus-size black teenage boy being targeted. Search for the "dhar mann talk" tag and it's one of the most recent posts. I don't believe anyone should be shamed for their weight. Your weight doesn't hold any significance to your worth as a person. Don't let anything or anyone tell you otherwise.

With all of that out of the way, let's get to the video!

To sum up the video, it starts out with a plus-size black teenage boy (Kurt or "Big Boy", as he's called almost throughout the entire video) who's on a basketball court at school with his friend (Mike), a few other teenage boys, and Mike's uncle (Frank) is their coach. Mike is the captain on one team, Frank is the captain on the other team. They're picking teammates, and everyone is on a team except for Kurt and another boy. Frank says to his nephew to not pick Kurt (he called him "Big Boy" instead) because "he'd never win with him". LIKE THEY WERE PLAYING FOR THE NBA. CALM YOUR DICK. HOLY FUCKING HELL. THEY'RE KIDS.

Mike, not listening to his uncle (good for him), picks Kurt anyway. Kurt is happy and thanks his friend for picking him. Mike gives Kurt a shirt that looks at least a couple sizes too small for him and would be pretty uncomfortable to wear. This isn't Mike's fault, obviously. Kurt politely asks if they had a bigger shirt. Obviously not an unreasonable request. They're playing a sport that requires lots of movement (honestly, pretty much any sport would apply here, except for maybe golf or cricket) so it's understandable to want to at least be comfortable and have room to move around. Frank mocks A LITERAL TEENAGER with the whole "You think you're shopping at Big&Tall?" line and then says that's the only size they had (why couldn't they supply inclusive sizes in the first place, or at least ASK Kurt what his size was IN ADVANCE?), which....umm, I'm actually GLAD plus-size clothing for men (Big&Tall, in this case) is more readily available and accessible now. I'm happy plus-size clothing in GENERAL is like that now.

Mike comforts Kurt and says the shirt might fit. The shirt does KIND OF fit Kurt, but it's obvious he's uncomfortable. Look at this screenshot here:

Frank laughs at Kurt, says he looks like Barney The Dinosaur, and the other kids laugh along with their coach. This is NOT setting a good example for children, Frank. You're a fucking teacher. You're a COACH. You're supposed to be teaching these kids about sports and shit. You're supposed to be setting a good example for these kids about teamwork and sportsmanship. WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO A TEENAGE BOY, WHO IS MOST LIKELY ONE OF YOUR STUDENTS, IS TEACHING NONE OF THOSE THINGS. You're teaching these kids that bullying their peers for things they can't help having is okay. Do better. (I'd say that he's an adult and should act like one, but I'm an adult and I barely act like one a lot of the time, so that'd make me a hypocrite.)

While I may be fortunate to have had a physical education teacher who never bashed on me or shamed me for my weight and she would cheer me on for whatever amount of effort I made the first and only year I had actual P.E., I know that many other kids who are plus-size most likely has/had horrible P.E. teachers or coaches like Frank.

To anyone who has/had a teacher or coach like Frank, I'm so sorry, kiddos. You don't deserve to be bullied by your own teachers. I wish I could give all of you a hug, but I can give y'all virtual hugs instead! *virtual hugs* /p

So they play a game of basketball, and Kurt is struggling to fully play because the shirt he was given was probably cutting off some circulation, especially in his arms (again, do I need to reiterate that this was NOT Mike's fault and is FRANK'S fault for his ignorance and negligence). Frank mocks his nephew Mike by saying that he told him not to pick Kurt. Why? Because according to him, Kurt will never make anything of himself in life due to him being fat. (AGAIN, THIS IS NOT TRUE.)

Then it cuts to Kurt sitting with Mike, who's working on his car and Kurt's working on his own thing. Mike says he believes one day he'll own a nice, brand new Cadillac. Kurt is very supportive and cheers his friend on. He says that he believes he'll be one of the biggest radio show hosts and has a title for it called "Big Boy's Neighborhood". Both of them are hyping each other up. Love to see men supporting men. Mike pulls out his Walkman (they were HUGE back in the 80s and 90s because you could listen to the radio from anywhere, I have a Sony Walkman mp3 player, but it's a newer model), and Kurt says that he's always wanted one but couldn't afford it. (I'll go into why in a second.)

Frank comes over to reprimand Mike, who has done NOTHING WRONG, for talking to Kurt. Instead of working, which Mike WAS actually doing. He tries to tell his uncle this, but he wasn't having it. Frank then reprimands Kurt, who also has done NOTHING WRONG, for just sitting and apparently "distracting Mike" (he wasn't). He asks if there's any work he was supposed to do. Kurt FINALLY stands up to Frank in a polite, mature manner. He says that just because he wasn't working with his hands, it didn't mean he wasn't working. Frank ridicules Kurt some more, Mike tells his uncle to leave his friend alone, and Kurt stands up to Frank AGAIN, still being polite and mature. UNLIKE THE ACTUAL ADULT ACTING LIKE A CLICHÉ MIDDLE SCHOOL BULLY WHO PROBABLY PEAKED IN HIGH SCHOOL. How fucking ironic.

What does Frank do in response to Kurt standing up to him? INSULTS THE KID SOME MORE. He tells Kurt that he must have "pig fat for brains" (which is not only insulting to Kurt, but also insulting to pigs, because pigs are intelligent animals), takes his small bag of Doritos, and says that he "doesn't need to be eating anything." He eats Kurt's Doritos IN FRONT OF HIM, tells Mike to quit letting his friend make him lazy (he wasn't doing that at all), and to get back to work.

THAT line made me livid. I've actually thought that I didn't deserve to eat anything because I'm plus-size as a teenager, and into my adulthood at a few points in my life. NEVER say that someone doesn't need to be eating anything. (Obviously except for poisonous things, inedible objects, and things that could and will kill them.) You could cause them to develop an ED, or trigger an ED if they already have one. THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING. EDs are no joke. Whether it be starving, purging, or binge eating, none of them are fun to have and/or to deal with. Even if they DON'T develop an ED, their relationship with food will be all sorts of fucky-wucky. Some even for the rest of their lives. Unless you get proper treatment, of course.

When Frank leaves, Kurt is obviously upset. Rightfully so. How he's feeling is justified. Mike comforts him and says to not let Frank get to him. Mike offers to take Kurt home, but then realizes that his friend and his mom got evicted and are homeless. (This is why Kurt couldn't afford to buy a Walkman.) Kurt, still distraught, says that he'll just walk. Mike invites him over for dinner and that he'd drop him off after, which Kurt agrees to.

They're at Mike's house, having dinner, and Mike's parents are talking to Kurt. They're being supportive. Frank walks in to have his sister's cooking. He sees that Kurt's there. Mike's parents introduce Frank to Kurt, tells him Kurt's gonna be on the radio one day, Frank laughs and says Kurt's not gonna be anything. Kurt brushes it off. He says that his mom says that he can achieve whatever he wants (which is true, to a reasonable extent), Frank cuts him off and says his mom was lying to him, and that his mom knows he's gonna be a big loser.

Mike's dad tells Frank to leave Kurt alone. Mike's mom also says the same thing. Frank asks Kurt if his mom doesn't feed him at home, and what he was doing "eating up all their food" (he wasn't; he just had a singular plate). Mike and his mom tell Frank to stop. His mom explains that they invited Kurt over for dinner, and she tells her brother to sit down and eat. Frank then asks Kurt again if his mom doesn't feed him at home. Mike tells Frank that Kurt and his mom don't have a home because they just got evicted, which is a shock to the parents. Instead of having sympathy for a teenage boy who was on the streets with his mom, HE MOCKS HIM. WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT? Especially to a teenage boy who didn't do anything whatsoever to deserve being evicted from his home and be out on the streets with his mom. I've dealt with being evicted. I've dealt with homelessness. Out of no fault of my own. It's not funny, cool, glamorous, or anything like that. It's terrifying. I'm still traumatized by that experience and it happened four years ago. Sometimes I have nightmares about that kind of thing. The very possibility of becoming homeless and going through that again scares the shit out of me. The thought of it is so triggering for me that I will resort to reverting back to things I used to do when I was a kid. It also doesn't help that I will NEVER be able to afford an apartment on my own where I live now and will probably have to rely on at least two or three roommates and/or family to get by. Thanks a lot, Boomers.

I would never wish what I went through on anyone. Anyways, back to the whole summary of the video.

Kurt gets up and leaves the table. Mike tries to go after his friend to make sure he was okay, but Frank stops his nephew. ONLY WHEN KURT LEAVES DOES FRANK ALL NONCHALANTLY SAY THAT HE'S STARVING AND THAT THEY SHOULD ALL EAT. Despite Frank making Kurt as well as his (Frank's) own family upset.

Kurt walks to where his mom is. His mom notices that he's upset. Kurt tells his mom that it's because of Frank. His mom comforts him and gives him the advice that she gave him before. Kurt is still obviously too upset to take anything she's telling him, bringing up that they're homeless and broke, and his mom is desperate to help comfort her son. She gives him his birthday present early, which happens to be a Walkman. Kurt is shocked. He thought they didn't have that kind of money. His mom says not to worry about that. She pokes some lighthearted fun at her son, he thanks her, and he asks her a question. He asks if she believes he'll be successful or if she's saying that to make him feel better. She asks if he believes he'll be successful (yep), and he tells her that when he succeeds, he'll buy them a house so they don't have to be homeless anymore or worry about getting evicted.

Fast forward to adulthood, Kurt becomes a bouncer, meets someone who works at a radio station, and he goes there. Just to have people laughing at him. He's distraught again and leaves the station, thinking that he made a bad decision. Frank happens to come by, see that Kurt was upset, and asks what's wrong. Kurt tells him what happened, and Frank mocks him AGAIN with the same shit he told him when he was a TEENAGE BOY, now as a YOUNG ADULT. He walks off, laughing.

Nice going! /s Kicking Kurt while he's down JUST LIKE OLD TIMES, RIGHT? FUCK YOU.

Kurt then decides that he's gonna lose weight and be the best radio show host. (Toxic much? Why would you try to preach that your weight = your worth as a person? If you're losing weight for yourself, great! I'm happy for you! If you don't want to lose weight, you don't give a fuck about what people say, and you're happy in your own skin, that's awesome too! Do it for yourself, not for anyone's approval. Try to love yourself and accept yourself in any form you're in. Don't fall for the bullshit that you have to be a certain size or look a certain way for you to love and accept yourself. The weight may be gone, but the rest of your issues will still be there. I have to clarify that I meant this in GENERAL, not necessarily for extremities on either side of the spectrum of weight...because there are things you MUST follow.)

Kurt gets back to the station, ignores all the people being assholes, he's doing his thing, and he's climbing up.

Fast forward to when Kurt is middle-aged. He has his own radio show, and he's one of the biggest names in the radio industry. After he finishes up his show, he goes outside to see a couple of young fans. A young black girl with her brother, a plus-size boy. They say how much they love his show, they got his merch, and the boy tells Kurt that he wants to be just like him. The boy doubts himself though because of people abusing him JUST LIKE what Kurt went through. Kurt empathizes with the boy and tells him a little bit about his own experience. Following them is Frank as an old man. They're his grandkids.

Frank recognizes Kurt, and actually apologizes to him for the torment he put him through as a teenager. WHAT A SHOCK. /srs

Kurt takes it with grace, but says that he should be thanking Frank for all the torment. Why? Because it "motivated him". The girl says that she loves that. (Okay, since she's a kid and there's still time for her to change her mind about certain things, I'm not going to be as harsh here. I don't bash on the kids unless they're doing or saying extremely fucked up things willingly. She didn't say this with bad intentions. I understand you're coming from a good place, and I appreciate that, but please hear me out. This wasn't at all like dealing with edgy thirteen year olds on the internet. This man you look up to was abused by your grandfather in his youth. Your brother is experiencing that same torment your idol went through...at a younger age too, it seems like. The kid looks no older than middle school age [ten or eleven at the YOUNGEST to maybe thirteen or fourteen at the OLDEST]. That's a huge problem. Kurt may have "toughed it out", but that might not be the case for your brother. Please don't excuse that kind of behavior.)

Dude...what the actual fuck? I can understand not being bothered by the hate, but this grown ass man literally VERBALLY AND EMOTIONALLY ABUSED YOU AS A YOUNG, IMPRESSIONABLE TEENAGE BOY, CONTINUING INTO ADULTHOOD, and you're THANKING Frank for all of that? Why should you thank your abuser for what he put you through? He didn't contribute ANYTHING to your success. So I guess abuse is a GREAT contribution to people's success now, right? /s It doesn't contribute to anything, in my opinion. Yes, what doesn't kill you can make you stronger, but can we normalize people becoming weaker to a point due to traumatic events? Because they exist. Demonizing survivors who have become weaker to some degree or just flat-out ignoring them isn't helping. You did the thing you wanted to do, Kurt. Frank didn't help you. The person who really helped you was YOU and your mom.

MOVING ON.

The boy asks Kurt if he thinks he'll ever be able to make it as a radio show host. Kurt asks if HE believes that. The boy says he does. Kurt gives him some advice and gives the boy his Walkman. The boy's ecstatic, they leave, and Kurt goes to meet up with his mom.

Keeping to his promise, Kurt bought his mom a house so she'd never be homeless again and never have to worry about being evicted. (HOW LONG WAS SHE HOMELESS FOR? OH MY GOD. THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO KNOW. I hope you at least let her stay with you or something. They never went into that, unfortunately.) She's very grateful. The video ends there.

My personal thoughts on the video: Another piss poor video....but worse! Because it was a COLLAB. And based on a true story. Good going with taking this man's story of being abused by a grown adult to exploit for your personal gain, Dhar Mann! WOW. LOVE THAT! Totally a good look. /s

What I took from this video is that if you're plus-size, according to Dhar Mann, you'll apparently NEVER be successful, let alone be taken seriously...which is an absolute lie. There are many plus-size people who are very successful. Another thing I took from the video is that apparently according to Dhar Mann, being verbally and emotionally abused as a teenager by a grown adult all the way into adulthood is "motivation" for you to work harder to reach your goals. (Nice going, Dhar Mann. Justifying grown adults abusing children. Who would've thought? /s)

Oh, and it's like MANDATORY to thank your abusers for tormenting you when you become successful! (Obviously this is an exaggeration. This is me using Dhar Mann's logic against him.) You want to thank them for making you stronger? Fine. You want to spit in their face and say, "Fuck you." to them? Also fine. You want to just never acknowledge them ever again? Totally fine. Whatever you want to do, that's fine by me, but can you not imply that "thanking" your abusers is mandatory in some way?

If you made it this far, thank you! I hope you're having a good morning/day/afternoon/evening/night. Stay safe, y'all. Love you. /p